"Burnbaum?" I gasped.
"Yep, and the rest of us Green Party members. Didn't think you were the only ones fighting this war, did ya?" he mused with a chuckle.
I shrugged. "I was kind of getting that impression."
"Well, yer not, but I was expecting one more in yer group. What happened to Laughton?" he asked me.
My face fell and I turned away. "I-I'm not really sure. He stayed behind in the marsh woods to fight off some of the guys following us from the compound."
"Well, by the radio I'd say they haven't caught him yet, and they're not going to catch you." Wilson shifted the truck into a higher gear and the vehicle sped forward down the road. "I don't like to see a woman crying, so I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll take you as far as the Wildlands border and search for your mate. How does that sound?"
"Really?" I asked him.
He smiled. "Really."
"But why?"
"Because he's the best asset we got. A good fighter and a lord, to boot. We can't risk him falling into the clutches of that madman Connor, and I've sworn on my mom's grave not to let that happen. 'Course, my mom's still alive, but it's still an oath."
I gave my best fangirl squeal and wrapped my arms around his neck. The truck veered across both lanes of the single-lane road and nearly careened into the ditch, but I didn't care. "Thank you! Thank you!"
He laughed and pulled me off. "I haven't found him yet, so don't be thanking me."
There was a knock behind us and I turned to see Rick's angry face glaring at me. "Are you two trying to get us killed?" he growled.
I pulled open the window and smiled at him. Even his grumpiness couldn't kill my good mood. "Wilson is part of the resistance and he's going to take us to the border of Wildlands," I told them.
Rick looked suspiciously at our driver. "If you were supposed to be looking for us why didn't you stop when we were thumbing for a ride?"
"Well, there was only three of you when we were expecting four, and you were waving your hand so bad I thought you were a drunk, and nobody in their right mind would be drunk while on the run from Connor," Wilson explained.
"Uh-huh, you got any proof to back up these claims?"
Wilson chuckled. "Well, I haven't got any tattoos, but if you'll look in that glove compartment you'll find my credentials."
I opened the glove compartment and smiled. Nestled amongst the worn leather gloves, dirty truck ownership papers, and dust was a clean slip of paper. On the paper was written the words "Find Mr. and Mrs. Smith, and present them with this paper for identification."
I pulled out the paper with my hand and Rick read the short note over my shoulder. "What's this mean?" he wondered.
"It's the names Luke and I used when we signed in at Burnbaum's inn," I told him.
"That's your proof?" Rick scoffed.
"Rick?" I asked him.
"Yeah?"
"Don't make me eat you."
"You wouldn't-" I whipped my face to him and growled. His eyes widened and he backed away from the window. "Fine, fine, we'll believe him," he grudgingly agreed.
"We'll be at the border in about eight hours, accounting for gas breaks and whatnot, so you may as well get some sleep," Wilson advised us.
Rick slunk down against the cab and mumbled to Steve about our new and improved predicament. I nestled myself down on the seat cushions and dozed for most of the ride.
10
It was the first time in forever that I had a good sleep, and when Wilson stopped the truck I was a little disappointed. "We need to stop for gas," he told me.
I raised my head and glanced around. We were in one of those small towns like the one with the old mother. "Are you sure it's safe to be stopping anywhere?" Rick whispered through the cab window.
Wilson chuckled and opened his door. "I grew up around these parts and know most everybody who's worth knowing in these towns from working as a mechanic. You won't find a finer group of people."
"Hey, Wilson!" shouted an elderly man on a bench outside the gas station convenience store.
Wilson leaned out the window and waved. "Hey, Tom, how's the crops this year?" he yelled back.
The old man solemnly shook his head. "None too good, but what can ya expect with all them lords causing a tussle at Sanctuary?"
Rick scowled and pointed ahead of us. "It's not the locals I'm worried about, it's them!" he hissed.
