Brogan decided at that moment to give up crying as a waste of energy. Though exhausted, she was afraid if she started crying she couldn’t stop. Herman sensed how she felt. He laid his head on her lap and looked up at her in sympathy. She patted his head. Amazing how much it helped ease the awful hurt and fear inside of her.
“Let’s get some sleep and we’ll figure it out after we wake up. I can’t think right now, okay?”
“Agreed. Thanks, Scotty, for your help. Now, is there somewhere we can sleep for a while, and then we’ll be out of your hair in a few hours?”
“Absolutely,” Scotty said firmly. “I’m so pleased I can help.”
He led them up the stairs to the third floor of the cavernous old house where he removed some dust covers off an old four-poster bed, draped with antique lace. Every piece of furniture, pictures on the wall, linens and even curtains, obviously a couple of hundred years old. Brogan protested sleeping on the antique linens, but Scotty insisted. He showed them the restroom and left them, after assuring them he would awaken them at 8 am. There would be time for some breakfast before his mother came downstairs after 9 am. Since the next day was Saturday, he did not need to go to work.
The couple did not even take off their clothes, they were so exhausted. After using the restroom – again surprisingly modern - they slipped off their boots, fell on the bed, huddled together, and almost instantly fell asleep.
They awakened after what seemed like only a few minutes, with Herman jumping into bed with them. It was already five hours later.
“Herman!” Scotty hollered from the door. “Get back here!”
“It’s okay,” Brogan laughed. “He’s fine. We’ll be right down.”
The couple quickly completed their morning ablutions, with Herman joyfully tumbling around their feet, tail wagging constantly. After doing a cursory straightening of the bed covers, they grabbed their backpacks and headed downstairs. Their bodies aching from the long walk and only slightly refreshed from the short sleep, they groaned aloud as they started downstairs.
“Boy, are we out of shape,” Bryan said. “More so than I realized.”
“That’s an understatement, honey,” Brogan agreed, “But I’m sure we will have plenty of opportunities to toughen up.”
As they walked into the kitchen, they smelled fresh coffee and homemade waffles and bacon. Their mouths watering, they eagerly sat at the table and dug into the feast Scotty prepared for them. Between mouthfuls, they asked him if he had heard anything more about Brogan’s parents.
“No, there isn’t anything else on the news,” Scotty answered, putting another waffle on Bryan’s plate. “But I’ve been wondering if you want me to say anything to the MC about Book Liberators? I don’t know where he stands. I don’t know if he can help your parents or not, Brogan.”
Brogan thought for a minute. “I don’t think you better, Scotty. I don’t want to put you in danger. We’re not sure what our next steps will be anyway.”
“I agree, Scotty,” Bryan added. “You’ve done more than enough for us. And we really appreciate it.” He sat back in his chair. “Honey, we need to leave as soon as we can. Scotty’s mother will be down soon, and we do not want to do anything which might get him into trouble.”
“Where will you go from here?” Scotty asked.
“It is better if you don’t know,” Brogan replied. “If you don’t know, you can’t tell.”
The couple stood up, slipped on their backpacks, shook hands with him and headed for the door, Herman at their heels. Scotty stood at the door, watching them go. He tried to call Herman back, but he refused. The couple tried to send him back, but Herman stuck beside Brogan and would not leave.
“I guess you better take him with you,” Scotty shrugged, “He never really liked me, and I guess he has adopted you, Brogan. I only got him to use for hiding my T-chip when I went to protests.”
They turned to go but stopped at Scotty’s call.
“Wait, I forgot something!”
He returned with a large bag of sandwiches, some bottled water, an antique compass, a solar watch, and an old atlas of the former United States of America.
“I remembered these last night after you went upstairs. I was sure you didn’t have any electronics, so I figured they might help. The watch, compass and atlas belonged to my great-grandfather. They have no electronics in them, so nobody can trace you through them. Anyway, they might be of assistance.”
“We don’t know what to say, Scotty,” Bryan said gratefully. “But thanks so much. You stay safe.”
