12

Caleb rose the next morning feeling pinched at both ends. He had not been able to sleep again after his pre-dawn watch. Three times he had reached out, hoping to make contact with Maddie. Her absence gnawed worse than the lack of sleep. As they were loading up, he noticed how Kevin had become a different man. Tighter now. More intent. Exactly as Caleb knew he should be himself.

They returned to the road and set off in the same order as before. Kevin led because he knew the road. Zeke protected their rear. They settled into the journey without discussion. Like they were a unit.

Around midmorning the forest drew back like a veil, revealing a flat expanse of tilled earth and well-tended farms. Most of the structures were set away from the road but within shouting distance of their neighbors. Some were more isolated, and several times Caleb spotted wooden towers holding armed guards.

Gradually the road picked up a bit more traffic. Nothing Caleb saw about the other travelers reassured him. Most were heavily armed. Some of the travelers studied Caleb’s wagons with predator gazes. Kevin took to riding with the rifle set across his lap. No one challenged them, though a few looked tempted. Twice Zeke dropped down, tied the horse’s reins to the gate of Caleb’s wagon, and vanished. The second time, he returned with a small deer draped over his shoulder.

At midday they pulled into an empty clearing set beside yet another desolate farmhouse. Kevin tied the reins around the wagon’s brake and walked back. “I know it’s early, but this may be our last chance to talk alone. By nightfall there will be others gathering. We’ve got an hour or so to ourselves. And we need to make some plans.”

They built a fire and cooked a meal of fresh tubers and herbs and strips of venison. Kevin noticed Caleb’s frown and asked, “Still nothing?”

Caleb realized he meant Maddie. “No.”

“Can you, I don’t know, call out to her?”

“I’ve been trying. I’m not even sure . . .” The worry he had been trying to ignore almost swamped him. “I wish I knew what to do.”

Kevin gave that a respectful pause, then said, “About eight miles ahead is the outlying farm the deputies have used to hide refugees. If you intend to split your product, now’s the time.”

“Why would we want to do that?”

“Because if there’s trouble with the militia, that way we don’t lose everything.”

“I thought they didn’t operate this far out.”

“Usually they don’t. I could be worrying over nothing. But if the militia does show up, I’ll need to run. And one thing more. If you ever need a hideaway, the farm is a good place to have allies.”

Caleb looked at Zeke, who nodded. “Makes sense to me.”

Kevin went on, “Give them the extra horses. Ask the chief farmer—his name’s Enoch Maskell—to handle their sale and hold your extra produce. Agree to his price. Enoch doesn’t dicker.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I can’t. He and almost everybody working there know me from . . . before. If the militia ever found out I’d been back, they’d raze the farm.”

Caleb nodded. “Let’s do this.”

They planned while they ate. Kevin took a journal from his pack, tore out a page, and drew the symbol of the fish. He then carefully filled in the Greek symbols, only in reverse, like he was writing in a mirror. He folded the sheet and handed it to Caleb. “Show this to whoever stops you.”

Caleb pocketed the paper, rose to his feet, and said, “There’s something you need to see.”

Kevin glanced at the sky. “Maybe we should hold off—”

“This can’t wait.” Caleb scrambled under the second wagon and unlatched the hidden cover behind the fore axle. The first of three lockboxes thudded to the earth. He scrambled back out, dragging the case behind him. “Zeke?”

“We’re alone.”

“Okay.” He pulled the key from around his neck and unlocked the box. Inside were lumpish bricks wrapped in burlap and bound in twine. He cut the twine, unwrapped a brick, and held it out. “Trust for trust.”

Kevin’s eyes were round. “Is that . . .”

“Gold. Go on. Take it.”

Gingerly he handled the metal. “How much do you have?”

“A hundred bricks at a quarter-pound apiece. Another sixty waiting for us to set up in Overpass. Back before the Revolutionary War, gold was discovered in the Catawba streams. America’s first gold rush was there in our enclave. It ran out almost three hundred years ago, and nowadays most people never knew it happened. Then eleven months ago Zeke’s uncle was mining for copper and struck a new vein.”

Kevin turned the brick over in his hands. “What is it worth?”

“Near as Pa can figure, about thirty thousand silver bars. But he says we’ll be lucky to get half that.”

“No one can ever know,” Kevin said. “If the mayor or Hollis ever heard about this . . .”

“Don’t even talk about it.”

Together they slid back underneath the wagon. Kevin helped lift the box and held it in place while Caleb refitted the latches, then rubbed sand over the cover so that it melded with the rest of the wagon’s underbelly.

