November

November 17: Thursday

The bosun was missing in the morning. Brian used a pay phone to check for him at the local hospitals. He'd been admitted to Bayside General Infirmary a little after midnight. Brian swore, slammed the phone once, twice, three times into the booth, hoping in his heart to break the glass. He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. Just a setback. A strategy shift. He pondered in his mind how many ways he could acquire a boat. He walked back to the shore.

He and Havar had moved camp at dawn, hoping that not remaining in the same place would be enough to avoid attracting attention. When he got back, Havar was sitting on Brian's pack, a ration balanced on his knees. He took one look at Brian's face and knew. Brian sat down, waited for him to finish his breakfast.
"We're going to steal a boat."
Havar shook his head.
"No, we're not. We're going to quit water travel because it leaves us vulnerable; we can't move faster than the Union ships, and we can't take anything small enough to go unnoticed, not for as far as we need to go. We need to travel by land, only quietly, keeping to the backroads, camping, and walking if it comes down to it, to cross the border. We need to get the truck out of here, because sooner or later - more likely sooner - one of these old townies is bound to notice that we're unfamiliar, when we appeared, and who we look like. It only takes one to put two and two together, and when they do, we'll have less than an hour to get the hell out of dodge. So let's go now. We need to head west, then split south through the mountains."
Brian frowned over this proposition.
"We'll have to double back, go along our route, to get to a passable road into the hills."
Havar shrugged.
"If you think that's best. We could also lead north, then return south. That may help, for subterfuge."
Brian contemplated this.
"Yes. Better than we double back. We'll leave just after dusk."

~:~

"I just don't understand what you do that makes yours act like yours, and mine act like mine."
James scoffed.
"Well, I don't beat him all the time for no reason, that's probably the first part."
Clint gave James a look of annoyance. James shrugged.
"There are other ways to elicit obedience that are more effective."
Clint shrugged and went back to staring out of the window of the Jeep. A few minutes passed between them.
"But, I mean, you - " he cut himself off, and James just waited for him to say more. "Sloane is obedient, and everything, but..." A few more minutes passed in quiet, then Clint spoke again, not looking at James.
"You made him like you."
For a moment, he sounded surprisingly vulnerable.
"Sloane likes you."
"No, he doesn't. He listens to me, but he hates me. It's why I haven't married him yet. If we get married, he's gotta get pregnant. I don't want him pregnant while he hates me. It'll fuck up our kid, won't it? If his mom hates his dad."
Clint's voice sounded distant, and James listened to see if more was forthcoming, but he drifted off and didn't continue. James didn't have an answer for this. More moments passed.
"I just want him to stop acting like a bitch and be nice for once."
James raised both eyebrows in surprise.
"Sloane is very nice to you."
"Only because he's scared of me; not because he really likes to do that."
James wanted to point out that frequent, occasionally public, beatings tended to create that kind of setup, but he bit his tongue.
"Maybe you should try being a little nice to him, first. Maybe he just doesn't know how."
Clint nodded, peering through binoculars out of the window of the jeep.
"Yeah. I'll give it a shot."

~:~

The sun was low in the sky, shadows growing long over the shore. Havar had bathed in the sunset, and now stood waiting by the campsite for Brian to return. They took the footpaths back through town, into the forest where they'd hidden the truck, loaded it and got on their way. They avoided major highways; notices of their vehicle would probably be out and about. Gas only lasted a few hundred miles, but they were safely into the mountains by then and hidden on the back roads. A little after nine, they pulled into a trading post high in the mountains. The air was crisp; the sun came brightly through the trees and danced patterns of light on the dirty windshield and on the hood of the truck and across Havar's skin where he leaned, sleeping, against the door. Brian parked the truck in front of the low, rickety-looking, one story Trade Shop. Havar didn't stir, and so he decided to leave him sleeping, got out, and went in to the shop.

