by Thomas Locke
“Without even asking if I’d be willing to offer you a better sort of deal.” Farrier played at astonishment. “Did they come with an army, I wondered? Or perhaps some written pass from the authorities to the south? Not that I give a whit what Mayor Silas Fleming thinks, nor his dog Hollis.”
Kevin found himself liking the man, which he knew was as dangerous as trying to pet an asp. Perhaps more so. “How can I help you?”
“Straight to the point. I like that, young man. It shows intelligence, not wanting to waste my time.” Farrier chopped the air between them. “Why don’t we see just how far this intelligence goes, lad. Tell me why I’m here.”
“Our product is the best you’ve ever tasted. It’s robbing your three taverns of business. You want to make sure your competitors don’t share in the spoils.”
“Now that’s the first error you’ve made,” he said. “Michael Farrier has no competitors. None still breathing, that is.”
“Other tavern owners, then,” Kevin amended. “Strong enough to offer us a deal and keep you at arm’s length.”
Farrier leaned back in his seat. “Go on.”
“You want us to go out of business.” Kevin could speak without hesitation because he had spent many dark hours thinking of little else. “You want all the product for yourself.”
This time Farrier’s smile was broad enough to reveal a gold incisor. “You’ve given this some thought. Now tell me why you’d be willing to accept my offer.”
“Because we want to make Overpass our home,” Kevin said. “And because you can protect our future loads from Hollis and his toads.”
“Wolves, more like. Hollis and his boyos can’t allow you to ply the road unchallenged. Unless I help pave your way. And defang the wolves, as it were.”
Kevin waited.
“You’ve impressed me, young man. And Michael Farrier doesn’t impress easy. So tell me where all this is headed.”
“You want a partnership,” Kevin said. “You offer us protection on the road and sale of all the wares we can produce. Shield us here in Overpass. Give us a place to store what wealth we don’t carry back to Catawba. For a thirty percent cut.”
“I was thinking more in the order of two-thirds,” Farrier said.
“No you weren’t.”
Farrier inspected him, and for once the genteel veil slipped away, revealing the cunning beast who had clawed his way to the top of the Overpass merchant community. “Half the proceeds, split down the middle, and don’t you dare object. Because you know full well I’ll be handing over half of a higher price than you’d ever get on your own.”
Kevin felt as though he was sticking his good hand through the bars of a lion’s cage. “Deal.”
Michael Farrier and his guards departed at sunset. The door to Kevin’s shop remained open, but the customers did not return. Only then did the nearness of danger impact him. Kevin knew the potency of such aftershocks. Back when he was working the underground network, the hour after he returned to safety was the hardest. Just like now.
Kevin’s leg pained him badly. The prospect of climbing the stairs and making his solitary dinner seemed an insurmountable task. So he sat in the shop and watched the dust motes dance in the warm golden light, and found himself thinking about the woman he had loved and lost.
Louisa had broken off their engagement nine and a half months back. Gradually the pain and loss had diminished, and now he could look back and say that she had been right to depart. Because no matter how much they had loved one another, Kevin was certain he would never have given Louisa what she wanted most.
She sought the good life. She wanted a house with a yard. She wanted a trellis adorned with teacup roses. Pink was her favorite color, but white would do. Two children, a boy and a girl. Two dogs. Dinner parties with children playing in their back garden, while she and her guests laughed by candlelight.
Louisa had loved making such plans with Kevin. He had mostly listened, offering little besides encouragement. She accused him of lacking imagination. In truth, Kevin had admired her ability to ignore the world as it was and color her future with old-fashioned hopes.
As dusk settled and the shadows beyond his doorway lengthened, Kevin recalled how his mother had treated Louisa with the same courteous distance she gave her students. In return, Louisa had confessed to finding Abigail tiresome. Now he assumed his mother had recognized what Kevin and Louisa had both stubbornly refused to accept. That Louisa would do whatever it took to obtain her goals. And Kevin would not.
Arguments with Louisa over his and Abigail’s refugee work had grown ever more heated. Louisa had claimed to despise the danger Kevin endured for complete strangers. Finally a tearful and heartbroken Louisa had broken off their engagement, saying that she refused to stay and watch him die.
But as Kevin rose from the stool and limped over to lock the front door, he knew the real reason was something else entirely. Louisa had finally come to realize that he would never, not for an instant, sacrifice his principles to obtain a shred of the luxury she so desperately sought.
What distressed him most of all was also the reason she had come to mind after all this time. He knew there was a very good chance Louisa had betrayed him. He had heard that she had recently become engaged to one of the Charlotte city councillors. The timing was too closely tied to his meeting with Mayor Fleming and Hollis. It was all too easy to imagine Louisa sharing what she knew of his secret nocturnal activities . . .
His bitter musings were interrupted by a tap on the door.
Kevin was midway to the stairs. He turned and shouted, “We’re closed!”
The outsider responded with another quiet, rapid tapping.
He limped his way back across the shop, pulled back the bolts, and froze.
A frightened young woman peered up at him. “Please tell me you remember who I am.”
