Timecachers (66 page)

T
he site for their camp was ideal; a glade nestled within an atoll-like bowl, encircled by enormous peaks on all sides. They were in the foothills of the Cohutta Mountains, an immense, looming range directly to the east that stretched endlessly before them. The little niche, as Guwaya had promised, was secreted well enough that they risked a small campfire. A welcome comfort since they were still wet from the river crossing.

They carried enough food from last night’s camp, so there was no need for a hunting party. Yonah, Guwaya, and John Carter scouted a wide perimeter around the camp just to be sure no one else was in the area. A schedule for nighttime sentry duty was agreed upon; one person to stay awake while the others slept. They preferred to avoid contact with any others, at least until they reached the Georgia border. Their watchfulness increased since last night’s reunion with Benjamin. They were fortunate that it had been a friendly encounter; they could have just as easily stumbled into a militia camp. It was a reminder not to allow their caution to become lax and to keep alert to the gravity of their situation.

After making camp, Alice sheepishly confronted Sal, apologizing for the misunderstanding in the river and for punching him in the nose. She expected a verbal attack and was willing to tolerate some of his abuse as a penalty for her transgression. Sal’s response was so unexpected and out of character she was awestruck.

“I’m just glad you didn’t get clobbered by that log,” Sal replied. “You’re okay, aren’t you, Alice?” He gave her no indication of sarcasm, no trace of a smirk, showing genuine concern and waiting earnestly for her reply.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” she said. He’s just trying to get me off-guard, she thought as she steeled herself for the expected outburst. When none came, she said, “I’m really sorry about your nose, Sal. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much.” She figured she’d play along; give him whatever opening he was waiting for and get it over with. Once again she was dumbfounded by his response.

“My nose? Oh, that. It’s fine. I hardly felt a thing; nothing to worry about. Well, I’m glad you’re okay. Have a good night!” He smiled and winked at her, then turned and walked away.

Wow, she thought, as she stood watching his retreating back. She wasn’t prepared at all for that kind of reaction; he actually seemed sincere. Was it possible that this experience had changed Sal for the better? She put that idea out of her mind as quickly as it had entered. Selflessness and gallantry were not on her list of Sal’s qualities. She pondered his motives. “He must be really planning something nasty. Well I’ve got news for Sal; there’s only so much I’m willing to put up with from him.” She shook her head and walked to her own sleeping area, trying to imagine what sort of deviousness he could be up to. She didn’t notice Yonah standing in the shadows, feigning disinterest, smiling, smugly pleased with his coup.

At dawn, Tom, who had been assigned the last sentry duty of the night, roused those who were not already awakened by the chirping birds. Several flocks had also selected the glade as a safe and pleasant place to spend the night, and they filled the canopy above the sleeping travelers. Had they known, they could have dispensed with sentry duty; the birds would have given them ample warning if anyone approached. As dawn became morning, the volume of their screeching crescendo intensified.

“Man, what a racket,” Sal grumbled. “Sounds like a headbanger concert!”

Yonah raised his hands to the sky and gazed at the treetops. “They are celebrating the morning, Squirrel-man. They are telling you to join them in rejoicing. Spread your wings and shout.” He placed his hands on the small of his back, stretched to ease the kinks that had crept in during his own morning ritual, and let out a loud whoop. “They are also telling us we are quite alone. Otherwise they would have scattered.”

“Yeah, whatever, Tonto. I just wish they would celebrate a little more quietly. I could have used a few more zees.” Sal yawned and did his own stretching, forgoing the whoop.

Morning rituals concluded, they set off again, leaving the birds in sole possession of the glade. The tiny trail ascending into the mountains was extremely brutal. This part of the Cherokee Nation was completely uninhabited. Very few people, neither Cherokee nor whites made their homes in this part of the mountains, being much too rugged for farm or homestead. Huge boulders and massive stands of old-growth forest dominated the landscape. Wild grapes and shaggy poison ivy vines, some as thick as a man’s arm, stretched between the trees, draped across their path.

