Monsters (26 page)

“Jonathan,” Winters said. “You keep going with the rocks. Let's play dumb, like it's no big deal. We've got nothing to hide. James and I'll head them off at the cabin.”

James felt a sickening knot form in his stomach. He wasn't sure why, but he thought Lisa was in some kind of trouble, serious trouble if the approaching soldiers were any measure to go by. Winters seemed to understand that too. Jonathan didn't need to be told what to do. He loaded up a couple of the crossbows they carried to ward off animal attacks and lay them in the rear of the cart, out of sight but easily accessible.

“Anything you want to tell me about you and your girlfriend?” Winters asked, hobbling across the stony ground at a fast pace. James kept walking, although his eyes darted back at the dusty road, looking at the approaching troop.

“Ah, no. Nothing.” It was the truth, but it felt like a lie.

“They're flying colors from the north. That's both good and bad.”

“How so?” James asked, resisting the urge to run ahead of the old man and help Wilbur hide the women. Wilbur, he noted, had not run directly to the cabin, he'd headed down along the hedgerow to the end of the field, using the horse and cart to cover his line-of-sight, allowing him to slip under the hedge and move back to the cabin unseen from the road. James caught a brief glimpse of him darting across between the corral and the cabin, and then heading into the cabin from the rear. They'd done this before.

Winters was breathing hard as he strode over the uneven ground.

“Colors mean they're announcing their character well in advance to avoid any misunderstandings.”

“That's good?” James asked, a little unsure.

“Oh, that's good,” Winters replied.

“Then what's bad?”

“That they're flying colors means they're confident they're moving in a force large enough that no one can bother them. It's a bit like a cock strutting its feathers in the yard.”

“That's bad,” James said, helping the old man bend down and pass through a wooden fence. From there he hobbled over to the cabin.

“Yep,” said the old man without any emotion. “This is probably just a scouting party split off from the main troop. You sure you don't have something you want to tell me, son?”

James didn't want to lie to Winters. Although he had his suspicions about Lisa, he didn't know who she was or where she was from.

“No, sir.”

“Well, seems your girlfriend has pissed off some serious muscle.”

The old man was quiet as he hobbled on his wooden leg. He sat on the edge of a watering trough and turned to face the soldiers as they began coming down the worn path between the fallowed fields.

He turned to face James, saying, “I sure hope this little secret of hers doesn't end up costing us our lives.”

James replied, “Me too.”

Four officers came down the track on horseback. Their armor looked resplendent in the sunlight, shining and glistening. Behind them, a squad of ten soldiers jogged in unison. The soldiers were lightly armed, carrying spears but no armor. The rear two horses were loaded up with extra armor for the foot soldiers. They were laden with shields and pikes, swords and crossbows, all carefully mounted in breakaway baskets, ready for rapid deployment.

As they came up to the log cabin, the soldiers fanned out, moving around the cabin, while the officers came to a halt in front of James and Winters.

“Good day to you,” Winters called out.

The lead officer replied. “Yes, it is a fair spring day. The weather is particularly mild for this time of year.” James thought it was unusual to see an officer posturing with such pleasantries. “We have come from afar on the business of trade. May we water our horses?”

“Be my guest,” Winters replied, standing and giving the lead horse the opportunity to drink from the trough. “But we have nothing to trade. Trade should be done in the villages.”

The officer ignored him. The horse lowered its head, sniffing at the water but not drinking.

“What really brings you this way?” Winters asked. The look of concern on his face suggested that while he recognized the officer was polite, he knew the soldiers were searching his grounds without permission. James could hear one of them inside the cabin, knocking furniture around. He must have gone in through the rear door.

“Where are your women?” the officer asked, ignoring Winters.

“They've gone with one of my sons, south to the village of Amersham to fetch seed for our fields.”

“How long have they been gone?”

“Two days,” the old man replied, moving to one side so the light of the sun wasn't directly in his eyes. The officer nudged his horse, trying to keep the sun directly behind him and making it difficult for either of them to see his face.

“When will they be back?”

