by Thomas Locke
Caleb rode lead while Marsh and Zeke drove the other wagon. To the north and east stretched Carolina’s largest lake, almost seventy miles across at its broadest point. Behind him, hills grew and condensed as they marched west, until the Appalachians formed a forested wall. The Catawba enclave’s main link to the outside world was in the southeast corner, where the woodlands were split by the Charlotte road. When he was younger, Caleb had often walked to where cow pastures and Carolina pines met the crumbling asphalt. He would stand in the middle of that empty road and dream of all the adventures awaiting him beyond the enclave’s boundaries.
Now there was nothing he wanted so much as to return home.
Always before, Caleb had been confident he could handle whatever came. Now he faced the road ahead with doubt and dread.
An hour later, they reached the stream that marked the enclave’s outer boundary. Caleb and the others pulled the bits from the horses’ mouths and let them drink sparingly. Then one by one they led the wagons across. Concrete stanchions showed where there had once been a bridge. Each year, once the summer rains eased and the harvest was in, volunteers came down to lay fresh stones across the streambed. The Charlotte road was the enclave’s main supply route, and these yearly repairs meant heavily laden wagons could cross safely. This late in the year, a number of the stones had been dislodged, and the going was rough. They took turns, riding the reins while the others walked barefoot, holding the bridles.
Once across they unharnessed the horses, then gave them another long drink and half a bag of oats. They gathered by the rear wagon, where Marsh fed them sandwiches and cold tea from the victuals he’d packed. As he handed Zeke his food, he said, “You move faster and quieter than any man I’ve ever seen. Is that your gift?”
Though the question had been asked in Marsh’s habitually mild voice, Zeke tensed up and wouldn’t take the food from his hand.
Caleb replied, “Harshaw’s not the only one talking about stringing up the specials, Pa.”
“Of course. I’m sorry, lad. Forget I asked.” Marsh reached over and gripped the boy’s arm. “I just want you to know that I’m glad Caleb has you for a friend.”
Zeke met Marsh’s gaze. “Caleb is the best man I’ve ever known.”
Marsh looked at his son. “You hear that?”
“The way I handled things yesterday . . . it could have gotten us killed.” Caleb felt the remorse rise once again. “Now you’re going to have all sorts of problems with the elders. All because of me.”
“Son, we all make mistakes. Goodness knows I’ve made more than my share. The questions that make us wise are three: what can I learn, how can I make things right, and where can I improve in the future.” Marsh hesitated, then asked, “Does Zeke know . . .”
“About the gold.” Caleb nodded, fearing all the mistakes that would come. “It’s why I asked him to come.”
“In case there’s trouble. Good. Because I expect there will be sooner or later.”
Caleb wrapped the remnants of his sandwich in the napkin and set it back in the hamper. “This is the farthest I’ve ever been from home. Right here. I always dreamed about what it would be like, heading out. Now all I see is how I might be the wrong person for folks to be trusting.”
Marsh shook his head. “It had to come out sometime, Son. Otherwise you’d never be able to call the Catawba enclave your home. You’d never be able to hide this gift your entire life. Did you consider that?”
Caleb heard the whine of pain in his own voice. “But it didn’t need to come out like this!”
“It’s bad right now, I’ll give you that. But yesterday’s confrontation means that Harshaw is your opponent. You know what that signifies?”
Perhaps if he hadn’t been so tired he’d have managed to make heads or tails of his father’s words. “Not really. No sir.”
“There are bound to be people who are frightened by your gift. People who are tempted to banish the likes of you. But now they’ll find themselves allied to the most cantankerous and disliked man in the entire enclave. It won’t change the mind of everybody. But it may be enough for some.”
Caleb looked at his father. “I’m so scared.”
“I have every confidence you will do just fine.”
“Come with me. Please.”
