Her grandfather looked at her and smiled. It was that same happy smile that she had seen so many times when she had been with him.
“You love Gram’s eggs, don’t ya?”
She smiled back, faking it. “Love ’em.”
“You hear that, Gram? She loves your eggs.”
Gram cackled a laugh. “I’ll go get you some more. They won’t keep for long, so we gotta eat ’em.”
“No Gram. I’m fine. Thank you.”
Gram pretended like she couldn’t hear Gwen and left the dining room for the kitchen. She came back into the small dining room with a black metal skillet. She scraped the last of the dried eggs onto Gwen’s plate and gave her a smile.
“You were always such a good eater.”
Code for I was a chubster when I was little. That was part of her reason for being so focused on fitness as an adult.
“Never could find a leftover in the house when Gwen came to visit,” Pa added happily.
“She would even eat off my plate,” Becky chimed in with a smile. If anyone knew what bothered you the most, it would be a sibling, and if Becky had the opportunity to highlight one of Gwen’s insecurities, she took it.
Gwen gave her a fake smile.
Her grandfather put his hands beneath his chin and leaned on the table. He cleared his throat. “I meant to tell you last night, but you weren’t receiving guests.”
“What’s that, Pa?”
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Well, you see Gwen. I debated whether or not to tell you at all.”
“Paaaa?” she said with a disapproving stretch of his name.
“Jake brought some disturbing news.”
She cocked her head to the side, brow furrowing. “What’s that?”
Pa stared at his hands first, collecting himself. “He said a large group of folks was trying to cross the bridge. Sheriff said it was Steele. Now, I don’t know if I believe him.” Gwen cut him off and flew out of her chair.
“Pa. That’s Mark! I told you he was coming this way. He needs our help.”
Pa lifted a hand in the air in an effort to defend himself. “Now hold on, those people could be dangerous.”
She ran from the house, the door banging behind her. She sprinted for the barn. Gregor sat outside the barn door and eyed her as she ran out.
“What’s going on?”
She marched into the barn and grabbed a thick saddle, carrying it back outside. Patsy tossed her head in the coral. Gwen tromped over and draped it over Patsy’s back. She tightened the cinch around Patsy’s stomach, making sure the horse hadn’t held its breath while she was tightening it.
“Gwen, wait,” her grandfather called from the porch. Gregor leaned on the fence.
“You okay, Ms. Gwen?”
She looked up for a second, fixing a twisted strap. “Steele’s here.”
Gregor smiled. “Great.”
“Those imbeciles in town aren’t letting him across.”
“Isn’t there another way around?”
“Not for about thirty miles, and I’m sure Jackson’s on his tail.”
“Damn,” Gregor said. He scratched his head.
She jumped on the horse and locked her feet quickly in the stirrups.
“Gwen, don’t overreact,” her grandfather said, walking as quickly as he could through the yard. “I was only trying to protect you.”
“From what?” she screamed at him. Patsy seemed to sense Gwen’s irritation and stomped her front hoof into the earth.
Pa gazed at her from below, worry clouding his face. “I only want what’s best for you. It ain’t safe with them.”
She scowled down at him. “You don’t get to decide what is best for me.” Her tone was harsh, but she wasn’t a child, even if she was his grandchild. She pointed out at the river. “I love that man over there.” She pulled on Patsy’s head hard to the side. The horse neighed in response and she trotted for town. She could hear them shouting after her, but she ignored them. Her hair flowed behind her as she rode, and she tried to keep from riding the old horse too hard. She kept her at a canter, and soon the buildings on the edge of town came into view.
Gwen patted Patsy’s sides. “Whoa, there, girl. Nice and easy,” she said, soothing the horse. Gwen could feel Patsy’s sides trembling between her legs from all the hard work. She trotted the horse right up to the sheriff’s office. She dismounted and patted Patsy’s side as she wrapped the reins around a dead light pole. She walked down to the riverbanks and peered out across the brown waters.
