For twenty minutes, the transport rattled along the county road. The rear compartment had no side windows, only a small barred pane in the back door. Louis could see almost nothing through it except the road falling away behind them. Rusk and Mackey spoke once in the cab, their words muffled by the partition.
Hale shifted and scratched at his beard.
“Been a long damn night,” he said.
Hale looked at Savannah, then at Louis, then at Nicholas, still sitting with the M14 across his lap.
“You hear me, Nowak?”
Nicholas did not lift his head much. “I heard.”
“Hell of a thing, I said.” Hale leaned back against the wall and rested the shotgun over his thigh. “Stand all day at a road that don’t need guarding, get half a plate of cold beans at the office, close my eyes for maybe twenty minutes, then Rusk’s kicking everybody up because Montgomery wants some girl with no name dragged to Lexington in the middle of the damn night.”
Savannah did not move.
Hale looked at her. “You better be worth the trouble, missy.”
She looked at the floor and said nothing.
Louis’s hand tightened on the rifle. Hale gave a short laugh.
“Could have had a normal shift. Could have slept through. That’s all I’m saying. They don’t send state men down to get state prisoners. They don’t send army boys. They send us. Because the county’s got nothing better to do. Hell of a thing.”
The transport hit a dip. Savannah rolled one shoulder against the wall and caught herself before her bound hands struck the floor. Louis shifted with the motion of the truck and put his boot nearer hers, blocking Hale’s view of her hands. Her fingers moved once beneath the rope, then stilled. Hale did not seem to notice. He was looking toward the partition now.
“And Mackey drives like he stole the damn thing.”
The engine whined once as Mackey downshifted, then quieted. Nicholas said nothing. Louis kept his eyes on the floor.
A few minutes later, Hale’s stomach growled loudly. Hale froze and shifted on the bench. Savannah lowered her head a fraction. Nicholas did not react.
Louis looked toward Nicholas.
“Your wife packed good food,” he said.
Hale’s eyes shifted to him. Nicholas looked at Louis once. He had understood.
“She did,” he said.
Louis leaned back and kept his voice casual. “Best thing I’ve eaten since North Carolina.”
“That so?” Hale said.
Louis shrugged. “We had fried chicken. Smoked sausage. Cornbread. Green beans cooked right. It was all good.”
Hale stared at him.
Nicholas adjusted the M14 across his knees. “Rita fries potatoes in bacon fat. It makes a difference.”
Louis nodded. “That explains it.”
“Cornbread was fresh,” Nicholas added, flatly. “She knows how to work lard into it.”
Hale’s mouth tightened. Savannah’s head stayed down. One corner of her mouth tightened.
Louis looked at the roof of the transport and kept his voice loose. “The sausage was good. Smoky. Salted right.”
Nicholas exhaled slowly. “From our own hogs. Cured right.”
Hale swore under his breath.
“Must be nice,” he said.
Louis looked at him. “Yeah. We tried not to waste any of it.”
“Bet you did. I bet you scraped that plate clean.”
Nicholas looked toward the back door. “I ate slow. It lasts longer.”
“I bet,” Hale said. “I bet you did.”
“What’s your favorite food, Nicholas?” Louis asked.
“Peas and ham hocks,” he said. “With cornbread. That’s a good meal.”
“Mine is ribs and steaks,” Louis said. “In Charlotte, there is this place called the Pit. They have the best barbecue. They slow-cook the pork over hickory wood for twelve hours. It falls off the bone. So good.”
Hale’s stomach growled again.
“Stop talking about food,” he said.
Louis shrugged. “Just making conversation. What about you, Hale? What’s your favorite?”
Hale looked at the partition. “Anything that’s not cold beans from a county pot.”
“You must have something you like,” Louis said. “Come on.”
Hale thought for a moment. “Fried chicken,” he said. “The way my mama used to make it. Buttermilk. Crispy skin. Not too greasy.”
“My wife’s chicken is like that,” Nicholas said. “She soaks it in buttermilk for a day. Then she dredges it in flour with salt, pepper, and paprika. She fries it in a cast iron skillet. It’s perfect.”
“You’re making me hungry, Nowak,” Hale said.
“Sorry,” Nicholas said. “I’m just talking about my wife’s cooking.”
“I know,” Hale said. “And I’m jealous.”
Louis smiled. “You should be. Her food is amazing. She delivered food to us today when we were guarding the bridge. We had enough to share with the whole checkpoint.”
Hale’s eyes widened. “You had food from her at the checkpoint?”
“Yes,” Louis said. “She packed enough for everyone. She’s a good woman.”
“Damn,” Hale said. “I wish I had been there. I would have eaten your share too.”
“Too bad,” Nicholas said. “You missed out.”
Hale grunted and looked away. His stomach growled again, lower this time.
“Jesus Christ,” he snapped, and slammed one fist against the partition. “Mackey.”
From the front, Mackey shouted something Louis could not make out.
Hale hit the partition again. “Pull at Keller’s if it’s open!”
Rusk’s voice came through harder. “We are not stopping!”
“I haven’t eaten!”
“You should have eaten.”
“I had half a plate of beans and cold coffee!”
“That sounds like eating.”
“Fuck you, Rusk!”
The truck continued for another hundred yards. Then Rusk said something sharp to Mackey. The transport slowed.
“Thank God,” Hale said.
Nicholas’s eyes lifted beneath the brim of his hat. Louis kept his face still.
The transport turned off the road. Yellow light passed through the small barred pane in the rear door. Mackey shut off the engine. A front door opened. Another door opened and shut. Footsteps came around the side of the transport.
