Joey Mills Read online

  He had never really learned how to drive Bart like Grandpa had. The best that Johnny could do was to poke and prod the old mule along and try to keep the cart heading east. Even if he had known how, Johnny wouldn’t have had the heart to push the beast. For as long as far back as he could remember, Bart had looked like he was on his last legs. From the stories Farmer Dugan had told him, Bart just showed up on Devil’s Knob one day not long after Johnny’s parents had skipped town. Even back then the animal looked old, tired, and underfed. The mule’s left ear hung limp along the side of his head. Whether he had been born that way or it was the result of some long-ago accident no one could say, but it gave Bart an unbalanced look. No one knew where the mule came from and since no one claimed the poor looking animal, he went right on living on top of the Knob, even after Grandpa passed on.

  The cart creaked and rumbled while the two plodded along. In the late afternoon they crested the highest point along the trail and started their decent when Johnny discovered something he hadn’t thought about before. It got dark a whole lot earlier on the eastern slopes than it had in the Valley. While the sun slid behind the mountaintops, Johnny and Bart made a crude camp the best they could on the exposed face of the cliff. The wind howled, tearing across the peaks and cut through Johnny’s clothing. Hunkering down behind the cart did little to block the wind that swirled under and around the sides of the wagon. There was no fuel for a fire to be found and Johnny hadn’t thought to bring any from home. With the frigid darkness closing in around them, Johnny scrunched his eyes against the wind and stared into the distance, searching for any sign of Leesburg in the fading light. Now unhitched, Bart pulled at the coarse grasses that grew on the mountain, snatching mouthfuls from among the craggy stones until it was too dark to see.

  Johnny had a hard enough time trying to get warm and comfortable, but something else was gnawing at him, keeping him awake. Out there in the dark, some presence was watching him, waiting for him to fall asleep so that it could set upon him. Johnny cursed himself for forgetting to bring wood for a fire.

  Before long, the weariness from the journey started to overtake him and Johnny felt his eyelids growing heavy. His head had no more than settled against his shoulder when Bart let out a wild bray, startling Johnny awake. It’s here, he thought, his head moving from side to side as he tried to see in the dark. It’s on us. In the distance, Bart continued to bawl, tearing his way across the mountain. Fighting back his fear, Johnny picked his way around the ledges in the dark, calling for Bart to calm down and come back. The mule settled enough to stand still while Johnny slipped and groped his way toward him and led Bart back to camp.

  Four more times that night Bart shot out away from the camp as if something had stung or bitten him. Each time Johnny found him and led him back, his body numb from the cold and from the lack of sleep. There was nothing to tie Bart to that would keep him from running off, so Johnny endured the night the best he could, aware of that presence just outside of his reach, lurking in the darkness, laughing at him and biding its time.

  A cheerless, thin line of blue had formed on the eastern horizon when Johnny’s chin drooped to his chest and he nodded off to sleep.

  Just as the sun had set earlier on the eastern face of the mountains, it rose much too early the next morning. Johnny rubbed the sleep from his eyes and, after a cold and miserable breakfast that did nothing to satisfy his hunger, hitched Bart to the wagon. The two resumed their bleary-eyed journey, Bart leading them down from the mountains while Johnny tried his best to stay awake.

  It was much faster coming down from the mountains than it had been climbing up them. Around mid-morning, the two came upon the remains of a camp. The trampled ground spoke of a good number of men having camped here. It could only have been the Major and his men. The ashes were cold and scattered. Don’t remember seein’ a fire down here, Johnny thought. Must’ve been where they camped after they left town. That made sense. The soldiers would have been driven by the Major and would have made better time than he had. They didn’t have to try and get a cart up the path and weren’t stuck goin’ at a mule’s pace. Johnny shot Bart a dark look but didn’t think the mule noticed. He hadn’t expected to lag so far behind and the reality of how far back he was did nothing to lighten his mood.