Pickup trucks, buses, motorcycles and all manner of cars lined the banks along the other side. Men stood on edge of the river in biker vests. She thought she saw a man hobbling among them in combat uniform. The wide brown river stretched between, always flowing downstream. He’s made it. He really made it. She shook her head. That man should already be in my arms and instead, he’s stuck over in Illinois because my hometown can’t find the goodness in their nice little hearts to let him over.
She spun around and marched up to the sheriff’s office. She ripped open the glass doors and walked in. Diane, the receptionist, waved at her.
“Good morning, Gwen. How can we help you today?”
Gwen breezed past her.
“Gwen, you can’t just go in there. The sheriff’s busy.” Gwen ignored her and walked right into Sheriff Donnellson’s office.
He leaned back in his old reclining leather office chair. His cowboy-booted feet were propped up on his desk. His beer belly sat plump in the middle and a gold-starred brown Stetson hat rested atop his head.
Pictures of the sheriff and local politicians at state fairs and homesteads adorned the walls. He set his feet on the ground and smiled.
“Well, Miss Reynolds, how are you feeling today? Your grandfather told us you weren’t feeling well at the dance.”
She placed her hands on his desk and leaned across. “Have you talked to them?”
Sheriff Donnellson frowned. “I don’t like your tone of voice, young lady.” His mustache fluttered a bit beneath his nose.
“Let me repeat myself. Did you speak with the people across the river?”
Sheriff Donnellson’s mustache twitched even more with anger. “You can’t talk to me like that.”
“If you keep avoiding the question, I will punch you in the mouth. I don’t care how nice Mrs. Donnellson is. I’m sure she would understand her husband is being a total horse’s ass.”
“I thought better of you Miss Reynolds. You’ve sure gone back on your raisin’. But if you must know, I did speak with the people across the river.”
“Was it Mark?”
The sheriff cocked his head. “I spoke with a young lady.” He smiled. “Kept calling me Brando.”
Gwen frowned at him. “Sounds like Tess.”
“Don’t reckon the lady gave a name.” The Sheriff’s eyes darted up as he recollected the conversation.
“And a Mark Steele. Was he there?”
The sheriff twisted his mustache as he thought. “Now that I think about it, I did speak with an Agent Steele.” He leaned forward.
“You did?” she said excitedly. “What’d he say?”
“I did. Pushy fellow. Very serious.” He organized a stack of papers on his desk before he continued. “I know that this whole thing has been tough on you, but the mayor isn’t wrong about this. We could hardly afford to take in the people we did, let alone hundreds or even thousands more.”
“You’re wrong.” She turned her back on him. He’s here. He made it. “He’s coming across.”
“Now, Gwen, don’t you do anything hasty. I got men watching that bridge day and night. There’s no way they’re coming across.”
She ignored him and walked out. She pushed open the glass doors and left him standing and shouting from his desk.
“I’ll lock you up if you try and help them. Don’t care who your grandfather is,” he yelled after her. She unraveled Patsy’s reins and glowered at the vehicles parked on the other s
ide. My people need my help. Her thoughts surprised her for a moment. Those are my people, but these are my people too.
“I’ll be watching you,” Sheriff Donnellson called from the doorway.
She hauled herself up onto Patsy. “Be my guest,” she yelled at him. She gave him the middle finger as she walked her horse away. “How’s that for raisin’?”
“Your grandfather will hear about this,” he yelled after her, shaking a fist.
***
The moon didn’t shine in the night, covered by thick fall clouds. They took a wooded path down the shore of the bubbling Mississippi River. The two horses’ hooves squished into the muddy trail, making a sucking sound every time a horse pulled a hoof free. Wet leaves smeared the riders with droplets of water on their way by, and branches slashed at their faces as the horses walked slowly in the dark.
They stopped the horses a little way from the town that was only an outline of buildings in the dark. A candle here or there in a window gave off the only light. Gwen dismounted. The glow from Steele’s camp was like that of a sieging army. Muted orange flames from large campfires across the water dotted the riverbank. Gwen’s partner in crime joined her.
