#498
The Linderman shopping spree over, much sooner than they appreciated, due to the lack of basic food items; the men waited outside the federal building, talking among themselves about the lack of food.
"I hate this," Mark growled at least fifteen times, as he paced up and down. The horse drawn wagon with its very distinctive 'jail' body appearance collected quite an audience in the ultra suave and sophisticated world of D.C.
The capital was filled with people and a very odd assortment of cars and pickups of various antique age. More than once the distinctive sound of a Model A, could be heard sputtering along.
The Linderman's were still cooling their heels when Phil Sr. came slowly shuffling out the door. "Gentleman," he acknowledged quietly, "Please tell me any information you might remember about Junior's death. He was such a careful marshal. I have a hard time believing he would let himself be caught in an ambush."
"We know very little," Mark tried to console the distraught father. "Junior's body was on the ground when we got to their camp. Al was with us, and didn't seem to know Phil had been killed, he was referring to him as wounded. I do have to tell you that the men accused of shooting many dozen people had high powered rifles with silencers. As we escaped, they were randomly slaughtering people behind us, as they moved forward to try and intercept us."
Phil Sr. looked very troubled and frowned heavily. "Complications," he muttered darkly. "Not every thing is as it seems,: he told Mark under his breath, as he shut down whatever he had intended to say next; as men exited the building in battle mode.
The man in charge was not Director Scott, but Mark didn't care and didn't ask where the braggadocio might be.
"I'm going to double time us out of the city" he told the commander. "We will head Southwest and wait for you at the city limits, or somewhat beyond. Too many people here staring and discussing our obviously filled wagon. If we get too far ahead of you, we'll wait at the first good sized river, and,..." Mark looked at the foot soldiers and their heavy packs; "how do you intend to cross the rivers? There are four of them between here and where we need to go."
A look that could only be described as annoyance flashed across the heavy set man's face. "We'll manage," he assured the doubting patriarch of the Linderman clan.
"Alright," Mark agreed, as to keep things civil; but doubted the ability of the statement, and it showed plainly on his face.
"Move out at a trot," Mark told Tom, "we'll go ahead and clear the way. We need to get out of here," he said to everyone's obvious relief. "Let's go."
It took most of an hour to doubletime out of the city, and into the maze of suburbia.
The rumble of the wagon and the scary appearance of the lathered horses and men, cleared the road faster than shouting could have accomplished. Dogs barked and boys tried to run along side and shout questions, that were ignored and soon left behind.
Tom gratefully slowed the horses to a walk, when Mark motioned. He felt like his insides had been pounded to mush on the hard wagon seat.
"We're not headed Southwest," he remarked to Adam and Milo, as the horses walked to cool down.
"Yeah, we know," Milo returned heavily, as he took a drink from his brand new canteen, purchased that very morning. "We have a real hinky feeling about the situation and want as far away as we can get today. It looks like rain, so we're hoping for a downpour to wash out our tracks. The plan is to stop at the river, or cross, according to the weather and the rise in the water. We don't want to have to use the robbers ferry, so we are looking to cross up here, where it's smaller."
:Good plan," Tom agreed, "let's keep going as long as possible. We can talk more tonight." It suited everyone to put as much distance as possible between them and the oncoming group of supposed friends.