Altered America (24 page)

             
The woman nodded at something Althea said and beckoned her into the house.

             
“Oh, come on now.” Libby stuffed the bandana into her pocket, wincing as she pulled at her side. She reached for the flask of whisky. The two kids were staring at her now. She made what she thought was an angry face, but they only laughed and started chasing the goats.

             
As she took a swig from the flask, Althea emerged from the house, a brown paper bag in her hands. She waved the woman thanks and stepped down the porch steps. The woman looked at Libby and gave her a little wave. Libby waved back, though she didn’t know what for.

             
“Ready now?” Libby asked, straightening herself up.

             
“Here.” She handed Libby the paper bag. “You can change those before we go too much farther.”

             
Libby opened it. Cloth bandages.

             
“I don’t need...”

             
“You're bleeding.”

             
Libby looked. Althea was right. Specks of blood stained her pale blue shirt.

             
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s walk up here and you can have some privacy.”

             
Libby followed, still looking through the bag. It was too heavy to contain just bandages. She pushed them aside and pulled out a cold, glass bottle of Coca-Cola.

             
“How did you...?”

             
“It’s my job to connect with people.” Althea took the bottle and opened it with her pocket knife. “And I gave her an old baseball for the children.” She took a sip of soda and handed the bottle to Libby. Libby hesitated then spit the button into her hand and stuck it in her pocket.

* * *

              The Mason-Dixon border was more heavily guarded than when Libby had come through seven months ago. Four checkpoint gates stood between heavy wooden fencing wrapped in barbed wire. The fence stretched in both directions as far as Libby could see. Refugees not turned away funnelled slowly through the open gates. Libby recognized the Indian-inspired dress of the Mississippi River people, but most families dressed in neutral colors, hiding their past allegiances. The guards, eight of them, carried M1 rifles like Libby’s and dressed in well-worn blue pants and shirts. Two beat up khaki-colored Jeeps sat parked behind the border. One man, another guard, reclined in one of the Jeeps with his feet up on the windshield and a newspaper in his hands.

             
Libby didn’t retrieve her papers until they were next in line. The guard on their gate was older, nearing forty, his face full of scars and wrinkles. He waved her forward, and she handed him her papers.

             
“Liberty Strunk, 76
th
Philadelphia Freedom Militia.”

             
He spat on the ground. “What were you doing below Mason-Dixon?”

             
“Seventh Battle of Atlanta.”

             
He regarded her more carefully. “Not many made it out of that.”

             
“No. Not many did.”

             
He spat again then returned her papers. “If you’re heading back to Philadelphia, stick to the main thoroughfare. Been trouble in the coal regions. People hiding West Virginia defectors.”

             
“‘Preciate the advice.”

             
He let her through then waved Althea forward. Libby waited just beyond the gate as Althea handed over her credentials.

             
“Miss Althea Hudson. Citizen of the United Kingdom. North American News Correspondent for the BBC.”             

             
The man in the Jeep suddenly sat up. He glanced at the newspaper then back at Althea. As the guard was about to wave her through, the other man whistled and hurried over. He whispered something to the border guard, who then handed him Althea’s papers.

             
“Is there a problem?” Althea asked.

             
Libby stepped forward, but the man held out a hand. The two men whispered again. The guard pocketed Althea’s papers.

             
“Ma’am, I’m gonna have to ask you to step aside.”

             
“What’s going on?” Libby asked.

             
“Best if you head off now, Miss Strunk. You’ll want to reach York before dark.”

             
“I don’t understand,” Althea said. “I’ve never had problems crossing territories.”

             
The man from the Jeep took Althea by the elbow. “You’ll be coming with me, Miss Hudson.”

             
He dragged her away towards a holding compound as the guard returned his attention to the line.

             
Libby followed. “Care to explain to me what’s going on?”

             
“Let us handle this, ma’am.”

             
“I’d be happy to if you explained to me what it is that needs handled.” Libby grabbed his shoulder, but he shook her off.

             
“You want a piece of that reward then you’ll have to wait and explain yourself to Captain Landers.” He shoved his newspaper into Libby’s hands then threw back the wooden cover of a dug out prison pit and tossed Althea inside. She landed several feet below with a thump and a shout as Libby scanned the paper—a bounty had been set for the capture of one Miss Althea Hudson, set by Captain Percival Landers of the 45
th
United Carolinas.

* * *

              Dusk faded, leaving a trail of stars in its wake. Bonfires had been set at either end of the crossing to light the locked gates. On the Maryland side of the border, tiny campfires illuminated small refugee tents where families would have to wait until morning to make their crossing. Hidden by the treeline, Libby watched the guards. There were only three on duty at night, and these three had a habit of clustering together every few minutes by the far left bonfire to share a drink from a flask.

             
After Althea’s capture, a guard had sped off in one of the Jeeps, probably headed to the nearest Western Union to telegram Landers. No doubt he’d reach the border by morning to collect his prize.