“We’ve been through all this a dozen times. Son, even if your mother were well, I’d be staying back. Were I to be there with you, every time you’d negotiate they’d be waiting for me to show up to seal the deal.” He fumbled in his jacket and came out with a sealed envelope. “Your mother asked me to give you this. She says you should wait until you’re settled to read it.”
Caleb probably would have fallen apart had Zeke not chosen that moment to say, “There’s somebody coming.”
Father and son turned to the east. Marsh said, “I don’t hear a thing.”
“Three horses,” Zeke said. “And they’re falling-down tired.”
6
A few minutes later, the three horses plodded wearily into view, their lathered sides declaring they had ridden all night. The man on lead greeted them with a voice gravelly with fatigue. “Sorry we’re late.”
“Sheriff Ferguson?” Marsh stepped forward. “Where’s your deputy?”
“There’s been a change of plans.” The older man took his time easing from the saddle, then pressed both hands into the small of his back as he straightened. “Hello, Caleb.”
“Sheriff.”
“Marsh, I need to ask you a favor.”
“If it’s in my power, I’ll be happy to help.”
Sheriff Ferguson turned to where the second man was lifting a grey-haired woman off her horse. The woman’s features were etched with weary discomfort. The sheriff said, “Hear that? I told you this was the man and the place.”
The younger man was both tall and powerfully built. Despite his exhaustion, he studied them each intently from beneath a shock of jet-black hair.
“This is Kevin Ritter and his mother, Abigail. Kevin’s been the finest deputy I’ve ever worked with, save his pa, who died saving my life. Go on, son. Say your piece.”
Kevin hesitated, then said, “My ma and me, we’ve got no place to go.”
When he stopped, the sheriff pressed, “Tell them why, Kevin.”
But it was the woman who replied, her voice as crisp as a schoolmarm’s. “Because that scoundrel of a mayor gave my son an ultimatum. Do the unthinkable or perish. You know the significance of the lampposts outside the mayor’s compound?”
“I do,” Marsh replied.
“The mayor vowed to string us up unless my son sold out the ones they call specials.”
Kevin showed the raw emotion of a man stripped bare by events beyond his control. “Gus and I went straight from the mayor’s office to a secret meeting point the Overpass deputies use. Ma was already there. We left with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”
“Kevin and his mother have been running the underground railroad around Charlotte,” the sheriff said. “Until this happened, Abigail was head of the history department at Charlotte University.”
Kevin said, “We’d be grateful if you could grant us a place to stay. I’ll do anything, work any job, to earn our keep.”
Marsh was about to give his standard response, the one every enclave dweller who traveled beyond their borders learned by rote. How this was not his decision to make. How the elders voted on every new admittance. How there were dozens who requested asylum for every one granted. How the two would be welcome to stay in the guest cabin and be fed, for three days only, while the council met, the vote was taken, and their fate was decided.
But Caleb broke in before his father could speak. “Pa.”
“I . . . Yes, Son?”
Caleb took a breath, then offered Marsh the secret signal they had arranged, “Pa, this is absolutely, extremely important.”
Marsh jerked in surprise. Previously Caleb had only spoken those words when a huge trade lay on the line.
When Marsh remained silent, Caleb walked to where the tall young man unsaddled his mount. “What is it you want from us?”
“I already told you. A home.”
Sheriff Ferguson interjected, “What is the boy—”
Marsh said, “Give my son a few minutes, Sheriff. Please.”
Caleb said, “I mean, what is it you would most like to do?”
The man clearly struggled to focus through his fatigue and his pain. “I never wanted to be anything more than a deputy.”
“What was it you most liked about your work?”
Kevin did not need to think that one through. “Patrolling the back roads. Watching the boundary trails. Keeping the folks and the community safe.”
That was enough to open the portal. Caleb’s own weariness was instantly forgotten. He turned to his father. “Pa, he needs to come with us.”
“What, back to Charlotte Township?” Kevin stepped away. “Didn’t you hear a word the sheriff just said? The mayor is gunning for us!”
