A few minutes later, the three horses plodded wearily into view, their lathered sides declaring they had ridden all night. The man on lead greeted them with a voice gravelly with fatigue. “Sorry we’re late.”
“Sheriff Ferguson?” Marsh stepped forward. “Where’s your deputy?”
“There’s been a change of plans.” The older man took his time easing from the saddle, then pressed both hands into the small of his back as he straightened. “Hello, Caleb.”
“Sheriff.”
“Marsh, I need to ask you a favor.”
“If it’s in my power, I’ll be happy to help.”
Sheriff Ferguson turned to where the second man was lifting a grey-haired woman off her horse. The woman’s features were etched with weary discomfort. The sheriff said, “Hear that? I told you this was the man and the place.”
The younger man was both tall and powerfully built. Despite his exhaustion, he studied them each intently from beneath a shock of jet-black hair.
“This is Kevin Ritter and his mother, Abigail. Kevin’s been the finest deputy I’ve ever worked with, save his pa, who died saving my life. Go on, son. Say your piece.”
Kevin hesitated, then said, “My ma and me, we’ve got no place to go.”
When he stopped, the sheriff pressed, “Tell them why, Kevin.”
But it was the woman who replied, her voice as crisp as a schoolmarm’s. “Because that scoundrel of a mayor gave my son an ultimatum. Do the unthinkable or perish. You know the significance of the lampposts outside the mayor’s compound?”
“I do,” Marsh replied.
“The mayor vowed to string us up unless my son sold out the ones they call specials.”
Kevin showed the raw emotion of a man stripped bare by events beyond his control. “Gus and I went straight from the mayor’s office to a secret meeting point the Overpass deputies use. Ma was already there. We left with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”
“Kevin and his mother have been running the underground railroad around Charlotte,” the sheriff said. “Until this happened, Abigail was head of the history department at Charlotte University.”
Kevin said, “We’d be grateful if you could grant us a place to stay. I’ll do anything, work any job, to earn our keep.”
Marsh was about to give his standard response, the one every enclave dweller who traveled beyond their borders learned by rote. How this was not his decision to make. How the elders voted on every new admittance. How there were dozens who requested asylum for every one granted. How the two would be welcome to stay in the guest cabin and be fed, for three days only, while the council met, the vote was taken, and their fate was decided.
But Caleb broke in before his father could speak. “Pa.”
“I . . . Yes, Son?”
Caleb took a breath, then offered Marsh the secret signal they had arranged, “Pa, this is absolutely, extremely important.”
Marsh jerked in surprise. Previously Caleb had only spoken those words when a huge trade lay on the line.
When Marsh remained silent, Caleb walked to where the tall young man unsaddled his mount. “What is it you want from us?”
“I already told you. A home.”
Sheriff Ferguson interjected, “What is the boy—”
Marsh said, “Give my son a few minutes, Sheriff. Please.”
Caleb said, “I mean, what is it you would most like to do?”
The man clearly struggled to focus through his fatigue and his pain. “I never wanted to be anything more than a deputy.”
“What was it you most liked about your work?”
Kevin did not need to think that one through. “Patrolling the back roads. Watching the boundary trails. Keeping the folks and the community safe.”
That was enough to open the portal. Caleb’s own weariness was instantly forgotten. He turned to his father. “Pa, he needs to come with us.”
“What, back to Charlotte Township?” Kevin stepped away. “Didn’t you hear a word the sheriff just said? The mayor is gunning for us!”
“Caleb’s not going to Charlotte,” Marsh replied, his eyes steady on his son. “My boy is headed to Overpass. He’s setting up a store. The last two times we sold our wares in Charlotte, the militia took more than half in taxes.” Overpass was the central market town north of Charlotte and was controlled by the sheriff and his deputies.
“I’ve heard about that,” Gus said. “Protection money, they call it.”
Kevin’s mother said, “My son won’t be able to stay in Overpass forever. Sooner or later Hollis and his dogs will catch wind of this.”
The woman’s words pushed Caleb deeper into his moment of far-seeing. “Kevin won’t remain in Overpass,” he replied. “But for a time his presence is essential to keeping us safe.”
Marsh demanded, “You sure about this, Son? Absolutely certain?”
“Yes, Pa. I am.” He felt a singular sense of bonding with this tired, sad young man. As though standing here and listening to him forged a path not just to safety but to success with his secret quest. He asked, “Why did you turn down the mayor’s request?”
The woman cried, “Because I raised him to be a decent human being!”
“Please, ma’am,” Marsh said. “Let your son reply.”
“I couldn’t do what they wanted,” Kevin said. “It went against my oath, everything I hold true. I did it to protect . . .”
Caleb nodded slowly. He had it now. The crucial missing component. For the first time since fleeing home, he felt whole. “Us,” he finished. “You sacrificed everything you had to protect people like me.”