“A what?” Blade paused at the head of the stairs.
“A peach. Found a box of cans labeled fruit. Some cans of apples and others of pears. Six cans of peaches, whatever they are. Ever heard of them?”
“No.”
“I believe I saw pictures of them in one of the books,” Joshua mentioned.
“Can we have some for the noon meal?” Hickok asked Blade.
“Don’t see why not.” Blade smiled and headed for the basement.
The basement door was in a far corner at the end of the bar.
“Hey, Blade,” Bertha spoke up as Blade passed her. “Was them bottles of whiskey I saw?”
“That’s what the Watcher called it,” Blade told her.
“How’s about getting me one when you have time?”
“You got it.”
Blade reached the basement door and slowly opened it. There was one dim light in the basement, placed in a dirty socket in the center of the ceiling. The generator was aligned along the north wall.
Would there be rats down there?
Blade raised his Commando and inched forward, taking the stairs one hesitant step at a time. If the rats could gain entry to the basement, they might swarm him before he had a chance to fire. Where were the vents?
A squeaking sound came from his right.
Blade pivoted, searching.
Nothing but a brick wall. The sound, apparently, came from behind the wall.
More squeaking and rustling, from all walls.
The rats had the basement surrounded!
Blade stopped. Did the underground tunnels pass by the basement?
Were the rodents attempting to dig their way in or merely passing by the wall on the other side? He didn’t hear any digging noises.
The generator was running smoothly, emitting a mild rumbling sound.
He spotted an open metal box, full of tools, under the tank.
Was that it? Would the rats shy away from something as alien as the generator? Could they hear or feel the vibrations?
Blade checked the entire basement.
No vents!
Blade smiled, relieved. The rats would need to dig their way in. Before going upstairs, he opened the cap on the generator tank and checked the fluid level. The tank was still three-fourths full. Good.
“Hey, Blade!” Bertha yelled down the stairs.
Quickly, Blade replaced the cap and ran up the steps, closing the door behind him.
Bertha was sitting on her mattress, holding the Henry in her lap.
“Geronimo wants you,” she said as Blade emerged from the basement.
Blade joined Geronimo by the doorway.
“Saw something,” Geronimo stated. He was staring at the park on the other side of the street.
“What was it?” Blade scanned the vegetation.
“Don’t know. A glimpse of something big and brown. Do you want me to investigate?”
Blade thoughtfully chewed his lower lip. “No. Might be another one like the thing that attacked me.”
“What if it steps into the open?”
“Kill it,” Blade directed.
Geronimo nodded.
Blade walked to the table and sat down. Big brown brutes outside, hordes of rats inside. More Watchers might return at any time. Blade frowned. He had wanted to stay put until Bertha was recovered from her ordeal, until she was fit enough to travel without hardship. That option was becoming untenable. Too many threats faced them if they remained in Thief River Falls. The mission came first. Getting to the Twin Cities was their paramount concern, eclipsing all other considerations. Besides, the faster this trip went, the sooner they’d see the Home again.
Hickok and Joshua were walking by the table, their arms laden with supplies.
“I thought you said you’d give us a hand,” Hickok reminded him.
“Have something to attend to first,” Blade replied. He stood and walked behind the bar. The whiskey bottles were standing under the counter on a shelf located on the left side of the bar. He grabbed one of the bottles by the neck.
“What have you got there?” Bertha asked him as he came around the bar and sat down on the floor next to her mattress.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He displayed the bottle.
“Lordy!” Her eyes widened. “Prime drinkin’ whiskey! Can’t hardly believe it! That stuff sure is hard to come by in the Twins.” She reached for the bottle.
Blade hesitated. “You sure this stuff is good for you in your condition?”
“I ain’t having a baby, honey.” She impatiently took the bottle.
“Would you like something to eat?” Blade inquired.
“I never drink on a full stomach.” She grinned, looking at him expectantly, then frowning when he didn’t laugh. “Don’t you get it? I never drink on a full stomach.”
“I distinctly heard your statement,” Blade responded. “Why? Does it have some special significance?”
“Ain’t you ever drank whiskey before?” Bertha unscrewed a black plastic cap.
“No.”
“No?” She gawked, unbelieving.
“No. Why?”
Bertha laughed. “Here. I’ll let you go first. Take a deep swig.”
Blade held the bottle in his right hand. “A deep swig?”
“The deeper, the better.” Bertha grinned. “This stuff will set your hair on fire.”
“Why would I want to set my hair on fire?”
“Just drink the damn whiskey,” she urged him.
Blade shrugged, tipped the bottle, and swallowed as much as he possibly could in one gulp.
“That’s it!”
Blade placed the bottle on the floor, wondering what in the world she was grinning about, considering her a bit strange, when the whiskey hit him. A tremendous burning sensation exploded in his stomach, his throat tingling, his mouth puckering. He screwed up his face and glared at the bottle.
Bertha was laughing hysterically, slapping her hands on her thighs.
“Oh, beautiful! Just beautiful!”
Blade began coughing uncontrollably, his eyes watering.
“Blade, you’re something else!”
Hickok and Joshua walked over.
“What the blazes is going on here?” Hickok demanded.
“I’m making a man out of your friend here,” Bertha was still giggling.
“You’re what?”
Bertha picked up the whiskey bottle. “Here. Try this. You’ll see what I mean.”
Hickok raised the bottle to his nose and sniffed.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” He gave the bottle to Bertha.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, surprised.
“That stuff smells awful,” Hickok said. “I have this policy against drinking anything that smells like horse piss.”
Bertha shook her head. “You boys sure are weird! Any man in the Twins would kill for a drink of this.”
“We’re not from the Twins,” Hickok stated.
“That, White Meat, is what makes you so beautiful.” She beamed up at him.
Blade had stopped sputtering and wheezing.
“What’d you think?” Bertha smiled.
“Terrible!” Blade exclaimed, his voice a ragged whisper. “But I think it killed the pain in my throat.”
Bertha gulped several mouthfuls. “This stuff will sure enough kill whatever ails you,” she agreed.
“Are you finished with the supplies?” Blade faced Hickok.
“Almost.”
“Would you get it done as quickly as you can? I need to talk with Bertha. Alone,” he emphasized.
Hickok stared from one to the other. “Whatever you say, pard.” He strolled off, Joshua in tow.
Bertha swigged some more whiskey. “What do you want to talk with me about?”
“The Twins.”
Bertha frowned. “I told you last night, Blade. I ain’t goin’ back there. Not for any reason.”
“What if I can give you a good reason?”
“Fat chance.”
“How would you like to come live with us at our home?”