I followed his finger and my eyes widened when they fell on a group of guards from the compound. The four men had long rifles slung over their shoulders and were outside a small grocery store. Anyone who came out of the store was stopped and the group had a short word with them before they allowed the citizen to pass. Every citizen they harassed looked daggers at the men and I detected a hint of revulsion in their features. The guys weren't the popular kids in town.
"Don't you worry about them. They won't try nothing," Wilson assured us.
Somebody forgot to tell them because the moment Wilson stepped out of the truck his movements caught their attention. They tossed aside their food wrappers and cigarettes, and marched over to us. I ducked down, and Rick and Steve did the same in the back of the truck. Their heavy boots stomped closer until they stood in front of the vehicle. While they played Nazi formation Wilson went about his business opening the truck's gas tank lid and pulling the filling gun out of the machine. The four guards pulled their own guns and I heard them click.
"Who are you?" the leader shouted at Wilson. Sweat drizzled down my neck, the wet, sticky kind, as Wilson went about his business filling the truck's tank. "I said who are you?" the guard repeated.
"None of your business," Wilson drawled. I suddenly had the urge to pray.
"If you're in this town then you've made it our business, now who are you and what's your business here?" the leader insisted.
"I don't see it that way," Wilson argued.
"I don't care what you see, just-"
"What's going on here?" Tom spoke up. The sound of footsteps came from the gas station convenience store.
"Nothing you need to worry about, old man, now get back inside," the leader ordered him.
"You've been bothering folks hereabouts for the last two days and they've been real kind to you putting up with it, but I won't stand it myself. You just git along back to where you come from and stop bothering these good folks," Tom ordered them.
"We're on orders from Lord Connor and High Lord Simpling to find the murderers of Lord Mullen," the leader argued.
Tom scoffed. "Simpling's a lot like his name, and I don't give a hang what Connor wants. He's got no power here, nor do we want his kind, now you just get."
I crawled across the seat and peaked my head over the driver door. The four men faced Wilson and Tom with their guns drawn and pointed at the pair. More noise caught the attention of my good ears, and I turned my head to the right to see a small crowd of people walking towards us. Many of them were unarmed, but some came from the houses off the business block with rifles and shotguns. Others came out of the grocery store, saw the hubbub and followed the crowd with looks of vengeance for the harassment at the hands of the gang.
Their numbers swelled as word of mouth and cell phone told the whole town that there was trouble at the gas station. Before the gang new what happened they were surrounded on all sides by some very angry locals. It wasn't the welcome party. The four men couldn't point their guns at everyone, and being trapped as they were they instinctively huddled together.
"Get back to your houses! We're only doing our jobs!" the leader yelled at the crowd.
"Then you'd best leave before we change your job description," Tom quipped.
One of the guards happened to glance at the truck and his eyes bore into mine. His eyes widened, and I gasped and ducked down. "One of the murderers is in that truck!" he exclaimed.
"No, they're not. You think I'd fraternize with murderers?" Wilson argued.
"We don't care who you fraternize with, but the woman in the truck is wante
d-"
"I don't care if she's wanted by the High Lord himself for a personal audience to discuss matters of state, she's not coming with you," Wilson growled.
The mood around the truck darkened as the crowd pressed closer to the men. I dared another peek and saw the gang was being pushed away from the truck. The leader saw me, bared his fangs, and pointed his gun in the air. He fired off a couple of shots to scare the locals. They replied by firing a couple of shots in the air themselves, and by the sound comparisons they had a hell of a lot more guns.
"We're not going to take the word of a varmint who comes in here jostling everyone around because ya got a gun," Tom snarled. "Now you just git and tell yer friends that they're no more welcome than you to come in here and push us around."
By this time the crowd numbered a hundred and was growling at the men. One of the gang members, sweat pouring down his face, held his gun in his shaky hands. His itchy trigger finger fired off a shot into the crowd at the truck. Something dinged into the side of the truck as one in the crowd yelped, fell to their knees and clutched at their arm. That was the bell for the start of the fight, and nobody was going to miss a chance at beating the tar out of the four strangers.
