* * *

"Does anyone know where we're going?" Marty asked later that day, exhaustion and frustration giving his question an added edge. The three of them -- himself, Doc, and Alexander -- had been riding on horseback for hours -- not in circles, but it might as well been. Because of the depth of the snow, the animals' pace was slow at best. For Marty -- who hadn't had the dubious pleasure of horseback riding for several months, on another trip -- it was far too much time spent on a horse with too little progress being made.

"Of course we know where we're heading," Doc said, sounding insulted that Marty would ask such a question of him. The teen wasn't the only one exhausted, running on little or no sleep for the last couple days. "We can't help that our transportation is having such difficulty navigating the land."

"At least the snowfall has tapered off a bit," Alexander said, the only one of them remotely cheerful. "We should be thankful for that."

Marty sighed. Yeah, that was one good thing, he had to admit. But that bit of luck didn't make up for the other things that were definitely not going their way, or had the strong possibility of turning into a real mess. Like traveling to a place where there wasn't any certainty or strong evidence to support the idea that Clara and the slaves were even there. It seemed like a big waste of time and energy to Marty. He would've felt better if they had some sort of concrete reason to believe that Tannen had taken off that way -- like tracks. Unfortunately, those had long been erased by the snow and wind.

"At the rate we're going, we won't reach Hamilton until sometime next week," Marty said bluntly. "Are you sure there isn't a faster way to travel, now?"

"Not on unpathed, unrailed roads," Doc said. "As much as you might think otherwise, we're making better time then we would be if we were hiking on foot."

I guess he's got a point, Marty thought. But the words didn't make him feel much better, not in the state he was in now. He almost wished he'd opted to stay behind with Jules and Verne and wait out Doc's return, but even if the scientist had insisted he do just that, he would've argued to come along and be here now.

"Jules and Verne aren't going to be too happy when they find us gone," Marty said, now that he was thinking about the kids. "I can't believe you didn't tell them what was going on!"

"If I woke them up to explain things then they'd immediately want to come along," Doc said. "And I have no intention of bringing them into a potentially dangerous situation."

"Maybe so, but they're still gonna be pissed about it. Hopefully they won't try to follow us on their own."

"Doubtful," Doc said, though his words did lack complete decisiveness.

"They won't be able to do that with the Clarks watching them," Alexander said. "They are well-informed on the workings of a boy's mind, as they have two sons of their own."

Marty reached one gloved hand up to adjust the borrowed wool scarf he'd wrapped around his neck and the bottom of his face, trying to avoid the cutting wind and snow that was blowing. The trick worked, but the wool itched like crazy and made it hard to breathe, especially with snow slowly caking over it, melting from the heat of his breath, and then refreezing into ice from the wind. "Do you have any idea where we are now?" he had to ask the inventor.

Doc stopped his horse and pulled out a map and compass, the former of which belonged to Alexander. He studied it for a moment, then looked around at their surroundings. Not that there was much to see; they were in the middle of a flat field, covered in snow. The sight of so much whiteness everywhere was starting to give Marty a serious headache. How long does it take before snow blindness sets in, anyway? he wondered.

"We're still about five miles north of Hamilton," the scientist eventually announced, putting away the map.

Marty groaned. "Still? But we've been out here for hours!"

"Three," Doc corrected. "It's been only Three hours."

"Only three?" Marty grumbled. "It feels like we've covered half of Ohio!"

"Marty--" Doc began, the tone in his voice indicating that what the teen had been asking for was about to be dished out.

"He is right," Alexander broke in before an argument could begin, speaking to Doc. "It wouldn't hurt to get off the horses and rest a few minutes, perhaps have a snack."

"Where?" Marty muttered. "It's not like there's any rest stop nearby."

Doc shot him another look of warning for either his use of future speak or his general cranky tone. Alexander politely -- or smartly -- ignored both.

"I do know of a building nearby, perhaps a quarter of a mile from where we are now. Five years ago there was a fire that destroyed a farmhouse but spared the barn, and the family left the land for something better. It may be in disrepair, but it was built soundly and will at least provide some shelter from the winds."

