Time Travelers Never Die Part 16

"Who's Amelia Boynton?" Shel had never heard the name.

"In a lot of ways, Shel, she was the heart and soul of the movement. She was the lady who wouldn't let go. Who kept pushing."

When Shel went over to talk with her, Dave stayed where he was. Amelia smiled. Thanked him for being there. "I know it's not easy," she said.

Shel nodded. Wished her luck. Dave's face was unreadable. Shel was getting a bad feeling.

A guy with a microphone announced they were ready to start. People began forming a line, two abreast. John Lewis issued a brief statement to the reporters. Then they knelt, and Andrew Young led them in prayer.

Two of the nuns pa.s.sed close. Smiled at Shel. "G.o.d bless you," one of them said.

Somebody else shook Dave's hand. "Appreciate your being here." The line began to move. Dave looked at them, looked at Shel. "I don't like standing aside."

"I know. Maybe it was a mistake, coming here. Maybe you were right, and we ought to just stay away from this kind of stuff."

Lewis was up front. In a light trench coat. Hosea Williams walked beside him.

THE ambulances, four of them, pulled in behind the marchers, keeping pace. They walked quietly. A few people, watching as they pa.s.sed, cheered, and some sang. ambulances, four of them, pulled in behind the marchers, keeping pace. They walked quietly. A few people, watching as they pa.s.sed, cheered, and some sang. "People get ready; there's a train a-comin'." "People get ready; there's a train a-comin'." But they were joined by only a few isolated voices among the marchers. But they were joined by only a few isolated voices among the marchers.

They moved along Water Street, out of the black area. Now there were whites waving Confederate flags. And sometimes wielding guns. The few voices went silent.

They turned right at Alabama Street and marched along the river. Shel and Dave followed. Shel wanted to warn them what was coming.

Dave hesitated. Closed his eyes.

"What?" said Shel.

"I can't deal with this."

"Okay. Let's go back."

Dave showed no indication he'd heard. "I can't stand here and not do something."

"There's nothing we can do."

"Yeah, there is."

"Dave-"

He lurched out into the street. Toward the moving line.

Shel hurried after him, grabbed hold of his arm, tried to talk sense to him. But Dave shook him off.

Several marchers looked in their direction.

"I can't walk away from this."

In the line, two elderly women watched them approach. "Dave, don't be a nitwit. You can't change anything."

"Maybe that's the point." He crossed the last few feet and got in behind the two women.

Shel backed off and watched him go. Somewhere, a voice said, "You don't need no baggage; you just get on board." "You don't need no baggage; you just get on board."

Dave was one of the tallest people in the crowd. He'd make an easy target.

At Broad Street, they turned left onto US 80 and started toward the Edmund Pettis Bridge.

SHEL pushed ahead, trying to angle himself so he could keep an eye on Dave. But it was hard to get through the crowd lining the street. Then he became aware of movement behind him. Two men were following him. One was the guy who'd been pretending to pick off people with his rifle. The weapon now was nowhere to be seen. But the other wore a large floppy hat and carried a shotgun. pushed ahead, trying to angle himself so he could keep an eye on Dave. But it was hard to get through the crowd lining the street. Then he became aware of movement behind him. Two men were following him. One was the guy who'd been pretending to pick off people with his rifle. The weapon now was nowhere to be seen. But the other wore a large floppy hat and carried a shotgun.

When their eyes met, the one with the shotgun grinned. "You left your momma back there, didn't you?"

Shel kept walking.

"Hey," said his partner, "we asked you a question."

Shel fingered the converter.

"You did did ask him a question, didn't you, Alvin?" ask him a question, didn't you, Alvin?"

"I don't think the son of a b.i.t.c.h is friendly, Will."

"Why don't we ask him?"

It was enough for Shel. He disconnected the converter from his belt. Hoped they wouldn't think he was pulling a gun. Set it for the same location, ten minutes earlier.

"You know, you son of a b.i.t.c.h, you come here and make trouble for-"

Shel pressed the b.u.t.ton.

WITH the extra ten minutes in hand, he had no trouble beating the marchers onto US 80. He was watching when they came out of Alabama Street in a long file and turned toward the bridge. The crowd waved the Stars and Bars and screamed, but the police kept them at a distance. the extra ten minutes in hand, he had no trouble beating the marchers onto US 80. He was watching when they came out of Alabama Street in a long file and turned toward the bridge. The crowd waved the Stars and Bars and screamed, but the police kept them at a distance.

Dave was about a third of the way back. He kept his eyes straight forward. They all did.

It was a beautiful day, maybe a bit chilly. The sky was clear, and the Alabama River sparkled in the sunlight.

When you walked onto the Pettis Bridge, from either end, you went uphill until you hit the center. So the marchers couldn't see what lay at the far end of the bridge until they topped the rise in the middle.

Shel told himself Dave was in no real danger. All he had to do was use the converter when things got rough. He could get out of there anytime he wanted. Just as Shel had.

Lewis was still in the lead. And Hosea Williams.

He watched them move onto the bridge. It was a long line of maybe five hundred people in all. They moved in absolute silence, two or three abreast.

Shel tried to follow them, but police stopped him.

The bridge carried four lanes of vehicular traffic and a pair of walkways. Lewis and his people stayed on the north side, on the walkway. Shel knew, though he could not see them, that police cars and state troopers and a mob of deputized citizens were gathered, along with a host of TV cameras, at the eastern end of the bridge. He watched the marchers walking steadily up the incline. Eventually, the head of the line reached the top, where they could see what awaited them. But they never paused.

