Through Darkest America-Extended Version (27 page)

"You helped load up the guns, then," Lewis asked, "the night before you took off with Hacker to meet the Rebels?"

"Yes. Everyone did, just about."

"You helped put '
em
on the pack horses."

"
Uhuh
."

"There was . . . what? About twelve loads. Twelve horses?"

"Sure, there was twelve." Now what was he asking a thing like that for? Howie wondered. He'd know how many horses there were. His troopers had taken them when they got Pardo.

"I suppose Pardo guarded them horses real careful," said Lewis. "I mean, once they was all loaded and everything. That was right valuable cargo."

"Well, sure he did."

"Was you part of that?"

"What? Guarding the guns? Yeah, I took a watch." "You recall who else did?"

Howie tried to remember who had pulled guard that night, and Lewis took it all down. Then he picked up his stool, told Howie he'd been real helpful, and that maybe they'd be talking again.

For a long time, Howie sat where Lewis had left him, looking at the bare walls and the barred window and the locked door. He thought about the things Lewis had asked him. Most of it was like the man said—stuff everybody already knew, that wasn't important to anybody. Only, Howie sensed that it had stopped being unimportant right near the end. When they'd started talking about the guns. And why, he wondered, was that? The Loyalists already had everything they wanted: Pardo, the weapons, and a whole troop of Rebels besides. Why did they want to know damn near everything about something that was over and done with?

Chapter Twenty-Nine

W
hatever else his room might lack, it offered a good view of the city. The building he was in was five floors high, higher than he'd ever been before in a town. And there were several others nearby, just as tall. He knew they had to be left over from the War, which made them hundreds of years old. No one could build things like that anymore. They'd been patched and mortared all over. There was no building he could see that didn't have half a dozen different kinds of bricks and stones checkered up its sides, but they were still standing.

Clearly, the people out here didn't have any fears about living in the old places, like they did back east. But then, this city wasn't anything like the ruins of Chattanooga, either.

The more Howie watched, the more he learned. No one had told him anything, but it was easy to see something was going on outside. The work on the city walls continued night and day. There were more laborers on hand than ever—laying stone, carrying big baskets of mortar, and hauling great carts of rock to the wall. It was two floors high in most places already. From the way colors in the rock changed, you could see there had been a smaller wall there all along, but the army clearly wasn't satisfied with that. They wanted it higher and they wanted it fast.

It seemed like more soldiers swarmed into the city every hour. They swelled the streets and finally overflowed outside the walls, their campfires ringing the city. There was a constant flow of farmers and merchants through the big wooden gates. The farmers hauled wagons loaded with grain and vegetables, their wives and children bouncing along atop the cargo.

You didn't have to know a lot about armies to figure what was going on. Sooner or later, the war was coming right here. If it wasn't, the city was sure going to a lot of trouble for nothing. And what would happen if the Rebels did attack and take the city? Not much, as far as he was concerned, Howie decided soberly.
They
didn't like folks who'd worked for Pardo any more than the government did.

Lewis came back the next morning. He asked Howie everything he could think of concerning the guns, from the time they left Roundtree until the troopers attacked the column. Howie told him everything he knew, which he didn't figure was much of anything.

The skinny man was all business, this time. There wasn't any fine talking or sugar smiles, or how Howie was a good boy and not to blame for anything. He did what he'd come to do, picked up his stool, and left. Now what was all
that
about, Howie wondered?

Right before noon, shouts and cheers brought Howie to the window. He watched a great meat herd coming through the gates, drivers cracking their whips above a sea of sun- darkened backs. The crowds parted to let them through and the herd moved under his window nearly an hour before the last animal was by. It was a lot of meat, he decided, even for a large city. If he'd had any doubts before, he was sure enough now. The army figured they were all going to have to live behind those walls for more than a little while.

Later, he watched a detachment of troopers leave the city to meet a column coming in from the south. There was nothing unusual about soldiers on horseback, but these caught his eye. Most of the troopers he'd run across on either side were just as shabbily dressed as anyone else, with parts of their uniforms missing or patched, the colors in their trousers and jackets faded by the weather. This group, though, was just as smart as it could be, every man sporting bright parade jackets with white wooden buttons and new feathered caps. He couldn't see who they were meeting, but it had to be someone special—a big government man, or maybe a general. He didn't know how many generals you had in an army this size, but he didn't suppose it hurt to have several.

The sun was just falling behind the mountains when they came for him. The door opened quickly and before he could turn around the two soldiers were there, pistols raised and ready. Howie's heart sank. That's why Lewis wasn't even pretending to be friendly anymore, then. They were going to kill him—right then and there!

Instead, one of the troopers motioned him out of the room and into the hall. There was another man waiting outside. From his markings, Howie knew he was an officer.

They took him down the long flights of stairs clear to the Main floor, then one more, below ground level. Howie could smell his own sweat before they got there. They weren't going to shoot him, then. It was going to be something worse.

Lewis was waiting for him inside the room. It was a cold, damp-smelling place with stone-gray walls, floor, and ceiling. It wasn't real stone, but the artificial kind they used so much in the old cities. There were no windows. Torches lit the somber walls.

"Howie," Lewis said without smiling. "I want you to sit down. Right there."

Howie saw the chair for the first time. He went cold all over. Lewis nodded at the two troopers. They grabbed his arms on either side and slammed him down roughly on the hard wooden seat.

"Listen," Howie said hoarsely. "I didn't do nothing! What you
want
with me down here. I told you everything you wanted to know, didn't I?
Everything!
"

Lewis looked at him. "Probably so, Howie."