"Sounds good to me," Marty said without hesitation, before Doc could possibly nix the idea. "Which way is it?"

"Wait a minute!" Doc said quickly, as Alexander opened his mouth to answer. "We shouldn't be sidetracked! This isn't a pleasure trip! We're on a tight schedule."

"Come on, Doc," the teen said, rolling his eyes. "I know you're worried about Clara and the ti -- uh, other stuff, but we've been out here for hours! I don't know about you, but I'm about ready to turn into a snowcone. And you're the one who's always told me that breaks are necessary if you don't wanna screw something up."

Doc sighed, pausing to check the time on his pocket watch. "All right," he finally said. "We can have a rest. But I don't want to be there for more than half an hour. We've got to keep moving to stay warm and take advantage of the daylight hours."

Alexander took the front and led them to the abandon building, a journey of about half an hour, though it seemed three times as long to Marty. When it came into view, however, it became clear that they weren't the only ones to think of such a shelter. In particular, there was a horse drawn sleigh -- minus the horses, which were presumably secured inside the barn -- parked just outside the double doors. Alexander reacted immediately at the sight.

"That's my sleigh!" he said in a half whisper, half gasp from where the three of them halted, near a clump of trees.

Doc slid his eyes over to the local. "Are you sure?"

"There is no doubt," Alexander said, quite firmly. "No other has the markings that mine does -- the silver trim on the sides."

Doc turned his horse around after examining the sight for a moment. "Let's go," he said.

Marty was completely confused. "Doc!" he hissed, not moving his own horse. "Why? This is where Clara and everyone else probably is! Why do you want to leave now that we've found what we were looking for?"

"We're not prepared to face them now," Doc explained, looking at Marty pointedly. "They've got guns and hostages. This situation must be handled delicately. We can't just ride up and demand them to please give Clara back."

Marty frowned, the last of his patience snuffed out by this lack of acting, now. "So what the hell are we gonna do, then? Ride around in circles to kill time? Build a snowfort?"

"Plan our modus operande," Doc said, frowning at the teen's sarcasm. "Now that we know the layout of the land and where they are, we've got to figure out a way to get them out -- and where, precisely, they are in that barn. All preferably without alerting Tannen that we're caught up with him."

"Easier said than done," Marty muttered, pessimistic. "They've got weapons and aren't afraid to use 'em."

"Perhaps," Alexander said, speaking up for the first time on the matter. "Yet we may yet have something far more valuable -- the element of surprise."

"Not if we're standing here in almost plain sight," Marty pointed out. "We've gotta put a little distance between us and this building. If they go outside now, we're dead meat. And I'd like to go somewhere that's warmer than outside, if it's at all possible."

The local thought a moment about that puzzle. "The nearest neighbors are a mile west," he said. "Perhaps we can stay a few hours with them, if we explain the situation."

Even Doc couldn't think of anything better than that. They headed off with Alexander leading them once more. The home they eventually came upon was a two story farmhouse, definitely one that was lived in -- but when they knocked at the door, they had no answer. Alexander checked the barn and reported that two of the horses, as well as a buggy, were missing.

"Likely they were caught in town by the storm," he said. "I suppose it might be forgivable if we stayed a few hours inside, to warm up."

Marty, who had been scowling hard at the idea of being back where they started, blinked as the man's words sunk in. "You mean breaking and entering?" he asked.

Alexander didn't look concerned. "There is no breaking involved with this," he said, putting his hand on the door and simply opening it. Apparently people didn't worry about locking doors now.

The inside of the house wasn't much warmer than the outside -- their breath still fogged the air before their mouths -- but just being out of the wind was good enough. Marty's skin crawled a little at trespassing in a stranger's private home, particularly doing it without any sort of permission, but he figured Alexander had to know what he was doing. The man led them into the foyer, past the stairs, and to a kitchen that was at the back of the house. It was dim, the only source of illumination the windows.

