The Seeds of Man

Chapter Thirteen

It had been raining on and off all morning, and Tre could sense that the all-too-brief summer was coming to an end as he stood at the edge of the pit and peered down into the muddy depths. Two weeks had passed since the garbage mine had been liberated, and a great deal had changed, not the least of which was the fact that all the mine’s diggers, sorters, and haulers were employees rather than slaves and free to leave whenever they wanted to go. And hundreds had. That was a loss in a way, but an advantage too, since every one of them would be singing Crow’s praises. And word of mouth was very important in post apocalyptic America.

But some, about three hundred in all, had elected to stay and work for Crow. He had promised to feed them and pay a bullet a day in exchange for their labor. More than that, Crow planned to use whatever profits there might be to further what he called the New Revolution.

That sounded good to Tre. Real good. But as with so many things Crow came up with, very little thought had been given to how things would work. The mine was valuable—so who would defend it? Now Crow had employees to feed. Where would the food come from? Which food lord should he form an alliance with? Once the word began to spread, more people would come. How many was too many? Tre was troubled by those questions and many more.

Crow had a tendency to become annoyed when Tre mentioned such problems, but that was the nature of their relationship. And, because Crow had a tendency to assign Tre responsibility for any issue he raised, the younger man was fast becoming the de facto second in command—a position he hadn’t asked for, didn’t want, and was seemingly stuck with.

Meanwhile, rather than focus on the mine the way Tre wanted him to, Crow was talking about a return to Star Valley. And that, Tre had decided, was something he would object to. So he turned away from the pit, walked the short distance to the headquarters building, and went inside. The lobby had been colonized by Knife, Bones, Smoke, and the others, so it was a mess. The only person present was Freak, who rushed over to take Tre’s arm. “Berry patch,” she said brightly, and beamed up at him.

“Same to you,” Tre said as he freed himself. “Where’s your bow? Someone should guard Crow.”

“Milk cans,” Freak replied, and left to get her bow.

During the weeks since the bandits had taken control of the mine, Kimble’s extremely tidy office had been transformed into what Bones called the Crow’s nest. It was an untidy jumble of papers, weapons, and filthy clothing. Tre entered to find Crow looking his way. “There you are. Henry, this is Tre… He thinks it would be crazy to attack Voss right now. Tell him why he’s wrong.”

Henry was probably in his thirties but looked twenty years older. He had beady eyes and leathery skin. The combination was reminiscent of a snake. And when he spoke it was with a voice so hoarse there was clearly something wrong with him. “Half of Lord Voss’s mercenaries are escorting food caravans east,” Henry said. “That was before Lord Hashi attacked him from the south. Voss had no choice but to take three hundred militiamen and ride south.”

Tre looked to Crow and back to Henry. “And the rest of the mercs?”

Henry’s eyes blinked rapidly. “About a quarter of them followed the militiamen. A backstop, so to speak. The rest were left behind to keep the slaves in line.”

“And you know these things because?” Tre inquired skeptically.

“He knows those things because I pay him to know those things,” Crow interjected.

Tre looked into Crow’s eyes and saw the challenge there. Crow wasn’t the best planner in the world, but he was an excellent strategist. The attack on the garbage mine had been his idea, not Tre’s. Nor was the younger man privy to all of Crow’s machinations. Henry was a good example of that. “Got it.”

Crow’s expression softened. “Thanks, Henry. Here’s your pay. Stay safe and I’ll see you soon.” Tre saw a full box of ammo change hands and realized that Henry was more than he appeared to be. The scarecrow look was a carefully calculated ruse, and the spy probably had a large stash of ammo somewhere.

Henry took the box, said, “Thanks,” and left. Freak blew him a kiss on the way out. “You’ve got that look again,” Crow said as he sat in what had been Kimble’s chair.

“What look?”

“The ‘I have a stick up my butt’ look. You heard Henry… This is the perfect time to attack.”

“No,” Tre said firmly, “it isn’t. We need more fighters.”

“I recruited fifty of them. Twenty-five for Knife and twenty-five for this mission. You know that.”

“I also know that they aren’t trained,” Tre responded.

“Oh, yeah? Well, you weren’t trained either,” Crow replied. “These people are survivors. They know how to fight.”

“But will they follow orders?”

“We’ll train them on the way.”

There was a moment of silence as both men stared at each other. Tre spoke first. “You’re right. Voss is gone. That constitutes an opening. But for what? You can’t take Star Valley and hold it with thirty people, and you know that. So level with me. Why now?”