The couple headed down the street. Because the Round Rock suburb sat on the northeast side of the metropolitan area of Austin City, and it was still early, they quickly moved away from populated areas. After several hours of walking southeast, they stopped for a rest and to eat one of Scotty’s sandwiches at a tiny park, slipping bites to Herman. Spring leaves were starting to bud on trees and the air still felt a bit chilly for a typical early spring. While they ate, they opened the atlas Scotty gave them on a picnic table, locating the map of Texas.
Bryan traced his finger southeast toward Bastrop. “If we follow the tree line, there is pretty good cover around Austin City. We walked for nine hours to make it the 20 miles to Round Rock. It appears to be about twice the distance to Bastrop. From Bastrop to Lockhart is 40 miles and another 50 plus miles to San Antonio. That’s over 110 miles.”
He looked up at Brogan. “If we walk, it will take us too long, even if we did not stop for anything. If we expect to arrive in time to save your parents, before Riley arrives, we need a faster way to travel. We may have to move under cover of darkness to keep from getting caught. There really isn’t much tree cover between Bastrop and San Antonio.”
They finished their sandwiches and drank water from a nearby drinking fountain, conserving their limited water supply as they considered options. Herman lapped up water from the base of the fountain and collapsed at their feet.
After a short rest, they moved away from the park, keeping an eye out for places to quickly move out of sight if needed. For several hours, they stayed among trees and moved southeast toward Bastrop. Herman periodically ran off to chase something, but he always came back.
Late in the afternoon they came across a rail spur that ran east-west from Houston to Austin City. As they started to cross it, it began to storm again. The sky turned black and they heard thunder in the distance as it began to rain. Brogan spotted a culvert under the rail. Looking around to make sure they were not seen, they ducked into it. Dark and dirty, the culvert seemed to run quite some ways past the rail. As they explored in the dim light, they suddenly stumbled over what seemed to be a bundle of rags. Herman started to growl.
“Hey, man, watch where yur goin!” a gravelly voice spoke from inside the smelly bundle. “Can’t a guy catch a few winks outta the rain?”
“Oh, sorry, sir.” Bryan said, pushing Brogan behind him.
The rags stood up. In the dusky light, they saw a short, skinny, filthy old man looking up at Bryan. A pair of bright blue eyes squinted out from under thick, bushy gray eyebrows. A scruffy gray beard and long, stringy, dirty hair circling a bald head completed the bizarre picture. The man seemed to wear several layers of coats, each layer more tattered than the other.
“Whatcha doin down here anyways?” the old man muttered angrily. “This here is ol’ Bill’s spot. You need to git.”
Bryan carefully raised his hands. “We don’t mean to trespass, sir. We are kind of lost and need some help. And we just wanted to get out of the rain.” Herman began to bark in earnest.
Brogan stepped out from behind him and the old man’s eyes widened. Obviously, a beautiful woman was not someone he saw on a regular basis.
“Well, howdy,” he leered. “Now this here’s more like it. Whatcha need, honey? Ol’ Bill may be old but his parts is still workin’, if you knows what I mean.”
Brogan felt Bryan tense beside her. She believed the old man was just blustering. She put he
r hand on Bryan’s arm and grabbed Herman’s collar to keep him from attacking the old man.
“Bill? That’s your name? Well maybe you can help us. I’m Susan. This is my partner, Tom and our dog, Herman. You see, we were unable to pay this month’s rent, so we got kicked out of our apartment. There is no place for us to stay. My parents live in San Antonio and they said if we could make it down there, they would put us up. It would mean so much to us if you helped us.”
She added a little sob to the end of her request and allowed her shoulders to droop in dejection. She batted her eyelashes and looked down at the little old man with a sad expression on her face.
“Oh, and I’m pregnant, too. And it feels like we have been walking forever.”
With an exaggerated sigh, she abruptly sat down in the middle of the filthy culvert, cradling her stomach and began to cry false tears. Following Brogan’s lead, Bryan sat down beside her and put his arms around her. He surreptitiously looked over at Bill, who now had a confused look on his face.
