Exodus

by Michael R. Watson

  Darby was slightly intimidated with Gant being there. He was older, wiser, bigger, and far more experienced in such matters, not that this exact situation had ever come up before.

  Gant stared at Darby for a brief moment while he considered his point of view. “Why don’t we wait and see what they have to say in the morning. There’s no rush, is there?”

  “No,” replied Darby, curtly.

  Gant glanced back at the captive guards, the core of the group huddled together in what appeared to be an animated discussion.

  ***

  CHAPTER TEN

  Damon, with Ryder in tow, traveled only a few miles from where they’d encountered the Raiders, stopping to set up camp for the night. Damon made no effort to hide their camp, building a fire out in the open that could be seen a quarter-mile away. He wasn’t concerned about being followed or being attacked since he still had his insurance with him. And there was no apparent reason to rush back to the compound. Governor Davis would not be happy at their failed attempt to reach the valley.

  Darby had sent only two men to follow and observe, then to report back once Damon had either released Ryder or had delivered him back to the prison. He figured two men would have a better chance of remaining concealed. As night approached, Darby’s men kept their distance, able to see the silhouettes of both Damon and Ryder against the flickering light of their fire. They decided to take shifts watching them while the other slept. Both stayed awake at first, watching together, until it appeared that both Damon and Ryder had settled down for the night. And there was no reason to think otherwise.

  “I’ll take the first shift,” volunteered Frank. “I’ll wake you in a couple of hours.”

  “Sounds good,” replied Kurt, rolling out his bedroll and lying down. “I don’t know how much more of this excitement I can take.” In a matter of only a couple minutes, Frank could hear Kurt breathing deeply, already asleep.

  They had chosen to have a cold camp, without a fire, so they wouldn’t give away their position, not sure whether it even mattered. But, better safe than sorry. They knew Damon would have seen them as easily as they were seeing him. The night air was turning chilly and without a fire to keep them warm, Frank turned up the collar of his jacket and folded his arms across his chest. He could see his breath in the moonlight as he breathed. He attempted to blow smoke rings without success.

  Frank stared ahead at the fire Damon had made. As he watched, and time passed, the fire in the distance grew dimmer and his eye lids became heavy. He shook off the onset of sleep several times, but in the end, he finally lost the battle.

  ***

  The evening sky was clear with countless stars and the moon shining brightly. Damon was surrounded by the relaxing sounds of birds, crickets, and the occasional coyote. He closed his eyes to catch a nap, but came alert at hearing what seemed to be a familiar sound. He lay very still and listened for it again. Silence. Then there it was again, occurring sporadically. He looked over at Ryder, still where he’d left him, bound and gagged for the night. He appeared to be asleep, quiet and still. The sound wasn’t coming from him. He closed his eyes, waiting to hear it again. And then, there it was, but it couldn’t be. Then he heard it again. He smiled. He was sure.

  Slowly he sat up, grabbed his gun belt, and crawled just outside the dim glow of the dying campfire coals. Normally, he would have added wood to the fire for warmth, but right now it better suited his need to leave it alone. He listened again, turning his head from side to side, trying to determine exactly where the sound was coming from. It was coming from behind them, south. Perhaps they were being followed. It amused and pleased him. He enjoyed the opportunity for a little cat and mouse. He would have been disappointed if someone hadn’t followed. There couldn’t be many of them or else someone would have put a stop to the snoring. He guessed only one or two men. From the miserable failure of the mission and the humiliation he’d suffered earlier that day, he was ready for a little payback. He looked at Ryder one more time. He hadn’t moved. His back toward him, all he could see was the regular and deep breathing. Ryder wouldn’t be going anywhere while he was gone, even if he did wake up. Not the way Damon had bound him. Silently, he strapped his gun belt on and slid into the darkness, like an anxious nocturnal predator silently stocking its prey.