Crow looked away for a moment as if to maintain his composure. When his eyes returned, they were as steely as ever. “Voss has my sister.”

Tre thought he had misunderstood. “He has your what?”

“He has my sister, Sara. He keeps her in his house.”

Tre stared. “So this is about your sister. That’s why we fought for this mine?”

“No. I wanted to attack the mine for all the reasons we discussed in the past. But the raid would put the hurts to Voss, provide us with food for the winter, and free my sister.”

Tre nodded. “Thank you. I’m in.”

They left the next morning. The rain had stopped by then, but a cold wind was trying to find its way in through the duster Tre was wearing. The band included Crow, Tre, Fade, Smoke, and Freak, plus a force of twenty-five recruits. That added up to thirty people, a ridiculously small army for the job at hand. But Crow believed that good intelligence plus the element of surprise and superior weaponry would be sufficient. Tre hoped he was correct.

The recruits were mounted on horses that had been captured along with the garbage mine, and all of them were unarmed. There were two reasons for that. First, the overseers’ best weapons had been given to Knife’s newly created security force because it was important to protect the mine.

But there was a second reason as well. Crow wanted to spend a few days with the newbies before giving them guns, especially in light of the fact that there were so many of them, a very sensible precaution to Tre’s way of thinking.

The training that Crow subjected the recruits to was invented on the spot but effective nevertheless. Individuals were dispatched to find a common everyday item, such as a hammer, and given six hours to not only accomplish it, but also catch up with the rest of the group. The exercise tested their resourcefulness, navigation skills, and level of commitment—because they could take their horse and run if they chose to, which Crow thought was preferable to harboring a person he couldn’t depend on.

Another exercise involved appointing a leader and sending a group of six people ahead to construct the camp that the entire group would stay in that night. After Crow caught up with them, he would wander through the encampment, pausing every once in a while to discuss the finer points of camouflage and defense.

There were other exercises too, including a hide-and-seek challenge that involved trying to hide from Smoke and Fade, a stick-fighting duel with Tre, and a series of archery competitions with Freak, all of which gave Crow ample opportunity to assess skills, force people to get acquainted, and forge a unified group.

They had been traveling in circles up until then, so by end of the fourth day the group was still on the west side of the Caribou Mountains. And, knowing that Voss could return to Star Valley at any time, Crow couldn’t afford to use any additional time. So without revealing where the cache of weapons was, he paid two recruits and let them go—one because she lacked sufficient skills and one because he couldn’t follow orders.

After they left, Fade followed one and Smoke followed the other to make sure that they didn’t circle back. And since neither one of them knew about the raid, there was no reason to worry about security.

Having purged the team, Crow led the group to the farm where roughly half of the special operations weapons cache was buried. The hiding spot was well away from the old house, the stand-alone garage, and the barn, all of which were magnets for people who happened to be passing through.

Once the cache was uncovered and the contents removed, the business of distributing weapons and equipment began. It was a process Crow showed very little interest in. Was he thinking about Star Valley? And his sister? Probably. But Crow was moody at the best of times, so there was no way to be certain.

Whatever the reason, Tre was left to supervise the process, rebury the arms that were left over, and divide the force into small groups for weapons training, tasks he had orders to accomplish by nightfall. Then, as the sun rose in the morning, they would ride. But to what? Victory? Or defeat? Tre hoped for the first but feared the second. He ordered the recruits in his group to field strip their weapons. Only one of them knew how. It was going to be a long afternoon.

Lora was working in the hot, steamy kitchen and had been for more than a week now. It was hard, sweaty work, but preferable to the hole. Even if Mr. Oliver was a drunken tyrant.

She was a dishwasher, the lowest position in the kitchen’s hierarchy. That meant she was subject to abuse from Mr. Oliver and the more senior slaves as well. Tongue-lashings were common, as were corporal punishments, which consisted of being struck with a variety of kitchen implements. The results were bruises on her back since she spent most of the day facing the sink.

Making a bad situation worse was the fact that Voss and Miss Silverton were down south fighting Lord Hashi. The meant Mr. Oliver could begin drinking earlier in the day, and the more he drank, the meaner he became. All the staff could do was keep their heads down and hope that he would pass out, something he did with a great deal of regularity.

Meanwhile, Lora was working to remove some burned meat from the inside of a large pot and thinking about what she always thought about, which was the need to escape—not just for her sake, but in order to warn the people in the Sanctuary and to do so before Voss could attack them. If she failed, the food lord would enslave or kill them.

