Freedom Fire, page 16
“What’s this?” Magdalys asked.
“A document stating exactly what I just said to you in no uncertain terms. If you should decide to join us, just show it to the nearest commanding officer and they’ll sort you out. All I ask is that you don’t tear it up. Could come in handy.”
A knock came at the door and then some scuffling noises. Magdalys pocketed the envelope. “Ah, sir?” someone called from the other side. “There are some, ah, people … here.”
“Come in,” Grant said gruffly.
The door flew open and Mapper and Cymbeline rushed in, followed by Octave and a tall, stout officer with light brown skin and a wispy goatee. “Magdalys!” Mapper yelled. “You’re alright!” He rushed over and threw his arms around her while Cymbeline stood by, her expression sad.
That wasn’t like Mapper.
“What is it?” Magdalys asked. “Where’s Amaya?”
“She’s gone,” Mapper said, and squeezed her even tighter.
“AND THEN SHE just …” Mapper shook his head, staring at his hands. “… just….” He shrugged. “She gave me a big hug and said she was sorry and walked out the door. That was it.”
They stood on either side of Amaya’s empty bed. In the other room, Cymbeline, Grant, and the officer, Colonel Ely Parker, conferred quietly.
“You gonna open it or do I have to do it for you?” Mapper said, nodding at a crisp envelope on the pillow with Magdalys’s name written on it.
She scrunched up her face, somehow dreading what she’d find. The scrap of paper inside just had three words:
Tamaulipas – Esmeralda Crusher
“What’s that mean?” Mapper demanded. He’d hurried over to where Magdalys was standing and was reading over her shoulder. “Is that a name? Sounds like a name kinda.”
“I have no idea,” she said. Was it the place Amaya’s mother had whispered to her before she’d disappeared? Had Amaya gone there instead of off to find her father? The information felt sacred somehow, something she wasn’t even supposed to tell Mapper. Not yet anyway. And she had no idea what to make of Esmeralda Crusher.
“Tamaulipas looks Spanish,” Mapper said, his voice harried. “You speak Spanish, right, Mags?”
She shook her head. “Yeah, but … not perfectly and it’s nothing I recognize. I … look, whatever the word means, what this really means is she’s gone.” The Dactyl Hill Squad was truly in the wind now, scattered like seeds across the battle-torn country. Magdalys sniffled. Everything they’d built with each other — this war had just shredded it to pieces.
“We gotta …” Mapper threw his hands up. “We gotta go look for her. She might be —”
“No,” Magdalys said. “She wasn’t snatched off the street, Mapper. She left.”
“I know.” He hugged Magdalys. “I get it. But … why?”
“She … she’s doing what her mom wanted her to,” Magdalys said. “Something she has to do. And it won’t be easy, whatever it is. But we can’t go after her, Mapper. I … I’m sorry.” She put a hand on his shoulder and he hung his head and covered his eyes.
“We’re all over the place,” Mapper sighed. “I didn’t think this would happen. Not this fast, anyway.”
“I know,” Magdalys said. “Me neither.” She knew she’d told Amaya to go, but it still hurt. Way more than she’d thought it would. She tucked the note in her pocket. She’d have to figure out whatever it was Amaya was trying to tell her later.
Mapper looked up. “Are you okay, though? We were worried about you.”
Cymbeline came in and sat on the bed beside her. “We were really worried. You were …” — the actress’s eyebrows rose and then she tipped her head — “very brave.”
Magdalys shrugged. “I’m alright. Aches and pains.”
“They said you might have a concussion,” Cymbeline said.
Now Grant limped in on a crutch, his finger fidgeting endlessly with the buttons on the jacket he’d just pulled on, Colonel Parker just behind him. “Ah, young people?”
Magdalys stood, because she wasn’t sure what else to do with herself. “What is it?”
“We …” Words seemed to fail him again, and Magdalys was about to yell at him to spit it out when he managed to do just that. “Your brother’s medical convoy was attacked while they were en route to New Orleans.”
