“If the…” Achilles began, and abruptly stopped, astounded by the sight across the road.
Attended by a muted crackling and a loud hissing, Old Faithful erupted, sending a silvery spray of steaming water high, high into the air.
Attaining a height of 170 feet, the water then felt back to the earth in a wide circular area around the geyser, splattering silica in all directions.
“Wow!” Achilles said.
Blade watched the beautiful display in silence, thinking of the irony involved. Once this geyser had drawn spectators by the millions, and he remembered reading that scientists and geologists had been concerned Old Faithful might stop erupting, just like other famous geysers in Yellowstone. Evidently, many geysers simply died out, lost their Oomph, after a while. But here was Old Faithful, continuing to cascade water long after the millions of spectators had ceased to exist.
The eruption lasted for several minutes. Then the hissing abruptly ended and the last of the spray dropped to the soil.
“That was magnificent,” Achilles commented. “Do you mink Yellowstone Park will ever be reopened?”
“Maybe one day the leaders of the Civilized Zone will get around to it, after the scavengers and the mutants and the raiders have all been exterminated.”
Achilles sighed. “Then it will never reopen.”
“Let’s get comfortable,” Blade suggested, and sank to his knees next to the bottom of the busted window, carefully avoiding the strewn glass.
“In case I should forget, I want to thank you again for the opportunity you’ve given me,” Achilles remarked, unslinging the FNC and squatting alongside the giant.
“You can repay me by staying alive.”
“I’ll do my best, I want to live long enough to ask Priscilla to go back to the Home with us.”
Blade glanced at the novice.
“I know I couldn’t leave the Home, couldn’t desert the Family. If she feels the same way about me that I do about her, then she might agree.”
“It’s worth a try,” Blade acknowledged.
“Wouldn’t it be funny? I mean, I came along to acquire combat experience, yet I may be going back with a treasure more valuable than any other. What’s the thrill of combat compared to the genuine affection of a lovely woman?”
“Yep. You definitely should become a poet.”
“I don’t know the first thing about poetry, about putting words on paper.”
“Plato once told me that poetry is the rhythm of the soul, not the rhyming of words.”
Achilles chuckled. “I really must spend more time in Plato’s company from now on.”
They settled down to wait, placing the spare weapons on the tile near their legs. Thirty minutes passed. An hour. Ravens, jays, and an occasional hawk winged through the sky. Squirrels scampered in the trees and chipmunks frolicked among the boulders. Twice mule deer crossed their field of vision, and once four fat elk appeared in the forest on the opposite side of Old Faithful.
Blade savored the peace and quiet, knowing all too well what was coming. He double-checked the Commando, and wished he possessed ammo for the Henry and the Colts lying next to his right knee. His mind strayed, and he thought about his wife and son. Immersed in reflecting on the time he took them on a vacation to a small lake north of the Home and nearly got them all slain, he almost failed to register the movement off to his left, to the east of the store. He casually swung his head around and saw them.
The Breed.
The mutations were strung out in single file, advancing down the center of the highway, hiking from the east toward the geyser complex. One of them limped badly. Three others were carrying the bodies of dead comrades.
Blade lowered his head below the sill and peeked over the edge, counting the creatures. He stopped halfway through his count when he spied Hickok, Geronimo, and Eagle Feather marching along with their wrists bound. They appeared to be extremely fatigued, and the Flathead’s expression was strangely dull, devoid of animation.
“Where’s Priscilla?” Achilles inquired anxiously.
“I don’t know,” Blade whispered.
“Maybe she’s at the rear of the column.”
The rest of the Breed came into view, but the Mormon woman wasn’t with them.
“Dear Spirit!” Achilles breathed. “Where is she? What could have happened to her?”
Blade’s lips compressed as he studied the mutations. They seemed to be tired too. Apparently the Breed had exerted themselves to reach the site swiftly. They drew nearer until they were directly in front of the store. He saw the creature in the lead, the tallest mutation, halt, turn, and bark orders. That must be Longat, he reasoned, and noticed that Longat held Geronimo’s tomahawk.
Many of the Breed sat down on the spot. Others stretched or conversed.
Hickok and Geronimo took a few steps to the side, inadvertently moving closer to the store, and began talking in hushed tones.
“Maybe Priscilla escaped,” Achilles speculated. “Maybe she’s wandering around alone in the wilderness somewhere.”
“Stop thinking about her.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to concentrate on the task at hand,” Blade instructed him. “You can’t afford to be distracted.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Blade nodded and scrutinized the bear-men. His plan had worked to perfection. By discovering where the Breed were headed, he’d been able to get in front of the deviates. Now he could give them a taste of their own medicine. But how to do it without endangering Hickok and Geronimo?
He needed a distraction. If the creatures could be diverted, it might be possible to get his fellow Warriors and the Flathead to safety. Exactly how to achieve the diversion puzzled him until he received an unexpected assist from Mother Nature.
Old Faithful erupted again.
Rumbling and hissing, the geyser spit its fountain of steaming water skyward…-.
The Breed predictably shifted to observe the spectacle. Every creature watched the rare display in fascination, some gesturing and chattering excitedly.
Blade rose higher, hoping Hickok and Geronimo would glance in his direction, but they both were glued to Old Faithful’s performance, their backs to the store. The dummies. There would never be a better opportunity. “Stay put and cover me,” he ordered, and darted out the front door.
Now if only none of the creatures turned around!
Blade raced toward his friends, constantly scanning the mutations, ready to fire if detected. He wanted to shout to get Hickok’s and Geronimo’s attention, but he’d also alert the Breed to his presence. Come on! he mentally shrieked. Look this way, you ding-a-lings!
Both the gunman and the Blackfoot continued to stare at the geyser.
Blade didn’t know whether to grin or become furious. If he made it through this mess alive, he vowed to give the two of them a good swift kick in the seat of their pants for not maintaining an unflagging vigilance.
Then again, maybe he underestimated them.
Both Warrior’s swiveled their heads, surveying the creatures, then each one took hold of Eagle Feather by an arm, pivoted, and took a stride in the direction of the store.
They simultaneously beheld the giant and both displayed fleeting amazement.
Blade halted ten yards from them, trained the Commando on the mutations, and motioned for them to hurry.
Beaming inanely, Hickok practically dragged the Flathead after him.
Geronimo kept pace, repeatedly glancing over his shoulder.
Old Faithful spewed more and more water into the air.
The Breed, still enthralled, watched.
Seven yards separated Blade from his friends. Five yards. He caressed the Commando’s trigger, his whole body tense, certain the mutations would discover the stratagem at any moment.
They did.