Hale stood, ducking slightly under the transport roof, and banged on the rear door.
“Open it.”
The key turned outside. The door swung open. Night air came in with dust, gasoline, and fried grease from the store.
Louis saw Keller’s then: two yellow lamps over a low building, a crooked sign above the porch, and old pumps under a metal canopy. Beyond the pumps stood a chain fence, storage drums, and a parked fuel truck. A white cross had been painted on the side wall beside an old advertisement for motor oil.
Mackey looked in. “You two stay with the prisoner. Hale, with us.”
“About damn time.” Hale climbed out, stepped down, and straightened his back with a groan. “I’ll be back in five minutes if they aren’t too slow. Leave the door open. This thing smells like a pen.”
He walked toward the store. Rusk and Mackey followed. All three men crossed toward the lighted porch without looking back. Louis looked at Nicholas. Nicholas looked at Savannah.
“Now,” Louis said.
Nicholas moved first. He untied the rope around Savannah’s ankles with practiced speed. Louis bent to the knot at her wrists. Her hands were still. He felt her breath against his shoulder as he pulled the rope free. She flexed her fingers once and stood up.
“Plan?” she whispered.
“We steal a car,” Louis said. “You have anything on you?”
“My bobby pin.” She pulled a small black pin from the loose hair at her neck.
“Good. Let’s move.”
Louis eased the rear door wider. The hinges whined. He stepped out first, the M14 in hand. Nicholas followed. Savannah came after them, keeping low on the far side of the transport.
The lamps over the porch and pumps left the gravel exposed. Anyone at the counter could see the lot. A rust-colored pickup sat near the side of the store. A flatbed truck was parked beside the chain fence. Farther back near the service shed, an old sedan sat under a dead sign, dusty and partly in shadow. No one stood near it.
Savannah saw it the same second Louis did.
“That one?” he whispered.
“It’ll work.” She started toward the fence.
Nicholas stayed between them and the pumps, the M14 low but ready. Louis followed Savannah across the gravel, forcing himself not to run. Savannah reached the sedan and crouched by the driver’s door. She worked the hairpin into the lock. Her fingers were swollen and clumsy from the rope.
“Hurry,” Louis whispered.
She did not answer. The first attempt failed. The pin slipped, and she swore under her breath. Nicholas looked toward the store.
“They’re still inside.”
Savannah tried again. Her wrist shook once. She stopped, breathed through her teeth, and adjusted the angle. The lock gave with a small click. Louis opened the door slowly. Savannah slid into the driver’s seat and dropped beneath the wheel. Louis took the passenger side. Nicholas climbed into the back and lay flat across the seat, the M14 against his chest. Louis pulled the door closed quietly.
Savannah reached under the dashboard and joined the wires. The engine turned over, failed, then turned over again. This time it started.
“Hey!”
Hale shouted from the store porch. He stood in the doorway with a paper sack in one hand and a bottle in the other. He stared at the sedan. His eyes went from the open rear door of the transport to the sedan’s headlights. His mouth opened. The bottle slipped from his hand and broke on the porch.
“Rusk!”
Rusk turned toward them, his rifle coming up. Mackey came through the store door behind Hale, coffee spilling over his hand. Nicholas lifted the M14 and fired once through the rear glass. The glass shattered outward. Rusk slammed back against the store wall and dropped low, one hand going to his shoulder. Mackey dropped the coffee and pulled his pistol. Hale dropped the paper sack and grabbed for the shotgun slung over his shoulder.
Mackey fired. The round struck the sedan’s rear quarter with a metallic slap. Louis ducked and came up with the M14. Savannah threw the car into reverse and hit the gas. The sedan jerked backward. Nicholas fired again. Hale dropped behind a stack of feed bags near the porch.
“Move!” Louis shouted.
The sedan bounced off the curb and swung hard. Savannah turned the wheel and slammed the transmission into drive.
“We can’t leave ’em alive,” she said.
Louis thought she meant the militia men. Then he understood. He aimed the M14 through the side window and fired toward the pump island. The rounds struck metal beyond the pumps. Hale shouted, but Louis could not make it out. Mackey stopped dead halfway to the transport. Nicholas looked where Louis was firing, then backed toward the sedan.
Louis fired again. The M14 kicked against his shoulder. Something near the pumps broke. A hard gasoline smell came through the open window. He fired once more toward the side of the store. A light went out. Then fire appeared under the pump canopy and ran across the ground toward the transport.
Savannah had almost cleared the lot when the first explosion hit. Fire filled the space behind them. The transport shook in the blast. Glass burst somewhere near the pumps. Part of the canopy dropped.
The blast struck the sedan from behind and pushed it sideways. Savannah fought the wheel and kept the car on the road out. Louis hit the passenger door with his shoulder. His teeth cut the inside of his cheek, and blood filled his mouth. A high ringing filled both ears. Nicholas cursed once from the back seat, distant under the sound.
Louis looked back through the broken rear window. His ears were still ringing. Keller’s was burning behind them. The pump canopy had collapsed on one side. Part of the store roof was on fire. The prisoner transport sat crooked near the pumps, its rear end lifted off the ground. Burning fuel spread across the gravel. Smoke rose over the lot. Something exploded in the yard behind the store. Then something else went off. Louis could not tell what it was. A piece of metal flew across the road behind them and disappeared into the dark.
Savannah kept driving. Both hands stayed on the wheel. The fire lit her face and went dark again as the sedan moved. Blood ran from one wrist where the rope had torn the skin. She did not look at it. Louis realized what he had done. He swallowed and said nothing.
They were leaving the fire behind. The road ahead was empty.
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