“We expect them in a week,” Winters replied, lying. James hung back, trying to remain inconspicuous. In the distance, he could see Jonathan still out in the field, placing stones in the cart rather than tossing them in, probably to avoid triggering the crossbows lying on the rocks in the back of the cart.

“You wouldn't be lying to me, now would you?” the officer asked as one of the soldiers stepped out of the cabin behind them. “I don't like liars.”

“Me neither,” Winters replied. “You wouldn't be lying to me either, would you?” The old man had balls, of that James had no doubt.

The officer smiled, climbing down from the huge beast. One of the soldiers pulled the base of the rope ladder taut as the officer made his way down, making it easier for him to descend.

“We seek a woman, a teenager,” he said. “Have you seen any such woman?”

“You're not giving us much of a description to go on,” Winters replied.

“I imagine you don't see too many teenage women out this way,” the officer replied. “We think she was with a small party, perhaps no more than two or three others, servants of hers.”

James got his first good look at the man. He was tall. Despite the weight of his polished armor, he held his back straight and his head erect. His trousers were clean, as were his boots, telling James he had servants waiting on him, which was no surprise given his demeanor.

The officer unclipped his armor, handing it to the soldier behind him and revealing a scarlet vest resplendent with the same crest as the flags and standards carried by the troop. His name and rank were embossed over his heart—Captain McIntyre.

One of the soldiers called out from the barn, dragging Wilbur out into the open. McIntyre marched over with Winters hobbling after him. James followed.

“He's my son,” Winters cried. “Leave him be.”

McIntyre ignored Winters.

“What was he doing?”

“Mucking out the stalls,” the soldier replied.

“Search the stalls,” McIntyre commanded. “Turn them over.”

Smart, thought James. Jonathan had left the girls in the cellar beneath the hay storage and had returned to the main barn, drawing the attention of the soldiers away from their hiding place.

“What has she done?” James asked. As soon as those words left his lips, he knew it was a mistake. His curiosity was as good as an admission, and McIntyre seized on his words.

“So she has been here?”

Neither James nor Winters offered any more.

“She is the daughter of General Augustus Gainsborough, commander of the northern tribes.”

The soldier beside McIntyre stepped forward, making as though he would apprehend James, but McIntyre called him off with the subtlest of hand gestures, just a slight wave of his hand indicating he should hold his ground.

“Where is she?” he asked politely, stepping forward toward James.

“What will happen to her?” James asked, ignoring the officer's question and asking his own.

“We seek nothing but her welfare,” McIntyre replied, and James had no reason to doubt him. There was nothing sinister in his motives, of that James was sure.

For James, the charade was stupid. Lisa wouldn't trust him. She hadn't been honest with any of them. What did he owe her? And as for Winters, the old man was putting his life and the lives of his family in jeopardy for both of them, simply out of honor when Lisa had done nothing to prove herself. She'd lied to them, or at the very least misled them. But this was serious. There was no law to govern soldiers other than their own code. Villages had been plundered through misunderstandings, left to burn because of some minor slight. James wasn't prepared to put Winters in jeopardy like that, not for Lisa, not without reason.

“She's been hurt,” he replied. “She was caught in a bear trap north of the foothills, below Stanton's peak. I brought her here simply because this was the closest farm. Winters and his family knew nothing of her a week ago. They have been good to us, good to her.”

He paused for a second, measuring his words, speaking with slow deliberation.

“You'll find her in the cellar, beneath the floor of the hay shed.”

McIntyre waved his hand and the soldier by his side headed toward the shed at the back of the farm, calling out to the other soldiers as he broke into a jog.

Within minutes they carried out Lisa, holding her between them, keeping her broken leg with its splint raised off the ground. For her part, Lisa was yelling at them, demanding they release her. She saw James standing by McIntyre and cursed him.

“You ... How could you do this to me? You asshole. How could you betray me? How could you turn me over to them? I hate you!”

Lisa was striking at the soldiers, scratching and hitting them while they did nothing to defend themselves other than to wince under her blows.