Kevin said, “I hope someday to show you what it means that you’d trust me like this.”

Caleb followed him back into the sunlight. He rose to his feet and made a process of dusting himself off. For the first time since waking to the silent scream, he had a reason to hope.

They were a team.

The next day dawned hot for May. The air was very still. Dust sparked the air above the road. They descended into a narrow valley that ran north to south, not deep, but still it trapped the heat and left them all panting. When they arrived at the creek meandering along its base, the horses balked at their harnesses. They took the wagons across one at a time, two of them holding the leads by the metal bits and shouting at the horses to move. When they were across and the horses had drunk, they took turns walking down a ways and bathing.

There was traffic now, not steady, but enough to keep them on constant guard. When they dried and dressed in fresh clothes, Caleb and Kevin rode one wagon to a copse of cottonwoods midway up the eastern slope. As they unharnessed the horses, Kevin went through the instructions a final time. Caleb shook his hand, then walked back down the road. Leaving Kevin with the gold.

When Caleb climbed into the wagon seat next to Zeke, he turned and waved up the slope, marveling at how calm he felt about trusting this former stranger.

Kevin’s instructions were very precise. Caleb followed them to the letter. He and Zeke took the trail running along the valley’s northern ledge, paralleling the creek. It was little more than a game trail, a narrow ledge with two tracks of paler, flattened weeds. Caleb guessed the clan sent out teams once or twice each season to scythe the growth. Even so, he would not want to try this path in a storm.

When they crested the rise, the apple orchard was a mile or so directly ahead of them, just as Kevin had said. The blossoms turned the trees into earthbound clouds.

Midway across the meadow, Caleb reined in and said, “Go ahead and signal.”

Zeke stood on the wagon seat, cocked his rifle, and fired off a round.

The report echoed off the trees ahead of them. There was no farmhouse in sight, nor a single living soul. Just the fluffy white cloud of blossoms, beautiful as a myth.

Then someone emerged from the grove. Caleb assumed it was a woman because she wore a skirt. She held the rifle with practiced ease and kept it aimed steady at them as he clicked the horses and rolled forward.

Caleb handed the paper to the woman, just like Kevin had told him to do. She examined it closely, then left, but only after three armed men had emerged from the trees.

Half an hour later, she returned with a tall, lean man. Caleb knew him instantly as a farmer. Though he was probably not out of his thirties, his leathery face was seamed deep as spring furrows. His eyes were tightened into a permanent squint. The hand holding the sheet of paper was broad as a shovel and iron-hard. “Where did you get this?”

Caleb answered as Kevin had instructed. “Abigail Ritter sends her regards.”

“She tell you my name?”

“Enoch Maskell.”

“Word is the militia captured Abigail.”

“They tried. She escaped. Kevin too.”

“Where are they now?”

“Safe.”

The answer seemed to satisfy the farmer. “The professor told you to seek me out?”

“Kevin said to contact you if I needed help. Which I do. He also said I’d need to pay for your services. Which I can.” Caleb hopped down and pulled away the canvas cover. Almost half of their jugs were crammed into the straw. “I want to store this with you.”

Enoch walked around to the side and used his teeth to uncork a jug. He sniffed, then smiled. “Plum brandy. That takes me back.”

“There are also jugs of applejack and corn whiskey.” Caleb gestured to the horses strung out behind the wagon. “We want you to sell the four. Quietly.”

The farmer replaced the jug and gave each mount a careful inspection. “These are prime steeds.”

Caleb gestured to the pile of weapons. “Sell these too. And the saddles.”

The farmer hefted the shotgun and traced a grimy thumb along the name carved into the stock. “This is Old Man Greer’s gun.”

One of the guards called over, “You took out the bounty hunters?”

The woman turned and hissed. Once. The guard wilted back beneath the trees and vanished.

Enoch asked, “How long do you aim on leaving your stock with me?”

“Few days. Not long.”

The farmer rubbed his chin. “Two jugs of the brandy for storing your gear. That’ll include feed and stabling for your horses. For the rest, I’ll take one horse, one saddle, one rifle, one pistol. My choice.”

Caleb resisted the urge to accuse the man of robbery. “Done—if you’ll throw in a sack of fresh victuals and another three of oats. We got held up on the road.”

“So I see.” The farmer set the gun back among the others. “The Greers don’t have any friends in these parts. Abigail and her son have friends everywhere. You need help with anything else, you’ll be made welcome.”