Free After and Again by Michael McLellan

things were lit down there gave Zack a good deal of hope. While most of the camp was well lit with lanterns and campfires, the tethered horses and the cage-wagon were in shadow. There were also no lanterns or campfires on the cliff side of the rusty wagon, which Zack now thought of as the key- wagon . The main part of the camp was all set up on the road side of the key wagon. The problem, provided that the keys were even there at all was that they would be hanging from the road side, and not the cliff side of the wagon. There was a campfire set up about ten feet from where the key should be hanging. Zack would have to try to climb into the wagon on the cliff side and worm his way to the other side and reach over for the keys without being seen. If he was spotted then he would pull out the pistol and start shooting.
      He climbed out of the tree, backtracked up the mountain about two hundred yards and then turned right and started down. It took less than an hour to circle around to the bottom side of the shelf where he now crouched behind the group of tethered horses on the cliff side of the camp. He moved before he could lose his nerve and ran, keeping low, to the key-wagon. The wagon was only a head shorter than Zack who peered over the top before pulling himself up and into the wagon as quietly as he could. He lay there quietly for a moment catching pieces of the conversation at the nearest campfire.
      “…. Ya cain’t read anyway, Charlie, ya might as well use it for fire starter or ass-wipe.”
      “You can’t read neither, side’s, betcha one of them whores over there could read it.”
      “Or one of them new fellas,” another voice spoke up, “that we picked up in that last town, the youngins.” Zack thought of Santiago and Michael but knew that there was nothing that he could do for them at the moment. Keeping flat and picking his way over the jumble of rick rack in the wagon he reached the other side at roughly the place where he had watched the man take the keys from. He lifted his head slightly to look over the side of the wagon and could see the group of men that he’d heard talking sitting around a fire. They seemed intent on their conversation and were passing a bottle that Zack recognized as Brodie Hodgkins sour mash whiskey. Mr. Hodgkins kept a small still behind the trade and people came all the way from Auburn to get it. Seeing the bottle only re-kindled Zacks anger and he wondered how much of what he had just crawled over in the wagon came from Payne’s Station. Zack reached his hand over the wagon’s edge and felt along for the keys. He started to panic when he felt an empty hook on the other side but kept moving along anyway. When he was almost at the full length of his reach he felt it; a small key on a short tether. He lifted the key off of the hook and inched his way back to the other side of the wagon. Throwing one leg over, then the other, he plopped down on the ground, the wagon giving an audible creak at the loss of his weight. He hunkered down pulling the pistol from his waistband and waited for the shouts and the sound of footsteps. When he was confident that the sound had gone unnoticed he ran back the way he had come and once again crouched behind the horses.
      Sidestepping while keeping an eye on the camp through the horses, Zack reached the rear of the cage-wagon, there was enough light from the camp that he could see a little. He looked inside.
    “Oh my god Z—,” Emily Hodgkins began, from just inside the cage door before stifling herself with her hand.
      “Shhhh Emily, Jeezus. Everybody be quiet, I am going to get you out of here,” Zack said, scanning the dim wagon for his mother. Emily was fervently nodding her head still holding her hand over her mouth. Zack began to work on the rusty padlock while whispering “Can everyone walk? Mom, are you in there?”
      “Your moms here Zack,” Emily said, choking back sobs, “But she’s not right.”
      “What do