Seven Out of Hell (14 page)

Only the stockade and the corral was fenced in, but sentries were posted at intervals around the perimeter of the camp and its adjacent depot. Two infantry privates flanked the heavily rutted road where it passed between the end of the first row of tents and a cluster of 4^-inch caliber brass cannon. They offered no overt threat with their carbines.

Hedges halted his horse and pointed to his blood-soaked pants leg. “Got me a bad one, soldier,” he said. “Can I get it fixed here?”

One of the sentries nodded. “Sure enough. Hospital tent’s down beyond the command post.”

“Obliged,” Hedges replied. “Didn’t know about this place.”

The second sentry spat. “Weren’t here two weeks ago, sarge. Rosecrans’s pushed Bragg back to Chattanooga and Bragg’s screaming for reinforcement and supplies to keep the Yankees crossing the Tennessee. Don’t reckon no bum leg’s gonna keep you outta the fight.”

“Hear it’ll be over by Christmas,” Hedges said as he moved on down the road.

Both sentries spat now, considering the familiar remark unworthy of further response. Hedges waited until they were out of earshot, riding between a row of single storey magazines and the tents of a cavalry regiment. Flickering camp fires augmented the moonlight but none of the Confederate soldiers moving about their evening chores gave the newcomers a second glance.

“Look and remember,” Hedges muttered to the troopers. “All this stuff gets moved up to Bragg, Old Rosy won’t stand a chance.”

“What are we supposed to do about it?” Rhett complained.

“Like the Captain says,” Forrest hissed. “Look and remember.”

“But—”

“I didn’t say anything about yakking,” Hedges rasped as they went in front of the headquarters’ building with its pole flying the thirteen starred Rebel flag. “There’s a war on, Rhett. Careless talk costs lives.”

They halted outside a large tent marked HOSPITAL.

*****

THE escaped hostages reached the railroad in the cold grey light of a new dawn and sat on the ties between the rails. After awhile the strain of their ordeal at the mountain encampment and the exhausting walk down from the high peaks overtook even the strongest of them and they slept.

Even Edge, a man whose experience of life left him immune to suffering and who had taken his rest in the prison cabin, closed his eyes against the first rays of the sun and allowed his mind and body to submit to the encroachment of sleep.

The humming of the rails woke him first and he was at the side of the stream, splashing icy water on to his stubbled face when the approach of the train roused the others. It was an east-bound freight and as it reached the top of the grade and entered the ravine the engineer was preparing to open the throttle and make good time through the mountains and down on to the central plain of Nevada.

But he did a double-take towards the knot of people at the side of the track and jerked at the brake lever. Edge ambled across to join the others as the big locomotive ground to a halt beside them.

“Holy cow!” the engineer gasped. “You the folks taken off by the Chinamen?”

“You hear about that?” Edge drawled.

“You bet we heard,” the fireman shot back in high excitement. “Telegraph ain’t stopped humming with the news.”

“Seems no one was humming to come out and rescue us,” a man complained bitterly.

Neither crewman was provoked by the comment. The engineer shrugged. “Them Chinamen must have taken fifty people off the trains. Ain’t a one of ’em bin seen again. Just too much mountain to search. How’d you get loose?”

“It’s a long story,” Beth said with a sigh.

“With music,” Edge put in. “About how she was almost made in the mountains.”

The woman and Alvin glared at him hatefully.

“Bound for Chicago by way of Salt Lake City, Cheyenne and Omaha,” the engineer announced. “Can’t offer you no Pullman comfort, but you can help yourself to oranges in the first boxcar.”

Edge nodded and started off along the side of the train. The others trailed him and hoisted themselves up through the open door of a car. One end was stacked with orange crates, the scent of the fruit cloying the air. As soon as the last man had hauled himself aboard, the engineer sounded a blast on the whistle and the train jerked forward.

Initially, Edge was the only one to feel hunger, and satisfy it by breaking open a crate and eating a half dozen oranges. But as the train’s speed increased and the steady clicking of the wheels against the track injected a sense of security into the others, they, too, accepted the engineer’s invitation. Suddenly ravenous, they gorged themselves on the fruit.

Nobody talked and when an hour had passed, the weather getting warmer with the downhill rush of the train, most slipped into a secure sleep. Edge was sitting at the open door, his feet swinging freely in the slipstream, his mind impassively considering the loss of his stake.

“Mr. Edge,” Alvin said, close behind him.

The half-breed turned and studied the pale faces of the boy and the woman crouched at his side. “You want something?”

Alvin cleared his throat. “I know about Beth’s past. Everybody in Redwood City knows she was a dancehall girl and...” He glanced at Beth.

“And a whore,” she said for him, her eyes holding Edge’s gaze levelly.

Alvin pumped his head. “Right. But that don’t make no difference to me. It does to my father, which is why we had to run off...”

Again his voice trailed away. Edge clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. “You askin’ me somethin’, Alvin?” he asked. “You want me to be best man at your weddin’?”

“You ain’t even a…” Beth hissed, but held back as Alvin laid a restraining hand on her arm.

“It’s just that I’d like you to stop insulting Beth, Mr. Edge.” His facial muscles were tight, pulling his pale skin taut over his cheekbones. “I told you I’m not much with a gun. But if you keep saying—”

“Hold it, Alvin,” Edge cut in. His eyes narrowed and his lips curled back. “I got the message. Back it up with a threat and...”

“Oh, my God. Look what they did?”

