Chương 122

Gray morning light filled the hollows. Gladice drove without headlights. The pickup moved through the last of the dark. The road narrowed again. Gladice slowed before Louis saw why. The gravel lane sloped down into a shallow cut between two wooded banks. At the bottom, shrubs and tall weeds partly blocked the railroad bridge, but Louis could see the black steel frame and the rails. Tug Fork ran beneath it, narrow and dark. The state line followed the river.

"There," Savannah said. Louis looked past her.

"I see it." Gladice stopped the truck twenty yards from the approach. The engine idled. Louis shouted from the back.

"Can we get the truck through?" Gladice shouted back.

"There is a barrier across the entrance. I can see it!"

"Anyone watching?"

"Nothing that moves. But that doesn't mean nothing!" Gladice stuck her head out the window and looked toward the bridge.

"There are structures on both sides. Might be empty. Might not." Louis looked at Savannah.

"Stay here and cover us."

"Got it." He climbed down from the truck bed. Mist hung low along the riverbanks. He drew his pistol and walked toward the bridge entrance. Angelique followed him with a Glock in hand. Behind them, the truck idled in the road. Savannah pulled the canvas off the mounted gun and kept it turned toward the bridge. The old rail approach had been turned into a rough vehicle track. Two strips of rough lumber ran between and over the rails, nailed and bolted down in uneven lengths.

The roadblock on the Kentucky side had been abandoned. A homemade gate of pipe and wire mesh had been dragged halfway back from the track. Two portable LED lamps stood beside the approach, one of them tipped over into the mud. Fresh tire marks led back toward a nearby road.

"They left in a hurry," Angelique said.

"I guess so." Louis stepped over the rails.

"Must be the strikes."

"Can we move the barrier?" He looked at the gate. A bent pin near the bottom held the frame in place. The lock was gone, but the gate still would not open. Louis put his pistol away and pulled. It moved a little, then stopped. Angelique drew her knife.

"Let me help." Louis held the frame. She crouched beside the hinge and pushed the knife under the bent pin. The pin moved a little. She pushed harder, twisted the knife, and worked it loose. Louis took the gate again. This time it moved.

"Together," he said. They dragged it to the side. Mud fell from the pipe frame. The gate hit the ground with a flat clank.

"Never thought I'd use my knife for that," Angelique said.

"Yeah, I thought you'd use it on Dixie throats."

"I keep a few tricks for unexpected obstacles." She wiped the blade on her jeans.

"Shall we go back to the truck?"

"Let's check the bridge first." They walked forward over the uneven planks. The river ran black below the bridge. The planks shifted once under their boots. On the far side, the track ended in mud. A path led up through the underbrush toward a road they could not see from the bridge.

"It's clear," Louis said.

"And we can move the truck through," Angelique said. He looked back at the pickup. Gladice waved once from behind the wheel. Louis waved back.

"Let's do it," he said. They walked back and waved Gladice forward. She drove the pickup onto the rails and kept it at walking speed. The first boards creaked under the weight. Angelique walked ahead on the left, one hand raised, watching the front wheel. The right tire slipped, and the truck leaned.

"Easy," Angelique called. Gladice corrected and kept moving. The rear wheels bumped over a warped plank. A corner of the machine gun's canvas cover came loose, and Savannah caught it. Halfway across, a board cracked under the left rear tire. Louis stopped breathing. Gladice kept the truck moving. The board bent, held, and the rear wheel rolled off it. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Louis smiled.

"Hell, Gladie. You should try rallying when we get back."

"Only if you are the prize, pretty boy," she shouted back. Louis heard the giggles from inside the cab. The truck cleared the bridge and rolled into the mud. When they reached the other side, Louis saw the old rail line ended in brush, and a rough road climbed away from the river into thicker trees. They got back into the truck. Gladice put the truck back into drive. The path climbed through rutted ground. Trees grew close on both sides. The tires slipped once in loose dirt.

Louis leaned over the cab roof and looked ahead. The dirt track climbed toward a cut in the trees. Beyond it, higher up, he could see a larger road running along the slope.

"The highway is up there," he said. Savannah looked where he pointed.

"That look safe?"

"We'll see." The track climbed through deep ruts. The machine gun mount rattled against its bolts. At the top, the dirt track came out onto a four-lane highway. The asphalt was cracked, the lines were faded, and trees grew close on both sides. To the north, the road curved out of sight. To the south, it dipped into another hollow. Two burned cars had been pushed nose-first into the ditch. Their windows were gone. Grass grew through one engine compartment.

Someone had stripped the doors from both cars and left the shells by the road.

"Where do we go?" Louis shouted. Gladice braked.