But how? It would have been difficult back when she was a maid. Now, after being tagged as a troublemaker, she had even less freedom. She had a plan, though… or the beginnings of one. And it involved the horse-drawn dairy wagon that stopped by the house once a day.

The routine was always the same. Mr. Perkins would guide his horses up to the back door, get down from the wagon, and lower the tailgate. At that point Lora would be sent out to fetch the containers of fresh milk, cream, and butter.

Meanwhile Mr. Perkins would go inside, sit down, and have a cup of tea. That meant there was a period of time during which the wagon was unsupervised. Could Lora take the last load of dairy products into the kitchen, return outside, and slip under the wagon unobserved? And could she squeeze her body into the cargo box mounted under the wagon bed? There was seldom anything in it, so that wasn’t likely to be a problem.

No, the main threat was that she would be missed before Mr. Perkins returned to the wagon. If so, the kitchen staff would be ordered to search for her. But, Lora thought, that’s the chance you’ll have to take. The alternative is to let Voss take control of the Sanctuary.

So the question was when, not if, and Lora knew she would have to make a split-second decision when the right opportunity came along. The problem was that a long succession of days had passed without producing the kind of conditions she needed. So there she was, scrubbing the big pot, when she heard a thump followed by a chorus of laughter. “He’ll feel that when he wakes up,” somebody said.

Lora turned to look over her shoulder. A bottle was lying on its side and Mr. Oliver was facedown on the table. Based on previous experience, Lora knew he was likely to remain unconscious for an hour or so.

Her heart was beating faster as she turned back to her work. Mr. Oliver had passed out earlier than usual. Was this the chance she’d been waiting for? Maybe. If Mr. Oliver remained unconscious and Mr. Perkins arrived on time, no one would pay much attention to her.

The minutes seemed to crawl by as Lora finished the last of the breakfast dishes. Every now and then she looked to see if Mr. Oliver had stirred and took heart from the fact that he hadn’t. Finally, as the people around her began to work on lunch, Lora heard the words she’d been waiting for. “Lora, Mr. Perkins is here. Go out and unload the wagon.”

Lora hung her head submissively as she left the kitchen and went outside. Unlike most of the overseers, Mr. Perkins was a nice man. He smiled at her as they passed.

Lora felt a rising sense of tension as she took the first load in. The key was to fade into the background as Mr. Perkins claimed center stage. He was seated next to Mr. Oliver by then and making fun of him, a rare treat, which the slaves enjoyed immensely.

The first load was followed by a second and a third. By that time Mr. Perkins had crowned Mr. Oliver with a mixing bowl and was in the process of placing a spoon scepter in his hand, so no one noticed as Lora left for a fourth trip.

Once outside, Lora took a quick look around, decided that no one was watching her, and ducked below the wagon. The cargo compartment was mounted underneath the bed, where its contents would be safe from bad weather. It was at least six feet long and four feet wide, so no problem there. But the box was only a foot tall. That meant Lora had to squeeze inside, and once she did, her nose was only an inch from the wood above.

As Lora pulled on the stick that served as a prop, the top-hinged door fell into place. She felt a sudden sense of panic. The space was too small! She had to get out. But if she did, all hope of an escape would be lost. Lora was wrestling with herself when she heard some muted laughter and knew that Mr. Perkins had left the house. The wagon shook as he climbed up onto the driver’s box and clucked at the horses. That was followed by a jerk and a rattling sound as the vehicle got under way.

Perkins would have to pass through the checkpoint where the driveway met the main road. Would the mercenaries inspect the cargo box? Or would they wave the conveyance through as they had many times before? Don’t look, Lora thought. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

A couple of minutes passed as the wagon rolled downhill. Then it came to a stop and Lora heard voices. They were at the gate. She was close, so very close. What felt like a minute passed. Then another. Don’t panic, Lora told herself. Maybe the mercs are inspecting an incoming wagon… Maybe…

Then she heard a scuffling sound and the door opened. And there, peering in at her, was Mr. Oliver. His eyes were red, his breath was foul, and he stank of alcohol. “Here she is!” he said triumphantly. “Thought you could run, eh? We’ll have none of that. Not while I’m on duty.” Then the face was gone.

Mercs appeared, jerked Lora out of the box, and air-walked her up the drive to a place she knew all too well: the hole. It was about six feet deep, four feet wide, and six feet long. Roughly the dimensions of a well-dug grave. The bottom was covered by twelve inches of water mixed with human waste.

