The gravel cut below the grain elevator was choked with wild raspberry thorns and drifted snow.
Mara led the fourteen down the wooden fire stairs in a frantic, stumbling rush. Gideon carried Mrs. Callow over his shoulder like a sack of grain, his boots sliding through frozen corn chaff, while Donald Vance and Ray Myers half-carried Clara down the slick risers.
Behind them, high on the concrete ramp, the halogen spotlight from the Haven flatbed washed the empty rails in white glare.
“They’re not crossing the creek on foot,” Gideon grunted, setting Mrs. Callow onto a wooden pallet at the bottom of the cut. His breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps. “The truck’s too heavy for the bridge. They’ll have to take the state bypass down to the canal junction to cut us off.”
“How long do we have?” Mara asked, checking her watch.
4:12 AM. Two hours and six minutes until sunrise.
“Twenty minutes,” Ada Bell said. She stood at the base of the stairs, her green clipboard pressed tight against her mackinaw. She was breathing through her teeth, her lips gray with exhaustion, but her eyes were sharp. “The canal bridge is the only way across to Mile Three. If they beat us to that culvert, they have the choke point.”