"I brought some bread and cheese for a snack," Alexander said, settling down a knapsack that he had been carrying on his back on the top of the kitchen table. "But although coffee or tea would be quite welcome, now, I think it might take a bit to heat up a cold stove. How long did you wish to stay here?"

"Just long enough," Doc said, sitting down at the table. Marty followed his example, grimacing a little at his saddle sore muscles. "We need to figure a way to get into that barn without getting our heads blown off. Have you been inside it before?"

"Yes. It's not an uncommon place to stay in for shelter during storms, or if one is too far from home at dark. There are several empty animal pens and stalls, a dirt floor, and a hayloft."

"Can one reach the hayloft, still?"

"Oh, yes. There is a ladder to it -- I believe children might've brought it in to make use of the loft in the warmer months."

Doc sighed. "Then I'd wager they're all up there. The gang could simply remove the ladder and trap Clara and the slaves in the loft... unless there's another way out from there."

"Not unless one has wings to fly from the hayloft door."

The mention of flight stirred Marty. Hoverboards, he thought, but before he could really get excited about that he remembered Doc's earlier words about them not being around. And, even if he happened to have some along in the train, that machine wasn't going to be here for another few days. Dead end. Damn.

"Are there any trees within reach of the barn?" the inventor asked.

Alexander thought hard as he removed the food from his pack. "Yes, if I remember correctly. I was caught out there in a storm, once, and took refuge in the barn. I nearly went crazy from a banging against one of the walls. I thought at the time it might've been a loose shudder, but when I finally left the barn I noticed a tree was quite close to the back of the building and one of the branches had been making the ruckus."

Doc stood, his gaze suddenly far off. Marty recognized the look as being one Doc wore when he was thinking, hard. "Is it a tall tree?" he asked, starting to walk about the kitchen.

"Near as tall as the weather vain on the barn," Alexander said. "But it's at the back of the barn -- the opposite end from the hayloft."

Doc grunted softly at this detail. The local seemed to get an inkling on what was going through the inventor's head. Marty, for his part, was still a little lost, no doubt due to sleep deprivation and being so damned cold. "You cannot be thinking what I suspect you are," Alexander warned. "It's dangerous!"

"Perhaps, but it might be our only chance. Unless you've got a better idea on how to retrieve four people from an elevated platform guarded by another four people with guns."

Alexander pursed his lips together. That was all the answer Doc needed. Marty was still lost, though, and decided he might as well ask.

"What's going on, Doc?"

Doc halted mid-stride at the question, turning his head to stare at his friend. It was a rather intense, calculating gaze and Marty suddenly felt really, really uncomfortable by it. "What is it?" he demanded.

"How much do you weight?"

"How much do I -- what?"

Doc didn't seem to hear the reflected question. "How do you feel now, Marty?"

This was getting weirder. "Uh.... I'm tired, I'm sore, I'm cold, I'm hungry 'cause we never did get a lunch, and it'd be nice if we could get a fire going in here. Are you still worried about the bump on my head? It only hurts if I touch it too hard and I haven't felt dizzy or anything like that...."

"No, I wasn't thinking about that, though, come to think of it, perhaps I should've been. You're not afraid of heights, are you, Marty?"

"I never have been before.... What are you getting to, Doc?"

Alexander knew, though he wasn't saying anything. "Why are you having him take the risk and not yourself?"

"Marty's a bit more nimble than I am," Doc said. "Not to mention he would have a lighter step."

The person in question exhaled sharply, supremely frustrated, now. "Will one of you tell me what you're talking about?"

Alexander took care of that, finally. "Unless I'm mistaken, your friend is thinking of spiriting the captured out of the barn through the hayloft door, across the roof, and to the ground by way of a tree. And I believe he's intending to have you help on the roof."

Marty closed his eyes a moment, recalling the vague glimpse he'd gotten of the building. "You've gotta be kidding me.... There's probably ice on that roof, now!"

