“Try to climb back up?” I asked.

“No, let’s follow the embankment down here. We’ll be invisible to anyone up on the road.”

Darla took my hand and led the way, walking on the ice. After a few hundred feet the bank started to meander. Tree limbs jutted from it beside and above us. For a while we moved through some kind of narrow frozen channel—in a few places it was tight enough that I could almost touch the trees on either side. I heard a faint roar of falling water growing steadily louder as we walked.

The channel we were following opened up suddenly, and I saw a small pool of open water, beyond which stretched the wide expanse of the frozen Mississippi. On the far side, trapped by the ice and the steel jaws of the lock, was the barge we’d visited the year before. Dozens of soldiers swarmed all over it.

Chapter 15

The soldiers were as busy as ants. Darla and I stood in plain sight, but a long way from them—maybe three or four miles across the river. I clambered up the snowy bank next to us. At the top, a grove of trees had caught the blowing snow, holding it in a deep drift. We dove in and hollowed out a foxhole, protected from the chill wind and suspicious eyes.

I raised my head above the lip of our foxhole. The river was mostly frozen. The noise of rushing water came from a pool just below us, where water cascaded over the roller dam and crashed into the river, keeping a small section of it from freezing. Spray from the churning water had frozen around the pool, creating fantastical shapes that appeared to grow out of the ice.

A red dump truck was parked on the ice, backed up against the barge at the far side of the river. The soldiers were loading the truck, passing grain along a line in five-gallon buckets—like an old-time fire brigade. Another line of soldiers was moving the empty buckets from the truck back to the barge’s hold. From our vantage point below the dam, we couldn’t see the other two barges that had been here last year, stuck in the ash and muck above the dam.

“I told you the river would freeze hard,” Darla said.

“I believed you. Well, until I heard the water. Then I wasn’t so sure.”

“Pretty efficient way to unload the barges, I guess.”

“We’re never going to get anywhere near that wheat with all those soldiers around.”

“Forget about the stupid wheat already. Christ.”

“We owe Uncle Paul. And besides, wheat might be good to trade—it’s got to be almost as valuable as kale seeds.”

“Whatever. I think we should just focus on finding your folks.”

I nodded, frowning, and Darla led the way out of the foxhole. We kept to the woods until we were completely out of sight of the barge. The river ice was still and quiet. We neither saw nor heard a sign of anyone else, though occasionally we could see the scuff marks we’d left earlier. The embankment where we’d fallen was a challenge. It was covered with a crusted, icy snow—too slick to climb easily. I kept sliding backward until Darla took the lead and started kicking toe holds in the snow.

As we got closer to the guard shack, I heard a noise ahead—a low rumbling. “What’s that?” I whispered.

“Engine. A big diesel.” Darla replied. “Let’s look.”

We wormed our way to the top of the snow berm and poked up our heads. A Humvee painted in desert camo was parked next to the hut. As we watched, the two guards I’d seen earlier stumbled out and piled into the Humvee. The guy driving did a clumsy five-point turn, tapping the snow berm with his front bumper and the guard shack with his rear. Then he pulled through the gate, and the passenger jumped out to close and padlock it. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice the hole I’d cut in the fence. But he was in a big hurry and didn’t spend any time looking around. When they started out again, the Humvee lurched forward, almost stalled, and then bounced up over the railroad embankment out of our sight.

“Did they abandon the hut?” I whispered.

Darla frowned. “I doubt it. Let’s get the bike and move on.”

“I want to check the hut first. Maybe they left some wheat.”

Darla shook her head but got the shotgun ready, anyway. I crawled along the snowbank toward the hut.

When I got there, I peeked over the windowsill. One guy in camo fatigues and a black watch cap was sitting at the table. A pile of wheat kernels was spread in front of him along with five or six purple cloth Crown Royal whisky bags. He was counting the wheat seeds and sorting them into bags. He sat facing the hut’s door but was so absorbed in his task that he didn’t see me.

I crawled back along the snow berm to Darla. “There’s only one guy in there now, and he’s got wheat.”

“I can’t shoot a guy just to get wheat.”

“Who said anything about shooting him? Just hold the shotgun on him, and I’ll tie him up or something.”

“What if he goes for his gun? Then I’ll have to shoot him.”

I shrugged. “You ready?”

“I guess.”

We crawled back to the guard shack together. Everything was still. We hid under the window. When I’d caught my breath, I peeked over the windowsill.

The guard was still messing around with his bags of wheat. We slithered around to the other side. A sliding-glass window faced the road, kind of like a fast-food drive-thru. Next to that was the door, a normal metal entry door with a lock on the handle and a deadbolt. I crawled up to it, reached up, and slowly, very slowly, tried turning the knob to see if it was locked. It was.

Darla pantomimed a kick. I shook my head. She had more confidence in my taekwondo skills than I did. Even with a perfect kick, I might not break the door, and then we’d completely lose the advantage of surprise.

I waved at Darla to follow and crawled around the shack to the opposite side. We peered through the window. The guard’s back was to us. His assault rifle dangled from his chair. He seemed to be completely absorbed in sorting the wheat. I raised my head to examine the window. It was an ordinary double hung, like the ones we’d had in my house in Cedar Falls. A brass latch at the top of the lower sash held it closed.

I ducked back below the windowsill and pantomimed my plan to Darla. She nodded after I went through it once, but I did the whole thing again just to make sure. By the time I finished, she was scowling and rolling her hand as if to say get on with it.

I held up three fingers . . . two . . . one.

Chapter 16

We stood simultaneously, and Darla rammed the barrel of the shotgun through the window. The clash of breaking glass shattered the stillness. The guard swiveled in his chair and yelled, “What the—”

“Hands in the air!” I bellowed.

His face tightened as he took in the broken window and shotgun.

“Get your hands up! Now!” Darla yelled.

The guard raised his hands slowly, muttering all the while, “For shit’s sake, how many times do I have to tell the captain it’s not safe to have one guy here.”

“Guess he’ll believe the next guy,” Darla said. She bashed out more of the window glass using the barrel of the shotgun. I reached through, careful to keep my arm away from the business end of the gun, and unlatched the window. Darla backed up a step so I could push open the sash.

“You gonna flense me?” the guard asked.

“Might not. You look stringy to me,” Darla said. “Hardly worth the trouble.”

“Maybe you don’t have any shells for that shotgun.”

“You can test that theory. You’ll find out the truth a millisecond before you die.” Darla moved to the side as I crawled through the window.

I stood up behind and to one side of the guard, trying to stay out of Darla’s line of fire. I took the assault rifle off the back of the chair and slung it over my shoulder.

“Hand over the wheat,” I ordered.

“Well why don’t you ram a barrel brush up my ass while you’re at it! That’s a whole week’s pay.”