Chương 75

Gladice kept the truck moving through the dark. Pines crowded both sides of the road. The surface changed from dirt to broken pavement and back again. The headlights showed only the road ahead. Every few minutes, she rubbed her nose or mouth once, then returned her hand to the wheel. Angelique had barely moved. Louis sat alone in the back where Jennifer had been. The cane lay beside him. He braced one hand against the seat frame whenever the truck hit a rut.

He watched the dark woods pass beyond the open doorway, then closed his eyes and turned his face into the night wind. The places where he had struck the ground still ached, and small cuts on his cheek and hands stung in the cold air. Each time he tried not to think about the shot, he heard it again. The engine coughed. Gladice glanced at the gauges and then back at the road.

"We're running low on fuel," she said.

"Did the machine gun fire hit the fuel tank?"

"Maybe." Louis nodded and said nothing. They drove another mile in silence. Then the engine coughed again, harder this time. The engine recovered, but it ran rougher and the truck began to lose speed.

"How long until it dies?" Angelique asked. Gladice checked the gauges again.

"Miles. But not many." She shifted down as the road curved between two shuttered houses set well back from the shoulder. Beyond the houses, Louis saw a steady light through the trees for the first time in miles.

"Slow down," Angelique said. Gladice was already doing it. The truck crested the rise in second gear. Below them, moonlight and a string of generator-powered bulbs lit the parking lot of a church fellowship hall.

"We can't let them see us," Angelique said.

"Hide the truck," Louis said.

"I know." Gladice switched off the remaining headlight and guided the pickup off the road between the trees. Branches scraped along the sides as she let it roll farther into the woods, then shut off the engine. She raised the rifle and studied the church parking lot through the scope.

"Two school buses. Doors open. Civilians are boarding." Gladice adjusted the rifle slightly.

"Mostly women, children, and older people. One wheelchair. Volunteers in reflective vests." She moved the scope toward the edge of the lot.

"Three armed men. Mixed uniforms and work clothes. Probably local militia. Rifles down. They're watching the road. No one's looking this way."

"Refugee convoy," Angelique said.

"Could be," Gladice answered. She watched the parking lot through the scope for several more seconds, then lowered the rifle across her lap.

"What's the plan?" Louis asked. Gladice removed the magazine and checked it.

"Four rounds left." She pushed it back into the rifle.

"Three militia. We get close enough, I take them out and we steal a new ride."

"That's too risky," Angelique said. Gladice turned toward her.

"Then do you have a better way?" Angelique shook her head. Tears ran down her face.

"No. I don't want to risk anyone else. I can still hear her." Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. Louis bent forward. A tear fell onto the heel of his hand before he realized he was crying. Gladice kept both hands on the wheel for several seconds. Then she made a short, angry sound and struck the center of the steering wheel with her palm. She bent forward until her forehead rested against her crossed wrists. Her shoulders shook.

"I should have stopped," she said.

"No," Louis said at once, though his voice was unsteady.

"She was there." Gladice lifted her head and wiped her face with the heel of her hand.

"Right there. And I didn't stop."

"Stopping would have killed us all." Angelique turned to her.

"You did what you could."

"It was not enough." Louis looked toward the buses below, but their lights blurred.

"She saved me." Neither of them answered.

"She saved me," he said again. Gladice drew an unsteady breath.

"Yes." Angelique wiped her cheeks with the heels of her hands.

"We cannot stay here."

"No," Louis said. Gladice looked down toward the lot.

"If we take off the helmets and vests, we look like civilians. We get on a bus. They take us somewhere."

"Somewhere," Angelique said.

"And then?"

"Then we wait until we know where we are." Gladice opened the driver's door.

"We cannot stay in this truck. It is dead weight."

"Leave the rifle," Louis said.

"I still have the Colt on me." Gladice hesitated, then slid the rifle under the seat.

"Alright." They removed their helmets and vests and left them in the truck. Angelique placed her rifle under the seat beside Gladice's. Louis took the cane before they climbed out. He stumbled when he stepped down. Angelique caught his elbow. Gladice came around the hood and led them down the shoulder toward the church lot at a quick walk. One of the young militiamen noticed them first. He stepped out from between the parked cars and raised his flashlight toward them.

"Hold up," he said.

"Where y'all from?" The beam moved over Louis, Angelique's wet face, and Gladice.

"We're trying to get on," Louis said.

"Yeah?" the boy asked. He looked past them at the empty road, then back at the three of them.

"Y'all don't look like locals."

"We came from Kentucky. We were visiting families," Louis said. He kept his voice steady.

"Where's the rest of your people?" the boy asked. Before Angelique or Gladice could answer, an older man came over from the buses.

"James," he said sharply.

"What are you doing?" The beam dropped at once.

"Sorry, Pastor. Just checking."

"You are holding up my bus." The pastor raised his flashlight and looked them over. His gaze settled on Louis's cane, Angelique's wet cheeks, and the mud and blood on their clothes. His expression softened, and he lowered the flashlight.

"Lord have mercy," he said. He stepped closer.

"Y'all came down from the border?" No one corrected him. Louis nodded.

"How many did you lose?" Louis opened his mouth, but could not get the word out. Angelique closed her eyes. Gladice looked toward the buses.

"One," she said. The pastor nodded.

"Then y'all are getting on," he said. James shifted.

"Preacher, I still need names—" The pastor turned on him.

"You need to use your eyes, son." He pointed toward the buses.

"These people just lost someone who ain't coming back. If you want to ask them questions, you go ask the Lord when you get home, because He's the only one they owe answers to tonight." James hesitated, then stepped aside. The pastor turned back to them.

"Come on," he said.

"We're not leaving people out here. Get on the bus." He led them at a quick walk toward the last bus. Louis looked up. Only a few people remained in line. An old woman was being helped onto the steps. Inside, a mother tried to settle two boys into a seat while holding three grocery bags and a thick Bible. A volunteer in a football jacket passed cases of bottled water through the rear emergency door. The pastor stopped them at the bus door and lowered his voice.

"I wish I could tell you where we're going. The truth is, I don't know. We're heading north. That's all the county said."

"Thank you," Louis said. The pastor placed a hand between Louis's shoulder blades and guided him up the steps. It was the gentlest touch he had felt all day. He looked away. The bus smelled of sweat and dried blood. Only a handful of seats remained open. Passengers clutched coats and bags against their bodies. Children lay across their parents' laps. Several older men still wore their hats. No one looked up for long when the three of them entered.

The pastor pointed them toward the open seats near the rear wheel wells.

"The back there," he said.

"Rest if you can. The Lord knows it's a long night." Louis sat in the middle of the rear bench so he could stretch his injured leg into the aisle. Angelique sat by the window on his left. Gladice sat on his right and leaned forward with both forearms on the seat ahead. She kept watching the open door and the militia boy outside. An old woman three rows ahead suddenly began praying aloud. Her voice shook, but she made no effort to lower it. She held her hands together in her lap, but they still shook.

Across from her, a teenage girl with mascara streaked beneath both eyes pressed her forehead against the window and cried silently. Angelique put her face in her hands. Louis lifted one arm around her shoulders and the other around Gladice, then pulled them both against him. This time, he could not stop crying. Angelique's shoulders shook against him. Gladice buried her face against his shoulder. No one on the bus turned around. The engine started, and the bus shuddered.

Outside, someone struck the side panel twice and shouted that they were clear. The pastor called through the open door, telling the driver to keep north and stop only if the road became impassable. The door folded shut. The bus pulled away.