“Caleb’s not going to Charlotte,” Marsh replied, his eyes steady on his son. “My boy is headed to Overpass. He’s setting up a store. The last two times we sold our wares in Charlotte, the militia took more than half in taxes.” Overpass was the central market town north of Charlotte and was controlled by the sheriff and his deputies.
“I’ve heard about that,” Gus said. “Protection money, they call it.”
Kevin’s mother said, “My son won’t be able to stay in Overpass forever. Sooner or later Hollis and his dogs will catch wind of this.”
The woman’s words pushed Caleb deeper into his moment of far-seeing. “Kevin won’t remain in Overpass,” he replied. “But for a time his presence is essential to keeping us safe.”
Marsh demanded, “You sure about this, Son? Absolutely certain?”
“Yes, Pa. I am.” He felt a singular sense of bonding with this tired, sad young man. As though standing here and listening to him forged a path not just to safety but to success with his secret quest. He asked, “Why did you turn down the mayor’s request?”
The woman cried, “Because I raised him to be a decent human being!”
“Please, ma’am,” Marsh said. “Let your son reply.”
“I couldn’t do what they wanted,” Kevin said. “It went against my oath, everything I hold true. I did it to protect . . .”
Caleb nodded slowly. He had it now. The crucial missing component. For the first time since fleeing home, he felt whole. “Us,” he finished. “You sacrificed everything you had to protect people like me.”
7
They made camp beside the stream. Abigail walked around a bend in the creek to wash while Kevin gathered firewood. Marsh sent Zeke back for clothes that would fit the former deputy, as he did not want Kevin returning to Overpass in his uniform. While Caleb tended the horses, the sheriff ate a cold meal and talked in low tones with Marsh.
Finally Gus said his farewells, lingering for a few quiet words with his former deputy. Then he climbed into the saddle of a fresh mount, promised Caleb the horse would be waiting for them when they arrived in Overpass, and set off. Kevin stared down the road long after the sheriff was out of sight.
Abruptly fatigue swept over Caleb like a blanket. He found a patch of moss growing beneath an ancient elm and stretched out. The last thing he heard was Marsh asking the deputy and his mother to join him by the fire. Caleb knew his father was trying to take the measure of these two strangers. Upon his return, Marsh would need to convince the elders to let them enter.
Caleb fell asleep to the drone of voices.
It seemed as though he was only asleep for a few minutes. Then he awoke to the sound of Maddie screaming his name.
Caleb scrambled to his feet and searched the camp, but all was calm. The sun had not yet reached its zenith, which meant he’d been asleep less than an hour. Zeke was back and stirring a pot set on a cooking stone. Abigail sat on a log talking with Marsh. Clearly no one else had heard anything. But the sense of immense danger did not release him. His heart pounded, his breathing came in tight gasps.
It could only mean one thing.
Kevin walked around a bend in the creek, his hair still dripping wet from bathing. He was dressed in standard enclave garb now—dark trousers held up by suspenders, a collarless homespun shirt with cotton knots for buttons.
Caleb’s father smiled his approval and said, “It’ll take a hard look to recognize you as once being a deputy.”
The words were meant as a compliment, but the young man winced as though he had been struck.
Marsh pretended not to see Kevin’s response. He turned to Caleb and said, “You’re up. Good. Lunch is ready.”
Their meal was a simple one-pot trail stew. There were not enough plates, so Caleb shared with Zeke and Kevin with his mother. Between bites, Marsh continued to ask Abigail about her work as a history teacher and leader of the underground. Caleb tried to pay attention. But with each passing moment, his worries mounted.
He heard Abigail say, “The economic depression that gripped our nation almost a century ago spiraled downward in a series of catastrophic waves. We now know this as the Great Crash, but few people have any idea what that truly means. They look around and see shadows of the past, but without any understanding of who we once were and what we should be aspiring to retrieve.”
Marsh replied mildly, “Hard for people to dream about tomorrow when they’re struggling to survive today.”