When Havar woke, the truck wasn't moving. He blinked his eyes and looked to his left. Brian was gone. Everything seemed quiet; he heard birds in the trees outside and the sun shone warmly in front of him. He looked up and saw that they were at a trade shop. Brian had gone for supplies, then. He wondered what had woken him. Then a sudden, harsh tapping to his right alerted him to the fact that there was someone outside of the truck. Cautiously, he looked up, and from the corner of his eye saw someone else approaching from the left side of the truck. A coordinated attack. The figure moved, came to the door as if to open it, and he got a brief, momentary glimpse of his face. The man looked disheveled; his hair was thick and long, hanging down in dirty strings around a thickly bearded face. His skin was sunburnt and streaked gray in places with dirt. He wasn't smiling, and his eyes looked mean and wild. Havar silently watched him. When he put a hand on the driver's side door handle, Havar leapt for the lock, and as he did so, the door to his right opened.
"I got 'im, boys!"
Havar felt hands close around his ankle; he kicked viciously out with the opposite leg.
"Get the fuck off of me!"
The hands tightened and Havar grabbed hold of Brian's seat belt, clinging to it for leverage, and twisted to see who was holding him. A man, in about his late thirties, no less disheveled, but blessedly less insane-looking than the other guy, was grinning widely at Havar, putting all of his considerable strength into pulling him out of the truck.
"Oh, hell no, princess, you ain't gettin' away."
Havar's eyes widened at that and he struggled harder, but the guy was definitely bigger than the skinny one who'd come from the left, and the sound of approaching footsteps did not weigh things in his favor. Havar kicked again, aiming for the burly guy's face, and began running through exit strategies in his mind. The guy dodged the kick and laughed as he caught Havar's other ankle in his grip.
"Hoo-we! A little firebrand, we got here!" Havar felt panic mix evenly with anger in his heart, then groaned a little as the guy yanked him roughly, pulling his hands free of the belt, and slamming his tailbone against the doorframe as he dragged him out of the truck and into the dirt.
"Hivey, hold the damn thing down!"
The skinny guy moved to comply, and there were a few precious seconds where Havar was free, and he took them, bolting through the only open space he saw, towards the trees.
"Inderson! Inderson! Brian! Bri - " the tackle caught him off-guard, and he landed hard on a pile of kindling firewood just at the forest line.
"I got it, Crow! Get over here; it's fightin'!"
Another beard was on top of him, his weight heavy and breath rank against Havar's face. He groaned, shifted so that he didn't feel like his kidneys were being punctured, and tried to roll away. Before he could get anywhere, the one they'd called Crow was back on him, working quickly to tie his wrists together behind his back. Seeing an opportunity, Havar leaned back and slammed his head into the new beard's face. The guy yelped and fell back, swearing. Havar struggled to get to his feet, but Crow held him by his wrists, dragged him off the stick pile to the dirt. The new beard lunged for Havar, but he dodged it and Crow stopped the blow.
"Enough! Enough! Alright now, I said enough!"
The new beard was seething, blood dripping down his face.
"I'm gon' kill it."
A fourth man appeared from behind the truck, coming to stand across from Crow.
"You ain't gon' touch her, she's mine."
"I am nobody's!"
Four pairs of eyes looked speculatively over him.
"Nobody's, huh? Not even that nice fella in there, that Brian's?" Crow asked, indicating the trade shop with his head. Havar hesitated, not wanting to shoot himself in the foot, but unwilling to risk giving up too much information. He spat on the ground and licked some of the blood away where he'd hit his face on the stick pile.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I am an enlisted member in the Union Land Forces. Private Inderson is in my crew."
Crow laughed and pushed Havar so that he was forced to back up.
"That the truth? Well, if that don't just cat my dog. Well, I guess we've discovered ourselves a little secret here, then, ain'it?"
Havar stared evenly at him.
"I don't know what you mean, but I know that assault on enlisted Union members isn't tolerated. And I know you wouldn't like us to make more trouble for you than it's worth, out here in this peaceful little place you got, far from the eyes of the Union government."
Crow's eyes suddenly turned cold.
"You threatenin' me, girl?"
Havar narrowed his eyes.
"Just making conversation."
Crow huffed.
"Well, I tell you what - why don't we just take you two's ID numbers, call 'em on in to the sheriff, let him know you're here."
Fear touched Havar's stomach and it must have reached his eyes, because Crow smiled. "Unless, of course, you've got some reason why we shouldn't." He put one hand heavily on Havar's neck, pinning him back against the truck, and with the other, began to unbuckle his belt. Havar tried to knee him, but before he could even get balance to do so, a pop like an explosion rang out, Crow's smile froze in place, and he began to keel over. He hit the ground, and suddenly, blood bubbled out from his back. Before any of them had fully comprehended what had happened, seven more pops and the skinny guy and the beard with the bloody nose dropped. Havar leapt back, frightened, still tied. The fourth guy broke for cover, running off behind the building, but three more ear-splitting cracks and he dropped halfway. Brian stepped out of the trees. His face was pale, and he carried a sack in his left hand.
"Get in the truck." Havar scrambled to do so, but his hands were still tied, and so Brian ran over, cut his ropes with a pocketknife, and let him go.
The trip to the road was silent Brian drove with one hand, the other resting ominously on his pistol.
"We have to change our plan. We have to double back."