"And drifts so high that if you happened to slip, it wouldn't be any worse than going down a slide," Doc said. "I'm confident you wouldn't have any injuries if that did occur -- not from the fall, anyway. Tannen and his gang is another matter...."

"What about the wind? That could blow me right off the roof!"

"It seems to be dying down a bit," Alexander offered. "And if you would take the care to crawl and stay low, you will likely be safe. But how are you expecting to have all the prisoners climb free?"

"The roof is sloped and the drifts are high; likely they could slide to the ground without harm," Doc said. "The noise that would make concerns me more, however. It would be far better if they could cross the roof to the tree and climb down that way."

"Wasn't one of them shot, Doc?" Marty had to ask, remembering that bit of excitement earlier.

That reminder clearly took the scientist back a little. "Yes, perhaps so," he said, quietly. "But unless we're able to incapacitate Tannen and the other men, I don't see another way around this." He looked at a clock that hung on the wall nearby, the hands hardly visible in the small bit of light from the two windows in the kitchen. "I suppose we can wait until the weather tapers off a little, giving us some time to warm up and perhaps get a little rest."

"What if the owners come home?" Marty asked, thinking that this sounded a lot like that old fairytale, the one with the little girl and the three bears.

"We will tell them the truth," Alexander said. "So long as we do not stray to the personal rooms of the owners, I cannot see them being so angry about it."

The local then excused himself to fetch some wood for the stove, opting to make some coffee, then, after all. With his absence, Marty was quick to ask a few questions he hadn't been able to in Alexander's presence.

"How much time do we have left before the train gets here?"

Doc glanced once more at the clock. "Little more than twenty hours," he said. "Not nearly as much time as I'd like but so long as we're able to get Clara back, whole and unharmed....."

"Do you really think she was the one shot, Doc?"

The question was blunt, but the inventor didn't shy away from it. "I don't know," he said, quite honestly. "Somebody was certainly wounded, and if the boys are to be believed, it was a woman. It could've been Clara... or it could've been Ruth."

"Are you sure there's nothing else we can do to get them out, except doing acrobatics on the roof? I'm not too keen on that idea, personally."

"If there was another way, I would pounce on it. But unless you've got another idea, I think that's the best we have. Let's just hope the weather calms down in our favor and the group stays put until we're ready to act."

* * *

It was already the middle of the afternoon when they had arrived in the strangers' home, and it was Doc's intent to begin their rescue mission just after sunset, when there would still be a bit of daylight to work with, as well as many shadows in which to hide. Once Alexander had returned with some wood and started a fire in the stove, the three of them had consumed the snack the man had brought along, then Doc thought it might be best to try and rest. Alexander, who'd had a full night's sleep the night before, while the scientist had been hiking with the others, remained in the kitchen to keep the stove stoked and brew some coffee while Marty and Doc headed into the parlor adjacent to the dining room, where there were a couple armchairs, a couch, and a loveseat. Doc didn't feel like prying upstairs in the personal rooms of the people who owned the house. Although Alexander was calm about the whole matter, it made him feel rather uncomfortable to be using someone's home that he didn't even know, without their permission. But things were different, now, he knew, and his rather Twentieth Century manners weren't quite able to accept that people now weren't as likely to call the police if anything was "borrowed" without permission.

After starting a fire in the rather frigid parlor, Doc settled down on the larger couch, using his coat for a blanket, and managed to set his worries aside long enough to fall asleep. It wasn't particularly restful, however. First there was the dream where Clara had been shot, and was bleeding profusely while Tannen circled her and waved his gun at the inventor, who was trying to reach his wife. Then there was one where they showed up to rescue the prisoners, only to find that they had already left. That one was a little too realistic for Doc's tastes and when it woke him up he lay there for a few minutes, thinking, before he got up and resigned himself to the idea that he'd had all the so-called rest he could. A look at a grandfather clock that sat in one corner of the room told him only a couple hours had elapsed since he had lain down; it would have to do. He left the room quietly, passing Marty, who was sacked out on the smaller couch. Doc couldn't help a faint smile as he looked at him, amused. The teen lay on his back, one arm flung over his head, the other dangling off the couch, his feet hanging over the edge of the arm of the furniture, and apparently not suffering from the same restless sleep that had plagued Doc; if he so much as rolled an inch, he'd find himself on the floor, subjected to a rude awakening.