"No idea!" Before anyone could answer, Louis saw movement in the trees. The locals came out of the trees. Three of them at first. Then five. Then two more came up from the ditch line. They had been low enough that Louis had not seen them. One wore an old reflective vest over a hunting jacket. Another had a knit cap pulled low over his forehead. One carried a shovel. Two had rifles. The youngest among them might have been fifteen. The oldest had a beard yellow around the mouth. He smiled before he spoke.

The bearded man lifted both hands.

"Easy," he called.

"Easy now. Road's bad north. You want to turn around." Gladice slowed enough that the truck rolled but did not stop. The man stepped closer to the center of the lane. One of the riflemen moved toward the shoulder, blocking the line the truck would need if it kept going. Louis rose in the truck bed, one hand on the grip of the M1911. Savannah dropped to one knee beside the covered machine gun and put one hand on the canvas. The bearded man looked at Louis's clothes, then smiled up at him.

"Morning," he said.

"You folks lost?"

"No," Louis said.

"Where you headed?" The man nodded toward the highway.

"Not your business," Louis said.

"That right?" The man glanced at the truck and the women inside.

"Everybody's lost this morning." Louis kept his voice flat.

"We know where we're going."

"Well, good for you." The man nodded north.

"You go that way, you'll find a checkpoint in about a mile. They don't like strangers this week." Another man came around from the south side, thinner and younger, with a knife at his belt.

"You don't want south neither," he said.

"Not unless you got a pass." The bearded man looked sharply at him.

"Shut up, Lyle. I'm talking."

"Sure, Jerry," Lyle said. Jerry looked back at Louis.

"Fifteen Euros. I show you a side road."

"Don't listen to him. That side road drops into a swamp," Lyle said.

"He's trying to rob you." Jerry turned half around.

"You shut your damn mouth before I shut it." One of the men stepped forward.

"Two cans of gas and we forget we saw you." Savannah pulled the cover off the machine gun and put her hand on the grip.

"Fuck off!" she said. The talking stopped. Lyle took one step back. The rifleman on the shoulder lowered his muzzle by an inch. Jerry looked at the machine gun, then at Savannah's face, then at Louis.

"Well," he said.

"No need for all that."

"Move. Or I let her finish." Louis slapped the roof of the cab.

"Gladice, we go north."

"Got it," she said. The truck rolled forward. The men stepped aside, rifles lowered but not put away. As they pulled away, Louis heard Jerry mutter something to Lyle. The engine covered the words. Savannah covered the gun again and sat back against the side of the truck bed. She looked pale but steady.

"You were going to shoot them?" Louis asked.

"If they tried stopping us." She shrugged one shoulder.

"And they were trying." He looked at her.

"Good call." The four-lane highway ran north between steep wooded slopes. Rock walls rose close to the shoulder on one side, and a guardrail marked the drop on the other. Broken reflectors lay along the edge of the road. A burned-out maintenance truck sat in a pull-off ahead. Then they passed a dead man hanging by his legs from a road sign near the shoulder. Much of the skin had been cut from his body. Flies gathered on what remained.

"They like sending messages out here." Savannah's face was hard.

"Keeps folks from getting ideas."

"Like what?" Louis asked.

"Like moving through without paying the toll." She looked toward the trees.

"Bet there's more of 'em watching us right now."

"Do you think they'll tell someone?"

"Yes," she said.

"How soon?"

"Maybe already. Depends how fast they can run." Louis's hands tightened on the rail of the truck bed.

"We need to get off this road." She looked at him.

"There's no other road. Too many hills and woods."

"We can't keep driving north."

"We don't have a choice." Savannah checked the magazine of the M14.

"Not until we see an exit." The pickup rounded a bend. After the next rise, Louis saw the checkpoint ahead. Gladice slowed. The highway narrowed beside a cut in the mountain. Rock rose on one side, and a guardrail marked the drop on the other. Ahead, concrete barriers forced the road toward a welded-pipe gate set across an old maintenance pull-off. Behind the gate, Louis saw two pickups, a portable office trailer, and a patrol car with its doors missing. LED lamps stood near the barriers.

A camera watched from above the gate. Beside the trailer, a clean flag flew on a metal pole: blue border, white field, three wavy bars in blue, yellow, and red. Three men stood near the gate. Two more watched from the trailer roof. A woman in a reflective vest sat on the hood of the patrol car with a tablet in her lap and a shotgun across her knees. Gladice stopped twenty yards short of the barriers.

"Can we turn back?" Louis asked. Savannah said, "Too late." Louis tapped the cab roof twice.

"Keep the engine running." He climbed down without waiting for an answer, his M1911 holstered at his hip. He kept his hands loose at his sides. Savannah stayed in the truck bed with one hand under the canvas. The woman on the patrol car looked up from the tablet as he approached the barriers. She studied his face, then the truck, and gave him a small smile.

"Morning," she said.

"This is a toll station."

"I see." Louis stopped ten feet from her.

"We're just passing through." She kept looking at him.

"Nobody just passes through."