She staggered beneath him and hoisted him out of the carts wreckage, where she found one of the students-Dennis-standing in shock, in the middle of the road. Good God Almighty! She shoved him with her shoulder. Get out of the road! Get down, would you? Keep yourself low!
I cant, he said as if his brain were a thousand miles away from the words. I cant find Larsen. I dont see him. I . . . I have to find him. . . .
Find him from the ditch, she ordered, and shoved him into the trees.
The captain was missing, too, and the copilot was helping with the horses, who were reaching shrieking heights of inconsolability. Robert was on point; he went to the elderly folks and took the womans hand to guide them both into some cover, and Ernie popped up from around the cart-looking more battered than even ten minutes previously, but in one piece, for the most part.
Mercy said, Ernie, with a hint of a plea, and he joined her, helping to shoulder Mickey. Soon the private hung between them, one arm around each neck, his feet dragging fresh trails into the dirt as they took him off the road.
Wheres . . . , she started to ask, but she wasnt even sure whom she was asking after. It was dark, and the lanterns were gone-God knew where-so a head count was virtually impossible.
Larsen! Dennis hollered.
Mercy snapped out with her free hand and took him by the shoulder. She said, Im going to hand Mickey over to you and Ernie right now, and youre going to help carry him back into the woods. Wheres Mr. Clinton? Mr. Clinton? she called, using her best and most authoritative patient-managing voice.
Over here . . .
He was, in fact, over there-still wrestling with the horses, guiding them off the road and doing his damnedest to assure them that things were all right, or that they were going to be all right, one of these days. We cant leave them, he explained himself. We cant leave them here, and Bessies not hurt too bad-just winged. We can ride them. A couple of us, at least.
Fine, Mercy told him. She also approved of assisting the horses, but she had bigger problems at the moment. Which direction is the rail line?
West. He pointed with a flap of his arm that meant barely more than nothing to Mercy.
All right, west. Do the horses know the way back to the rails?
Do they . . . what now?
Mr. Clinton! she hollered at him. Do the horses know the way back to the rails, or to the front? If I slap one on the ass and tell it to run, will it run toward safety or back to some barn in Nashville?
Hell, I dont know. To the rails, I suppose, he said. Theyre draft horses, not cavalry. We rolled them in by train. If nothing else, theyll run away from the line. They aint trained for this.
Mr. Clinton, you and Dennis here-you sling Mickey over the most able-bodied horse and make a run for it. Mrs. . . . Maam-she turned to the old woman-Im sorry to say it, but I never heard your name.
Henderson.
Mrs. Henderson. You and Mr. Henderson, then, on the other horse. You think she can carry them? she asked Clinton.
He nodded and swung the horses around, threading them through the trees and back toward Mercy. They aint got no saddles, though. They were rigged for pulling, not for riding. Maam, you and your fellow here, can you ride em like this?
Mrs. Henderson arched an eyebrow and said, Ive ridden rougher. Gentlemen, if you could help us mount, Id be most grateful.
Wheres Larsen? Dennis all but wailed. Im supposed to look out for him! Larsen! Larsen, whered you go?
Mercy turned around to see Dennis there, standing at the edge of the road like an enormous invitation. She walked up to him, grabbed him by the throat, and pulled him back into the trees and down to a seated position. Youre going to get yourself killed, you dumb boy!
On the other side of the road, somewhere thirty or forty yards back, things were going from bad to worse. What had started as intermittent but terrifying artillery had grown louder and more consistent, and there was a bass-line undercurrent to it that promised something even worse. Something impossibly heavy was moving with slow, horrible footsteps, pacing along the lines on the other side. She spotted it here and there, for a moment-then no more.
She forced herself to concentrate on the matters at hand.
One problem at a time. She could fix only one problem at a time.
Prioritize.
Dennis, you listen to me. Get on that horse with Mickey, and hold him steady. Ride west until you hit the rails, and get him to some safety. You can ride a horse, cant you?
But-
No but . She jammed a finger up to his nose, then turned to Clinton. Clinton, youre an able-bodied man and you can walk or run the rest of the way, same as me. Ernie, can you still walk all right?
Yes maam. Its just the hand, whats all tore up.
Good. You, me, Clinton, and . . . wheres Mr. Copilot-?
His name is Richard Scott, but I
dont see where hes gone, Robert interjected.
Fine. Forget about him, if hes gonna run off like that. Has anyone seen the captain?
I think he fell out when the cart broke, Ernie said.