team
always rolled their eyes when her lack of strength slowed them down
in some way. They didn’t make allowances for her being female,
because Garrett wouldn’t have tolerated it. So she would have to
haul her end of the load for as long and as quickly as Angelo did,
plus keep up with the others.
She lasted nearly quarter of a mile into
the bush, then dropped her end of the box with a crash. “I don’t
care what you think, I’m not carrying it another step. My fingers
are crushed.”
Garrett stepped back along the line,
grinning. “You lasted two hundred yards more than I thought you
would.” He jerked his chin at Archie. “Grab the end, my
friend.”
Archie grinned. He was one of the
strongest in the group. He picked up the other end with a grunt,
his brows raising. Garrett lifted his end with what looked like no
effort at all. “Princess,” he murmured as he passed Carmen.
It began to rain in big, fat stinging
drops. “Perfect,” Carmen said with a sigh, looking up at the bit of
sky she could see through the tree tops. “Just perfect.”
* * * * *
They reached the outer sentries for the
camp with two minutes to spare out of Garrett’s thirty minute
deadline. The rain had become torrential, which cooled things off
slightly, but made walking in the sucking mud difficult. It also
diminished their hearing and they all cocked their weapons without
being ordered to, watched their flanks and kept checking behind,
especially as they got closer to the camp. It wouldn’t do to lead
someone to the camp itself.
When the outer sentries challenged them,
Garrett dropped the box into the mud and straightened, kneading his
fingers, for the metal handle was thin and the weight of the box
made it dig into flesh, squashing it. Carmen’s fingers were still
tingling, so she knew how his felt.
But he picked up the box again, instead
of swapping with someone fresh, surprising her. He wasn’t really
going to carry it all the way into the camp, was he? What was he
trying to prove?
Garrett didn’t look around. He kept his
gaze ahead, the rain dripping from the brim of his hat and strode
ahead. Archie struggled to keep up with him, swapping his hands on
the handle, his breath blowing heavily.
When they reached the camp perimeter, no
one emerged to greet them. The rain was keeping them indoors. The
old monastery still housed a handful of Benedictine monks, even
though most of it was in ruins. Carmen had discovered that it was
part of the monks’ philosophy to stay where they were and remain a
part of the community.
The monks had been manfully trying to
restore the buildings by hand, using local resources and charity.
The war had ended their restoration work and the Insurrectos had
halted their forays across the land to help villages and farmers in
whatever way they could. Like everyone else in Vistaria, the monks
had to have permission to leave their residence and travel
anywhere. Travel permits were not issued easily.
Carmen wondered if the Insurrectos had
any idea that they had made enemies of the Benedictine order.
Although the monks would never pick up a weapon or use force
against the Insurrectos, they found other ways to support the
Loyalists, including letting Garrett’s unit use the ruins for their
camp. In return, the monks enjoyed peace and security and everyone
shared what food they had, including the produce from the monks’
garden plots.
The eight of them moved into the big
refectory. It was partially-roofed at one end. It had no windows,
but the roof and the smooth floor were almost civilized compared to
some of the squats and lean-tos they had used before. It was much,
much better than the tarpaulins stretched between trees that
Garrett had been using when Carmen had first stumbled into the
camp, seven weeks ago.
There was a fire burning at the enclosed
end, which was a cheerful sight after the dismal day outside.
Carmen was soaked to the skin. The idea of standing in front of the
fire, regardless of