by D B Bray
“Excuse me, sir. I would like to buy some horses,” Jack said.
The man glanced up. His toupee was titled to one side of his head, his other hair a mix of gray and silver. His cheeks were pockmarked and looked like gravel had been dragged across his face.
“How many do you need?” he asked after spitting a stream of tobacco juice at Jack’s shoes.
“Depends on what they cost,” Jack said, trying to hide his disgust.
The owner eyed his stock and waved for Jack to follow him. They walked over to the pen, and the man opened the gate. The horses were poor quality, many of them no more than mere ponies.
“I got these three for sale,” he said, pointing at the ones in the worst shape.
“How much?” Jack asked.
“Three gold pieces per horse,” he replied.
“Saddles included?” Jack asked, inspecting the horses.
The owner spat another stream of tobacco juice and raised an eyebrow. “Nope, those are extra. An extra coin for each saddle.”
“I’ll give you three coins for the horses, and two for three saddles,” Jack said.
“That won’t work, boy. There will be no negotiating on these.”
Jack glanced over both shoulders and said, “Doesn’t seem anyone’s buying, sir.” He pointed at their rough hooves. “And these animals have seen better days. You’re selling ponies, not horses.”
The man spat another stream of juice and sighed. “Three for the horses, three for the saddles. Best I can do,” he said.
Jack paused and thought for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak but watched an older dog limp out of the barn at the last moment. The large grey dog sat on its haunches; its eyes downcast.
“I’ll pay that if you include the dog,” he said.
The man peered over his shoulder. “The dog's dinner tonight, not a lot of food to be had in these parts. I found him rooting through the trash on the side of the road a few days ago.”
“I’ll pay full price for the horses with the dog included. You can buy food around here for eight gold coins,” Jack said, tightening his fist.
The man scratched his chin, looked at the dog, and stuck his hand out. “Deal.”
Jack handed him the coins and waited for the horses to be saddled. He walked over to the dog and knelt beside it. He was always taught to lower his hand when encountering an unknown dog. He extended his hand with a smile. The dog stuck its tail under its body and moved its head away from him.
“Easy boy, don’t be scared.”
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a hardtack biscuit and put it in his palm. The dog sniffed his hand and licked the crumbs. “Hungry, aren’t you, boy?” he asked, gently rubbing his side.
The dog slowly approached and nestled against him. Jack ran his hand over his callous fur. A few minutes later, the man led the horses back to the gate and whistled to him. The dog followed Jack back to the horses, close on his heels. He pulled out another piece of hardtack and dropped it on the ground.
“Why feed that flea-infested mutt?” the man asked.
“Because they’re man’s best friend. Thank you for the horses,” Jack said, leading them away.
“By the way, where are you heading?” asked the man.
Jack paused. “Some place called New York City,” he said with a wave.
He hurried back to the tent and saw Lucy and Toby standing out front packed for their journey ahead. The dog approached and hid behind Jack.
“A dog. You got a dog?” Toby asked, barely able to contain his excitement.
“Sure did.”
“And what’s his name?” Lucy asked.
“We’ll call him, Rector,” Jack said, mounting his horse.
Lucy smiled a genuine smile. She knew how much rector’s meant to Scavengers. Her father had been one prior to his death, and most of Red’s slaves were his supporters during the revolt.
Jack whistled and trotted off with the others in tow. Rector stretched behind them and followed.
Toby rode alongside Lucy, making small talk as Jack studied the map. He discovered the most direct route with his compass, and after traveling for most of the day, they stopped by a small river with trash and fish floating on the surface.
Jack glanced at the river and shook his head.
All this pollution is killing everything.
He looked down and saw Rector by his side. He rubbed his head and smiled at him. Rector’s limp subsided, and he was always by Jack. Whenever Toby or Lucy tried to pet him, he would hide behind Jack.
Jack felt around in his pocket and pulled out some more hardtack and held it between his two fingers. Rector gently pulled the food from between his fingers and laid down.