Magdalys gulped and her legs seemed to give out from under her. She felt Cymbeline’s steadying hand on her shoulder, felt the bed beneath her, felt a wide, impossible emptiness stretch out inside her.
“He and his fellow soldiers have been declared missing in action, but …”
“We have to go find him!” Magdalys blurted out.
“The area where they went missing,” Colonel Parker said, stepping up beside the general, “the Atchafalaya Swamplands, is a vast, almost impossible terrain that is completely under the control of the Bog Marauders.”
“That’s where you said Earl Shamus Dawson Drek probably escaped to,” Magdalys said.
Grant nodded. “Indeed. And …” He looked around, flustered. “It is said to be haunted by the phantoms of long-dead dinosaurs. But that’s just silliness, of course.”
“And the convoy was lost over a week ago, I’m afraid.” Parker shook his head. “I don’t think —”
“I don’t care what you think,” Magdalys snapped. She was standing again, her finger raised, aimed directly at Parker. Cymbeline’s hand stayed on her shoulder, and Magdalys felt like without it she might just float away on a torrent of her own wrath. “It doesn’t matter how many Marauders there are or what the terrain is, we have to —”
“No,” General Grant said, not unkindly. “I’m sorry, Magdalys. I can’t authorize a rescue mission into the swamplands. I’ve ordered Sherman to march overland for Chattanooga and bring all available corps from the Army of the Mississippi.”
“But …”
“And Emperor Maximilian is massing troops at Matamoros on the Mexican border and they’ll tilt things toward the Rebels if they have a chance, so General Banks has already marched out with whatever units he has left to deal with that and the mosasaurus-riding blockade runners.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his sad eyes meeting hers.
She turned. Shrugged. Shook her head. She wouldn’t cry. This wasn’t the time for that. She had a mission to prepare for. “Doesn’t matter,” she said, heading for the door. “You may need my help to get the job done” — she shot Grant a long, sharp glare — “but I don’t need yours.”
The door slammed on a cacophony of yells and questions behind her.
The churches, mansions, and run-down shacks of the Garden District stretched to either side of her. The buildings got taller and fancier and then slid back into dilapidated one-stories, on and on throughout the city.
The sun had risen on a muggy purplish morning as huge tortoises lumbered up and down Saint Charles Avenue with dark green streetcars hitched to their harnesses. They stopped every few blocks to let off and collect passengers; nodded solemnly as they passed one another.
A bakery opened its doors on the far side of the block, and the smell of fresh bread reached all the way up to where Magdalys stood on the hotel roof with Dizz, Beans, and Grappler perched on either side of her. She thought she’d come up here to cry, but no tears had come. Maybe she didn’t have any left; all that was left inside her was fire — that never-ending flame she’d first felt flying over that Tennessee plantation.
But even the fire had been reduced to a quiet, crackling sizzle. She’d told it to cool and it had, tamped down by the shock of Cymbeline’s lies and then the confusion of all that army protocol and tough decisions and the suddenness of battle. And with no tears and barely any fire, all Magdalys felt was empty.
Sol had been killed before her very eyes. There was nothing even left of him, no body to send home or bury. The youngest Card had died that same day, and countless others. Sabeen and Two Step were trapped in a strange city, surrounded by enemies who wanted to kill or enslave them. Amaya had run off to find out what twisted destiny her father had in mind for her, and how it all fit into her missing mother’s plan.
The US Army was on the verge of total destruction, it seemed. And Montez … Montez was lost in the Atchafalaya Swamplands, probably dead.
Magdalys shook her head. She’d come all this way, crossed the whole country from north to south just about, only to find that he was still gone, just gone.
And no one would go look for him except her.
She heard the rooftop door creak open and then slam closed — someone coming to convince her it was alright somehow, that she should just give up and go along with Grant to Chattanooga.
“Magdalys,” Cymbeline said from behind her.
Magdalys shook her head. “I’m not going.”
“I know,” Cymbeline said. “I’m not asking you to go. The general knows you’re not going too.”
