“Why should we jump?” Dean asked, confused. “There’s a bridge.”
“My point exactly.” She smiled. “Once we’re on the other side, nobody can follow us. Especially the dogs.”
“Follow me!” Ryan shouted. Kicking his mount into a gallop again, he backtracked to the bridge and rode across to the other side.
“We were headed north,” J.B. said, stopping near his friend. “Going to try for an ambush?”
“Better,” Ryan replied, sliding off the horse and heading toward one of the pack animals. Digging in the bags, Ryan found a hurricane lantern filled with oil reeking of fish.
“Good dry timbers,” J.B. announced, running his hand along the supporting beams.
“Trap?” Jak asked, holding the reins in one hand, his Colt Python drawn to give cover. Far below, a riverbed was visible, but there was no sign of any water. Just bare gray stones and smooth black pebbles lying across the red clay bottom of the riverbed.
Removing the flue, Ryan tipped over the lantern, spilling out the rancid oil. “No time for traps or bombs. Those dogs are too damn close.”
“And the sec men right behind them,” Mildred added tersely.
Removing the wick from the lamp, Ryan lit it with his butane lighter. The rag caught at once, and he dropped it on the planks. Smoky flames spread across the planks and over the sides, following the path of the flowing oil.
The howling was closer.
“Let’s go,” Ryan grunted, climbing back into the saddle. “Just in case one of the dogs makes it across before the bridge collapses.”
Kicking their mounts into a gallop again, the companions rode away from the burning bridge, knowing they were safe from pursuit for the moment—but also knowing that there was no way back into North Carolina. The plan to head into Tennessee was abandoned as they rode deeper into the wild country of Georgia.
STANDING IN THE throne room of the castle, Nathan Cawdor bowed his head in contemplation. He didn’t believe in torture. It served no purpose except personal revenge. Information was always more easily bought, or stolen, than extracted.
But as he looked down upon Sullivan lying wrapped in his cocoon of netting and chains, Nathan felt a fury build within. His mother had referred to it as the blood-fire, a sort of madness for violence that ruled the Cawdor bloodline.
“I have no wish to kill you,” Nathan said. “Or rather, I had no wish. To the best of my knowledge, you had harmed nobody within the walls of this ville. Plus, you saved many lives in the hospital sewing wounds and removing crushed limbs so gangrene wouldn’t rot my men.”
The room was packed with sec men and civilians. Justice wasn’t served in the dark. Only tyrants ruled from the shadows because daylight made them wither and die.
Hands clasped behind his back, Nathan walked around the supine prisoner. “No, my plan was to find you and send you back to BullRun ville alive and unharmed.”
The mutie sneered at the man, not believing a word of the pretty speech. Barons would always say golden promises before the crowd, then feast on flesh in private. Soon they would be alone, and Sullivan would discover his real sentence.
In a flash of anger, Nathan kicked the bound man. “You idiot! I had no wish to kill you. But after seeing what you did to the patients, nukestorm, you set wounded men on fire merely to hide your escape with their death screams!”
“Hang him!” a woman shouted from the crowd. “Peel off his skin and feed it to the dogs!”
Patiently, Nathan allowed the interruption as the woman was the wife of a now dead sec man. “Yes, Sullivan, I would be justified in torturing you to the point of death, then leaving you alone in the dungeon for a year to heal and grow strong, then start the torture again, and continue on until I was too old to wield the pliers or hot irons. So my sons would take over, and their sons and theirs, and it would still not be enough! There can never be enough revenge for what you did!”
Nathan turned away from the man and walked to his throne. Sitting down heavily, he sighed. “There is no choice but the ultimate punishment.”