Lora felt the substance rise over her ankles as they dropped her into the hole. As she looked upward she saw Mr. Oliver appear. His lanky body was silhouetted against a rectangle of blue sky. “Mr. Voss will be back any day now,” the overseer said. “And that’s when you will die.”

As the wooden lid was lowered into place, she knew the mercs would place a chunk of concrete on top of it. Darkness replaced the sky, the stink filled her nostrils, and Lora was all alone.

It was three a.m. and very dark. During two days of riding, the bandits had been able to cross the Caribou range, turn south at the town of Alpine, and avoid Voss’s patrols by traveling at night and hugging the mountains on the west side of Highway 89. During the journey, Fade and Smoke had been able to purchase four wagons along with the mules required to pull them.

Now, having bypassed Afton, the group was poised to strike. There were two objectives. The first was to raid one of Voss’s canneries, and the second was to rescue Crow’s sister.

Tre had volunteered for the second mission, knowing how much it meant to Crow and having full confidence in Smoke’s ability to lead the raid on the cannery. Crow was a dimly seen presence. “Remember,” he said, “most of the mercs are gone. But those who remain will outnumber us four to one. But we have as much firepower as they do. So if we stick to the plan, everything will be okay. Questions? No? Okay. Let’s do this thing.”

Horses nickered, and a mule complained loudly as Smoke led the wagons and fifteen riders down the road that led to the cannery. The rest of the group, ten in all, followed Crow toward Highway 89. They were wearing cowboy hats and dusters in the hope that passersby would think they were mercenaries.

The only light was that provided by a wan moon partially obscured by clouds. But it was sufficient to see the intersection with 89 and turn onto it. According to Crow’s spy, there were about thirty mercs stationed at the Voss mansion, half of whom would be off duty at three thirty a.m. So once the raiders forced their way in through the main gate and neutralized the weapons emplacements upslope from the highway, they planned to attack the barracks. Then they could break into the house and rescue Sara Silverton.

Tre felt the usual combination of fear and excitement as the mansion appeared up ahead. Lights could be seen in some of the ground-floor windows in spite of the early morning hour. Crow waved his followers forward and the horses broke into a gallop.

Tre heard shouts and saw a couple of muzzle flashes, just before Crow fired the grenade launcher attached to the underside of his assault rifle. The resulting explosion blew the gate open and allowed the lead horsemen to enter.

The surviving mercs returned fire, but they were seriously outgunned. Their Model 70 bolt-action Winchesters were no match for military assault rifles. As Tre fired at a muzzle flash, he heard a scream.

Having killed or seriously wounded all the mercs stationed at the gate, the raiders started up the drive. Now the advantage lay with the mercs. There were three machine-gun emplacements on the slope above, and all of them opened fire. A horse went down, rolled over its rider, and killed him.

But as the mercs fired the machine guns, they revealed where they were, and that was what the Deacon had been waiting for. He was on the ground by then with the shoulder-launched multipurpose assault weapon at the ready. He fired and was rewarded with a brilliant flash of light and a resounding boom as his rocket scored a direct hit. Scratch one machine gun.

One of the new recruits was there to reload the tube and slap the Deacon on the shoulder. He fired and sent another 83-millimeter rocket downrange. Another hit lit up the night. But that was when the Deac ran out of luck. A merc fired from somewhere up above, the Deacon went down, and the loader sought cover.

Meanwhile the third gun had been silenced by a combination of auto fire and a grenade from Crow’s launcher. That cleared the way to the top of the slope. “The barracks!” Crow shouted. “Follow me!”

Tre kicked his horse into motion. What was he doing here? The whole thing was crazy. Weapons blazed as the mercs holed up in the barracks opened fire. That was when someone uttered a long, piercing war cry, and Tre was surprised to discover that the sound had originated with him.

Lora was awake and standing in twelve inches of filthy water. All her senses were keyed up. She could hear the muted sound of gunfire as well as an occasional explosion. The house was under attack. But by whom? And why? The best bet was Lord Hashi. Perhaps a battle had been lost and Voss was dead. Maybe Hashi’s forces had already swept up the length of the valley and would attack Afton soon. Damn, damn, damn! If only she had waited. It would have been relatively easy to escape during the battle. But now, while trapped in the hole, there was nothing Lora could do but listen.

Then much to Lora’s surprise, she heard a grating sound and realized that someone was pushing the block of concrete off the lid. One of the invaders? No, that seemed unlikely. A merc, then, sent to take her away. But why? Everyone knew she was slated to hang.