Alexander was still in the kitchen, having a mug of the now-finished coffee and sitting close to a lamp that he had lit and set on the table, reading a book that he had apparently brought along in his knapsack. He looked up as Doc entered. "I'm glad you're up," he said. "I was wondering if I should wake you soon."

"That would've been smart," Doc said, helping himself to some of the coffee on the stove. "But it looks like we might not get there until after dark, anyway, not if it's already getting dark, now."

"Perhaps that will be for the best," Alexander said, setting his book down to give the scientist his full attention. "I presume that you are still planning to rescue the people over the roof?"

"I've certainly not thought of anything better," the inventor admitted, sitting down with his drink at the table, across from Alexander. "Unless you have."

"No, I'm afraid I have not. It's quite dangerous, Emmett, don't you think, to put your friend in that situation? It will be dark and icy. The snow has stopped, yes, and the wind has died down, but the temperature is just as cold as it was earlier in the day."

"I don't think we have any other choice," Doc said patiently, wishing that Alexander would stop reminding him about the risks. He didn't particularly like having Marty do what might be the most difficult part of the task, but he was simply the lightest of them all and his reflexes were sharp. "If there was something else I thought we could do that would work, I would seize it."

Alexander nodded once. "I imagine so. Have you all the supplies you need?"

"Supplies?"

"Yes. I imagine that rope might come in handy, if you wish to have the prisoners climb onto the roof from the hayloft. A length that might be secured on the tree and brought across by your friend."

Doc was almost embarrassed he had overlooked something so painfully obvious. "Ah... yes, we'll need that," he said. "I don't suppose you have any with you?"

The man smiled, faintly. "No, but I looked in the barn while you were napping and found some there. I've already secured it on one of the horses and left a note for the owners with an explanation and a promise to return to them some fresh rope when things have settled down."

"Is there anything else you think I might've overlooked?" Doc asked.

"Not really, not if you are planning on doing things as you explained earlier. What is to be my role in all of this?"

"Well, I was thinking you could help the prisoners as they come down from the loft -- and I'll guard the front with your rifle on the chance the gang hears any noises and comes out to investigate."

"Wouldn't you rather have help with that? One man armed certainly can't hold off four who are also armed."

This was a matter that Doc didn't intend to bend over. "I've got a precautionary role. Yours is far more necessary -- and I'm not going to have you risk your life on the front lines over this situation."

Alexander raised his mug to his lips and took a drink of his coffee before answering. "I also know how to handle my firearms better than you."

Doc didn't care what arguments he had in him over this; he wasn't going to take the chance of having history altered by putting Clara's uncle in the line of potential fire. "It's my wife trapped in that building by those men," he said. "I want to deal with them personally if I have to -- not send someone else in for the job."

The local stared at Doc a long moment, then looked away at the clock in the room. "Perhaps we should think of leaving now," he said. "It's growing darker by the moment."

The change of subject was so sly, it wasn't until later that the inventor realized that Alexander had carefully neglected to agree to his role in things. "Probably," he agreed to the suggestion, standing once again. "Give me a few minutes to get Marty up. That kid can be hard to wake when he's really wiped out. Why don't you write a note to the owners here and let 'em know we didn't mean any harm by using their home?"

"I've already done so," Alexander said. He smiled at the look of surprise on Doc. "I dare say I'm almost a step ahead of you right now."

The three would-be rescuers stood in the shadows of the trees where they had stopped just hours ago, studying the silent landscape and the barn several hundred feet away. It was pretty quiet out, but it was clear that the gang and prisoners were still contained in the structure; light could be seen glowing from between cracks in the wood and, most importantly, the sleigh was still parked outside. The weather had eased up since they had last been in the area, as Alexander had said earlier, with even the clouds overhead cooperating in breaking apart, allowing bright shafts of moonlight, combined with the glow from the snow, to provide ample illumination.