21
Kevin was momentarily frozen by the fact that he had just been thinking about the chain of events that had started with meeting this woman. The reasons why he stood here in Overpass came down to that dark hour, and the realization that his secrets were secret no longer. She showed him the same fear as that night.
“Carla.”
“Do you remember what I told you?”
“That I would survive if I fled when I had to.”
Only then did she step inside. “That time is now upon us both.”
Kevin shut and locked the door. He started to confess how he’d thought that hour had already come, when he and his mother had fled. But he merely asked, “Where is your fiancé?”
“Pablo is with the others.”
“What others?”
“It’s better if I show you.” She watched him limp across the shop and grip the cane leaning by the stairwell. “How have you injured yourself?”
“Long story.” Kevin took his time climbing the steps, then entered the kitchen and turned on their cooker. When she followed him upstairs, he asked, “When did you last eat?”
“I don’t remember.” She remained standing uncertainly in the kitchen doorway. “If you’re coming, we must hurry.”
“First we’ll have dinner and you’ll explain why you’re here.” In truth Kevin assumed he already knew. And though there was little he could probably do to help her, he knew he had to try. He opened the icebox and pulled out everything that was inside. “Now tell me what’s going on.”
Carla and Pablo had met in Richmond. Her father was responsible for the city’s power supply. Pablo was from a poor Baltimore family, their city-state firmly within the capital’s grip. He had escaped a bad home life through joining the National Guard. Carla was a teacher assigned to the guardsmen’s night school. They had fallen in love and confessed their closely guarded secrets, all at the same time.
Kevin did not need to ask what her secret was. “What was Pablo hiding?”
For the moment, Carla ignored his question. “About six months ago, the federal government started hunting specials. My father heard the rumors soon after the
roundups began. His work often took him to Washington, and he saw no benefit in hiding politics from his family. So we learned . . .”
Kevin poured the last of their olive oil into a heated iron skillet, then lay out his four remaining steaks. Two to eat, two more for the road. “Tell me.”
Carla had a schoolteacher’s ability to adapt the most complex issues into small and understandable portions. She related how the legends were based on fact. In the years leading up to the Great Crash, the federal government had secretly funded genetic research on human embryos. Their aim was to create a new breed of mentally gifted individuals and control their powers.
She surprised him then by asking, “Are you a believing man, Kevin?”
“Hard to say.” He took his time chopping vegetables he would grill once the steaks were done. “My mother is. She became involved in the underground movement because of its ties to the early church. For myself . . .”
He turned to face her. Kevin liked how she waited, her hands settled calmly upon the table. Giving him time to inspect himself. “I am bred for action. I’m a doer, not a thinker. For better or worse. I’m happy to let others do the thinking for me. And the believing.”
She had a stillness about her that reminded Kevin of his mother. “I hope your wife fills that void in your life.”
“I have neither spouse nor fiancée.”
“She will soon appear,” Carla said.
Her calm certainty rocked him. “Do you know when?”
“First you must survive the coming trial.” Her smile was tense but genuine. “As must we all.”
He turned back to the stove. “You were saying about the research . . .”
“Some within the church claim the government brought this upon us. That the Great Crash was caused by defiling the divine will.”
He set the steaks on a plate to cool and swept the vegetables into the skillet. “I have no place in such discussions.”
“I understand.”
Kevin liked that as well, how she felt no need to condemn him for what he was not. “So this research into genetics . . .”
“There is no question that some of the test subjects grew to adulthood. And managed to escape those early containment areas.” She spoke with almost a musical cadence. Kevin was fairly certain she was an excellent teacher. “They held to secret identities, which was all too easy in the chaos of those first decades. In time, they became little more than another legend from before the Crash.”
Kevin ladled portions onto two plates, set one before Carla, seated himself, and waited while she prayed over their food. As he listened to her soft voice, he reflected on how much like his mother she was.
When she lifted her head, Kevin said, “But what does all this have to do with the here and now?”
She was so famished her hands shook as she cut the meat. She paused for three good bites, complimented his cooking, ate another forkful, then replied, “About six years ago my father started hearing rumors that the federal government had been working on new ways to identify specials. To what end, he had no idea. But then last year, more refugees started to flow in from the north. Families seeking safety from . . .”
“The cull.” Kevin recalled hearing his mother use the word. Abigail had no logical explanation for what was happening. She had suspected it came down to a dwindling food supply. But even then, Kevin had his doubts. Food had always been an issue—too many people, barely enough supplies. Having food as a reason for the upsurge in refugees did not explain why it had happened now.
Carla went on, “The northern enclaves have always been more closely allied to Washington. They were ordered to make a careful sweep of their populace, hunt down all the specials they could identify, and ship them to the capital.” She accepted a slice of bread and held it out for him to ladle on honey. “The most vulnerable had no idea why they were being rounded up. Why their families were being torn apart. All they knew was they had to flee.”
“And now they’ve started hunting specials in Charlotte, and your fiancé got caught up in a sweep.” Kevin rose to his feet and discovered his leg had stiffened. He stood in place for a moment, pushing down with his heel, willing the pain to release its hold.