Lora’s thoughts were interrupted as the lid rose and a moonlit silhouette appeared. Lora expected the man to order her out of the hole and was taken by surprise when he jumped in. A flashlight came on as the lid fell. And that was when Lora saw Mr. Oliver’s unshaven face. He smiled evilly and his sour breath enveloped her. “So you’re alive! Good. I have no desire to share this hole with a rotting corpse.”

That was when Lora realized the truth. Mr. Oliver was hiding from the attackers. And if she could kill him, there was a possibility of escape.

Lora had learned a number of things since being forced to leave the Sanctuary, one of which had to do with the male anatomy. She brought a knee up, heard Mr. Oliver utter a grunt, and felt a puff of fetid air hit her face.

The overseer swore, took a step back, and fumbled for the pistol in his waistband. Rather than let him draw it, Lora stepped in to wrap her arms around his. Bone met cartilage as her head snapped forward, and bone won. The bridge of Mr. Oliver’s nose collapsed and blood gushed down over his mouth.

But the overseer had some tricks of his own. Having clenched his hands, he bent his elbows and brought both of them straight up. That broke Lora’s hold and opened a gap between them. Then he threw a punch. It connected with Lora’s chin and threw her backward. Water splashed in every direction as she landed and Mr. Oliver threw himself on top of her. “Die, bitch,” he growled as he placed both hands on Lora’s chest and tried to force her head down under the filthy liquid.

Mr. Oliver was too heavy to dislodge. Lora knew that just as she knew that once her head went underwater, it would never come up again. Having failed to push the man off, Lora brought her hands down to explore the bottom of the pit. What she needed was a rock to hit him with.

There wasn’t any rock, but Lora’s fingers found something better in the form of a human thighbone. She stabbed at Mr. Oliver’s eyes with the fingers on her left hand. That forced his head up and back just as the club came up to hit him. He looked surprised, frowned, and was about to say something when Lora hit him again. And again.

Mr. Oliver’s eyes rolled out of focus and he toppled forward. Lora was trapped, and it was a struggle to wiggle her way out from under the inert body. Then, having managed to escape, she felt for the pistol. It was still there, protruding from Mr. Oliver’s waistband.

Lora stood and saw that the flashlight was still on and bobbing in the water. She bent to retrieve it, found a ledge to place the light on, and began to strip. The uniform was soaking wet and very heavy. It felt good to get rid of it.

Then, with pistol in hand, she stood on Mr. Oliver’s back. That made the difference. Now she could reach the lid. She made use of the gun barrel to shove it up and out of the way. The fighting was still under way. That meant there was a chance. Lora began to climb. She was halfway up when fingers closed around her ankle and Mr. Oliver jerked her down.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said as Lora landed in the water. “And Mr. Voss will reward me for it.” The flashlight was still on, and as Lora looked up at the cook, she could see the rivulets of blood that were running down his face. He had the bone now, and he raised it above his head.

The gunshots were unusually loud in the confined space. Mr. Oliver jerked spastically, fell over backward, and collapsed.

Lora’s breath was coming in short gasps, and her heart was beating like a trip-hammer as she stood on him for the second time, pulled herself up, and rolled out onto the ground.

The barracks were on fire. Flames could be seen in some of the windows as the front door burst open and two mercenaries came out shooting. It was a futile gesture. They fell in a hail of bullets. Tre figured the barracks had a back door. If so, it was safe to assume that some of the mercs were on the loose.

“I’m going to enter the house!” Crow shouted. “Keep your eyes peeled.” With that, Crow slid to the ground, gave his reins to Freak, and fired a grenade at the front door. There was a flash of light followed by a loud bang. Wood splintered and a gap appeared. Two recruits followed Crow inside.

Tre kicked his horse into motion. What, if anything, was taking place out back? He circled around the north side of the structure and was about to pass between the house and what he took to be the servants’ quarters when a woman waddled out to yell at him. He pointed the carbine at her. She went back inside.

Having seen no other threat, Tre circled around the south side of the mansion and arrived just in time to see a strange apparition climb up out of what looked like a grave. Her skin seemed to glow in the pale moonlight, and he saw that she was clad in a bra and panties. Not a spirit, then… Such were his thoughts as she fired a pistol at him. Then she turned and ran.

The bullet missed. Tre urged his mount forward and quickly caught up with her. As he drew abreast of the girl, Tre took hold of the saddle horn with his left hand and leaned out over the ground. The fugitive wasn’t very heavy, and it was easy to scoop her up. “I’m not a merc! I won’t hurt you!” Tre said as he reined the horse in. The girl reeked of feces and he put her down.