Beth’s voice was hoarse with shock and her face was twisted by horror a moment before she turned away and began to vomit the oranges she had eaten.

Edge and Alvin looked out through the open doorway. The train was swaying around a curve in the foothills and they could see across to the far side of an expanse of low brush where the railroad cut into a stand of pines. A body was strung upside down by a rope, bowing a low branch with its weight. At first it seemed to be cloaked in a skin tight garment, coal black and outlining every rise and plane, leaving no doubt the body was female. But as the train whistle shrilled, a million flies swarmed angrily away from their meal, revealing the body as a mere pulpy red mass, like moist clay shaped into human form. In some places the ravenous mouths of the insects had eaten the flesh down to the bone.

Far off, on the crest of a hill, a line of men and two women clad in robes and coolie hats, looks down at the passing train.

“It must be the girl who set us free,” Alvin croaked as the train plunged into the wood, leaving the horrific scene behind. “They skinned her alive.”

“Yeah,” Edge agreed softly. “It’s always the woman that flays.”

Chapter Eight

T
HE
scattered remnants of Confederate units fleeing from the scene of pitched battles with advancing Union troops were not uncommon occurrences in the areas immediately behind the war zones.

The surgeon and the young duty officer listened to Hedges’ false explanation without suspicion and asked few questions. Their urgent tasks involved the future defense of Chattanooga and past campaigns were of no consequence. Thus, little time was lost in beginning treatment for Hedges and quartering the troopers in a pup tent adjacent to the hospital.

An ether rag plunged Hedges into a deep sleep while the surgeon cleansed his wound of infection and a strong dose of morphine kept him heavily sedated throughout the night. But Forrest allowed the troopers no rest and, in truth, the men would have been reluctant to sleep, despite their fatigue. For a deep-seated fear lurked within each of them. They were sharing quarters with upwards of three thousand Johnnie Rebs and the troopers had only their stolen uniforms to guard their deception. Although it was purely geography that had led them to fight on the Union side, they had fought for too long against the Confederates, and suffered too much at their hand, to be able to feel at ease in their present position.

So, following Forrest’s instructions, the troopers split into pairs and strolled around the depot section of the camp, taking a mental note of any detail they considered of value in planning its destruction.

Nobody questioned their actions. A number of other, genuine, Rebel soldiers - infantry, cavalry and artillery - were seeking to relieve the boredom of camp life with evening strolls. And there were no signs warning of restricted areas: just stenciled notices on the powder magazines and ammunition stores ordering no smoking in the vicinity.

By the time taps was sounded, the six were back in the privacy of their tent. Lamps were doused and fires died throughout the camp. Only one light flickered: from a candle under a blanket covering the heads of the six troopers crouching in their tent.

Silently, Forrest flattened an area of earth and used a stolen knife to inscribe the area of the depot. Then he carved symbols in several sections, indicating the siting of the various supplies and stores. He passed the knife on to Bell, who added a duplicate set of symbols. And so it went on until Rhett, the last man in the group, had finished making his marks.

Forrest studied the map in the dirt for almost five minutes, committing it to memory and planning a strategy Finally, he grunted, licked his thumb and forefinger and pinched out the candle flame. He tossed the blanket aside.

“Captain, niggers, guns, powder,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

He pushed his head out through the tent flap and grimaced at the bright moonlight. But it served his purpose in that he could see clearly between the rows of tents and discern no movement - except for the ambling gait of one of the sentries far out on the perimeter. He snaked out and got up into a crouch to scuttle across an area of open ground to the side of the hospital tent. The others imitated his action.

At one end of the hospital there was a canvas porch entrance, but the troopers did not attempt to reach it They sprawled out full length on the grass and wriggled in under the slack of the side wall. Inside, they stayed down for long moments, listening to the heavy breathing of drugged men. The ward contained a score of cots, twelve of which were occupied by patients. A medic dozed at a paper-littered trestle table beside the flapped entrance.

As Forrest got to his feet and moved stealthily down the aisle between the cots, the others split up to examine the sleeping patients. Seward raised his hand to indicate he had located Hedges and all the men froze, looking towards the sergeant. Forrest halted behind the medic and drew his knife. Suddenly he closed in, clamped his left hand over the man’s mouth and used his right to drive the blade deep into the back of the medic. He died with a sigh and was allowed to rest gently across the table top.

Forrest pointed to Bell and Scott, then to a litter resting against the tent wall. Moving like ghosts in the darkness, the designated men lifted the litter and moved down the aisle to Hedges’ cot. Within moments the gently snoring Captain had been transferred to the litter and was being carried towards the flap.

Again, Forrest took the lead, peering out of the tent across the quiet camp before slipping outside with the men at his heels. They stayed on their feet this time, but crouched as they ran across the grass to the substantial shadow of the headquarters building. Here, they removed their boots and tied the laces together so the footwear could be slung around their necks.

The road was a dangerously wide strip providing no cover in the silver blueness of the moonlight. They knew there were two sentries at the southern end and had to assume another pair of guards had been posted at the opposite side of the camp. Across it, the looming black shapes of heavy equipment and supply stores were a tempting invitation to the safety of cover.

“Like jack rabbits or snakes?” Seward whispered.

Forrest peered along the road in both directions and could see nothing that moved. He knew that the posted sentries should be looking out at the surrounding hills: but he had been in the army long enough to realize that few soldiers could be relied upon to carry out their duties to the letter. For the hundredth time since he had instituted this mission he cursed the fact that it was not he on the litter, with Hedges calling the shots.