“Calm down,” McIntyre said trying to placate her, holding his hand up as though he were stilling a wild mare.

“You groveling guttersnipe,” Lisa replied with a surge of venom that surprised James. “I should have known he'd send you.”

Winters stepped forward, rocking on his wooden leg, trying to appeal to Lisa.

“I don't know what you're running from,” the old man said. “But how far did you think you would get on your own? Where would you go from here? How long could you survive by yourself with that leg?”

“At least I'd be free,” she cried as one of the soldiers slipped a leather strap under her armpits. Another soldier pulled her up, hoisting her on to the back of one of the horses. He positioned her carefully, strapping her in the broad saddle so she wouldn't fall.

“Thank you for taking care of her,” McIntyre said, shaking Winters hand. He tapped James on the shoulder thanking him as well. James was relieved to see there was none of the usual military hotheadedness. McIntyre surprised him.

“Captain McIntyre,” James said. “What will become of Lisa?”

“She'll be taken to her father.”

“To found a dynasty,” Lisa yelled from the horse back. “To be sold off like a slave and bred like a heifer, all so the general can establish a confederacy, an alliance of northern states. You should have left me in that bear trap. At least I would have died with dignity.”

James was taken aback. This was a side of Lisa he'd never expected to see. She was fiery, defiant. The bitterness she held caused a pang of guilt to run through him. He'd thought he was doing the right thing by her, even if it wasn't what she wanted, but there was clearly some history between her and her father, something he didn't understand.

“She will be fine,” McIntyre said. He turned to climb up on his horse but paused, thinking for a moment before turning back to James. “You addressed me as captain.”

James went quiet realizing what he'd inadvertently done.

“You can read.”

James felt like he'd been caught stealing, or condemned for murder. McIntyre seemed to sense that.

“We do not share the superstitions of the plains. In the north, we value readers, we honor them. There's a new world awakening. We are restoring the former ways, rebuilding the cities.”

He paused, looking to see if James would say anything, but James figured he'd said too much already.

“Come with us,” McIntyre said.

James looked up at Lisa and the scowl on her face.

“Come with us,” McIntyre repeated. “General Gainsborough would be pleased to meet the man that rescued his daughter.”

James hesitated. Although McIntyre's words sounded like an invitation, there was something about his posture, his manner suggesting that this was more than a polite pleasantry. McIntyre was being civil, but there was no doubt in James' mind this was not optional. As if in confirmation, McIntyre added, “I insist.”

James was acutely aware of the soldiers forming up behind him.

“It's OK,” Winters said. “I'll send word to your father.”

McIntyre gestured to the rope ladder and James climbed up behind Lisa. She said nothing, but her posture was proud—defiant.

The ride north took three days, during which Lisa barely said a word to James. Any words they did exchange were terse. Her disdain for him was clear. For his part, James understood he was a prisoner, not in the sense of a criminal being shackled in chains, but he was held against his will.

The soldiers were courteous, but always present, never letting him stray when they broke to make camp. There were at least fifty of them. From what James overheard in conversation, the squad that closed in on Winter's homestead were a diversion, the main force had surrounded the farm much earlier in the day. They had lain in wait in the forest in case things went sour.

McIntyre hadn't exposed himself until they were well in place. The outlying scouts were no doubt watching them for hours before McIntyre approached by the southern road. If James hadn't volunteered Lisa's hiding spot, there would have been someone in the trees that saw them scurrying away to hide in the barn. And if they had been caught in a lie, Winters would have lost everything. They would have razed the farm to the ground in spite. Certainly, from what James was able to glean from the soldier's banter with each other, they had a fair idea Lisa was there before they closed in.

James was in over his head. He sat there on the back of one of the broad horses, sitting a few feet behind McIntyre as the troop wound its way over the mountain pass and down through the forest. They were traveling toward Richmond, Virginia. It seemed the rusting road signs were more to be believed than Lisa. Thinking back to what she'd said about Little Bayless and Greensburg, James finally realized she'd lied to both of them. Winters had never bought into it, he figured, but James still struggled with how she'd lied to him.