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"Fire your doing?" he asked Duvalier as they pulled away from the fire and the growing crowd.
"Yes. But it's just a diversion. In another half hour the police headquarters is going to lose their fodder-wagons and fuel depot."
Pepsa took a startled breath. "I had a feeling you were more than just a boy heading home, Tar," Boothe said.
"You thought of everything," Thatcher said. "But it's not the police we have to worry about, it's the Ordnance."
"A girl has to keep busy," Duvalier said.
In the back, Ahn-Kha assembled his puddler.
"West on the river road," Valentine told Boothe.
"Where you planning to cross?" Thatcher asked, excitement bringing his words fast and hard.
"Route ten bridge," Valentine said. "Just a mile ahead here. Saw it when we were biking. It gets a lot of traffic."
"Yeah, 'cause it's open to civilians," Thatcher said. "You'll at least get a flashlight sweep. Go up five more miles and cross at Ironton Road. That's an Ordnance checkpoint. There's a Kentucky Roadside popular with all of us up a ways there. Better all around."
"Well?" Boothe asked.
"Ironton Road it is," Valentine said.
Duvalier gripped Thatcher's hand and nodded, but Valentine felt like it was a mistake. He handed her a party hat.
* * * *
The old, rusty trestle bridge had been blown up at some point. New girders and railroad ties had been cobbled together to close the gap.
"Don't worry, we've taken trucks over it," Thatcher said as Boothe slowed. Valentine checked the magazine of Thatcher's 9mm, then chambered a round.
They made it over the gap with no more than the sound of tires rumbling across the ties.
A lighted guardhouse at the other end had a couple of uniformed men in it. The Lincoln's headlights revealed two chains, running from either side of the bridge to a post in the center, more of a polite warning than a serious obstacle. Yellow reflective tape fluttered from the center of each length, looking like a dancing worm in the headlights' glare.
"I'm supposed to be asleep now," Gail announced, an angry tone in her voice.
"Oh great, we have a med-head," Duvalier said.
"Keep her quiet in back, there," Valentine said to Ahn-Kha. He heard a squeak.
Boothe rolled down her window as they approached the checkpoint. She swerved into the left-hand lane to pull up to it.
"Hey there, Cup," Thatcher called. He passed over an ID card. Valentine didn't know if it was Ordnance slang or a nickname, but the man's shirt read "Dorthistle." "Five and a lost Grog going to Beaudreaux's. Back by sunup."
The sentry looked at the card, then placed his flashlight beam on Thatcher.
Boothe began to glance around and Valentine stiffened. If he was on the ball, the sentry would notice the fight-or-flight tell. She was looking for a direction to run. Valentine yawned and returned his hand to the butt of the pistol next to his thigh.
Valentine heard the phone ring in the guardhouse.
"Line's up again," the man inside said. "That was quick."
Shit shit shit.
"You going to unhook or what, Private," Thatcher said. "It's Halloween and we need to raise some hell."
A soldier inside picked up the phone.