             
The guards dispersed to their stations, one strolling back and forth beside Althea’s prison pit. Libby sat back on her haunches, ignoring the stabbing in her side. Just a little pain was all. Nothing she hadn’t gone through before. She unholstered her Banker’s Special and waited for the guards to gather again. Soon as they did, she ran as quietly as she could to the prison pit. She lifted up the lid and called softly into the darkness.

             
“Miss Hudson?”

             
For a moment, nothing. Libby watched the guards. They were still drinking.

             
Then, “Libby?”

             
“Right, stand back. Ladder’s coming.”

             
Libby tossed down the rope ladder. As Althea climbed, the guards broke up.

             
“Best if you get a move on,” she whispered.

             
A pale hand appeared at the top of the hole, and Libby helped her the rest of the way up.

             
“Hey, you!”

             
Libby hoisted Althea to her feet as a shot fired over their heads. Libby fired back. A pained shout confirmed she’d hit her mark. She shoved Althea towards the remaining Jeep as more shots hit the ground around them. Libby started the engine and tore off, plowing towards the two remaining guards. They each fired a shot then dove out of the way. The Jeep careened down the bumpy road, Libby not slowing until the bonfires of the border were well out of sight.

* * *

              They hid the Jeep off the road, behind a cluster of bushes. After driving all night, they were due for a break. As soon as she parked, Althea took Libby’s knapsack.

             
“Jerky’s in the front pocket,” Libby said.

             
“I’m looking for bandages.”

             
“I’m fine.”

             
“That’s a stupid thing to say.”

             
“I’ve been known to say many a stupid thing.” Libby hopped out of the Jeep, but the pain in her side caused her leg to give out underneath her. She landed on a clump of leaves, her elbow banging against a flat rock.

             
“Yes,” Althea said. “Perfectly fine.” She climbed down from the Jeep, bandages and beef jerky in hand. Libby removed her jacket. The old bandages were indeed stained through. Althea knelt beside her.

             
“It looks like you’ve torn your stitches.”

             
“I’ll survive.”

             
Althea started patching her up. “You should be in hospital with a wound like this.”

             
“I was. Got bored.”

             
Althea frowned. “But this could get infected.”

             
“It starts to itch, I’ll toss a little whisky on it.” Libby gnawed on a piece of beef jerky as Althea patched her up. “Only way you’ll be safe from Landers is if we keep heading north to New England. From there you can travel to Canada. They’ll get you home.”

             
“I'm not leaving.”

             
“You ain’t got much of a choice. New England’s only place that’s out of this war. That means it’s the only place that won’t be swayed by Landers’ bounty.”

             
“I’m a war correspondent. If I leave at the first sign of trouble, I may as well find another job.”

             
“Why’s Landers got it out for you so bad anyhow?”

             
“Because... because I’m running a story about war crimes committed in the American territories.” Althea wouldn’t meet her gaze. “There. All done.”

             
“North and South?”

             
Althea gathered up the soiled bandages. “Yes.”

             
“But then the European Committee will stop sending us aid.”

             
Althea looked at her the same way Landers and his men had at the Old Dog.

             
“What? I’m just some ignorant soldier? I ain’t supposed to know things like that?”

             
“I didn’t say...”

             
“We can’t survive without that money and those goods. People rely on it. That woman who so kindly gave us these bandages? Her kids? What’ll they do? How will they live?”

             
Althea put the old bandages in the back of the Jeep. “I have a responsibility...”

             
“And we have to eat! You’re gonna condemn an entire country for the faults of a few?”

             
“You think this is a country?”

             
“No wonder Landers wants you dead.” Libby bent over to grab her jacket, aggravating her side. Althea grabbed it for her, and her hands fell on the wad of papers in the inner pocket—Libby’s border credits. Bits stuck out the top of the open zipper. The distinctive gold embossing could not be mistaken.

             
“Are these...”

             
Libby swiped her jacket from Althea’s hands.

             
“Not many did make it out of Atlanta,” Libby said quietly. “Those that did were justly rewarded.”

             
Althea didn’t move. “So you care about this ‘country,’ do you? Is that why you’re running away to New England? A territory which doesn’t receive international aid?”

             
“Shut up.” Libby got into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

             
“It’s easy to have a stance on an issue that doesn’t affect you, isn’t it? To boldly proclaim your outrage? But, to actually do something about it? I suppose that takes the kind of nerve you soldiers so rarely possess.”

             
“You think I want to spend the remainder of my days in that pacifist stink hole they call a territory? Well, I ain’t allowed in Philadelphia if I can’t fight and the rest of this country would kill me soon’s they found out where I’m from, depending who they’re aligned with that particular week. Why’d you think they gave me them credits? I ain’t got nowhere else to go!” Libby grabbed her ammunitions bag and dumped out all but the ten bullets she’d started with. They landed at Althea’s feet. “For your own moral protection, Miss Hudson. Wouldn’t want anyone to think you gave aid to a war criminal.”