David L. Robbins - Endworld 02 - Thief River Falls Run.pdf - Cień Zagłady (eng) - goku88

THIEF RIVER FALLS

RUN

#2 in the Endworld series

DAVID ROBBINS

To Joshua,

for all the happiness

A LEISURE BOOK® June 1992 Published by Dorchester Publishing Co.,

Inc. 276 Fifth Avenue New York, NY

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that

this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to

the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any

payment for this "stripped book."

transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,

including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and

retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except

where permitted by law.

The name "Leisure Books" and the stylized "L" with design are

trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

Printed in the United States of America.

Chapter One

The buckskin-clad gunman crouched and spun, his hands dropping to his

pearl-handled revolvers, one in a leather holster on each hip, his long

blond locks waving in the wind, his keen blue eyes scanning the field below

him, searching for the source of the noise he had just heard.

Someone had coughed.

A full moon illuminated the field, kept cleared of all brush, trees, and

other vegetation to prevent any foes, human or otherwise, from covertly

assaulting the thirty-acre plot called the Home by those who lived within

the encircling brick walls. The Family, as they designated themselves, took

extraordinary precautions to insure its safety: the twenty-foot-high walls

were topped with barbed wire and a rampart for patrolling purposes, a

wide moat was channeled around the base of the wall, within the

compound; and the entire Home was continually guarded by an elite corps

of skilled, thoroughly trained fighters known as Warriors.

"Hickok, did you hear that?" whispered a small, wiry man as he

scurried along the rampart in the gunman's direction.

"Sure did, pard," acknowledged Hickok, nodding.

The second man stopped at Hickok's side. "Came from the edge of the

field," he stated. His brown eyes studied the forest, dimly visible as a

looming dark mass, one hundred and fifty yards distant. "Near the trees.

We were fortunate the wind carried the sound this far. Any orders?"

Hickok mentally pondered the situation. Should they investigate the

cough now, or leave it until daylight? What would Blade do at a time like

this?

The Warriors were divided into four sections, or Triads, comprised of

three members each. Designated the Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Omega

Triads, they were entrusted with the defense of the Home and the

protection of the Family. While each Triad had an appointed head, all of

the Warriors were under the leadership of the Alpha Triad, and each of

the twelve Warriors was specifically responsible to Blade, the chief of

Alpha Triad and the commander of all Family Warriors.

Blast! Hickok thoughtfully stroked his blond mustache, debating on a

course of action. Blade was recuperating from an infection his body had

developed, a reaction to the dozens of cuts and slashes inflicted by a

deadly wolverine during their battle with the Trolls. He was probably

asleep at this late hour, dreaming of his beloved Jenny. Lucky him!

"Should we alert Geronimo?" the other man asked, running his right

hand through his black hair, relieved as the breeze picked up, cooling his

sweaty brow. The July night was warm and muggy. "Nope," Hickok

laconically responded. "Would take too long, Rikki. Geronimo is way over

on the east wall."

The Alpha Triad consisted of Blade, Geronimo, and Hickok. With Blade

recovering from the infection, another Warrior had volunteered to take his

place on guard duty. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, the Beta Triad leader, clutched a

long black scabbard in his left hand. He pointed it at the distant woods.

"I'll go myself, if you like."

"I'm going," Hickok announced, making his decision. "Alone."

"I should go along." Rikki-Tikki-Tavi offered.

"I'm going alone," Hickok repeated, carefully moving along the rampart

until he was in the center of the western wall, directly above a closed

drawbridge.

Rikki followed on his heels. "Could be a trap," he said, voicing his

concern. "Could be some more scavengers," he noted, referring to an

attack by a roving band of marauders several years before, an assault the

Family successfully repelled.

"Could be," Hickok agreed, glancing down. Imbedded in the concrete at

his moccasined feet was a thick steel ring. Attached to the ring, coiled in a

large pile on the rampart, was a stout rope.

"You'll need a backup," Rikki contended.

"No, thanks," Hickok declined. He lifted the rope. At this one point, the

barbed wire was deliberately spaced to permit one person to pass over the

edge of the rampart.

"You don't know who or what is out there," Rikki stated, his tone

reflecting his annoyance.

"Doesn't matter," Hickok informed him.

"It's against standard Warrior procedure," Rikki added.

Hickok shrugged, peered over the top of the wall, and tossed the rope

down the wall.

"You're taking a needless risk." Rikki wouldn't let the matter drop. "You

could be killed."

Hickok paused in the act of climbing over the side. He stared into

Rikki's dark eyes. "I don't care, pard. I just don't care." He pushed off.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi knelt and watched his friend slowly lower himself to

the ground in front of the drawbridge. So! What Blade and Geronimo had

said about Hickok was true. With the death of the woman he loved, at the

hands of the Trolls, Hickok was displaying signs of outright recklessness

with regard to his personal safety. The Family's supreme gunman seemed

normal otherwise, but Blade believed Hickok was a simmering volcano

waiting for the right catalyst to trigger an eruption. Rikki vividly recalled

the tormented expression on Hickok's face when they had buried the

woman. Joan, her name had been, and rumor had it she was Hickok's first

true love.

Hickok reached the bare earth below the drawbridge and waved once to

Rikki before jogging across the field in the direction of the cough. He knew

he should present as small a target as possible to potential ambushers, but

his suppressed grief negated his extensive Warrior training and he ran

upright, exposed, almost hoping he would see the flash of a firearm and

feel the impact of a slug ripping through his body.

The wind increased, the natural elements working in his favor. The

breeze was blowing the sounds he made toward the Home, and away from

whoever was lurking in the forest at the end of the field.

A sudden thought brought Hickok up short. What if it were Trolls?

Many had escaped, and they'd want revenge on the Family. Involuntarily,

he gripped his revolvers, his cherished Colt Pythons.

Someone coughed again.

May the Spirit smile on me, Hickok prayed. He lowered his body,

running in a half-crouch, moving cautiously now, a grim smile on his face.

Whoever was out there was due west, a bit to his right. Please let it be

Trolls! He owed them. He owed them real bad.

Hickok slowed as he neared the trees, listening, his senses primed. The

leaves were rustling in the wind, some of the branches creaking and

rubbing against one another. Good. Perfect cover. He tensed, expecting a

shot, and darted into the woods, stopping behind the first large tree he

reached. Surely they had seen him coming. He leaned against the trunk,

waiting.

Nothing.

What was going on here?

The coughing abruptly started up, a veritable spasm, a series of

wheezing gasps and choking groans.

Sounds like the dude is sick, Hickok reasoned. He estimated the

distance at fifteen to twenty yards. The brush was thick, providing ample

concealment. He lowered his body to the earth and began crawling.

A twig snapped behind him.

Hickok froze. Blast his stupidity! He should have expected there would

be more than one. Had they seen him?

"Did you get a fix on that?" a gruff voice whispered.

Hickok twisted, craning his neck, confident he was hidden in the tall

grass.

There were three of them. Big men. Armed with rifles. Two to his left,

one to his right, the nearest ten yards away.

"I know I heard it," a second man replied in a hushed voice.

David L. Robbins - Endworld 02 - Thief River Falls Run.pdf

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