The density of the foliage and the steep crags made their leading and trailing scouts ineffective, so they settled for traveling in a single group, counting on the remoteness of the area for protection. They took frequent breaks from the grueling hike. At each pause they sent a pair of men, armed with Guwaya’s long rifle, to higher ground to try and glimpse the next leg of their journey.

The only one of the time-travelers familiar with a flintlock was Tom. Guwaya gave the others a brief lesson in how to load and fire the weapon, limiting each of the three to a single shot. Not that he was concerned with the noise; it would not be unusual to hear shots fired by hunters in this part of the forest. He carried only a limited supply of shot and powder and had to ration it judiciously. The lesson would not make them proficient at shooting the unwieldy rifle, but they would at least be familiar enough with it to use in an emergency.

They progressed slowly for the next several days through the arduous mountain trails. Their circuitous route was dictated mostly by topography. John Carter, Guwaya, and Yonah knew the area well, consulting each other at trail junctions about which route would keep them moving in a generally northwest direction, avoiding the areas where they might encounter hunters or prospectors. To the team, the terrain seemed prehistoric and monotonous. The massive trees, rocky outcrops, and thick undergrowth were unchanging, mile after mile, the only deviation being whether they were climbing or descending. It was always one or the other; flat ground was nonexistent in the depths of this wilderness.

On their fourth day of travel since entering the forest, they stopped for a mid-day break next to a cold, pristine brook, where Adam spotted a few likely fishing holes. He offered to attempt to catch a few fish while the others sat on the abundant granite boulders, cooling their hot, tired feet in the stream.

Sal and Yonah climbed up the adjacent hilltop, following their routine of scouting the trail ahead. Sal carried Guwaya’s flintlock, using it as a walking stick to make his way up the rocky slope, while Yonah walked effortlessly alongside, his longbow slung across his back. Reaching the top, Sal’s view was seemingly identical to every other time he had done this—nothing but vast stretches of wilderness in all directions.

Yonah pointed in the distance to a thin, greenish-brown crease winding through the trees. “That is the Toccoa River. We must cross it, and then follow one of its tributaries to the border of North Carolina. Only a few days walk.”

“Sweet! Now that’s some good news, dude. My dogs have had enough walking to last a lifetime.” Sal looked toward the river, trying to gauge its distance.

“You still have much walking ahead, Squirrel-man. Even upon reaching North Carolina, we must try to locate a safe haven where we can remain unseen until we have assurances that we will not be molested.”

Sal wasn’t about to let that dampen his spirits. He was elated just to have a goal in sight after so many days trudging through the mountains. “I hope this ‘safe haven’ has a soft bed and a hot bath. And a nearby pizza joint would be most awesome.”

“You are most peculiar, Squirrel-man. If not for our circumstances, what place could be better than these magnificent mountains and all the bounty they provide? Do you not yet understand the reasons for our unwillingness to leave our lands?”

“Yeah, I do, Tonto. It sure beats the hell out of a traffic jam on the turnpike. Chill out, will you? Nothing wrong with wanting a little comfort once in a while, is there? It’s an awesome place, but there’s nothing here but a whole lot of nothing.”

Yonah grumbled disapprovingly. In his opinion, these white folks from the future had already had enough comfort to last several lifetimes. “Where you see nothing, I see much. Generations ago, my people filled these lands. If circumstances permitted, I could show you spiritual places, ancient carvings designating meeting places of my ancestors, and streams with countless fish traps built centuries ago. There was a time when everything needed to live was provided by these mountains.”

“Yeah, dude, sounds great, but I still…” Sal was abruptly cut short when Yonah suddenly lashed out, clasping his rough hand over Sal’s mouth as he pushed them both to the ground. Sal struggled ineffectively against Yonah’s bear-like grip until he realized the old man was pointing at a group of men making their way along the trail. He went motionless, his indignation forgotten, replaced by a sense of urgency as he watched the men moving toward the others who were resting by the stream below and unaware of their approach.

When Yonah was sure Sal comprehended the danger, he released his grip. “We must remain quiet,” he whispered to Sal. “They will be upon them in a moment.”

