They all rose when dawn was little more than a grey tint upon the eastern horizon. They took turns in the washroom and were gathered for an early breakfast when Hester arrived with Sheriff Ferguson. They ate in silence, bid one another luck on the road, and departed. All save Kevin, who was left in solitary control of the shop and its wares.
Caleb, Hester, the sheriff, and Zeke took the Refugee Trail, a well-traveled road that circled west of the Charlotte Township’s boundary fence. Midafternoon they reached the main southern highway linking Charlotte to Greenville. There they turned back north again, following the main road. When they arrived at the city’s southern transport terminal, the sheriff gathered up their mounts, shook Caleb’s and Zeke’s hands, gave Hester a fierce embrace, then headed back. Gus Ferguson had no interest in being caught on the Refugee Trail at nightfall, riding alone and leading three good mounts.
They ate a sorry meal at a wayside tavern. As they were finishing their second cup of coffee, a Greyhound bus rumbled up, and they joined a long line of fellow travelers. The bus was a rusted hulk with mud-spattered sides. Even so, Caleb and Zeke approached the vehicle in awe. Hester acted as though it was all part of a day’s work. As they climbed aboard and showed the tickets they had purchased in the tavern, their rapt expressions drew smiles from those already seated, many of whom had been first-timers themselves earlier that day. The bus pulled away just as the sun touched the western horizon.
Caleb tried to stay awake and savor the experience of his first ride in a powered vehicle. As a kid he and his friends had raced behind trucks traveling the road between Charlotte and Nashville Townships, begging rides and occasionally leaping onto the rear. Now he was one of the privileged few, seated in a padded chair next to his very own window. Despite the road’s rugged condition, they were already moving at twice the speed of a horse-drawn wagon.
The bus rocked and jerked. Once the sun set, there was nothing to see except his own reflection. The window did not open and the overheated air was full of odors. Caleb soon fell asleep.
The next thing he knew, Hester nudged his shoulder and said, “Heads up.”
The Greenville Township main bus terminal faced onto a market square, empty that time of night. A cluster of Atlanta militia stood by the bus door as it creaked open. Two of the green-clad troopers climbed on board. “Everybody have your papers ready!”
The first trooper checked ID’s, the second collected the fees and handed out seventy-two-hour passes. When Hester showed her badge, the guard demanded, “What’s an Overpass guard doing in Greenville?”
“Private hire,” she replied, and jerked her thumb at Caleb. “This one’s father sent me down. We’re three in number. He’s got a servant in the back. Zeke!”
He answered as they had agreed. “Ma’am?”
“Move forward and show the officer your papers.”
The guard checking Zeke’s and Caleb’s ID’s said, “What do Catawba merchants have for sale down in these parts?”
“Shine,” Hester replied. “The good stuff.”
Caleb offered, “My pa’s sent me to look for a new market.”
The guard had heard enough. “Entry fee is a hundred dollars each.” He motioned for the next passenger’s papers. “Guards and servants cost the same.”