Lucy walked over to Jack and sat down. “Any idea where we’re going?” she asked.
“No, but we have the map,” he said, watching Toby tend the horses.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked, following his gaze.
“I’m worried about Toby. I wouldn’t know what to do should something happen to him. I should have left him in Fort Camden.”
Lucy nodded. “Well, he’s here. I think you need to talk to him about Edward,” she said.
“He won’t understand, Lucy.”
“Maybe, but I think you should still talk to him.”
Jack walked over to Toby and ran his fingers through one of the horse's manes. Horses always calmed him and eased his anxieties. Toby turned his back to him and kept rubbing the horse’s flank.
“Tob, can I talk to you about Edward?” Jack asked.
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Look, we need to talk about Edward. I feel the same as you do, but we have to move on.”
“You left him to die, Jack. That’s what happened, why talk about it?” Toby asked.
Jack bristled at the accusation. “You really think I left him behind?”
“You did,” Toby insisted.
“Listen, Toby. Edward told me to go and then threw me his keys and the book we traded him. Red’s men would have killed all of us. I did what Edward told me to do,” he said.
“Why didn’t you help him escape with us?” Toby asked, spinning around.
“It all happened so fast. My concern was getting you to safety. That was Edward’s final wish, and he told me to tell you he was sorry. He asked you to find the rest of the treasure. And believe me, I’ll never forget what he did for us, but he wouldn’t want us fighting about it. I know that for sure,” he said.
“Treasure? What treasure, Jack? There is no treasure,” Toby shouted.
Jack ground his teeth. “I think he meant the Constitution. He came back to help us at Red’s camp, and I think he believed in what we were doing. So, let’s go find it,” Jack said.
“Why us?” Toby asked, making eye contact with Jack.
“When I know, you’ll know,” Jack said.
“I mean, we’re just kids, Jack. How can we make a difference?” Toby asked.
Jack thought for a moment. “Tob, we’re men now. The second we buried the Rector, we became men. There’s no one to help us, so we must trust each other, and maybe we’ll get through this in one piece. Are you with me?” Jack asked.
Toby brushed the horse’s mane and didn’t answer. Lucy walked up behind them and said, “I’m in.”
Toby stared at her for a moment, his eyes searching her soul. “Well, if she’s in, so am I,” Toby said.
“Good, now let’s form a plan and get out of here before a slaver tribe comes by,” Jack said.
They walked back to the log they had been sitting on and sat back down. Jack dug through his pack and found some dried meat. He broke off a piece, took a bite, and then handed it to the others.
Lucy glanced at the sky and sighed. “So, where do we go first?” she asked.
“No clue. I guess we’ll figure it out when we get there,” Jack said, standing up and shouldering his rifle.
“What kind of plan is that, Jack?” Lucy asked.
“
The best one I have at the moment.”
He mounted his horse and waited for the others. Once everyone was ready, Jack cantered off into the unknown. Lucy and Toby stayed close behind him as he rode through the underbrush on the broken roads. The further they rode, the darker the sky became. Jack kept his eyes peeled on the bushes and trees, his rifle resting across the saddle. They rode for hours without seeing a soul. Jack nodded at Lucy as they rode over a large hill.
“Looks like we’re here,” Jack said, pointing ahead.
Lucy could feel the lump in her throat as she scanned the skyline. The buildings were scorched, most filled with huge bird nests. A giant statue stood off to their left on an island, what was left anyway. Half the island was submerged underwater, the other side using dams and levees built across it to prevent further damage.
Jack pulled his rifle to his shoulder and glanced through the scope. He noticed the crown on the statues head was missing several spikes, and the torch it held was still raised but leaned away from it at an oblong angle. The statue’s toga was scorched from the waist down, and the block it stood on was filled with bullet holes.