“Why don’t we shout a warning, or try to head them off?” Sal asked in hushed desperation.

“No. There are at least five armed men, and they are between us and the others. Shouting a warning will only alert them to our presence. Guwaya has his pistol, but he can do little against so many. It is better we remain unknown to them. We both have weapons, and must quietly make our way down from this mountaintop to where we can use them effectively.”

Sal looked uncertainly at the flintlock. He’d had his lesson, but until now had not seriously considered that he might actually have to use it against another human being.

Yonah noticed Sal’s hesitation and scowled at him. “Squirrel-man! We are needed!” Yonah’s harsh whisper was punctuated by a woman’s scream from below—the men had reached the others. Sal shoved all other feelings aside, tightened his grip on the flintlock and followed Yonah down the mountain.

Chapter fifty-five

A
dam dropped the fish at the sound of Woyi’s scream. He knew she was about fifty yards downstream, just out of sight, washing clothing and bathing her two children. His first thought was that she or one of the children had fallen, slipping on one of the slick rocks that lined the creek. He dashed toward her, hoping no one had suffered a serious injury.

He was shocked by the sight of a shabbily dressed militiaman roughly clutching Woyi by a fistful of hair. Guwaya, having more accurately assessed the reason for her scream, arrived at the same moment with his pistol drawn. He was instantly clubbed from behind by a second man, sending him to the ground and the pistol flying toward Adam’s feet. The attackers had anticipated that the scream would bring rescuers to Woyi’s aid and were prepared to neutralize them. Adam stooped to retrieve the pistol, freezing when he felt a hard jab in his ribs.

“Not so fast, chum,” Adam heard whispered in his ear by the bearded man behind him. The man held a short-barreled Brown Bess tightly against Adam’s mid-section. He used his foot to scoot the pistol away from Adam, picked it up, and jammed it into his belt. He smiled at Adam, flashing a shiny gold front tooth, gleaming like a beacon amidst a mouthful of dingy yellow teeth. Using the barrel of his gun, Goldtooth shoved Adam toward Guwaya, who was slowly rising to his feet and trying to shake off the pain of the blow to his head.

“Release my wife,” Guwaya said to the man holding Woyi. Woyi stood with the baby strapped to her back and a frightened Sagi clutching her leg.

“Shut up,” said Goldtooth. He waved the gun back and forth, alternately pointing it at Guwaya and Adam. “How many more of you critters are out here?” When no answer came forthright, the man who had clubbed Guwaya forcefully prodded Adam in the back with his cudgel.

Guwaya answered before Adam could respond. “There are no others.”

“Now why don’t I believe you?” said Goldtooth. “Maybe a couple more screams will bring ‘em out.” He jutted his chin and the man holding Woyi gave a sharp tug to her hair, causing her to cry out in pain.

“Leave her be!” said Guwaya, locking eyes with Goldtooth. “What sort of coward are you to molest a harmless woman with her young children?” Woyi’s eyes pleaded with her husband to not antagonize the men.

“The sort that knows how to handle a lyin’ injun. An’ you best hope I don’t show you just how friendly I can be to yer little squaw there.” He flashed another evil smile, malevolence glinting from the golden tooth.

Guwaya tensed, the huge muscles in his arms and legs bulging, like a panther tensed to leap upon its prey. He and Goldtooth stood eye to eye with pure hatred silently passing between them.

Their standoff was broken by the sound of others approaching; two more armed men led John Carter into the clearing and shoved him toward Guwaya and Adam.

“No more, huh?” Goldtooth sneered at Guwaya. “This’ll bring us a good bounty from the regulars at the fort. I told you all it’d be good huntin’ up here.”

“Ye think there’s any more of ‘em?” one of the other men asked.

“Naw; that one’s bellowing would’ve brought ‘em out by now if they was here. Get ‘em all together there and tie ‘em up good an’ tight. Just their hands so we can march ‘em in.”

The man holding Woyi released her hair and said, “You heard him; git over there.” He brought out a length of rope and began tying them up, one by one, while the other men kept their weapons leveled at the group.