Deserted. Only flickering lamplight inhabited Waller’s still.
When they reached the small cabin, it was deserted. Nat Turner was certain now—Nathaniel Francis, Levi Waller, and the others had been alerted. He felt a sinking feeling. Nat Turner and the other captives whispered urgently among themselves. They were betrayed.
The root must be destroyed. He had wasted precious time searching for the deeds and papers at Elizabeth Turner’s, time that might cost others their lives. The militia might be gathering, might already be searching for them. But there was no turning back now. Kill or be killed. They had to finish what they had begun. Dawn was almost upon them.
All the men agreed that before they left the Waller farm, they would have to search his house. Levi Waller, Nathaniel Francis, and the others might have gathered there, thinking to arm themselves, thinking to defend Levi’s family. There were horses tethered at Waller’s still, but Levi or one of the others might have gone on foot to alert the militia. There was no choice—kill or be killed.
Nat Turner and the other captives made their way to Waller’s home, their eyes scrutinizing every branch, every leaf that moved. They approached the house expecting to be fired upon. It would be their last stand.
But there was no gunfire. As the first light of dawn appeared, Nat Turner entered the house with no resistance. Neither Nathaniel Francis nor Levi Waller was there, only Levi Waller’s family and the schoolteacher.
All inside were asleep. Nat Turner and the others had crept inside the large, one-room shack quietly; they could leave the family undisturbed with none the wiser. He signaled the men. They would back out the door—it was Nathaniel Francis they were after.
But Will froze in place. He shook his head.
The others backed out the door. Nat Turner motioned to Will again, but still he would not move. He stood as though he were frozen.
Then, as pale light came through the window, there was a shriek.