The Black Sentry by William Bernhardt Read Free Book Online Page A

had ever seen. Far older.
    The man’s hair and beard were white as clouds. His back was hunched, but he was still able to move at a steady pace. His dress seemed familiar yet strange. He wore his collar backwards, so that the white rounded part showed through the opening at the top of his tunic. He carried a small backpack.
    A sudden thought struck Daman . Was this the man the Acolyte had mentioned? The Rebel who fought against the Sentinel himself?
    “Please,” the Old Man repeated . “I need your help.”
    He did not need to ask why . He could see for himself. Down the path at the foot of the hill he spotted the Old Man’s pursuers. They were too far away to distinguish their faces, but he could make out their black shirts with shiny gold buttons, their goggled masks bearing the Emblems of Authority, their whip-like crops strapped to the hip.
    The Black Sentry.
     

 
     
     
     
    7
     
    Daman couldn’t decide what to do next. Could the Sentry identify him from this distance? Could he and the Old Man possibly escape?
    “Quickly!” t he Old Man urged. “Help me.”
    There was no time to think, no time to debate. There was only time to act, to do what seemed right.
    He took the Old Man’s hand and led him down the far side of the hill. They had to leave the main road or they had no chance of eluding the Sentry. Fortunately, he knew this area well. He was pleased to find that the Old Man, despite his age and obvious fatigue, could still move quickly.
    The far side of the hill w as thicker with trees. He reasoned that the trees would provide cover as they made their descent. They raced down the hill, zigzagging past the round boulders and rectangular hedges.
    Still, as they approached the bot tom of the hill, the Black Sentry were not far behind.
    H e started down the trail that would pass through the densest part of the forest. He could hear the Old Man gasping and wheezing beside him. Occasionally his feet would tangle or he would trip over an obstacle, but he never stopped for long.
    “Only about a fourth of a mile further,” he said, not breaking his pace. “Then we’ll reach the Collins place. There are haystacks and barns and other hiding places. We’ll be much safer there than out in the open.”
    The Old Man nodded, without slowing . His face was sunbaked and his eyes seemed large and watery. He moved without complaint, but he could not possibly keep up this pace indefinitely.
    They rounded a co rner and, in the distance, he spotted the Collins barn. A moment later, further down the road, he saw something else. Six dark spots dotting the road.
    Another Black Sentry platoon.
    They froze . The Sentry were both before them and behind them. There was nowhere to go.
    He felt a heavy sick ness in his stomach. He had acted impulsively—and stupidly. All he’d wanted to do was help this man—and now perhaps his rash actions had doomed them both.
    “I’m sorry . I’ve failed you.”
    “N ot yet,” the Old Man said, pulling him toward the fence. “We must cross into the forest.”
    “ But the Creepers—”
    “–can’t be worse than the Black Sentry.”
    “H ow will you get over the fence?”
    “The same way I came in.”
    “But—” He heard the black boots drawing closer. Soon the Sentry would be near enough to identify him. A few seconds after that, they would be captured. And he knew what the penalty would be for assisting a Rebel. The Acolyte had made that abundantly clear.
    “There is no place to plant your feet . How can we climb the fence?”
    “Just watc h.” To his surprise, the Old Man reached into his backpack and pulled out a rope with a metal hook on the end. He swung the hook in the air a few times, then hurled it toward the top of the fence. The hook clamped down on the top snugly.
    The Old Man pulled on the rope a few times, tightening it . He stepped back several paces, then made a run at it. He leapt up, and hoisted himself to the top, walking sideways up the fence. Despite