She raised her eyebrows. “He does?”
Cymbeline came up beside her; Grappler edged a few inches over to make room. “He’s no fool, Magdalys. And neither am I, by the way. I don’t think you should go out there by yourself, but I know I can’t stop you. I don’t think anyone could stop you from doing anything you’ve set your mind to, Magdalys Roca. And I’m not totally sure that’s a good thing.”
Magdalys acknowledged the point with a surly shrug.
“I don’t know what you’re going to do,” Cymbeline said, “or how you think you’re going to do it. But I know what I have to do. I have to help this army win this war.”
Magdalys wished it could feel so simple for her, and the wish tasted bitter, wrong somehow. Because it wasn’t simple for Cymbeline either, or Hannibal, or any of them. And still — the feeling remained, worming its way through her thoughts without permission. “They’re taking you with them back to Tennessee?”
“I have orders, Magdalys. New ones. I’ll be taking the general to Tennessee, yes, and then I have to head back up north from there. There’s an operative in New York they need me to … handle.”
Magdalys wanted to scream but instead she just leaned against Cymbeline and put her head on her shoulder.
Cymbeline wrapped an arm around her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be,” Magdalys said. “I understand, just like you understand me.”
“Yeah. Doesn’t make it any easier, does it?”
Magdalys shook her head, sniffed. “Nope.”
A moment passed, that never-ending murmur rising and falling amidst the sounds of the city waking up for another day. Magdalys reached out with her mind, past the clutter of commuters and beggars, the snorts of giant tortoises and grumbling dinos.
There.
She turned to Cymbeline. “Listen,” she said, found herself smiling. Somehow, the path was clear. She didn’t know what it meant or why, but she knew what to do. At least in this moment, if no other. This must’ve been what Hannibal had felt like, carrying that secret and then suddenly seeing how he could put it to work.
“What?” Cymbeline asked.
“I have something for you.”
Then yells erupted from below and a huge shadow passed over them. Cymbeline gazed up, mouth open.
Magdalys’s smile grew bigger. “Someone, I should say.”
“Stella,” Cymbeline gasped as the magnificent pteranodon landed with a thud on the rooftop and looked around languidly. The three dactyls squawked a joyful song and waddled over to nuzzle her.
“How else were you going to make it back there in time to save Chattanooga?” Magdalys said.
“But —”
Magdalys cut her off. “These guys are all I’ll need.”
“You mean all we’ll need,” Mapper said from the doorway.
“Wait,” Magdalys said. “What?”
‘I’m coming with you, Mags.” He was lugging a whole bunch of saddlebags. “Did you really think I’d just let you run off to save the day on your own? I said I had your back from the beginning and I meant it. Now give me a hand with these ammo cases General Grant asked us to hold on to for him while he’s away!”
THE DARK GREEN and murky brown forest swamps blurred past beneath Magdalys and Mapper. New Orleans had become a scattering of cabins and occasional clustered tents as they flew west, and eventually the wilderness became the world and sparkling bayous snaked through vast oak and pine forests.
“Atchafalaya,” Mapper said, but Magdalys could tell his usual excitement was dimmed some.
“Go on,” she said, after a few moments passed of just the whistling wind and burps, chirps, and yelps of swamp life around them. “I’m listening.”
“It’s a Choctaw word. But there are tons of different nations besides the Choctaw that were and are on this part of the state: the Houma, the Chitimacha….”
“How —”
“Books, Magdalys.” Mapper’s voice wasn’t cold exactly, but it certainly wasn’t warm either. “We had a whole library at the orphanage, remember? And sometimes the newspapers report on different nations around the country.”
“Gotya.”
That murmur only grew louder the further they got from the city: a deep, chortling burble that sometimes swung upward into an all-out wail. Magdalys had just gotten used to it. The sound was either the collected calls of the many, many dinos of the Louisiana bayou country or it was … she shuddered. Grant had said the Atchafalaya was haunted, but he was right: that was silliness.
Still.