“Hold this,” she said, handing him the book from her grandfather’s library.
Jake took it from her. “What are we going to do with this book?” he whispered. His white teeth flashed a confused smile.
“Hold on.” She dragged a match along the rough sandpaper-like striking surface of her matchbook. The short match lit and she held it inside her lantern. The wick caught fire and the kerosene lantern let off a mellow yellow glow.
The horses stamped and Jake’s handsome face illuminated along with his checkered red-and-black flannel shirt. It hadn’t taken much to convince the man to help. He was willing to win Gwen’s affection through any number of means.
“Why do we have to do this at night?”
“So no one will see us.”
“‘Member that time we snuck out on Old man Waverly’s fields? You were drunk as a skunk and tried to tip that cow, but fell in the manure instead. You were covered from head to toe in the stuff.” He laughed a bit. “Then when the sheriff caught up to us. You told him Rosie ate your necklace and you’s was searching for it.”
She snorted a laugh. “I do.” Young and dumb and in love. She touched his arm and pointed away from the horses toward the town. “Keep watch. Nobody can know we are doing this.”
“No problem.” He turned around and faced the town, taking a knee. He held a hunting shotgun across his worn work jeans.
He spoke quietly. “Like coyote huntin’ ’cept without the spotlight.”
“You keep running that mouth and someone will spotlight us.” She flipped open the book and set it on the ground. Thumbing through the pages, she stopped on one. “Perfect.”
Holding the lantern, she said quietly to herself. “Now, let’s get their attention.” She took out an old sack and placed it over the lantern for a moment then flashed the light with three quick flicks of her wrist. She waited a moment and did it three times, slower. She waited another moment and did three quick flashes again. She watched Steele’s camp. Come on, guys.
She repeated the process again and again. When she stopped for the third time, a flashlight flicked on and off from their camp. She smiled. In Morse code, she signaled G-W-E-N, and the person on the other side signaled two long flashes. She ran her finger down the page. M. Mark, she thought. Her excitement grew butterflies that fluttered in her stomach. He was there, and even if they spoke mere fractions of words, it gave her hope.
She flashed out her message to the other side and waited for acknowledgment. Three long flashes came back along with a long, short, long beam of a flashlight. “O-K,” she whispered. She waited a moment before she continued. Something moved in the night. A twig breaking turned into feet trampling through the forest undergrowth.
“Jake,” she half-shouted.
“We got some company,” he said back. He walked toward the approaching people, gun held on his shoulders.
Flashlights beamed back and forth in the woods and shouts of men tracking went up. The searching lights stopped on Jake, and Gwen dove for the riverbank, sliding down near the water. She covered the lantern with her sack.
“Jake?” the sheriff’s voice said. She peered over the edge of the embankment. A group of men surrounded Jake. She recognized Red, Dory, and Colton, along with a few others. “Well, Jesus, man. We thought you were one of them trying to sneak across. What’re you doing out here?”
Jake gave him a smirk. “Just bought these horses from John Reynolds and I’m taking them back to the farm.”
The sheriff shined his light along the horses. “Only two? Hope you didn’t pay much ’cause those beasts look pretty sorry.”
Jake glanced at the horses. “We’re running out of fuel, Sheriff. Soon it will be all we got to farm.”
Gwen peeked out from the bank.
“And you needed them tonight?” The sheriff pushed the hat up on his head and scratched his thin head of hair.
Jake grinned. “You know me, Hugh. I’m always trying to jump on a good deal. The Reynolds are hurting with all those mouths to feed.”
Gwen ducked back down. The water lapped her ankles. The sack heated up in her hands. She started quickly flashing the lantern across the river.
Flashlights beamed her way, illuminating the dirt embankment above her head. “What’s that?” Sheriff Donnellson said. Gwen continued spelling in Morse code. Long-long-short. G. Short-short. I. Short-short-short-long. V.
