Cherie Priest - Fiddlehead

Maria looked down at Henry, who indeed seemed on the very verge of fainting. “Henry, I think you’d better let them help you,” she said wearily.

“No, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Here, someone get him up,” she pleaded, and MacGruder nodded toward one of his fellows. As Henry was lifted up and assisted to someplace more comfortable, Maria turned to the captain and said, “You’re doing the right thing.”

“At present, I’m only making a go of it.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“No.” Evans returned with a map roll. MacGruder took it and stretched it out across the back of a crate they’d pulled down off the crawler, hoping to lighten the load. He weighed down the paper with a rock on one side, and his fist on the other. It was a detailed production, with known farms, small towns, and topographical features all marked out. With his free hand, the captain traced out the particulars as he spoke. “We’re right about here, ” he told her—and Evans, too, who lingered at his side. “Still a good forty miles from Atlanta, but there are a few little towns between here and there. And behind us, too.”

“What about … what about a lake?” Evans asked, pointing down at a wide, oval-shaped spot to the east. “We could drag it out to a lake, and toss it inside. Maybe the water would, I don’t know … hold down the worst of the gas?”

The captain shook his head. “Not a bad idea, but that’s six miles out, seven maybe. Through the trees, with no road to take us there.”

“Not a lake, then…” Maria scanned the sheet, helping hold the corner near the captain’s fist and accidentally leaving a smudge of blood on it. Her hands ached terribly, but what could she do? “What’s this right here? Is that what it looks like? A cave?”

“A cave … yes, I think so. And it’s close.”

“Then let’s pray it’s deep, too. If so, then, captain … we may have our answer!”

He double-checked the location and let go of the map. Maria let go, too, and it curled shut around the rock. To Evans, the captain said, “Take the fastest horse we have left and go back to that little town a mile or two behind us. It was just a wide spot in the road, but they had a store.”

“What am I getting, sir?”

“Dynamite. As much as they’ll sell you.”

“I don’t have any money, sir.”

“Then run up into the cargo ship and take whatever money you find. I doubt the Baldwin-Felts boys travel without any cash.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, and he was off.

MacGruder returned his attention to the crawler, which now had the three agents perched atop it, looking none too happy. “How’s the digging?”

Without looking up, a soldier answered, “Another five minutes. Someone get inside and start the thing, would you?”

“Thomson, that’s you. Crank it up. Davis, get me four or five crate lids. Pry them off and bring them over here. We’re going to stick them under the wheels for traction.” Then, to Maria, he said, “It’s the cave or nothing at this point. We’ll toss it down as far as it’ll fall, and blow the top to keep it covered. I don’t know if it’ll hold all the gas,” he confessed to her, more quietly than he’d said the rest. “But it’ll buy us time, if nothing else.”

She put a hand on his arm. “That’ll do. When the war’s over, the president can send the army engineers to take a look at it.”

The great rolling-crawler rumbled to life behind them. Up in the cabin, Thomson wrestled with the gears, working the engine back and forth between first gear and reverse, trying to rock the thing free. On the sixth try it scooted. Its wheels caught on the crate lids and ground them to splinters … but under Thomson’s expert handling, it skidded to the left a few feet, spewing smoke and chips of wood from the crate lids as it hauled itself up, out, and onto the road once more.

The men cheered, and the machine jerked to a stop once it was clear. The road ahead was full of ruts, but the first hurdle was mastered, and it was time to proceed.

Over the engine, the captain shouted, “Move! Move everything—the carts, the horses, the other cars, everything! Get them out of the way; leave ’em on the side of the road if you have to. Now! This is all we’re taking!” he announced.

“Captain!” Frankum cried. “I can feel it moving underneath us; it’s going to blow! You have to get us down! Let us run so we have a fair chance!”

“Like the one you were going to give us? Forget it,” he told them. “That’s just the engine you feel. The bomb is fine for now.”

“I can hear it,” he insisted. “A hissing noise … a hissing .…”

“Shut your mouth, Frankum, or I’ll shut it for you. Cross your fingers and say your prayers, and maybe you’ll survive long enough for a court-martial. Thomson, Sanders, you’re with me. Davis, when Evans gets back, tell him where we’ve gone,” he said, then detailed the cave’s location—not far down the road. “We’ll turn off and try to work this damn thing between the trees—we’ll knock a few down if we have to, and we might. The cave is only a few hundred yards off the road, if I read the map correctly.”

“Don’t forget about me,” Maria said.

“Ma’am?”

“ Me. I’m coming with you.”

“There’s room behind the driver. Get in.”

She climbed on board, and as the crawler lurched forward—struggling with the road, but winning, this time—they passed the cart where Henry was resting. He waved as she went, his good hand offering a weak salute. She waved back, swallowing the lump in her throat and wondered if he’d make it back across the line. She didn’t know how badly he was hurt. There might have been more wrong than she could see.

She put a hand to her torso, where the puncture wound had stopped bleeding, but was hurting fiercely all the same. It was one of the only places on her body where she was warm enough to feel anything at all.

Maria watched Frankum and his men over her shoulder as they bounced, slid, and finally rolled down to the cart’s bottom. When they disappeared, she first thought they’d been thrown—but no, they were wedged firmly in place between the bomb and the rails that kept it on the cart.

She smiled.

MacGruder gave her a look that asked her what was worth smiling over. She pointed down into the cart to indicate that their foes weren’t going anywhere. “Maybe we should toss them in with the bomb,” he suggested.

“Maybe, but your court-martial idea was probably better. Our side isn’t ruled by pirates or scoundrels, Captain. You have to play fair. On the bright side, maybe one of them will make a run for it, and you can shoot him.”

Now he smiled back. “A man can dream.”

The crawler heaved and hauled them up over the road’s raggedy bits with a motion like a ship in terrible seas. Maria found it worse than flying, even in the stormy air they’d navigated thus far that day; but she clutched her seat and—as they traversed one particularly bad pothole—the captain who sat beside her.

“There!” he called out. At first Maria thought it was a strange reaction to being grabbed by a woman, but that wasn’t his point at all. He was looking off to the right, where a dirt road passed between the trees.

The crawler shuddered to an idling stop. Thomson asked over his shoulder, “Sir, you think this is it?”

“It’s about right, so far as the map goes. If it doesn’t take us right to the spot, it’ll get us close, and there will be fewer trees to mow down. Just take the turn, if we can make it.”

“Oh, I can make the turn. I’m just not sure we can make that road. It’s barely big enough for a pair of horses.”