Marty sighed, his couple hour's rest not doing much to make him feel better, especially about the idea of running around on an icy roof three stories above the ground without any kind of safety net. Doc was counting on him, though, and he couldn't pull out. And he didn't really want to trade jobs with the scientist, by any stretch of the imagination. Guns still freaked him out too much. "You sure we gotta do things this way?" he asked in a half whisper.

"It will work," Doc said softly, half to himself. "Do you understand what you have to do up there, Marty?"

"Climb the tree, cross the roof with the rope, shimmy down the rope to kick open the loft door and help the people out." He sighed again. "You sure they're up there, Doc?"

"It's most logical."

"Yeah, well, since when are Tannens logical?"

Doc didn't answer that and Marty realized it was a pretty stupid question. This one had apparently been stubborn and wily enough, after all, to tail and them ambush their group. "No use putting this off any longer," the inventor said instead. "Let's get started."

They crossed the field to the barn, moving as quietly as they could to circle around the back. They had tethered their horses and left them behind with the clump of trees, since the possibility existed they might need to get away from the immediate area around the barn, fast, and didn't want to leave the animals behind. The tree was right where Alexander had said it would be and, with the coil of rope looped around his shoulder, crossing his chest, Marty accepted a boost from Doc into the lowest branches of the tree and started climbing. It was precarious work because the branches were covered with caked on snow-ice and the gloves of the time were too bulky and ill-fitting for him to keep his hands warm and safe -- so he had to go without. As a result, by the time he had climbed level with the main beam of the roof, his fingers were already numbed.

Great, he thought. Just when I need them.

Due to the length of the rope, and the fact he was going to have to span it across the length of the barn, Marty had been instructed to tether it to the trunk of the tree, a bit above the highest pitch of the roof line that he was going to be on, shortly. He found a sturdy branch, wedged his legs in such a way that he wouldn't fall the thirty or so feet to the ground if he took his hands away from a branch, and set to work tugging one end of the rope out from the coil to wrap around the tree's trunk. It was rather difficult, perched precariously above the ground, and took a few minutes of fumbling before his half numbed fingers responded to the mental commands. After about five minutes he'd managed to get the sucker tied securely enough for his weight, so long as the tree didn't have a problem supporting him.

Once he had finished anchoring the rope to the tree, he glanced down -- quickly, before the height could unnerve him -- and flashed the others below him a quick thumbs up. This was the signal, then, for Doc to head over to the front of the barn to keep an eye on things and for Alexander to keep a good eye on Marty's progress and make sure he didn't break his neck. The teen made sure the rope wasn't going to trip him up, then cautiously shifted position to make the transition from the tree to the roof. There was a gap of about two feet between the roof and the trunk of the tree. Marty eyeballed his area of landing. The roof of the barn was a gentle slope, with a width of no more than about a foot and a half of flatness at the peak, where the main beam, the "spine" of the roof, ran lengthwise to the front. There wasn't much margin for error... and things were going to be ten times trickier between the snow and the dark.

"Shit," he muttered, wishing he'd thought of a better plan, now.

Marty remained clutching the tree a long moment, weighting the odds, then figured if he didn't take the leap now, he'd be hanging there all night. Resisting the urge to screw his eyes shut -- stupid, considering things were already a bitch to see, though the moon did help a lot -- he took a breath, said a silent prayer for success, and made the jump across the gap.

His feet landed on the flat part, as he had hoped... and promptly slid out from under him, as the roof was coated in a shiny layer of ice. Marty didn't have enough time to really process it before he found himself flat on his back, looking at the dazzling array of stars above. Immediately his arms flew out to his side, to grab onto what he could to make sure he wouldn't start sliding down one side of the roof. Somehow, he remained perched precariously on the flat peak.

And thank God he hadn't hit his head again.

