Ben Dover's Arc

Chapter 80 of 150

The wagon rolled west through the pines. Eileen kept the horse at a fast walk. The bed rattled hard over the ruts. Ben sat with one hand on the crate to feel for the hum. The rattle was loud enough to bury it. That was the good part. The bad part came a mile on. Ben looked back at the track behind them. The wheels cut a clean pair of lines in the soft dirt. Any scout who found the ruts could follow them straight to Jack. And the noise carried. He could hear their own wagon a long way off. Anyone waiting on the road ahead would hear it first. "We're a bell on a wire," Ben said. "I know it." Eileen didn't turn her head. "Two roads ahead cross this one. Both watched." Millie crawled up from the bed. Her ankle was wrapped tight. She pulled a green squeeze bottle from her satchel and shook it. "Scent oil. Eileen gave it to me before. One squirt on each wheel hub kills the track smell for an hour." "Smell isn't the problem. The noise is." Millie thought. Then she pulled her bone whistle. "He can carry the crate off the wagon. Short hops. Ridge to ridge. The wagon keeps rolling empty and loud. They chase the sound. We go quiet with the crate." Eileen looked at Ben. "Split the bait from the load. Same trick as before." "He can't carry it two days." "He doesn't need two days. He needs one crossing. Past the watched roads." Ben weighed it. If the winged creature dropped the crate, the seal would crack. If a scout heard the wagon and stopped it empty, they lost nothing but a horse. If the scout heard it full, they lost everything. "Do it." Millie blew the whistle. The winged creature came down through the pines and hooked its claws into the crate straps. Ben and Eileen slid the crate to the tail. Millie climbed on top of it. Her small satchel bumped against her hip. "West two ridges," Eileen said. "There's a dry creek. Wait in the willows." The creature lifted. The crate cleared the wagon bed and swung up over the trees. Millie held on with both hands. In a breath they were gone above the canopy. Eileen snapped the reins and the empty wagon rattled on louder than before. Ben lay flat in the bed and pulled the tarp over himself. A quarter mile on, a horn blew from the north crossroad. Another answered from the south. Boots on the road. Eileen kept the horse at a walk and did not look at either sound. The wagon passed between the two crossings without stopping. No one came out of the trees. The horns went quiet behind them. Ben let the tarp fall back. The crate was two ridges ahead in the willows. The bell had rung, and no one had come for it.