  ***

  Peck quietly slipped undetected into the brush, right under the noses of the two Raider sentries, to make his escape. Under other conditions they may have been more alert, but the Guard were going to be released in the morning anyway, so what was the point. His fellow captives hadn’t even noticed, grouped together in hot discussion, not paying any attention to him. Before their current predicament, they had no choice but to follow his orders or suffer the consequences, but since capture they’d completely ignored him.

  He quickly saddled and untied a horse from the end of the line and walked it quietly and carefully away, far enough to not be heard before mounting. He knew the general direction to go, but wasn’t entirely confident. He hoped he only needed to stay on the main trail. Before they’d been captured he hadn’t been paying that close of attention, following Damon’s lead, who himself had only been on the trail twice before.

  Peck stopped several times and dismounted, double-checking the trail for hoof prints. The right trail would be well traveled. It was obvious in some places and not as much in others, with the darkness adding to his apprehension and frustration. But, he didn’t dare stop. Once they realized he was gone, he was sure someone would be sent to bring him back.

  And now, he didn’t even have a weapon of any sort to defend himself. He’d been forced to hand over his gun to the Raiders, just as they all had. So, he was defenseless regardless of whether he ran into Raiders or scavengers. The scavengers lived off the land and off anyone who ventured into their domain. Traveling at night was probably the safest way to pass through unknown territory, unless the route was booby-trapped.

  Eventually, Peck’s body began to give in to the stress, hunger, and lack of water. His progress had been ridiculously slow in the dark. Perhaps he was far enough away now that it was safe to stop. He hadn’t heard any indications of anyone behind him. If it was hard for him, perhaps it was hard for his pursuers as well. Even as he tried to convince himself to stop, he kept going. The thought of the Raiders catching up to him drove him on. More than once, he caught himself nodding off in the saddle. The initial rush of adrenalin he’d experienced during his escape had worn off with reverse results. Now he just wanted to stop and sleep.

  Peck saw a flicker of light ahead. It lasted only a moment. He sat up straight in the saddle, the drowsiness gone in an instant, once again alert. He brought his horse to a stop, looking again for the flicker of light. It hadn’t been his imagination. He saw it again. Perhaps it was a campfire. A slight breeze was causing the branches and leaves to sway, allowing only a very brief and sporadic view of the fire. Someone was ahead of him, probably stopping along the trail for the night. There was no way of knowing whether it was friend or foe. If he continued, he would find out soon enough.

  Perhaps it was Damon. If it was, would he be able to get back into his good graces as a result of his escape? Surely, Damon would see it as a sign of allegiance. And if so, would he be able to keep his position as Master of the Guard? Of course, he’d have to replace all of the traitorous Guard with new recruits. Maybe not all at once, but by taking his time, making sure of their loyalty, and thereby gradually rebuilding their forces. He convinced himself that he wasn’t accountable; most of these men had been recruited and trained by Gant.

  And what if it wasn’t Damon? It could be a small Raider camp or even scavengers. He wasn’t sure which would be worse to run into. Without any means of defending himself and too many unknowns, he decided to stay put until sunrise. Perhaps then he’d be able to get close enough to see who it was without himself being seen. Peck carefully reined the horse off the trail and into a small cluster of trees. Here, he would be hidden from anyone who should h
appen to pass along the trail during the night, especially the Raiders when they came looking for him.

  He dismounted and tied his horse to a bush near a patch of prairie grass so his horse could feed. Then he picked out one of the trees and sat with his back against it, facing the trail. It felt good to be off the horse and able to rest his back. It wasn’t until that moment he realized how thirsty and hungry he was. His stomach released a long and loud rumble. He hadn’t thought of food or water when he decided to slip away. Falling asleep would be the only way to remove the nagging sensation. He closed his eyes.

  A scream woke him abruptly. A man’s scream, followed almost immediately by a gun shot. Then silence. Even the crickets had stopped chirping. He stood, looking in all directions, not exactly sure where the scream had come from. He could no longer see the campfire from where he was. Sleep was out of the question now. And he still didn’t dare ride ahead, or go back. He was better off to stay put until morning, which he guessed would be another three to four hours. He wondered who had screamed and why. It had seemed close by. He was fairly certain someone was dead. His horse began to fidget, as though something was spooking it. He quickly went to it, rubbing its neck in an attempt to keep it calm and quiet. He couldn’t risk letting whoever was out there hear him and come looking.