The teen lay there for a moment, his heart thudding in a delayed reaction, trying to catch his breath. After a minute of realizing he wasn't about to fall to his death, he sat up, slowly, the rope still coiled secure across his chest. He sat a moment with his legs straddled out, for balance, then decided the best way he might make it across without taking another spill might be to take it slowly -- not standing. And so he started to half scoot, half crawl across the icy peak. It was far easier than it should've been, with the lack of traction the ice gave him to slide along. He tried to do it as quietly as possible, letting the rope out as he went, but once or twice the heel of his boots accidentally scrapped the shingles. Marty grimaced with every noise, no matter how faint, knowing that it would almost certainly be echoed loudly to the ears in the building under him.

After what felt like forever he finally made it to the front of the barn. There was only about five feet of rope left by that time -- less than he had hoped for. Marty leaned forward, bracing his hands on the front of the roof to check out the location of the hayloft door, as well as if anyone had come out with guns drawn to shoot the suspected intruder off the roof. It looked deserted -- and the door was about four feet below the peak of the roof where he was perched. That meant he'd have about one measly foot of rope, twelve inches, to hold onto when he got down there. Damn.

Man, oh man, I'm gonna break my neck! Marty thought, his palms starting to sweat, now. It was too late to chicken out now, though. He fed the rope over the edge of the roof, as far as it could go -- then rubbed his hands together to try and bring some feeling back into them before taking hold of it and swinging down.

The hayloft door was parallel to where he hung -- but also a shade more than an arm's length away, and Marty didn't dare take one hand off the rope for fear that he wouldn't be able to support himself with just that. Due to the lack of length in the rope, he was unable to distribute his weight better by wrapping his ankles around the bottom of it. So, he started to shift his weight, causing the rope -- and himself -- to begin a slow back and forth dance, with each swing bringing him a little closer to the door.

"Clara!" he dared to hiss at one point, hoping that the captives -- if they were in there -- could hear him. It occurred to him as he swung back and forth that they didn't know whether or not the door was nailed shut or whatnot. He had a brief, vivid mental image of himself crashing into the wall and sliding down it, like some kind of cartoon character, and nearly lost his grip -- and nerve.

Shit, he thought. But he couldn't climb up to the roof again -- not until he gave his arms a second to rest. Taking a breath, he raised his feet up, boots aimed towards the door and prepared to kick it in....

....When, just as he was about to make impact, the door was pushed open. Marty choked back a cry, knowing that silence was of the utmost importance of the moment, his feet taking most of the impact. The swinging door, though not moving fast, was more than enough to knock him wildly off balance, and he started to spin, his grip on the rope loosening a notch -- enough that he felt himself start to slide down. Just as he realized he was in trouble, and was almost certainly going to fall about twenty feet straight down, he felt something yank him, hard, by the collar of his shirt and coat. He felt himself moving back, then colliding, hard, with a person, knocking both them and himself to a hard floor. A hand was slapped over his mouth before he could even think of making a noise.

"Shhhhh!" a voice hissed close to his ear. Marty twisted around, trying to see what was happening. His eyes were no help. Outside was as bright as daylight compared to the interior of the barn, at least in the upper regions of the loft. He saw a few moving shadows from the bit of light coming in from the now-open hayloft door. That was it.

Marty kept quiet and kept still, once the person still gripping him gave him a firm squeeze when he tried moving, encouraging him to remain where he was. He heard the murmur of voices from nearby, below, and the breathing of his close quarters buddy. When a minute or two passed, the arm around his shoulders loosened, as well as the hand on his mouth, allowing the teen to look around and see what was going on.

Four people were clustered close together in the far corner of the hayloft -- even in the scarce light Marty could see that Clara was definitively one of them, holding close the little slave girl in her arms. Behind her was Jacob, next to his wife who appeared to be lying down. Jasper had been the one to grab him. At the sight of Marty sprawled on the floor, Clara pried Phoebe's grip off her skirt and hurried over as quietly as she could.

"Marty!" she whispered. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Trying to get you guys," he murmured, a little dazed. "Is Tannen down there?"

