“No time,” he breathed. “We cannot wait. They will burn the works even now.”
“You’ve been hurt because of me,” she said, grief and accusation threading her voice. “Dyer has ordered them to fire your plant. He’ll have men set the furnaces ablaze while they drag you to your death. You should have stayed—saved what you built.”
He turned his face to her, and for a moment the world narrowed. “What is a factory,” he said, “but an empty dream without you in it? If I do nothing but live in regret, what good is success?”
He kissed her then—brief, fierce—and then stepped back to the window where shards of glass glittered like a poor starfield. He placed his good arm around her, ushered her to the street, and hailed a carriage with a curt command. The driver sprang to life.
They rattled away through the night that smelled faintly of smoke and iron. Behind them, somewhere distant and quick, men rode to set an inferno to what he had made. In the forest of danger and ruin, the two of them rode like fugitives toward whatever salvation they could seize.
Chapter Forty-Seven
It was a dark and dank morning, chilled and soured by odors wafting off the Hudson River. Zachary jumped out of the carriage a few blocks from his factory. “Stay here, Elizabeth. I know we will not have enough men. It will be a bloodbath. I want you safe. If anything happens to me, go to Shawn Fitzgerald’s house. He will send you to my brother’s home in Virginia. You’ll be safe there.”
Her shaking hand smoothed his brow. “Be careful. Come back to me.”
“I promise.” He kissed her soundly and moved down the block to his factory.
He swung back. Incoming Whyos passed him. Armed with clubs, swords, and guns, Dyer’s hired multitude rolled through the low mists and fog that clung to the alleys and factory.
He circumvented them, then plunged through a concealed footpath, stopped, and stared wide-eyed. Wagons were turned over, positioned at perpendicular angles. Like a giant viper uncoiling to strike, a legion stood battle ready–Maguire’s men, Zachary’s workers, Chen, the Lis, O’Reilly, and former soldiers from Fitzgerald Rifle Works. Shawn had come through.
Gratitude choked him. Beyond his wildest imagination were his older brothers.
General John Rourke shouted orders. Colonel Lucas Rourke and Colonel Ryan Rourke rode up and down the line behind the wagons on horseback. Despite half their numbers, the Whyos did not have a chance against seasoned soldiers of the war.
“Dear God, we might have a chance.”
Zachary swung around. “Elizabeth, I told you to stay in the carriage.”
“Maybe there is some way I can help.”
He plastered her against the wall. “You will stay here. If I must worry about you, I won’t be able to fight.”
She nodded and he kissed her again. He ducked out and darted to his brothers. Shawn tossed him a pistol. “It’s going to be a good fight. Time the city got rid of this pestilence.”
Zachary sidled up to his eldest brother, John. “How are you here?”
“We happened to be in town to fetch our wives. A Chinaman showed up at the door and told us of your predicament. We Rourke’s’ decided it was a fine day to have a fight. Couldn’t disappoint our younger brother. Interesting how many of my men work for Fitzgerald Rifle Works. They were bored and happy to have a day off to fight under their former general.”
“What is your plan?”
His brother frowned. “Tactic is knowing what to do when there is something to do. Strategy is knowing what to do when there is nothing to do.”
“They are twice our number.”
“During the war, I was up against insurmountable odds, outgunned and outmanned. For the most part, I was victorious. I have learned that great results are achieved by small forces.”
Colonel Ryan Rourke rode up, his horse prancing excitedly. “They haven’t met the fierce fighting arm of the Confederacy.”
Colonel Lucas Rourke came abreast and tipped his hat. “Or the Rourke brothers.”
Zachary tasted a power in the very air, something palpable affected by the raw sight of so many men, shifting to a single purpose.
The Whyos migrated to the front, a roughhewn pack of wild swine.
“Give up and we’ll let you go,” said the leader of the Whyos. “Send us, Zachary Rourke. Out battle isn’t with you.”
“Burn in hell,” growled General Rourke.
