"Johnny," she said, "Do you—?"
He shook his head, no.
"What's the matter?"
"I don't think we got that. I haven't seen anything like that."
"Must have left it on the boat… It don't matter. Ray's got a boy there can probably fix it to blow. Even if he can't — " Leo coughed weakly. "It don't really matter, I guess. Long as Whitey thinks we can make it go bang."
Again she felt Turner move, this tine to look at Leo. The truck began to drift toward the berm, toward the waiting trees. "Johnny — watch the road," she said.
"Uh." He twisted the wheel. Headlights loomed far ahead, lighting the night like a rising moon. They neared, dipped as Turner dimmed his, and swept by. She breathed out; she held her breath at each passing car.
Suddenly Turner spoke, his voice too loud, too harsh. "I thought the idea was, kill whitey. Now you saying we can't?"
"That wasn't the idea." Leo's voice was fading. "Not idea at all. Idea, to get us our rights, man. Jus' our rights." He seemed to rouse himself with a great but flagging effort. "Where are we?"
She saw the sign come up, glow briefly in the headlights, whip by. "Coming into Windsor."
Houses appeared, then crowded closer as the road widened with paved berms and sidewalks. A speed sign flashed by. "Better slow down," Leo muttered. "Don't want to get us picked up for speedin'."
"Keep going," Vyry snapped. "We got to get this man some help."
"Slow down, I said!" The Railroad man's voice was faint, but commanding. "There's too much depends on this, girl."
Turner took his foot off the pedal and the engine whined, slowing. Two streetlights, more white-painted clapboard houses, a huddle of small stores. Then they were through and picking up speed again on an even narrower and more deserted and disused-looking road than before.
"Leo?"
When he didn't answer she leaned down to listen to his breathing. It was shallow and still ragged, but it had subsided into regularity. She decided he'd dropped off to sleep.
The whiskey, probably. Thank God for the aspirin and the whiskey and the bandages. And the house, a safe place to hide through the dangerous daylight. The blonde woman, Hunt — how strange she was. A white lady, but she was with the Railroad. She'd served the CEs herself, with no hint of superiority. Strange to find a white person on their side. Maybe things could change. Maybe….
As she nodded, half-asleep herself, a night vision of a new Southland rose in her mind. A land where coloreds worked where they chose, had decent homes and schooling. Where they didn't have to obey, didn't have to fear, didn't have to scurry and hide in the friendly night.
She dreamed on, sliding deeper. From time to time she was dimly aware of the truck slowing, and she opened her eyes for glimpses of frame and brick homes, lonely streetlights, worn-looking cars parked for the night. Zuni. Ivor. Then, again, long stretches of empty road, hills rising to the west lightless and vast. Again she dropped off, but was brought back some interminable time later by Turner's elbow.
She opened her eyes, and sat up. They were slowing, gears clashing as the needle dropped to forty, thirty-five.
Something loomed in the road ahead.
As the truck slowed, he flicked the lights to low and she saw them: frame barricades, striped red and white, drawn across the road. In front of them red fusees smoked and flared, drawing circles of flickering scarlet on the pavement. Behind them — she was wide awake now, and shaking Leo — were two darkpainted pickup trucks. Men stood motionless near the barriers. Her eye picked out details as the truck continued to slow. Flashlights. Uniforms — some of them; others were dressed like farmers. A carelessly-held shotgun, barrel drooping downward, the ruddy glare from the fusees etching it all sharply against the utter black beyond.
Leo stirred and muttered.
"Leo, wake up!" She shook him fiercely, not caring if it hurt.
His body felt hot under her hands. "Wh'm—"
"Wake up. It's a roadblock."
It seemed to take forever for him to drag himself up. Turner downshifted, slowed further. They rolled toward the barrier at walking pace.
"Bust through?" said Turner.
"Uh… no. Gi' me…." Leo fumbled in his jacket. "Vyry, ah shit — help me here—"
She pulled something, a card, from the pocket and placed it in his good hand.
"Env'lope too."
Yes, there was a folded envelope at the bottom of the pocket. He took it and panted hard, tried to hitch himself up in the seat.
"Get down. Don't want to let 'em see you. No, wait — they won't be expectin' a woman. Stay setting up. Johnny, stop the truck."
The brakes squealed softly, and they rocked to a halt a few yards from the barricade. She licked her lips and sat back, trying to control her terror as one of the uniformed men stepped around the barrier, hand at his belt. Leo lifted his good arm lazily. "Evenin', Officer," he said.
"Howdy." The man, his face still in the dark, looked up toward the cab. He saw a white man in the passenger seat, a black woman, and a man at the wheel whose face he couldn't see. He looked at the sign on the side of the truck. "Gill's, huh?"
"Yep. Runnin' a load up Richmond way," said Leo, his voice subtly changed. Subtly, neither colored nor highclass white.
"Long way around," said the man. As he stepped closer, Vyry saw his face more clearly in the reddish glare. He had a round, heavy face, with bushy light eyebrows, a dimpled chin, large ears. A name tag under a silver badge read WILLIAMS.
"What's the trouble?" said Leo. He sounds so casual, Vyry thought. Even the weakness in his voice helped.
"Don't rightly know. Army called us out this morning after some niggers, s'posed to stole some new gun or something." The eyes shifted to Vyry, and as they picked up the headlights they seemed to gleam. "See you got one with you there. Nice lookin'."
"Yeah, she is."
"She, you know, she work for you?"
"Yeah," said Leo, his voice very casual, almost faint. "Leastways, you might say she works under me."
The deputy slapped his knee. "Yeah! Work under you, does she!"
"Oh, yeah," said Leo.
"It true 'bout them colored gals?"
"What, ain't you never had any?"
Five or six of the others, some in uniform, others in drab dark cotton of farmers, a few with colored armbands, drifted out from behind the barrier, attracted by the deputy's laughter. As they heard Leo's question they snickered, and Williams glanced around. "Well, sure." He looked at the other men and winked. "Anyway — they all pink inside." The men laughed.
"All cats gray in the dark," said Leo, tired-sounding.
They laughed. One man put his foot up on the truck's fender.
"We got to get a move on," said Leo, coughing. "Got to get this shipment on into Richmond by dawn."
"Where you say you was from, fella? You not from around here, are you?" said the man with his foot up on the fender. Leo ignored him.
"What you say you was carryin'?" asked the deputy.
"Coffee. Carryin' coffee up Richmond way."
Vyry felt herself trembling. Leo's voice was growing fainter and fainter.
"Who that with him?" said one of the farmers, a small bald man with a bulge of tobacco in his cheek. "That driver sure look like a smoke to me."
The officer came up to the window to peer in, stepping up on the running board. "Holy shit," he said, after a moment. "It is a nigra." He stepped down again and looked accusingly at Leo. "What's this — say, fella, you feelin' all right?"
"Just tired." Leo opened his eyes. "Real assbusted tired."
"That a nigra you got drivin'?"
"What the hell's it look like? You act like you ain't never seen one before."
"Now don't get riled," said the officer, voice going solemn. "No call to get upset. I can see you tired. But I'm goin' to have to cite you. Even if he work for you, can't no nigra drive. Specially after dark. Lemme see your pass."