The line continued forward. Shel focused on Dave and the two women, as they climbed the slope, reached the top, and started down. After a minute or two, they were out of sight.

CHAPTER 12.

I know no method to secure the repeal of bad or obnoxious laws so effective as their stringent execution.

-U. S. GRANT

DAVE had never thought of himself as particularly courageous. He didn't much like heights, always played it safe, and avoided confrontations whenever possible. Now he was walking with the heroes of b.l.o.o.d.y Sunday. had never thought of himself as particularly courageous. He didn't much like heights, always played it safe, and avoided confrontations whenever possible. Now he was walking with the heroes of b.l.o.o.d.y Sunday.

A kid, about eighteen, bounced along beside him. Probably false bravado, but he seemed unfazed by the threats and guns. "Don't worry about it, man," he said. "They'll just throw us in jail for a day or so. It's what they always do."

"What's your name, son?"

"Lennie."

"Lennie, you've done this before?"

"Marched? Sure. And hey, they'll put you you in the white jail. You'll have a lot more room tonight than I will." in the white jail. You'll have a lot more room tonight than I will."

Dave was thinking he'd maybe been a bit hasty. He wondered what his chances would be of slipping back into the crowd. But how could he do that in front of Lennie? How could he do that and face Shel, who was still watching him from the safety of the sidelines?

More important, how could he justify it to himself? Well, maybe there was an easy answer to that one: This wasn't his his fight. fight.

Screams of rage and obscene gestures followed them through the streets. It didn't seem to matter that there were children among both the marchers and the bystanders.

They'd watched George Wallace, the Alabama governor, in the video record. He'd made his feelings clear enough about the demonstration. It was a public-safety issue, he'd claimed, and he would not allow it. The impetus for the event had probably been the murder of twenty-seven-year-old Jimmie Lee Jackson during a civil rights demonstration in Marion three weeks earlier. But the anger and frustration on both sides had been building for a long time.

The people lining Broad Street strained against the police lines.

THE Alabama River was beautiful in the late-morning sunlight. Dave was thinking how he'd like to drop in on Wallace and show him how history would record his name. Alabama River was beautiful in the late-morning sunlight. Dave was thinking how he'd like to drop in on Wallace and show him how history would record his name.

They stayed on the pavement as the walkway angled up. Ahead, the front of the line had ascended to the midpoint of the bridge and started down. Dave knew that Lewis and Williams were now able to see the waiting troopers.

Despite what Lennie a.s.sumed, there'd be no jail for these people. Broken bones lay ahead. Concussions and tear gas and a lot of blood. Some of the marchers would carry the marks of this day for the rest of their lives.

"I thought they'd stop us before we got out of town," Lennie said. "I didn't think we'd get this far."

They reached the top of the incline, and the troopers became visible. There were three lines of them, maybe a hundred altogether, backed up by local cops on horses. And people behind the cops who were not in uniform. They were Sheriff Jim Clark's deputies. Drafted thugs.

The troopers carried billy clubs; the deputies had clubs and whips. A state police commander, his bars glittering in the sunlight, stepped forward and held up a hand. His name was John Cloud.

Television crews on the far side pointed their cameras. A couple of reporters were talking into microphones.

"HOLD it," Cloud said. His voice was thin. it," Cloud said. His voice was thin.

Lewis raised a hand, and the people immediately behind him slowed and stopped. Gradually, the entire line came to a halt. "We don't want any trouble here," said Cloud. "You have two minutes to break this up and go back."

Lewis replied. Dave was too far away to make out his words, but he knew what he was saying: "We'd like a moment to pray."

The commander stared at Lewis. And waited.

Seconds ticked by. Then, apparently forgetting the two-m inute grace period he'd promised, Cloud gave a hand signal and moved back. The troopers and the deputies strode into the marchers, swinging clubs and whips. Tear-gas canisters exploded like gunshots.

Screams erupted, and the onlookers cheered and laughed. The demonstrators scrambled for safety. But there was nowhere to go. More police and deputies moved in from the flank and rear to cut them off. Blows rained down, and people fell into the roadway, their hands over their heads. Some were dragged to their feet and clubbed again.

Police on horses rode into them. Drove the marchers to their knees. Trampled them. Kids screamed and cried. Lennie covered his head and was hammered by a three-h undred-pounder with a nightstick.

When they came for Dave, he tried to back away. They kept coming, two cops with smoldering eyes and batons. He did the only thing he could think of: He held up his hands to show he had no weapon and would not resist. He was accustomed to reasonable police officers and, despite what was going on around him, was shocked when one of them hit him in the mouth.

His reflexes kicked in. The cop, who expected Dave to take his beating submissively, made no effort to protect himself. Dave nailed him in the jaw and hit him again as he went down.

Somebody screamed at him from behind. He started to turn when the lights went out.

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HE wasn't sure what had happened or why he was standing in front of a counter with a uniformed officer behind it. "Name?" said the officer. wasn't sure what had happened or why he was standing in front of a counter with a uniformed officer behind it. "Name?" said the officer.

Every time he moved, a stab of pain ripped through his ribs. One eye was swollen shut. "Dryden."

Someone was going through his jacket. Pulling out his wallet, car keys, a couple of pens, a cell phone. And they had the converter.

"First name?"

He hesitated, still not certain what was happening. "David."

"You're sure?"

"Yes." He touched his eye. It hurt. He began to remember the march. Remembered walking on the bridge. "Am I being charged with something?"

"a.s.saulting an officer." He looked at Dave with contempt. "Where are you from, Mr. Dryden?"

"Philadelphia."