A torn red, white, and blue flag hung at the base, and a few huts were built in front of it. Jack lowered the rifle and handed it to Lucy. She peered through it, saw a guard tower, and watched the people milling about below, a grim look on most of their faces.
“Think they’re friendly?” Jack asked.
“Hard to tell. I don’t see any cages, which is a good sign. They don’t look like slavers,” she said, handing his rifle back. “But then again, you never know.”
“All we can do is try. The horses are exhausted, it’s getting chilly, and we need firewood to build a fire,” Jack said.
Lucy nodded. “You lead.”
She went to the saddle and pulled out a length of rope. “I will need to be your prisoner,” she said, handing him the line and extending her hands.
Jack tied them without question. He knew a free woman who traveled with them would cause trouble in most tent cities dominated by men. He helped her onto her mount and pulled the rope over to his own saddle. He wrapped it around the saddle horn and then swung up.
He spurred his mount forward and rode down the worn dirt path. They rode down to the river and stopped short of the guard tower. Behind the tower, was a sizeable makeshift pontoon boat to ferry people across. A corrugated tin roof gate was attached between two guard towers, one of them empty. The gate stood ten feet in height, although it looked like a stiff breeze would blow it over. A guard leaned over the wall in one of the towers, resting his arms on the banister.
“Help you kids with something?” he asked with a yawn.
“I want to buy some firewood and have a drink at the saloon,” Jack said, hoping there was such a thing as a saloon that he read about in a book about the Old West.
The guard didn’t blink an eye. “What’s with the girl?” he asked, licking his lips.
Jack slid his hand over the butt of his rifle and glanced over his shoulder. “She’s my slave. Off-limits to the likes of you.”
“Tough words from a boy.” The man picked his teeth with his knife. “It will cost you a gold piece per person to enter.”
“I’m not paying that. Please go get the captain of the guard. I would like to speak to him,” Jack said.
The man growled, a deep growl. “Watch yourself, boy.”
“I’ve never paid an entrance fee to a tent city. And I won’t start now,” Jack hissed.
“Leave them be Bob. They’re kids, not merchants,” said a man dressed in a black sweatsuit from behind them.
Jack turned in his saddle. “Welcome to Liberty Island folks, the last free area in Zone Two,” the man said, extending his hand to Jack.
Jack reached his hand out.
“My name’s Quill,” he said, shaking Jack’s hand.
“Jack Madison,” he said. He pointed at the others. “That’s Toby and my slave, Lucy.”
“Don’t lie, boy, it’s unfitting of a gentleman. If the girl is a slave, she’s in the best shape I’ve ever seen in my days. Take the rope off. We aren't your enemies. City Dwellers might be, but we aren’t those people,” Quill said, untying Lucy’s hands. “They live over there,” Quill said with a head nod.
He looked up to the guard tower. “Bob, let them in.”
Bob pulled the lever by his side, and the gate creaked open, the corrugated ridges rolling up through an elaborate pulley system. Quill waved them through and followed behind them. Bob lowered the barrier once they were inside and went back to leaning against the tower.
“Load your mounts on the boat, and I’ll bring you across,” Quill said.
“Jack, I can’t swim,” Lucy whispered.
“Neither can I. We’ll sink together,” he said with a wink.
The boat rocked back and forth as Quill, and some of the men rowed them across to the island. Stepping off, Jack noticed parts of the camp were in various states of disrepair. A few people were washing their clothes on washboards in the polluted river. The others were planting vegetables in the dirt with little success. The people looked haggard, and only a few were fit to protect the camp from other tribes.
Toby looked up at the statue, and his eyes fixed on the torch. “What is that?” he asked Quill.
“Ah, that my young friend is the Statue of Liberty,” Quill said, handing them apples from a cart nearby.
Toby took a bite from the apple, the juices running down his chin. “And what’s it do?” he asked, chewing with his mouth open.
Quill chuckled. “It doesn’t do anything. It’s been here for a few hundred years. It was a gift from the French government for our independence from Great Britain,” Quill said.