  Just after noon, the path leveled off and the travelers left the hills behind. Johnny knew they were still a long way from the ocean, but he could already taste a saltiness in the air that didn’t exist in the Valley. Here, where the land flattened, the houses and farms grew closer together. The roads were wide, worn smooth by much traffic and use. Unlike the lonesome path through the mountains, these roads were alive with people. Businessmen and farmers nodded to one another when they passed while slaves sang their mournful songs while they toiled in the roadside fields. Drivers pulled their wagons and carts alongside Johnny and asked whether he had any news from the Valley or if he had seen any Federal troops on the road. Johnny assured them that he hadn’t any news nor had he seen any Union soldiers, but that he sure would keep an eye out.

  Seems the news is as scarce here as it is back home.

  During those stretches where Johnny and Bart had the road to themselves, Johnny’s head drooped and his eyes closed, lulled by the steady beat of Bart’s hooves clacking on the path. For his part, Bart fared little better. The mule’s head hung as he continued to swagger forward, dragging the cart behind him.

  The sun hung swollen and red just above the western horizon when Johnny felt the cart lurch forward, waking him from his stupor. Bart was braying, spit was flying back from his lips. The mule strained, trying to make the wagon move faster. Johnny made to call out to the mule when a wave of coldness washed over him. That feeling of being watched was back, and as strong as it had been the night before, this was somehow worse. The sky burned scarlet and the fields looked aflame under its crimson light.

  There was a clicking sound to his left that Johnny whipped his head around to face. Pairs of red embers glowed in the field, adding to the illusion that the land was on fire. The wind rustled the leaves in the field and the pairs of embers moved in a flood toward the road. The clicking intensified, a hungry sound that clouded and confused Johnny’s sleep deprived mind.

  The first of the embers reached the shoulder of the road and Johnny saw that they weren’t burning pinpoints of fire after all. They were eyes. Thousands of large black rats poured onto the road, chasing after the wagon. Bart brayed and Johnny felt the mix of fear and desperation in the sound. He heard it again, only to realize that the sound came from his own throat this time.

  Somehow, the rats had managed to catch the cart and were scrambling up the back and sides. Johnny spun around in the driver’s seat and kicked at the nearest rat. It ducked aside and Johnny’s foot flailed past, missing the rat by a wide margin. The rat sat back on its haunches and raised its forepaws, surveying Johnny with its red eyes. The beast was as big as a house cat and covered with wiry black fur. Long, razor-like claws extended from the rat’s paws, the dying light shining off of their ebony surface.

  It’s not a rat at all, Johnny thought. It just looks like a rat.

  Bart bawled out once again and, on instinct, Johnny turned to see what was wrong. As soon as he took his eyes off of the rat, Johnny knew that it was a mistake. Time seemed to slow while Johnny waited for the furry weight to crash into him and feel the sting of those black claws slicing through his skin. He imagined the rat’s mouth opening, revealing the soft pink flesh inside and sinking its sharp teeth into his throat.

  They ain’t chasin’ us, he thought with sudden clarity and certainty. They’re drivin’ us.

  Up ahead, Johnny saw an old farmer leaning beside a wooden fencepost, his hands buried in the pocket of his overalls. Closing on the farmer, details came into view, like the shock of white hair poking out from under his straw hat and the corncob pipe he chomped on.

  “Ho, there,” th
e farmer said, raising his hand. Bart slowed and pulled up beside him.

  Look out! Johnny’s mind shouted. The rats! He wheeled around to face the rats, but the cart was empty. Johnny looked back down the road and to either side, but all he saw were the lengthening shadows giving way to the night time darkness as the sun dropped below the horizon.

  “Looks like you fellas could use a rest.”

  Johnny looked back into farmer’s face. The old man was smiling, but there was something underneath that smile that Johnny couldn’t identify. The old man held Bart by the rope that hitched him to the wagon. The mule’s tongue lolled from the side of its mouth and its eyes rolled back so that only the whites showed. Bart shuddered from exhaustion.

  “Name’s Norman.” the farmer said, scanning the road behind Johnny. “Got a barn up the way, if you think you can get your mule there.”