  ***

  Ryder was awakened by a scream and a gunshot. He was facing the glowing coals of the fire when Damon re-entered the camp, smiling, and obviously pleased with himself about something. Ryder didn’t bother to ask him any questions. He was curious, but not enough to give him the satisfaction of asking. Besides, he’d probably hear about it at some point anyway. It was in Damon’s nature to brag at every opportunity. It was only a matter of time.

  “Not able to sleep?” asked Damon, noticing he was awake. He tossed a few dead weeds and dry twigs on the fire with it flaming up.

  Ryder didn’t respond. He waited in silence for Damon to tell him what he’d done. He watched as Damon sat by the fire, pulled out his blood covered knife, and began to wipe it clean and then sharpen it on a whetstone, whistling happily the entire time. Ryder remembered that Damon had refused to relinquish any of his weapons at the encounter with the Raiders.

  Minutes passed and Damon still hadn’t said a word. Ryder was confident he had done something both unnecessary and brutal. He was also surprised at Damon’s willpower not to say anything. Instead he was the one who became impatient, blurting out the question, “What have you done?”

  A broad smile appeared across Damon’s face. “Curiosity got the best of you, didn’t it? Just a little night time hunting.”

  “I heard a man’s scream,” prodded Ryder.

  “Yes you did.”

  “Well?”

  Damon’s expression turned dark and angry. “I don’t like being followed or spied on by anyone,” he declared. Then he returned to his usual smug and arrogant self. “So, I took care of the matter. They won’t be bothering us anymore.”

  From Damon’s use of the word ‘them,’ Ryder had to assume there had been at least two following them, most likely sent by Darby to keep an eye on them. Darby never would have sent only two men to attempt a rescue. They were probably friends of his, or at least men he knew. It was also possible they had just been strangers, stopping to camp for the evening, in the wrong place and at the wrong time. Too many lives had been lost because of this man and the governor. They both needed to be stopped, permanently.

  ***

  Peck remained awake the rest of the night, jumping every time he heard the slightest sound, like a bird in the branches above. He was miserable. His stomach rumbled almost continually and his throat was so parched it was hard to swallow. A tickle developed in the back of his throat and he needed to cough. Trying to suppress it made it worse. Finally, he placed both hands over his mouth and coughed, muffling the sound the best he could. He hoped no one had heard it. He held his breath and listened. He held it in as long as he could, then hearing nothing, let it out with a sigh.

  The sun was beginning to lighten the eastern sky. He couldn’t stay where he was much longer, he needed to get moving. And now in the daylight he could see well enough to hopefully avoid running into anyone by accident, as long as he remained careful. He untied his horse and led it by the reins toward the trail, looking in all directions for evidence of other people. Still not knowing what had happened during the night, he needed to take it slow and quiet at first, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. He was fairly sure there was someone still in front of him, where the scream had come from, and the Raiders at his back. They hadn’t passed by on the trail during the night, so they had to still be back there. But how far back, he had no idea. They must have stopped for the night as he had done, which surprised him. He was sure they knew the trails well enough to travel on them at night.

  He led the horse for what he figured had been about half a mile, without any indication of anyone else nearby. Then he heard a sound, a repeating sound, squeaky, like an ungreased bearing. He thought he knew what it was, feeling excitement at the thought. It was still off in the distance and faint. It was worth the risk. He mounted up and rode toward the sound, correcting his course according to the sound as he went. He came across a cattle or animal trail leading in that direction, which he followed. He sighed relief when the windmill came into view, the blades spinning slowly in a light breeze, emitting the ungreased squeaking. Now he could also hear the pumping action as the rods moved up and down.