“Oh, shuckins,” he muttered, “I don’t mean nothin’ by what I said. I knows a way to git you to San Antonio. All us hobos use it whens we gots to git somewheres. You just set here a spell n’ rest while I go find somebody who can help ya.”
The shabby old man looked out the culvert, noting the rain had stopped.
“Typical Texas,” he said with a snort, “If ya don’t likes the weather, wait five minutes and id’ll change.”
He shuffled out of the culvert, blocking the limited light for a moment.
Waiting to say anything until he was sure he had gone, Bryan lifted Brogan’s chin and considered her face in admiration.
“I had no idea you were such an actress. You aren’t really pregnant, are you?” He asked anxiously. They had agreed before bonding to wait to start a family. Brogan had an annual birth control shot to prevent pregnancy.
“No, of course not,” Brogan laughed quietly, “but it worked, didn’t it? Just keep playing along. We might get a ride to San Antonio.”
It wasn’t too much longer before they smelled Bill coming before they heard him. Herman let out a bark, but Brogan silenced him with a hand on his muzzle. A sound followed him, like someone walking with a cane. As Bill’s silhouette filled the culvert, the couple stood up in anticipation. Behind him followed a rather dapper looking little man dressed in an old-fashioned suit, patched in several places. A derby hat sat at a rakish angle on his head. Brogan guessed him to be about 65 years of age, his long gray hair tied back in a ponytail and his face closely shaven. He limped, supported with an aluminum cane; a black umbrella hung over one arm. He appeared clean and neat, especially in contrast to Bill.
“This here’s ma friend Professor O’Malley,” Bill said.
The man bowed deeply and gently took Brogan’s hand in his, kissing the air above it. Herman obviously liked him, wagging his tail and allowing him to be petted.
“Delighted to meet you, my dears. Bill tells me your names are Susan and Tom and you need some mode of transportation to San Antonio.” Before they responded, he held up his hand.
“No need to tell me more, my friends. Any damsel in distress requires my immediate assistance, without questions asked. Now, Bill, what time does the next train come through these premises heading toward the fair suburb of San Antonio?”
“Well, Professor, I don’t rightly know for sure, but near as I can guess, sometime ‘round 8 pm. You knows how unreliable they is.”
With a flourish, O’Malley pulled out an old pocket watch, flipped open the face plate and looked at it intently.
“It appears, my dears, there is enough time to enjoy a culinary repast before sending you on your way. Bill, how about some Italian cuisine this evening for our guests?”
Bill’s eyes glittered, and his mouth literally drooled. Brogan and Byron looked at each other in amazement. Where in the world would O’Malley find an Italian dinner for the four of them? They knew a hobo culture developed after the rail system was completed, and they were seeing it for themselves for the first time. But an Italian dinner seemed a big stretch.
“Now,” O’Malley said, “Before we procure our fine meal, I’m afraid there is one tiny question I must asked.”
“Sure,” Bryan responded, “What do you need to know?”
“I deduce there is more to your story than currently shared. Might I assume the long arm of the law is somehow involved?”
The couple looked at each other. Bryan turned back to O’Malley and nodded.
“Ah, I thought so. It does indeed make us soul mates it appears. I too have experienced the lengthy impact of said law enforcement’s reach. Enough said. Bill, my friend, it appears it will be my privilege to procure said cuisine. We do not want to increase the possibilities our youthful companions are apprehended due to their lack of knowledge of our geographical area. While I am gone, why don’t you lead these fine folks to my abode and set out appropriate culinary instruments? But remember, before you touch anything, you must wash your hands. Is that understood? Hum?”
After Bill grudgingly agreed, O’Malley walked out of the culvert, tapping his cane as he went. Twilight had arrived. Bill thought it was safe for them to move from the culvert to O’Malley’s place without being seen. About 90-feet further west, along the rail line, sat another culvert, the entrance hidden by a pile of debris. Bill obviously knew what he was doing. Going around to the far side, he moved a large crate and invited them inside.