  “Nah,” Norman drawled, “Didn’t see any rats.”

  Johnny patted Bart’s neck while the old man made up a bed of straw on the floor of the barn. The farmer had led Bart into an empty stall. Norman set out a bucket of feed and the mule got to work devouring its contents.

  “There you go,” Norman said, stepping back from the makeshift bed. “Grab a couple of those horse blankets over there, you ought to be in good shape for the night.”

  Now that the adrenaline was out of his system, Johnny felt the sleepiness returning with full force. He yawned, then picked up the blankets that Norman had pointed to.

  “But you said you knew we was comin’?”

  “I knew that someone was coming.”

  “How did you know?”

  Norman took off his hat and scratched his head. “Don’t know how to explain it. Just a feeling I get sometimes. Sometimes folk come barreling down the road like you two back there. Sometimes they stop a while and rest and sometimes they don’t.”

  Johnny yawned again and Norman grabbed his lamp. “You two just take it easy tonight and we can talk in the morning.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” Johnny stammered. “I ain’t got nothin’ to pay you with.”

  Norman waved a dismissive hand at Johnny. “Think nothing of it,” he said. “You boys rest up.”

  Johnny laid one of the blankets down on the pile of straw, then stopped. What if this is where we was bein’ driven? He looked around the barn, searching the shadowy corners for red eyes.

  “No rats in here,” Norman said.

  “I guess not,” Johnny replied. He laid down on the bed and pulled the other blanket over him. Johnny felt the weight of his weariness shift and fall from him as he began to fall asleep. Even if there was, he thought, drifting off, I think I might be too tired to care.

  The barn door opened, letting in the morning light. Johnny raised his hands and shielded his eyes from the glare. The smell of breakfast filled his nose and helped clear his head. His stomach rumbled and Johnny sat up, rubbing his eyes. His body was stiff, but refreshed. In the stall behind him, Bart let out a welcoming bray.

  Norman placed a plate of food on the ground next to Johnny, then seated himself on a bale of hay. “When you’re ready,” he said, pointing the mouthpiece of his pipe at the plate.

  “Thank you,” Johnny said, diving into the food.

  Norman nodded. The farmer knocked the ashes from his pipe, dug a pouch of tobacco from his pocket, and refilled the pipe. He struck a wooden match against his fingernail, lit his pipe, and smoked while he watched Johnny wolf down his breakfast.

  “Been a while since I’ve had company. Glad to share it. Been a lot of suppers alone since the wife passed on.”

  “Sorry to hear it,” said Johnny said through a mouthful of food.

  “Aw, that’s all right,” drawled Norman. “Been nine years this summer.”

  The two sat quietly, Norman smoking his pipe while Johnny tried to think of something to say.

  “Hope you ain’t got much further to go,” said the farmer, breaking the silence.

  “Why’s that?”

  Norman pointed at Bart with his pipe. “Don’t think your mule’s got much left in him.”

  Johnny looked over at Bart, who had fallen back asleep. “Actually, he looks better now after some hay and a nap than I’ve seen him look since… I don’t know when.”

  Norman chuckled.

  “We appreciate your kindness,” Johnny said.

  “Where you fellas headed, anyhow?” Norman asked, taking a long pull from his pipe.

  “Leesburg. I’m supposed to meet a fella there at the station. Mr. Ackles.”

  Norman rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Don’t know a Mr. Ackles, but it’s not far to Leesburg. You boys in a hurry?”

  “Sorta,” Johnny replied. “We’re tryin’ to catch up to the Major so we can join the army.”

  “Well, now it’s my turn to be sorry.”

  “What do you mean?” Johnny asked.

  “The army’s nasty work. All that fighting and killing… I never was much for that myself.”

  Johnny finished his breakfast in silence.

  “I was hoping that I might get you to help me out with a few chores around the home place. I’m not as young as I used to be and I could use the help. Might call it repayment for room and board.”