She stared up at him with big eyes. There was something about her expression, the dirt-smeared face, and the defiant pose that made him smile. He noticed that the pistol was ready at her side. “You can stay here,” Tre said gently, “or you can leave with me. The decision is up to you.”

Lora looked up at the man on the horse. He was young—she could see that much—and heavily armed. One of the raiders, then. A merc would have killed her. “I’ll go with you.”

“Can you ride?”

Lora nodded. “Yes.”

“Get up behind me… and hang on tight.” The man extended a hand and Lora took it. Seconds later she was up on the horse with her arms wrapped around his waist. He gave the animal a nudge with his heels, and they rounded a corner and arrived out front. That was when a second man burst out through what had been the front door. Others were right behind him. “She isn’t here!” he proclaimed. “Voss took her south.”

Was the second man referring to Miss Silverton? Who else could it be? The connection made Lora feel better. If the raiders were trying to free Miss Silverton, then there was reason to trust them.

Tre was thinking about the arms that were wrapped around his waist when the radio attached to his weapons harness burped static. “This is Fade… A large group of mercs is approaching from the south! Get out of there.”

Crow was on his horse by then, and he had a radio as well. “Remember the plan… We’re pulling out!“

Tre brought the horse’s head around and kicked its ribs. The animal bolted down the driveway and between a scattering of bodies. Then they were past the gate and out on the highway. The plan was to scatter and meet at an assembly point near Freedom. Once the group was reunited, the original group members would lead the new recruits up into the mountains.

With that in mind, Tre urged his mount into a gallop. Then he turned off onto the first road he came to and headed west. As he glanced back over his shoulder, he saw that there were no signs of pursuit. And that was when he remembered that the girl was clad in nothing more than some underwear.

The horse slowed to a trot as Tre looked for a good place to pause. An old house loomed black on black off to the left. He pulled the horse around and rode that way. There were trees on both sides of the driveway. A bird, possibly an owl, took flight, and the sudden flutter of wings caused his heart to jump up into his throat.

Then, as they rounded the house, Tree pulled back on the reins. “Jump down,” he instructed.

Lora felt a stab of fear. There she was, all by herself, and nearly naked. What did the man have in mind? She slid to the ground, brought the pistol up, and was pointing it at him as he dismounted. The moonlight was on his face, and she could see the man’s smile as he removed the duster. “Here,” he said. “Put this on. We have a long way to go and you’ll freeze if you don’t.”

Lora accepted the coat and slipped it on. The garment was at least two sizes too big. She had to roll up the sleeves, and the bottom of it went all the way down to her ankles. It was scratchy, but the additional warmth was welcome. “My name is Tre,” the man said. “And you are?”

“Lora.”

“Well, Lora, I look forward to hearing your story, but that will have to wait. Here,” he said as he handed her a fistful of .45 cartridges. “Reload that six-shooter and keep it handy.”

A flurry of shots sounded in the distance, and both of them turned in that direction. “Let’s mount up,” Tre said. “We need to put more distance between us and the highway.”

The horse was overloaded, so Tre knew he couldn’t push the animal too hard. He alternated between a walk and a trot as the moon went down and the sky began to lighten in the east. Navigation was easy. All he had to do was stay close to the rolling hills on the west side of the valley and follow them north. He tried the radio twice, but there was no response. Either the rest of the bandits were too busy to answer or they were out of range.

Rather than ride into Freedom and what might be a trap, Tre chose to guide the horse up over a softly rounded hill. Once they were on the other side, he told Lora to get down, did likewise, and tied the horse to some scrub. Then, careful to stay low, he made his way up to the top of the rise, where he plopped down on his stomach.

As the sun rose above the eastern mountains, rays of light speared down into the valley. Tre brought the glasses to bear and scanned from left to right. Everything looked fine at first. A bit of ground mist still clung to the neatly organized farms, dairy cattle could be seen grazing in the surrounding fields, and slaves were headed out to bring them in.

But as Tre panned right, he saw what looked like a column of ants. And as they rode north on Highway 89, small groups turned left and right. The search was on, and three mercs were riding straight at him. “Can I look?”

Tre turned to look at Lora. She was right next to him. And now, in the light of day, he realized how pretty she was. Pretty and something else… Something he didn’t have words for. Whatever it was made him feel protective and awkward at the same time. Some of that must have been visible on his face, because she frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Tre said, and gave her the glasses. “Look straight ahead. Some of them are coming our way. We have two choices. We can ambush them or run. If we fight they could win. If we run they could catch us. Especially since we’re riding double and our horse is tired. Cast your vote.”