“You ain’t never seen a glowing catfish, Hugh?”
Red’s voice piped up. “I lived here my whole life and ain’t never seen one.”
“Me either,” Colton agreed.
Footsteps grew closer as they walked toward the river.
Jake interjected. “Sure me and my brothers grabbed them all the time when we was kids.”
Short. E. Gwen hurried as fast as she could.
Jake spoke really fast. “But it ain’t nothing to see. Did I ever tell you the story about that three-headed calf we had last year?”
The footsteps grew closer her way, sticking in the mud, but she ignored them. Long flash. Long flash. M.
“You sure did,” said a voice so close she couldn’t believe they didn’t hear her. “And what do we have here?” Hands gripped her shoulders forcibly and ripped her out of the muddy shallows. The lantern fell from her hands and sizzled out as river water splashed onto it.
The sheriff’s mustached face got closer to hers. “I told you to not be sneaking around trying to help those lowlifes across the river, and here I find you sneaking around trying to help ’em.”
His hand slipped down and pulled her firearm from her hip. He tossed it on the ground. He turned back to Jake. “And you, Mr. Bullis, have been lying to me to cover up for your girlfriend who thinks she’s above the law?” Sheriff Donnellson gave Jake an angry stare.
“Sheriff, no need to get angry. She wasn’t doing no harm,” Jake protested.
Red frowned, his thick jaw widening. “She’s betrayed her own town. Talking with those criminals across the way.”
“I have not,” Gwen hissed. “I’m trying to help people in need.”
Sheriff Donnellson frowned. “And kill us all in the process.” He pulled her closer, lifting her up onto her toes. “What are we going to do with this common criminal?”
Gwen’s eyes darted toward Jake.
Jake reached for them. “Sheriff, I’m gonna take her home.”
“You touch me, boy, and I’ll smack you down.” The sheriff turned back to Gwen and a slow smile crept across his face.
“I gonna do something that should have been done a long time ago.” The sheriff released her and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows.
“Sheriff!” Jake shouted.
STEELE
Steele’s Camp, IL
Steele held his binoculars to his eyes. His zoomed-in optics were black
as he scanned the shore across the river. The light flashed again. It waved around frantically and disappeared as if the darkness had stamped it out.
The cloud cover blocked any semblance of the moon, leaving a night with almost no light. No visual assistance from houses, street lamps, or buildings.
Thunder’s voice boomed, although he was still trying to be quiet. “I don’t know that one.” His long hair was topped with a red bandana tucked into the back knot and keeping his hair back.
“Looks like whoever was sending that code was stopped,” Steele said. He let the binoculars rest. His heart sank in his chest. It had to have been Gwen or someone acting on her behalf. He glanced over at Kevin. The lanky man was a beanpole in the night. “What was the first message, again?”
Kevin held up a piece of paper near his face using a red light to read. “M-A-Y-O-R. End. W-O-N-T. End. H-E-L-P. End.” Kevin read.
“What about the second line?” Steele asked.
“G-I-V-E. End. M. That was the last letter.”
“Give what?” Steele glanced at his friend glowing red, his features shadowed like he was in a photography dark room.
Kevin appeared unsure. “Money?”
“You think these people want money? What the hell would they use it for?”
Kevin shrugged his shoulders in the dark. “Maybe they don’t think it’s as bad as it is out here?”
“Well shit, I can take a donation. Nobody here cares about money.”
Thunder pulled out a wallet and offered Steele a couple of twenties.
Steele waved him off. “We’ll go start a give me money to pay the toll campaign.”
“Could be something else? Let’s see. Give me mercy, give me monkey, give me Michelle, give me macadamia nut,” Kevin said.
“Jesus.” Steele shook his head.
“What do we do with it?” Thunder rumbled.
“I suppose we can’t do anything with it. Those assholes over yonder still won’t open up the bridge and we are stuck over here between a rock and a shell case.”
Kevin continued on. “Monster. Micky. Martyr. Movie.”
The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4) Page 24