  Johnny felt his stomach turn. He was in a hurry, but how could he refuse to help out after the old man had taken them in?

  Norman saw the struggle on Johnny’s face. “Won’t take more than a day. I’d be much obliged.”

  Johnny hung his head and nodded. Another day behind.

  “You boys stay here tonight. If you get up at sunrise tomorrow, you ought to make it to Leesburg before the first trains leave in the morning. Where you headed after Leesburg?”

  “Richmond,” Johnny sighed. If I ever get there.

  Norman exhaled, the smoke wreathing his face. He squinted against the smoke, when he spoke again his voice was grave. “Good luck to you, then. I’ve got a feeling you’re gonna need it.”

  Johnny had risen before the sun and roused Bart, who had objected to being awakened, and hitched to the wagon. In spite of the delay, Johnny felt better than he had at any time since he had left home. The work around the farm had loosened the stiffness in his muscles and he was rested and ready to complete his journey to Richmond. Norman came out to the barn and waved good-bye. Johnny returned the gesture and moved Bart on down the road. Refreshed, Bart increased his pace from the slow, plodding steps to a more natural and swifter gait. Following Norman’s directions, the two entered Leesburg and pulled into the station as passengers started to board the first train of the morning.

  Johnny hopped down from the cart, tied Bart to a post, and made his way inside the depot. The station was the largest and busiest building that he had ever seen. Some of the folks stood looking at a large board that listed departure and arrival times for the day. Others kissed their loved ones before making their way onto the loading platform, tickets in hand. Porters hauled the passengers’ bags away from the crowd and loaded them off a different platform into the baggage car. The hustle and bustle was overwhelming at first, but Johnny managed to get in step with the people around him and made his way to the ticket window. The gentleman in front of him at the window finished his business, collected his bags and stepped aside.

  “Next,” called the old man at the window, putting the previous customer’s cash into the drawer.

  Johnny looked around, saw that he was the only one in line, then stepped up to the window. The old man looked over the top of his round glasses at Johnny.

  “Uh…” said Johnny.

  “Yes, what is it?” asked the old fella. His wiry mustache bristled when he spoke.

  “I’m lookin’ for a fella named Ackles,” Johnny said. The old man behind the glass only continued to stare at him. “Mr. Ackles,�
�� Johnny added.

  “Hmm? Well now, you have some business with Mr. Ackles?”

  “Yes, sir,” Johnny said. “The Major told me to ask for Mr. Ackles.”

  “Major, huh?” asked the old man. “What Major?”

  “The army Major, sir,” said Johnny. “Said he was comin’ to Leesburg. Should have been here a couple days ago. He was marchin’ his troops here to catch a train to Richmond.”

  “Well,” said the old man, pushing his glasses up on his nose and adjusting his hat. “There’s been plenty of soldiers through here lately. I seem to remember a troop coming through a few days ago…”

  “Yes, sir,” said Johnny, growing impatient as the train whistle sounded behind him. The line of passengers waiting to board was much shorter now. “Please, sir… Mr. Ackles?”

  ”Yes, I remember them now. Led by Major Benson, I believe. You know, I served with the Major’s father out west a long time ago.”

  “Yes,” Johnny said. “Yes, he said I should find Mr. Ackles.”

  “Well, you’ve found him,” said the old man. “I’m Ackles.”

  Johnny felt his mind go all foggy. He shook his head to clear it, then continued, “The Major said to speak to you, sir. I’m gonna join the army and ---”

  “The army, eh?” asked Ackles. “Not the Union army, I hope. It’s a shame what they’re trying to do to us down here.”

  “No sir,” said Johnny, looking over his shoulder. The last passenger was boarding the train. “Confederate army, sir.”

  Ackles rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, lost in his own thoughts. “I was in the army, you know. Weren’t no Union or Confederate back then.” Ackles removed his glasses, pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket and cleaned the lenses while he spoke. “Mostly out west, killing Indians and such.” Ackles held his glasses out in front of his nose, inspecting the job. “You ever kill a man before?”