“And who are the French?” Lucy asked, joining the conversation.
“A people from across the sea. I’m not sure if their even alive after the war,” Quill said.
“What’s it stand for?” Jack asked, directing his question back to the statue.
“The best guess we can come up with after reading some books we found under the rubble, is that the French gave it to us after the War for Independence. The torch is supposed to represent progress, the progress the country made after the Revolution and the American Civil War,” Quill said, leading them into his tent.
“What’s the American War?” Toby asked.
Quill smiled at Toby. “Civil War.”
“That’s what I said.”
Quill shrugged. “I don’t really know what the wars were about or how they are significant. The books we have are missing pages. We only know what we can read.”
Jack glanced around the tent. “What tribe are you from?” he asked.
“We are the Green Statues,” Quill said, picking up a book on one of his many shelves, flipping through the pages. He hummed as he flipped, looking for the story of the Statue of Liberty.
Toby interrupted him and asked, “What’s the melody you’re humming?”
Quill glanced up from the pages. “It’s called the Battle Hymn of the Republic.”
Quill handed Jack the book and pulled another one down off the shelf. Jack flipped a few pages further and coughed. Quill and Jack made eye contact. He handed the book back to Quill and asked, “What do you know of this?” he asked.
“Oh, the Constitution, yes, I know it well. Must have read about it a hundred times in this book,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Why do I have the feeling there’s more to you than meets the eye, young Jack?” Quill asked.
Jack looked at Lucy and Toby, who nodded their support. He exhaled and said, “We are looking to put the Constitution back together.”
Quill stood quiet for a moment and stared at the three of them. “Hang on,” he said, going to the tent flap. “Bring Frank here, now,” he shouted to one of his men.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked, pulling Toby and Lucy behind him.
Two men rushed into the tent with a man on a gurney. The bedridden man groaned and coughed as they
lowered him onto the bed in the tent. Quill waved the men out and knelt beside the stretcher.
“Frank, I know you’re in pain, but I need to ask you something. Do you remember what your grandfather told you about the war?” Quill asked.
Frank muttered incoherently for a few moments and then blinked. The cloudiness left his eyes, and he made eye contact with Jack.
“What do you seek, boy?” Frank asked, looking at him, his voice raspy.
“We have a mission to put the Constitution back together,” Jack said, uneasy about telling him his plans.
A small smile touched Frank’s lips. “The world will breathe again. I will tell you all that I know about what you seek. My grandfather, Jacob was one of the men who helped smuggle out the documents after they were destroyed,” he said.
“You mean your grandfather Jacob Hamilton?” Jack asked.
“The very same.”
Jack pulled the Preamble out of his pack and handed it to Quill. Frank’s eyes welled with tears as Quill held it open for him to read. Jack watched as Frank’s lips moved while he read it. The tears streamed down his face as he finished.
Deep rattling coughs shook his body, and when he spit, it was tinged with blood. “I’m dying, boy. What’s your name?” Frank asked.
“I’m Jack Madison, that’s my brother Toby, and our friend Lucy.”
Frank nodded. “A descendant of James Madison, no doubt?”
Jack contemplated the question and then gave Frank a slow nod.
Another round of coughs wracked Frank’s body as he tried to hold his head up. He motioned Jack forward and whispered in his ear, then dropped his head back on the pillow, his eyes wide open.
Quill walked over and rested his ear on Frank's chest. He listened for a few moments and then glanced at Jack. “He’s dead.”
Chapter 9
Red sat across from Vern inside Independence Hall. “Tell me, Vern, how did they escape again?” he asked, stirring his tea in a chipped white teacup.
“Edward French blocked the door, and they went down a fire escape,” Vern said.
Red’s eyebrow raised. “And Edw—-.”
“Dead,” Vern said.
Red tapped his chin, took a sip of tea, and then slapped Vern across the face.
