Ben Dover's Arc

Chapter 53 of 150

Ben crouched by the fire pit and watched the road. Chris kept feeding twigs to the flame. The chest waited in the flue, twelve pieces sealed inside, and Ben still had no way to move it. On his back, in daylight, he would be picked off in a mile. The scouts had a description that fit him exactly. "I need to get it out of here," Ben said. "Tonight. To the border road." Chris chewed. "Big box. One man. Bad idea." "I know." Ben thought through what he had. No cart. No animal. No partner within reach. Justin, Amanda, and Anita were pulling scouts east. Joe was gone. Amber was gone. If he walked out with the chest on his shoulder before dusk, the horn would sound before he cleared the trees. A boot scraped stone behind the hearth. Ben dropped flat. Chris kept feeding the fire like nothing had changed. A man came around the corner, gray hair, patched coat, orange stains on the sleeve. Al Beback. The man who had sealed the chest's seams with wax two weeks back. He carried a wooden handcart with a split side board and one wheel wrapped in rag. "Heard you were dead," Al said. He did not smile. "Not yet." Al set the cart down. The side board was cracked through. One slat hung by a nail. "Found it behind the mill. Owner won't miss it." Ben looked at the cart, then at Al. "It won't hold the weight." "It will if I fix it." Al pulled a hammer and a coil of wire from his coat. "Give me an hour." "Why?" Al squatted by the split board and ran a thumb along the crack. "I fix broken things." He did not look up. "That's all." Ben watched him work. Al drove the loose nail flat, wired the split board tight along its length, then packed the gap with pine pitch from a tin. He tested the wheel and re-wrapped the rag. He said nothing the whole time. When he finished he stood and pushed the cart forward two steps. It rolled straight. "Load it after dark," Al said. "I'll pull. You walk behind with a lantern like a farmhand hauling turnips." Ben looked at the cart, then at the chimney. The chest could ride under a tarp with a bag of grain on top. Two men, a cart, a lamp. Nothing that matched the description any scout carried. "You'll be seen with me," Ben said. "I've been seen with worse." At dusk they pulled the chest from the flue. It came down black with soot. Ben wiped it once and set it in the cart. Al laid a folded sack over the top and tied it down. Chris kicked dirt on the fire. They moved out onto the road at walking pace, the wheel turning quiet under the rag, and no horn sounded behind them.