“That works perfectly well as an excuse, one I’ve heard all too often in my classroom,” she replied crisply. “But it doesn’t change a thing. We have lost sight of our greatness. We have plunged into a new dark age without any idea of what that actually means. Our only hope, our one possibility of lifting ourselves free of this tragic time, lies in remembering the best of who we once were and striving to regain what we have now lost.”
Marsh set a battered coffeepot on the stones lining the fire. Caleb gathered up the plates and walked to the edge of the stream. As he scrubbed them with sand, he heard Marsh ask, “What was the best thing about what we’ve forgotten?”
“The twin visions of democracy and rule of law,” she replied without hesitation. “The two go hand in hand. Democracy means government by the people, of the people, for the people. Rule of law means all citizens are held to the same legal standards. Wealth and position change nothing before the law. Now we are so locked in this current age, one dominated by scarcity and violence, that we can’t believe things were ever different. We need to wake up once again and resume our quest for greatness as a nation and a people.”
As Caleb returned to the fire, his father said, “I do believe Catawba and our community college will welcome you like the rare gem you are, Professor.”
“Abigail will do me just fine, sir.”
Caleb watched his father pour mugs of coffee and knew he had to talk about Maddie’s silent scream. The thought of revealing yet another component of his secret clenched his stomach tight as a fist. “Pa, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Should we take a walk?”
“No, the others need to hear. Do you recall Maddie Constance?”
“The young lady you were sweet on.” Marsh smiled. “What a question. Her father is a professor now in Atlanta.”
Abigail said, “Atlanta University used to be a shining light of learning and hope through the entire south. I’ve lectured there on a number of occasions and consider many of the staff close friends. Recently it’s all gone dark.”
Marsh said, “Your mother told me you two were writing. She’s been in touch again?”
Caleb took a hard breath. “We’ve never been out of touch, Pa.”
“What are you saying?”
“It started about a year and a half ago. Long before Maddie and her father left. At first I didn’t know what was happening. Now . . .”
Marsh was no longer smiling. “Maddie can read minds?”
“Feelings come easiest to her. And images, like
bursts of things she knits together and sends all at once. I can reach out to her, but she has to be listening. It’s all her doing.” This was proving even harder than Caleb had expected. “We’re closer than we’ve ever been. When she thinks of me and I think of her, we bind together.”
His father was as grave as Caleb had ever seen. The dusk and the firelight turned his features cavernous. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”
“Because it’s her gift, not mine. And she asked me not to tell anyone. She discovered her gift soon after the elders came out against the specials. Her father, well . . .”
“He was among those who used the term ‘abominations,’” Marsh recalled.
Caleb nodded. “Maddie’s been taking care of her father ever since her ma died. Her plan was to go down, settle him into his new life, then meet me in Overpass.” Caleb felt the sweat dribbling down his spine, plastering his shirt to his skin. “Something’s happened in Atlanta, though. About a week ago. It’s scared her. A lot.”
Abigail shifted forward. “Did she say what?”
“Her last image was about people who’d arrived from Washington.” The recollection of her fear pained his heart. “They wore dark suits and had helmets that let them detect people like Maddie. Or at least that’s how it seemed. It was the tightest, hardest image she’s ever sent me. And since then, all I get are . . .”
“What?” Marsh demanded.
Caleb wiped his face. “Whimpers.”
Marsh said, “You should have told me, Son.”
“I couldn’t, Pa. She made me promise.”
Marsh studied his son across the fire. “Tell us about these whimpers.”
“Since the Washington folks showed up, I’ve still been able to reach out and connect with her. But I knew she didn’t want me there, so I’d only bond with her for a second. Long enough for her to know I’m there—and worried. Then just now Maddie woke me from my sleep with a scream. Something I’ve never heard before, and hope I never do again.” Caleb felt feverish, sweating and shivering both. “Now she’s not there. It’s the first time I haven’t been able to find her since she discovered her gift. She’s gone. And I don’t know what to do.”