The locals jumped them and the four disappeared in a mess of claws, fangs, and vengeance. I never expected to see the men in one piece, but after a minute of tussling the gang reappeared and were raised above the heads of the locals. Gone were their guns and most of their clothing, and in their places were bite and claw wounds. The townspeople marched the gang members down the street while others helped their injured friend to the nearest hospital. Wilson came up to the driver's door of the truck and leaned against the door. He had a big grin on his face.
"Beautiful sight, isn't it?" he commented.
"Um, yeah," I replied as I watched the mob march off with their bouncing loads screeching for help.
A ding behind us caught Wilson's attention. "Well, looks like we got our gas, so let's get going."
Old Tom stood near the pump with a contemplative expression on his wizened old face. His eyes fell on me and I nervously smiled. "That girl ya got in there the one they was looking for?" he wondered.
"Probably," Wilson replied.
Tom chuckled and turned away. "Good."
Wilson smiled, capped the gas tank and slipped into the cab. Rick and Steve ventured a look through the rear cab window. "I suggest we not do any more stops," Rick spoke up.
"I'll take that suggestion with some consideration," Wilson teased as he put the truck into gear.
We left the town and the understandably-angry mob behind us. The rest of the drive was uneventful, or if there was trouble I slept through it. The next I knew the truck came to a stop and Wilson gently prodded my shoulder. I creaked open my eyes and was met with his smiling face. He nodded to the area in front of us.
"Here we are," he announced.
I straightened and glanced out the front window at the border of Manutia and Wildlands. There was an interesting contrast to differing ideas of development. The Manutia side was fields filled with neat, tidy rows of crops. Machines picked the harvest, processed the goods, and sent the food to the large cities to be processed. Wildlands, in comparison, was a forest of old trees and brush. Most of the acres were thinned and well-managed, and there were no city lights to stop the stars from shining. I took a deep breath and was glad when the scent of my homeland wafted into my nostrils.
"If you walk about ten miles straight through the trees you'll find yourself near Huntington. They'll be friendly to you there," he told me.
Rick and Steve dismounted the bed and I smiled at Wilson. "Thanks again for the ride, and for offering to help find Luke."
He smiled and bowed his head. "Isn't nothing on either part, but you'd best get. Those scum aren't going to wait for our chattering to be done to come after us."
I slipped out, shut the door, and waved with my fluffy paw as Wilson sped away. Rick turned to me. "All right, where does your sniffer tell us to go now?" he asked me.
I reverted back to my mule-er, wolf form, raised my nose to the air and took in the scent of wilderness. "It says for us to walk ten miles east of here and come to Huntington. I know some people there who will help us."
We tromped into the woods on a merry jaunt through wild rosebushes, stickily brambles, and sap-oozing tree trunks. At the nine mile mark, and with less than an hour of sunlight to go, Steve stopped and threw up his hands. "Are we there yet?" he shouted at us for the tenth time in as many minutes. Rick and I stopped, and we both turned to him behind us.
"If we were there you wouldn't need to be asking that, now stop whining and don't stop walking," Rick snapped back.
Steve folded his arms across his chest and scowled at us. "I have been dragged halfway across this godforsaken werewolf territory, and for what? More hiking! When the hell are we going to reach some place where I can at least take a shower?"
"I know a place," a voice spoke up.
Rick and I swung around and saw-well, nothing in front of us. However, something did drop down in the midst of our group from the trees above us. Steve yelped and tried a hasty retreat backwards, but he ended up falling on his rear. Rick and I turned and my face lit up when I recognized the smiling face of Mr. Stewart.
"Stewart!" I cried out. I jumped him in my wolf form and licked his face.
He laughed and gently pushed me off his chest. "I'm very pleased to see you, also, Becky. We haven't heard the radio announcements in a few hours and were worried you had been captured."
"We had some help getting to the border, but boy, am I glad to see you," I told him.
Stewart looked among our group and frowned. "Where is Luke?" he asked me.