The swamp gave way suddenly to an expanse of trimmed grass and hedges. A few busted shacks speckled the edge of the property and two grandiose pillared mansions faced each other from either end.
Magdalys shuddered, felt that familiar rage start to build up in her again, but this time when she told it to go it listened right away, eased back to a sparkly simmer and then dispersed entirely, leaving only sadness in its wake.
“I know,” Mapper said, watching her face go from clenched to resigned. “Me too.”
She glanced across the open sky to her friend.
It had been a while since she’d really taken the time to look at Mapper, or anyone for that matter — everything kept happening so fast, pausing seemed like a luxury. But no one was shooting at them right now; in fact, no one was around at all. Besides the never-ending murmur and the hoots and caws of swamp dinos below, they were alone. The world was theirs, and, of course, very much not at the same time.
Mapper smiled a sad smile. His face looked older somehow, more solid. The past few weeks had shoved them all much closer to being grown women and men than Magdalys wanted to think about.
“You really …” she started, then just sighed. She would say he didn’t have to come and he would say of course he did. What was the point? “Thank you,” she finally settled on. “I’m not sure what I’d do without you, Mapper.”
He tipped the Union cap that Octave had given him before they left. “Anytime, Mags. We should probably give them a rest soon, huh?”
“Yeah.” She’d been about to suggest that anyway. Grappler’s weariness had begun tugging at her and she knew they’d all need to be careful of the dactyls’ flagging energy if they wanted to get out of this alive. Or be ready for an attack.
“What’s the … ah, plan, by the way?” Mapper asked as they circled toward the treetops.
Magdalys laughed ruefully. “Ah, Mapper. Always with the plans.” She shook her head. “We fly around till we find my brother and then we get him and leave.”
“And the other soldiers he’s with? We gonna leave them behind?”
“I …”
Mapper sighed. “Ah, Mag-D. Never with the plans.” They brought Beans and Grappler down on a sturdy branch and Dizz flapped down with the saddlebags a few moments later.
Magdalys started unstrapping the bags so Dizz could rest. “Ugh! You have one, don’t you? See — this is why no one comes up with plans around you, Mapper. Because why bother? You’re just going to come up with one anyway. This is just like in Manhattan….”
“When I saved you and Miss Du Monde and made sure that evil guy’s fancy office got a generous helping of pteropoop?”
“Well …”
“Greatest plan ever, honestly. You’re welcome.”
Magdalys rolled her eyes. “Alright, alright, what you got, man?”
“Actually, not much. But I figure, wherever they are, they’re probably gonna need ammo and supplies, right? So we got those. And there is a rail line not too far outside the Atchafalaya Swamplands, buuut it’s Confederate controlled right now, so that might get sticky. I figure the best way to get a bunch of people back through Rebel territory to New Orleans is on the water. A lot of these bayous lead to major riverways. And then there’s the ocean, or gulf technically. If we travel overland we could make it to the coast in a few days and then … er, we’d have to figure out something from there, but with your mad dinowrangling skills … Mags?”
A plume of smoke rose over the canopy of trees up ahead. It didn’t look like an explosion, and Magdalys hadn’t heard anything. But then what was it? Magdalys started loading the saddlebags onto Grappler.
“What are you doing?” Mapper demanded.
“That could be him … them,” Magdalys said. “We gotta —”
Mapper’s hand wrapped around Magdalys’s wrist and she swung around, her mouth already curled into a growl.
“Don’t even think of telling me off,” Mapper snapped, and the words caught in Magdalys’s throat. “It’s one thing to get all righteous with a Union officer and then storm away in a huff. But I’m your friend and I’ve come all this way with you and …” Tears filled his eyes; he wiped them away angrily. “And I’m not about to let you run headlong into what might be a whole nest of Bog Marauders on a worn-out dactyl with no escape plan.”
Magdalys blinked at him. He was right. She knew he was right. Still, her whole body thrummed with that ravenous hunger to do something. Anything to make this whole mess be over so she could get her brother and get out of there. And hopefully not have to get any more dinos or people killed in the process.