The woman nodded once, her skin taking on an almost ghostly blue-white cast from the moonlight. "As well as the others," she said, her words hardily audible. "Where's Emmett?"

"Waiting outside. The boys are back at your -- at Alexander's house," he corrected, realizing that the slaves were listening. "Are you guys ready to leave?"

Jasper crept over to the edge of the wide hayloft that they were in and looked over the edge. The light of a lamp below reflected on his face. After a moment he leaned away from the edge and looked at Marty and Clara.

"They not be concerned wit the noises," he whispered. "We got a bitta time, I think." The conductor gave Marty a rather annoyed look. "What d'you mean by bustin' in 'ere like that?"

"I didn't plan on doing that," Marty muttered. He looked at Clara again as he sat up, already feeling a few bruises that would probably really ache tomorrow. His stomach, where Tannen had belted him with the gun, was already sore from that encounter just twelve hours earlier. "We'd better go, then."

Clara bit her lip, glancing behind at the Curtis family still clustered together in the corner. "Ruth was shot, back at the house," she explained in a low voice. "I don't think it's possible for her to be moved out of a loft on a rope."

Marty winced at the news, though a part of him was relieved that Clara wasn't the one who'd gotten hurt. Doc would definitely be happy. "How bad?"

"She was shot in the back, in the shoulder."

The news didn't make Marty feel any better, though he knew intimately what that felt like; he'd taken a bullet in the same place when Doc's evil twin had attempted to murder him. He had managed to recover wholly, but only because of Doc's quick thinking and the wonders of future emergency medicine. It made him sick to think about the state of things if he'd taken the same injury in a time like now, twelve hours ago, without any real medical treatment. "Is she still alive?"

"Yes, but she has been unconscious for hours. The bleeding has been stopped, but the bullet is still inside."

Their was one difference between Ruth and Marty, then; for the teen, it had been a clean slice through. "Maybe someone could carry her on their back?" he suggested.

Clara frowned at that. "I'm not certain that would be wise."

"Well, probably not, but do you guys wanna rot in here? I don't think there's any other way to do this, Clara. And, trust me, I understand what Ruth's going through."

"I never said you didn't." The woman looked again at the Curtises, sighing. "Emmett's outside?"

"Out front, making sure no one goes out and sees us escaping. Look, why don't you get out? I'll help the others. You gotta climb up the rope to the roof and either go across it to a tree at the back, or else go down it like a slide and hope you don't break your neck."

Clara didn't look terribly thrilled by either prospect. Her clothes, no doubt, would make the job twice as hard as it would be for the men in their basic pants and boots. "Those are the only options?" she asked.

"Unless you can think of something better."

Jasper interrupted Clara's weighing of the matter. "It's goin' be near impossible to leave 'ere that way," he said. "We'd be better off jumpin' down."

"That's, like, twenty feet, onto ice," Marty warned, not voting for that idea. He'd rather go over the roof again. "And that's be like setting off a siren letting 'em know what we're doing!"

Jasper studied him a moment, then looked to Clara. "Then we ain't leavin'," he decided. "I never lost no one on my train and I ain't startin' that now. Y'all go."

"No," Clara said, equally firm. "I'm not leaving you behind here at the mercy of that monster below." She looked at Marty. "Go out and let Emmett know our situation," she said. "See if he can think of a better way to go about leaving here."

Marty blinked at her, dubious. "Clara, we spent all day wracking our brains for another way outta here," he said. "This is it."

"Perhaps for your original plans, but now that we know you're out there, we might be able to create some distractions from within that might allow you all to... well...." She lowered her voice even more. "Come in the typical way and see what you can do to the men."

Marty sighed, getting to his feet. He hated being caught in the middle, between Doc's instructions and now Clara's stubbornness. "Fine," he said. "Sure, okay, I'll go tell Doc that. But, man, you better have something in mind soon if you don't already."

Clara nodded once. "I do," she promised. "Just give us about twenty minutes. Thank you, Marty."