I sighed and shook my head. "I wish I knew. We lost him a few miles into the forest swamp when he jumped off our truck to fight some followers from the compound."
Stewart smiled and patted me on the shoulder. "I am sure he is well, or the radio announcements would not be asking for information on his whereabouts. But come, you must be exhausted from your long trip, and I'm sure your human friends especially could use a great deal of rest," Stewart commented.
"I just want something to sit on that won't pound my butt," Rick spoke up.
Stewart chuckled. "I can provide that at my home only a mile away. Follow me."
Stewart led the way through the woods using his sense of smell because there weren't any obvious trails for a human to follow. The setting sun was blotted out by the trees, and halfway to our destination Rick and Steve were already stumbling over every murderous root and homicidal rock. We were all glad when friendly lights were seen in the distance, and Stewart led us to the edge of a gentle slope. At the bottom of the slope was a large meadow of green grass, fruit trees, a picturesque farmhouse, and a large barn with a shed about twenty yards from the house. A road led into the meadow opposite where we stood. Lights shone through the farmhouse windows and lit the ground with their soft-white brilliance.
I smiled and looked to Stewart. "I can see why you never want to go to Sanctuary."
"Yes, we have our own paradise here, but let me get you inside nice and warm," he offered.
11
Stewart led us down the gentle slope to the farmhouse. He opened the door and we followed him into a warm, comfortable home with an open floor plan. To our left was the living room, and to our right was the kitchen with its wealth of delicious smells. Mrs. Stewart stood over the stove stirring a large pot of something I couldn't place, but would be glad to lick the spoon. On the living room floor sat Abby playing with a corn husk doll. I plopped our portable armory on the ground and changed back into my human form, and with very little clothes to work with. Both the girls lifted their heads at our coming and turned to us.
Abby's face lit up with a bright smile. "Becky!" She jumped up and raced over to capture my legs in a tight bear hug.
I smiled and wrapped my arms around her small shoulders. "Long time no see," I replied.
; She pulled away and looked around our little group. "Are you here to fight the bad guys, too?"
"Yep, and we'll beat them up really well," I told her.
Mrs. Stewart pulled a blanket off the couch, hurried over to us, and wrapped the warm cloth over my shoulders. "We were so worried when we heard the radio announcements. We thought for sure they would catch you."
"We had some help from Wilson," I explained.
"Well, your journey along our little Underground Railroad has finally come to an end," Stewart spoke up. "You can rest here for as long as you need to."
My face fell and I shook my head. "No, we can't rest until we get a hold of Burnbaum. Wilson said he was in this direction, and I was hoping you could help us find him," I added, addressing Stewart.
"No need, I know just where he is, but why don't you rest? A single night won't end our little rebellion," he insisted.
"Not much of a rebellion with a truck driver and yourself doing all the work," Rick spoke up.
"There have been skirmishes between the Greens and Reds in most of the regions, and Sanctuary is in the throes of a battle between those Protectors loyal to Protector Brier and those loyal to Simpling and Brier's brother, the sheriff. He was instated as the head Protector when Adam Brier fled the area," Stewart revealed.
"Where is Brier? I haven't heard anything about him since he sent us a message about escaping from Sanctuary with Burnbaum," I asked him.
"Who is Brier?" Rick added.
"Adam Brier's the leader of the security forces in Sanctuary. He and Burnbaum succeeded in taking the last free train out of Wolverton a few weeks back, and they made their way here knowing I could hide them," Stewart told us.
"Arthur, why don't we let these poor people sit down at the table and have some soup? You can talk about the resistance over a nice bowl of food," Mrs. Stewart scolded her husband.
Arthur Stewart chuckled. "You're right, Martha." He turned to us and swept his hand toward a small dining table behind the living room. "If you're hungry, we can get you some of my wife's famous Wood Stew," he offered.
"I thought you'd never ask," Steve spoke up. He cringed when Rick ribbed him in the ribs with his elbow. "What? I'm hungry," he croaked out.