The private reached for the reins and held on to them as he climbed up onto the steering seat. His companion leaped up to take a spot beside him, and with a crack of the reins, the cart was turning around to go back the way it had come. The private continued, raising his voice to make himself heard over the background roar of fighting, We were holding em back real good, up until tonight. Wed cut em off from their cracker line, and the Chatty trains were keeping us in food and bullets, while they were running low on both.
Mercy didnt see the blond soldier whod been first on the scene-he had either stayed on the scene or gone in some other direction. The other blond had left the driving to the private, and was scanning the trees with a strange scope layered with special lenses, the nature of which Mercy could only guess.
The captain asked, Then what happened, man? What turned the tide so fast that the taps couldnt catch up?
Over his shoulder, the driver said, They brought in an engine. That thing tore right through our blockades like they were made of pie dough. Killed a score every half a mile. Eventually we just had to let them have it.
Mercy said, An engine? Like a train engine? I dont understand.
The blond lowered his scope and said, The rail lines around here, they run
crisscross, all over each other, every which-a-direction. We commandeered the switches and posted up our lads to keep the Yanks cracker line squeezed off shut. But then they brought-
The private interrupted him. The Dreadnought . Thats what they call it.
My CO said he thought the damn thing was back east, over in D.C., watching over the capital after our rally there last month. But no! Those bastards brought that unholy engine all the way out here, and it mowed us right down. They took back their line in under an hour, and now theyre pushing us back. Theyre pushing us back good, he emphasized, and drew the lenses back up to his face. Veer us left, Mickey, he said to the driver. I dont like the look of the smoke kicking up to the east.
Were going to run out of road.
Better that than running into artillery, eh?
The Zephyr s copilot was sour looking, squatting next to the captain. He asked, How do you know its artillery? I cant see a damn thing past the lanterns on the cart.
The navigator gave the copilot a look like he must be the stupidest man alive and waggled his scope, with its myriad jingling lenses. Theyre the latest thing. They aint perfect, but they do all right. One more glance through the lenses, and he said, But we gotta get rid of our lights or theyll spot us over there. Mickey, the lanterns. Kill em. Kill all of em.
Clinton, I swear to God-
Im not asking you a favor, you nitwit, Im telling you-
Im working on it! Mickey cut him off. Whos holding the other one?
I am, the captain said. And Im trimming the wick right now.
Not enough, insisted Clinton. Turn it off. Damp the whole thing down.
Mickeys lantern had already been snuffed, so when the captain reluctantly killed the light he held, the forest swallowed them whole. The horses slowed without being told, whinnying and neighing their displeasure and their nervousness. Mickey told them, Hush up, you two. Then, to the people in the back, he said, Down, all of you. Get as low as you can go. Cover your heads.
The old man, who had been silent against his wife thus far, instead asked, in a voice far too loud for anyones comfort, Why did it get so dark and quiet?
Gordon Rand slapped his hand firmly over the old mans mouth and whispered, Because none of us want to die. Now contain yourself, sir.
The old man did not so much contain himself as begin to giggle, but it was a quiet giggle, and no one chided him for it. All of them crouched down low, hunkering as deeply as possible against the floor of the cart as it rattled, jostled, and bounced them along the nearly invisible road between the trees . . . then off to the left where the road was less distinct, and rougher. It was also harder to bear for the folks whose knees, elbows, and ribs battered against the wood-slat bottom.
Nearby, a tree exploded, casting splinters as large as arms and legs through the darkness. The old woman muffled her own scream, and everyone else flattened even lower, as if they could meld themselves with the floor of the cart.
Mickey groaned. When Mercy looked up, she could see something dark and shiny all over his face and side, but he stayed upright and flipped the reins at the horses, yelling Yah!
The elderly man, absent Gordon Rands hand over his mouth, exclaimed, I thought we were supposed to be quiet!
But there was no being quiet anymore; it wouldnt do any good at this point, and the horses and cart were barreling-kicking back to the main road where travel was faster, if more exposed. Another tree nearby was blown to bits with a sound like the whole world falling down. As the echo of it faded, Mercys ears were ringing, and there was a tickle in her nose, of sawdust or vibration, then a knock against her head as a rock in the road launched the cart higher, then dropped it to the ground again with a clap that fractured the back axle.