"Huh?" Howie stared. "Then you don't have to do nothing, do you?"

"I said probably, Howie." Lewis shook his head, like he felt bad about it. "Thing is, we can't be real sure, can we? 'Bout all we can do is go over it some down here, and see."

Howie prayed silently that he'd die before they did anything. That God would just kill him right quick and not make him be there when they started doing to him what they'd done to Pardo.

The chair was heavy oak, bolted to the floor so it wouldn't move. There were tight straps around his arms, chest, and legs. He watched, frozen in fear, as Lewis directed the two soldiers. A round log, thick as a barrel and flat on both ends, was set up in front of the chair. There were straps nailed to one end of the log. A trooper squatted down beside Howie's left leg and started taking off his boot.

"No!" Howie yelled, and kicked the man square in the chest. The soldier glared at him. His companion came to help and Howie's bare foot was strapped firmly to the log. An extra torch was brought over and set in a bracket close by.

Lewis leaned over and put both his hands on Howie's shoulders. "I want you to know what's
goin
' tube happening here, boy," he said firmly. "Just
listen
, now, and don't start no
screamin
' or hollering until you have to. What
were
going to do is make a little cut in the bottom of your foot— not a big cut, just enough to a flap of skin loose. After we do that, we're going to take hold of that flap with these."

Lewis reached back and took something from one of the soldiers and held it up for Howie to see. Howie shrank back from it and closed his eyes. Lewis leaned down and gently forced them open. The tool had wooden grips and metal ends. The metal ends curved in upon themselves to form two ugly pincers.

"Y-you're
goin
' to
skin
me, aren't you?" Howie said desperately. "Like you did Pardo. I know that's what you're
goin
' to do!"

"Just a little, Howie," Lewis assured him. "Just a little on the bottom of your foot."

"But
why!
" Howie moaned. "
I don't know anything I ain't told you!
"

"I know you say that, Howie."

"It's true, damn it . . . I ain't lying!"

"I don't figure you are."

"Then . . .”

"But I got to be sure, Howie." Lewis moved away from him.

"Just listen," Howie cried, "listen to me!"

Lewis turned and faced him. "Howie," he said patiently, "I done told you this once. It's something that's got to be done. I don't think you know
nothin
' and I told you that. I don't figure
ol
' Pardo told anyone anything 'bout what he was up to—an' I think he told me just about everything that ever come into his head out there on the mesa. I don't reckon there's a little tiny piece of Pardo I don't know about." He looked evenly at Howie. "Now we ain't
goin
' to do anything like that to you, but we're going to have to do some. Just yell all you feel like and it'll be over right soon. Then you and
me'll
do some more talking, and see where we go from there."

He turned away then and joined the two soldiers by the big log. In a few minutes he felt them start to work on him. He was expecting something terrible.

But he'd never imagined how bad it would be…

Chapter Thirty

H
e was awake when the door opened. Dead tired, he was afraid to shut his eyes, even for a minute. He'd decided that if he we to sleep, they'd come in and kill him. It was downright crazy, he knew. If they wanted to kill him, they would. He couldn't stay awake forever waiting for it.

The figure moved toward him across the darkness. He shrank back in the corner, trying to squeeze himself out of the room.

"
Howie?
Howie, where are you?"

He let out a breath. "I'm over here. What do you want, Kari?"

Kari felt her way along the wall, then let herself down beside him. "Are you all right, Howie?"

"Sure," Howie told her. "I'm just fine. I'm having a real good time here."

"Is
your
. . . foot all right?"

"It feels swell," he said. "All they done was peel a bunch of skin off the bottom,
kinda
slow like so I wouldn't miss nothing. I'm sure sorry you didn't get to see it. But I reckon Lewis give you all the details."

"Howie …"

"Listen, Kari." He sat up as well as he could. "I don't know what you come for, but I'm sure it don't have
nothin
' to do with my foot and how it's feeling. I told your friend everything I know, which ain't nothing at all. If he doesn't believe me, he can come on up and work on the other one."

Kari looked at him in the dark. "You think Lewis sent me."

Howie gave her a harsh laugh. "Now why'd I think a thing like that?"

"Well, he didn't."

"
Uhuh
. You just ambled on up here an' told the guard `hey, let me run on in there and see old Howie.' "

"Of course not," she said crossly. "I asked Lewis if it was all right. He said it was."

"You admit it, then."

"I don't
admit
anything, Howie," she said evenly, "except that I wanted to talk to you. If you don't want to see me, I'll go. Is that what you want? If it is, say so."

"Kari …" He tried to make her out in the dark. She was no more than shadow against a greater blackness that swallowed the room. "I'm tired, Kari. I'm tired and I'm hurt and I don't mind
sayin
' it—I'm plain scared. You can go or you can stay. It's all the same to me. I don't figure we got much to say to each other. Not anymore."

"Why not anymore? What does that mean?"

He couldn't see her, but he didn't have to. He could read her in the dark. Head cocked slightly, the little pinched line between the wide, curious eyes. She didn't see it at all. She really didn't. It was something he could never really make himself understand.

"Kari. You're out there and I'm in here. Ain't that enough?"

She was silent a moment. Then, "You're mad at me? Is that it? Because the troopers didn't torture me like they did you and Pardo. Because you're locked up in here and I'm not."

"No, it's just . . .”

"I think that's exactly what it is, Howie. You're locked up and hurt and you think everybody else ought to be if you are. Only that's not so and you can't make me feel bad that it's you instead of me."