Lora glanced at him and then looked through the binoculars again. “They’ll catch us if we run. So let’s fight.”

Tre admired her clarity. The riders were closer now, and he didn’t need binoculars to see them. “I agree,” he said. “So here’s the plan… Take my hat, get on the horse, and wait for them to break the skyline. When they do, ride like hell. I’ll hide in the pile of rocks downslope from us. As the mercs go by, I’ll shoot them. With any luck, we’ll pick up a horse. If I fall, don’t come back. Keep riding.”

As Lora looked at him, Tre couldn’t help but notice her brown eyes. They were big and filled with intelligence—and something more. Something he had never seen before. “Be careful,” she said, and took his hat.

Then, before Tre could answer, she was gone. The duster flapped, nearly tripped her, and billowed as she mounted the horse. Then it was time for Tre to seek cover. He scooted back from the edge, stood, and ran downhill.

As Tre hurried to conceal himself behind the cluster of weather-smoothed boulders he hoped that whatever snakes lived in among them were late risers. Three round bursts, he thought. Hit the leaders first and work your way back.

Tre heard a shout as the riders topped the rise and saw Lora below. She turned, looked, and kicked the horse into motion. That produced a flurry of shots from the mercs, some of which kicked up geysers of dirt around her.

There were more shouts as the mercs came streaming down the slope. At that point all their attention was on Lora, so none of them were looking in Tre’s direction when he opened fire. The first burst was on target, and he had the satisfaction of seeing the lead merc thrown out of the saddle. But there was no time in which to savor the victory. The others were turning toward him by then. As they fired, a bullet hit the rock to Tre’s left and a rock chip stung his cheek.

Tre fired in return, saw the rider on the left tumble backward, and knew the third man was closing fast. So he was swinging right, trying to acquire the new target, when Lora charged in from the right. She was shouting to distract the merc and holding her pistol straight out in front of her. It fired three times, and at least one of the slugs hit the target, because he fell forward along his horse’s neck and seemed to rest there for a moment before slumping to the ground.

Lora, who was clearly a practiced rider, caught up with the dead man’s horse and brought it under control. Tre hurried out to take the reins as Lora went after the other mounts. One of them got away, but she returned with a handsome-looking mare. “Nice work,” Tre said admiringly. “Let’s collect what we want and get out of here.”

It took five minutes to scavenge the mercs’ ammo, water, and food. Lora showed no interest in any of their clothes but took a pistol rig, which she wore bandolier-style. The second .45 went into a spacious pocket. Tre chose a rifle for her, which went into the scabbard under her left leg. Then, with both of them on newly acquired mounts, they led Tre’s horse north.

The area was home to spindly pine trees mixed with low-growing shrubs, some of which were turning gold as winter neared. There were fast-flowing brooks and streams too, but none the horses couldn’t cross, and Lora gloried in being free again. So much had happened in a short time. The fight with Mr. Oliver, followed by the escape from the hole, and this. Now she had a horse. Not to mention an arsenal of weapons. So she could leave whenever she wanted and Tre wouldn’t try to stop her. She knew that somehow. But more important, Lora knew she had no desire to part company with him. Not yet anyway.

So they rode in companionable silence until they came to Highway 34, where Tre told her about his home off to the west, a hideout he called the Tangle, a place where they could rest, wait for the hunt to die down, and decide what to do next. That sounded good. So they set off, constantly on the lookout for mercs and bandits, who would like nothing better than to nab a woman, three horses, and a small fortune in weapons.

Fortunately, luck was with them. A heavily guarded mule train passed them going the other way shortly after noon, and they passed a man and a woman pulling a cart uphill an hour later, but that was all. So thanks to the horses, a trip that typically took Tre at least a day and a half was completed before sundown. And that was good because he didn’t want to enter the Tangle after dark if he could avoid it. Odds were that the place was just as he had left it, but assumptions could be fatal.

After leaving the highway and checking to make sure that they weren’t being followed, Tre led Lora to the usual spot, where he paused to inspect the Tangle through his binoculars. There was no smoke, no movement, and no signs of habitation.

Thus encouraged, he rode down and directly into the barn, something he’d never had reason to do before. Part of the roof had fallen in, and there were places where siding had been ripped off for use in Tre’s tunnel, but enough of the structure remained to keep the horses hidden. “We’ll leave them saddled for the moment,” Tre said. “Then, if everything is okay, we’ll come back and take care of them. Bring your pistols, but leave everything else here.”