She watched him with grave eyes. “Can you walk?”
“Some. I hope to find us mounts. The question is, what do you expect me to do?”
Carla smiled. “You are to play a crucial role in their escape.”
“So there’s more than Pablo we’re to meet?”
“Yes. About twenty in all.”
Which made their successful escape even less likely. “Who are the others?”
“You’ll see.”
“I can’t enter Charlotte.”
“You don’t need to.”
“But you just said they were being held by the militia.”
“I could spend all night talking and you still wouldn’t understand,” Carla replied. “Pablo will manage their escape. Once that’s happened, your help becomes crucial. Now can we please go?”
Kevin had a hundred reasons to refuse. But none of them made any difference. He gestured to the remaining food. “Make us sandwiches for the way while I pack.”
Carla let him set the pace as they walked to Michael Farrier’s tavern. His leg thundered less than he might have expected. Kevin knew it was probably for no other reason than he was excited. Which was an absurd way to feel, given the risks he faced.
The Charlotte mayor had been perfectly clear about the fate that awaited him. His and Carla’s capture was almost inevitable. Even so, Kevin was filled with a genuine sense of purpose. This was the life for him, the course he felt destined to take.
When they arrived, he said it was best if he handled this alone. Carla responded, “Horses won’t help us if we’re not there to meet Pablo on time.”
“I’ll hurry,” he promised, then entered and asked for the proprietor. One of the guards recognized him and led Kevin up the stairs to find Farrier standing by the open front window, grinning down at where Carla stood in the street. “Shame to make a beauty like that one wait, lad. Even for an instant.”
Kevin held out the shop keys. “There are five wagonloads of jugs minus one day’s sales.”
Farrier cast another glance down to where Carla continued to wait. “Where are you off to with the young lovely?”
“We need four mounts, two with saddles, two for supplies,” Kevin replied. “Nothing so fancy as to draw the wrong kind of attention. But sturdy and fast. I also need payment for all the wares we have to sell.”
“We’re partners,” Farrier reminded him. “Partners settle up once the goods are sold.”
“And the house. I need as much silver as you think it’s worth.”
Farrier returned to his desk and waved Kevin into a chair. “So it’s a loan you’re after.”
“Only so much as is valued in the house and the goods.” Kevin saw Farrier was going to argue, so he added, “In case none of us survive.”
“What have you gotten yourself into, lad?”
“The girl downstairs has loved ones being held by Charlotte’s militia.”
“What makes you think you can help her?”
“There’s more,” Kevin said. “Caleb and Zeke left this morning, trying to save Caleb’s own fiancée from the Atlanta forces.”
“Two fools off chasing windmills doesn’t mean you should follow their lead.” When Kevin did not reply, Farrier added, “Is there a chance I can convince you otherwise?”
“None.”
Farrier looked disgusted as he shoved pen and paper across the desk. “Write out in a proper hand, deeding me the shop. And explain to your clan about our partnership.”
“You’ll give us back the house when we return your money?”
“If you return. And I don’t give much credence to your making good on that. But yes, it’s yours if you repay me.” He waited while Kevin wrote as fast as he could. Farrier inspected the document, initialed the bottom, and sighed in exasperatio
n as he pushed himself from the desk. “Say you’re able to free her kin. Where is it you’re headed?”
Kevin hesitated, then decided someone needed to know. “I figure on trying to meet up with Caleb down Atlanta way.”
“Why are you bothering with them at all?” When Kevin didn’t respond, Farrier pressed, “I’m asking on account of how I’m looking for a reason to help you. Even when you’re getting yourself involved in such unprofitable nonsense.”
“My mother and I, we ran the Overpass side of the underground railroad. This woman and her fiancé were the last two I helped slip into Charlotte.”
“And look where that’s gotten you.” But the fire was gone from him now, and the disdain. “That’s a brave thing you and your ma did. Stupid, foolish, and without a hope of seeing a dollar from your troubles. But brave.”
“Thank you, Mr. Farrier.”
“I’m Michael to my friends.” He showed Kevin a ferocious scowl. “Even those I don’t reckon on seeing ever again. Now I’ll go see to your mounts.”
“And the silver,” Kevin said. “Please hurry.”
22
The building directly across from the Greenville terminal was a hotel in name only. Caleb, Zeke, and Hester joined the other customers who arrived on the midnight bus. As they waited for a room, Caleb inspected the lobby and decided he would not stable his horse in such a place. Even so, they paid an outrageous sum for two adjoining rooms, then more for dinner to be brought upstairs. They showered while they waited, ate in weary silence, and turned in. He and Zeke both chose to unfurl their bedrolls and sleep on the floor.
Because Marsh was counted among the Catawba elders, Caleb was well versed in regional politics. He knew both Raleigh and Nashville were allied to the vastly more powerful Charlotte. In the same manner, Greenville had thrived by paying tribute to Atlanta. Recently Atlanta had become threatened by Charlotte’s increasing interest in the region. Six months back, Greenville officially requested to be joined to its southern neighbor. Rumors abounded over whether they were pushed or made the leap voluntarily.