The Winter Family by Clifford Jackman Page A

for a closer look and noticed that the mill’s wheel was no longer turning a moment before it toppled over into the water, bobbed under the surface, and began to drift toward the bridge.
    “Oh my god,” Early said.
    He ran back to Tom and Stoga.
    “Captain!” Early cried. “Captain!”
    “Careful,” Tom said. Early had come perilously close to stepping through a hole chopped in the bridge.
    “Look at the town!” Early said, as he began to cough. “Look what they’re doing to the town!”
    “What?” Tom said.
    “They’re looting the town,” Early said.
    “What?” Tom said. He hobbled carefully around the damaged sections of the bridge to get a better view. “Why?”
    “They want you to come down off the bridge,” Sevenkiller said. “To save the town.”
    “But there are no soldiers in the town,” Tom shouted. “There aren’t hardly any men, even.”
    “Hee hee hee!” Sevenkiller giggled. “Tell them that, sir! You should tell them that!”
    Tom balled his hands into fists and felt something hot and sharp rise in the back of his throat. He hated these invaders, who had come to a land where they were not wanted or needed and shattered every notion of what was good and just in the universe.
    “This is their idea of war?” Tom said. “Don’t they have any notion of decency?”
    “What do we do, Captain?” Early said.
    “Yes, Captain,” Sevenkiller said. “What do we do?”
    Tears welled up in Tom’s eyes as he saw the church catch fire. “If we lose this war,” he said, “it will be because we refused to stoop to the depths like them.”
    “Eee hee hee!” Sevenkiller squealed. “Unless when we get to heaven, it turns out niggers are human beings. Then we’re in for it, eh, Captain?”
    Tom ignored the slave and continued. “There’s a lot more towns on the other side of this river, and if we leave this bridge here they’reall going to meet the same fate. Don’t let anyone on this bridge. We only need a little longer.”
    “Yes, Captain,” Early said.
    Sevenkiller delivered a mock salute and returned to his work destroying the bridge. So did Tom and Stoga.
    Early, too sick to be much help, watched the Union soldiers move through the town. Fires sprang up and houses collapsed. He heard the screaming, the shots, the shouts. Now and then he blinked the tears away, but they returned so quickly there scarcely seemed any point.
    Sevenkiller’s callused hand fell on his shoulder.
    “Time to go,” he said.
    Early stood up, coughing, while Sevenkiller put the machine gun in its box. They made their way back across the bridge, which had been entirely shattered except for a narrow path. The posts and pillars had been hollowed and stuffed with straw and set alight.
    Just as they stepped on solid ground the bridge gave way with a suddenness that was astonishing and sublime. There was a trembling, a cracking noise, and then the whole thing was gone, breaking up and drifting south with the current.
    Tom said, “It’s done. Let’s head back. We’ll pick up Bill and our prisoners and head to Milledgeville and spread the word about what’s going on.”
    They had only taken about five paces toward the woods when a light flashed in the trees. Tom fell backward, grunting in surprise. A moment later, they heard the gunshot.
    “Get down!” Early shouted.
    Sevenkiller was already on his belly, slithering toward the woods like a snake.
    Tom felt a terrible pain in his chest, right around his collarbone. It was difficult to breathe.
    “Captain!” Early shouted, and he cradled Tom in his arms.
    Tom looked at him but was unable to speak.
    The rifle cracked again. Sevenkiller raised his rifle, and returned fire.
    “He’s by the oak tree,” Sevenkiller cried. “The pale one!”
    Early laid Jackson down on the ground, and then he and Stogacharged toward the source of the shots, past Sevenkiller, who was approaching cautiously and giving them covering fire. Early sprinted ahead and burst into the