From there Tre led Lora down to the gently flowing creek. The rubber boots were still where he had left them. They were far too large for Lora but kept her feet dry as she followed him downstream to the waiting pool. The foliage around the tunnel entrance appeared to be undisturbed. So Tre pushed his way inside, crawled through the tunnel, and pushed the door open. His pistol was ready, but there was no need. It was pitch-black inside. Tre knew where the matches were and lit one. Then, as he had so many times before, he circled the room, lighting candles as he went.

Laura crawled into the room and stood. As Tre lit candles, various corners of the room were revealed, and by looking around, Lora could see various aspects of Tre’s character. Everything was neat and tidy. The bed that stood against one wall was made. A box filled with firewood sat next to the stove. Tre opened a door, and as he put a match to the waiting tinder, flames appeared.

Lora could see a kitchen sink as well, a homey reading nook, and shelves loaded with books. It was easy to imagine the snow flying outside while Tre lived other lives through the stories he read. Tre stood and looked at her. “I know it isn’t very fancy,” he said self-consciously, “but it’s safe. Or as safe as anything can be these days.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Lora said honestly. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

The pleasure Tre felt was plain to see, as was the boy inside the man, and that was very endearing. “I’ll tell you what,” Tre said as he put a kettle of water on to boil. “I’ll go out and take care of the horses. Meanwhile, if you want to, feel free to take a bath.”

That was when Lora noticed the tub. She pointed. “How did you get that in here?”

“It was here when I moved in,” Tre answered. “See the lever? Pump that to bring water up from the pool. But not too much, unless you like cold baths. Then, once it starts to boil, add all the water from the kettle.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Lora said appreciatively. She was filthy and well aware of how she smelled.

“You can find clean clothes in the back,” Tre said. “They’ll be too large, but maybe you can cut them down.”

“And the commode?”

“It works,” Tre said proudly. “See the bucket of water? Pour that in the tank after you flush. Then it will be ready for next time.”

With that, Lora was left to her own devices. She pumped some water into the tub, then checked the kettle, but saw that the water hadn’t begun to boil yet. So she went to the back of the room, chose some clothes, and took them over to a neatly organized worktable. With scissors in hand, Lora was snipping away when she heard a plaintive meow and looked down to see a black-and-white cat. “What’s your name?” she inquired as she scratched the animal behind the ears. He purred loudly—and Lora smiled.

Having taken care of the horses, Tre returned to the Tangle. The tack was hidden under the floor of the barn, but he brought everything else with him. It was dark by then, but an occasional blip from a squeeze light was enough to find his way. He pushed the gear up the tunnel in front of him and took a moment to announce his presence before entering the basement. “I’m back… Is it okay to come in?”

“Yes,” Lora answered. “I had a wonderful bath, thanks to you.”

Tre pushed the gear into the room and stood. The sleeves were rolled up on the shirt Lora had chosen to wear, and it was tied at the waist. A pair of baggy jeans completed the outfit. He saw that the legs had been shortened and rolled up as well. The slippers were too big for her. She did a turn. “So what do you think? Am I ready for the ball?”

Tre laughed. He’d never been anywhere near a ball, but had read about them in books. “You look beautiful.” Then, fearful that she would think he was coming on to her, he rephrased it. “I mean you look good,” he said awkwardly.

Lora laughed. “Don’t worry, Tre… Girls like compliments. Even if they’re exaggerated.”

Tre nodded soberly. Dealing with girls, especially this girl, was scary business. He didn’t want to screw up. But she was beautiful. And he wanted to stare. “I’ll make dinner,” he said. “Then we can talk.”

Dinner consisted of canned stew for them and condensed milk for Ninja. For dessert Tre made drinks from his hoard of Nestlé hot cocoa mix. Simple though the meal was, Lora knew it was one she would never forget.

Then, with Ninja on her lap and Tre listening intently, Lora told the entire story, starting with her departure from the Sanctuary and ending with the fight in the hole. There was only one chair, so they were using the bed as a couch. She cried at times, especially when it came to her father’s death, and Tre put an arm around her.

Then it was his turn, and as Lora listened to the matter-of-fact way that he described his mother’s death and everything that followed, she felt the pain he refused to show. Later, when he described the loss of his finger, she kissed the injured hand.

Finally, when all the stories had been told, they lay side by side and Tre fell asleep. Lora listened to him breathe, felt Ninja settle into the canyon between them, and felt thankful to be alive. Somehow, in a way she’d never felt before, Lora was home.