After everyone moved inside, he lit an old kerosene lantern. O’Malley converted the dark, concrete spot into a home. Obviously repaired furniture was arranged neatly against sides of the culvert. An old china cabinet, leaning against one wall, held cracked dishes and unmatched stainless-steel utensils. A solar hotplate sat on a wooden crate and a large picture of an Edwardian gentleman leaned again the concrete wall above a ragged couch. A tiny picture of an attractive middle-aged woman sat by itself in an obvious place of honor on a box. Every other spot was crammed with unsteady towers of books. For several minutes, they wandered among the books, many of them text books.
Brogan became quite enamored with everything she found. It told her so much about O’Malley. Herman discovered an old rug, curled around himself and went to sleep. Meanwhile, Bryan chatted with Bill.
“What’s your story, Bill?” Bryan asked. “How did you become a hobo?”
As he puttered around, the raggedy old man mumbled to himself and replied, “Not much ‘ta tell. Born in Georgia and worked on rails for nigh on ‘ta twenty year after the war. When it were done, they kicked me and a whole lota other folk out a work. No pension. No thank ya. No nothin.’ True a most us rail huggers. So here I am. ‘Nuf said.” And he refused to say another word about himself.
“What’s O’Malley’s story,” Brogan asked Bill. “How did he get here?”
“I shoulda let him tells his story,” Bill replied, “But he used ta be a big wig at some school up in Dallas. Tried to protest the law which were gonna ban books when they first begins talkin’ bouts it few years back. Fuzzes couldna find him day they came fir him, so ‘rested his partner ‘stead. She’d been mighty ill and died in jail. He never been the same since. Guess he kinda lost his mind after. Injured his leg tryin’ to jump a train in Houston runnin from the fuzz.”
Brogan and Bryan were stunned. They were seeing firsthand the impact protesting the horrible law had on the lives of individuals. Could this possibly be the professor they heard about at the start of Book Liberators?
Bill puttered around, washing his hands in a make-shift sink made from a washtub, using clean water from an old thermos, but wiping his wet hands on the rags he wore. He got out some plates, cracked cups and utensils and sat them on crates, first covering them with somewhat clean patched sheets.
It wasn’t long before O’Malley walked into the culvert, gingerly carrying four covered aluminum trays, and a loaf of Italian bread tucked under his arm.
“Voila!” he said with a flourish. “The best Italia
n cuisine in town. I periodically will sing an operatic tune for my supper and in exchange they provide repast for guests upon my request.
“Ah, I see you set the table. Did you adhere to my sanitation requirements, Bill?”
Bill snuck a look at the couple to see if they would betray him. “Aye, washed ma hands like ya said, Professor.”
Brogan and Bryan decided it better to not mention how Bill dried his hands; they were too hungry to raise a fuss. The four sat down wherever they could find a spot and enjoyed the food. O’Malley even brought a large meaty soup bone for Herman.
“Fantastic food,” Brogan said enthusiastically, around a mouthful of cannelloni. “We haven’t eaten this well in a couple of days. Thank you so much.”
“I agree,” Bryan said as he dug into a second helping of spaghetti and meatballs. “Traveling certainly does make me hungry.”
O’Malley pulled out a bottle of Merlot from under his coat. “I told the owner I had special guests tonight and he obliged me with a bottle of his house wine.
“But, oh, my dear,” he sputtered, “I forgot, you cannot drink alcohol. You’re pregnant.”
“It’s okay,” Brogan said, blushing. “I’m not really pregnant,” looking over at Bill. “I only said it to calm Bill down.”
Now Bill looked sheepish. The group laughed and toasted their new friendships. As they finished the bottle, the young couple decided to tell the truth about their situation.
“You need to know the truth,” Bryan said. “Yes, we are running from the law. But it is because we are part of the Book Liberators protest group. Brogan’s parents were arrested and put in prison for the same reason. We are trying to get to San Antonio to free them from prison.”
Brogan reached over and held O’Malley’s hand as he started to tremble.
“Bill told us about what happened to you and your partner. We are so sorry. We want you to know we will continue to do everything we can to make sure the empire pays for what they did to you and your partner. We will not stop until this terrible law has been revoked and our freedoms restored.”
The White Warrior Page 13