  He jumped down and ran to the tank, where a trickle of water came from the small diameter pipe of the well. He climbed into the empty, rusty livestock tank, dropped to his knees and placed his mouth under the spout, gulping mouthfuls of the cool, clean liquid, satisfying his thirst and soothing his scratchy throat. He knew better than to overdo it. Then he let it run over the back of his neck and head, giving him instant relief. He backed away, wiping the water from his chin, sitting with his back against the wall of the tank, stretching his arms out along the rim, relieved. He glanced around. There were no cattle around or evidence of any having been there for quite some time. Then he remembered to take care of his horse, which he knew he should have done first. Without the horse, he’d be in real danger. It was stretching its neck toward the flowing water, not quite able to reach it. Peck pulled himself back up on the edge of the tank. The bottom had rusted out. All the water that flowed into it ran out the bottom, soaking back into the ground. He began to search the area around the tank, looking for something to put water in for his horse.

  A filthy old man with long stringy gray hair and full beard appeared in front of him out of nowhere with a rifle pointed directly at him. Peck quickly looked around. He saw no one else, but they could have been hiding in the brush.

  “That’s my water!” declared the man.

  Peck saw no other option except to try to talk his way out of this. He took the man for a scavenger. There were good ones and bad ones. Both were very protective of what they had claimed. The difference was that a person might live if he was a good one. He hoped this man was one of those. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. If I could give my horse a drink, we’ll be on our way.”

  Without a word and with the rifle trained on Peck, the old man stepped over and took the horse’s reins and led it to a barrel near the brush and removed its lid. He picked up a bucket and scooped out half a bucket of water and set it on the ground for the horse. The horse slurped and drank freely. The old man must have been collecting water for some time to collect that much water from that trickle. He replaced the lid on the barrel.

  The horse quickly finished off the water in the bucket, lifting its head when it had finished. Peck walked toward the man, his hand out to retrieve the reins. “Thanks.”

  “No!” warned the old man, raising the barrel of the rifle in a threatening motion. “You stole my water!”

  “I said I was sorry. If you’ll hand me the reins, I’ll leave here and you’ll never see me again.”

  “You stole my
water!” the old man repeated.

  “I told you I was sorry!” Peck shouted back, frustrated. “What do you want me to do about it?”

  “This is a nice horse. I like this horse.”

  Peck was finally getting the picture. “Oh, no! You can’t have my horse!”

  “You stole my water. Seems like a fair trade.”

  “You can’t expect me to survive out here without a horse, on foot,” reasoned Peck. “You gave the horse water.”

  “Of course. My horse needed water,” the old man explained.

  This guy had definitely been out here alone way too long. Peck wasn’t sure what to do. He couldn’t leave without his horse. It was too far to the compound. In hindsight, maybe he would have been better off if he’d stayed with the others as a captive. He would have been given his freedom by now. And he wouldn’t have had to worry about the Raiders and possibly would have possibly been able to ride back with the others. Not one of his best decisions.

  He stepped closer to the old man. The old man stepped back, placing both hands on the rifle with a posture that said he was ready to shoot. He kept the reins held tightly in one hand. Peck took a closer look at the rifle. It was old, maybe even an antique. It was caked in rust. The muzzle even looked partially plugged.

  “Does that rifle even work, old man?” asked Peck, his confidence building. He took another step forward. The crusty old man’s eyes widened, his face showing his fear.

  “You keep coming and you’ll find out if it works or not! Here!” the old man yelled, as he tossed the reins to Peck and took another step back. Even though Peck had called his bluff, the old man kept the rifle pointed at his face. “Take him and don’t ever come back!”

  Peck smiled with amusement. The old man had guts, but now he was just being a nuisance. He could have mounted and ridden away, but it wasn’t in Peck’s nature. The old man needed to be taught a lesson. He took two, long strides toward the old man and grabbed the rifle out of his hands. Under closer examination, he could see it was in even worse shape than he had suspected. The bolt action was frozen in place with rust and the barrel was so corroded it was almost completely plugged. It appeared it may have been buried for a long, long time.