Page 17

M y outhouse landed with a weird thunk and tilted to the front. Gertie let out a breath. “Thank god!” she said. “These trips always make me nervous.”

A slice of light filtered in through the gaps in the wooden planks, and our shadows danced around the outhouse. Gertie let out a giggle.

Marco’s eyes grew wide. “Whoa.”

“What?” I asked them.

“You’re dressed as a man,” Gertie said.

My hands went to my face. A short mustache and beard surrounded my mouth. Gertie reached over and tugged on my beard.

“It’s not real, I believe it’s stuck on with glue,” I said. “Like the one I wore at the wedding.”

Marco blew out a relieved sigh, then cursed. “Shit, we’re on the losing team.” He looked down at his filthy, faded Confederate uniform. “I thought we were landing in Union territory. We’d better find our mark and get the hell out of here before we end up on the front lines.”

I eased the door open, and we exited the outhouse into a small basin tucked into a clearing of hundred-year-old oaks. The area seemed spot on. We moved under a patch of light drilled through the dense canopies of surrounding foliage for a better look at ourselves.

A gray double-breasted coat with shiny brass buttons covered the shirt and cloth flattening my breasts to teenage boy status. My vessel aped the male persona disguise I had worn from the wedding. If on purpose or accident, I had no clue. Dark gray pants and a garment at my throat completed my ensemble. A bag hung at my side next to a canteen. I removed a tall hat and inspected the red cloth wrapped around the band of the hat. The cloth was adorned with a cross. I repositioned it on my head.

“Why are you dirty?” I asked Marco after examining my uniform.

“Looks like I’ve seen some action. Helps me blend in.”

Gertie and I wouldn’t blend as easily. Our clothes didn’t have the same battle scars. Gertie’s burgundy full skirt and camel cotton jacket strapped with canteens and pouches had her clanging as she moved to check her gear. A red band was secured around her right bicep, and her hair twisted up into a gray bandanna.

“I’m a vivandière, I think.” She pointed to the red cloth on her upper arm.

“A what?” Marco asked.

“Like a nurse. The vivandières would go out on the battlefield to help the wounded.” She looked up at my hat. “And you’re part of the ambulance corps. That red badge on your hat identifies you.”

My clothes were cut from finer cloth than those of my teammates. The chain of a gold pocket watch hung from my vest.

“Based on your clothes, I’d guess you’re a doctor. You’re also a lieutenant.” She tapped the insignia on my jacket.

Dang. I wasn’t so good with blood.

“Maybe our mark is at the hospital,” I suggested.

“Most likely your vessel outfitted us as medical corps because they move freely among the wounded and the opposing side’s not supposed to shoot at us.” Gertie’s optimistic look gave me hope we would find Caiyan and not end up dead.

“I’m so screwed,” Marco said holding his cap in his hands. “First Texas Regiment.” He showed us the top of his hat embroidered with a number one and a star. “Who’d of guessed I’d be a Texan?”

Gertie and I smiled at each other.

“Better late than never,” Gertie said.

“It’s also the regiment scratched on the sword,” I said.

Marco shook the canteen hanging at his side. “It’s full. But my cap and cartridge boxes are empty.” He motioned at the leather pouches attached to his belt.

“My canteens are full too,” Gertie said. “That’s good because the water became unsanitary due to runoff from the dead, and the excrement deposited in such close quarters.”

I shuddered and knitted my eyebrows at Gertie. “I could have lived all day without that knowledge.”

“That knowledge might save your life. Conserve your water.”

I stored her words away, taking note of the full canteen slapping against my side as I moved. A bag hung from my shoulder and another at my waist. I held up the sack painted black. The bag smelled like a rotten egg.

“What’s this? It smells.”

“I believe that’s your haversack, or food bag.”

I ditched the bag. “It’s empty and it reeks.”

“You might be sorry when you don’t have anywhere to carry food.” Gertie shrugged.

“I’ll risk it.”

The other bag contained medical supplies.

“Your vessel might have fit me in this threadbare crap colored uniform, but it forgot to give me a weapon,” Marco huffed.

“Gun control?” I suggested.

He frowned at me. Gunshots sounded in the distance, and he mumbled, “We need to move out.”

“Miss Scarlet…I’m good with history and maybe healing critters, but not so good with my knowledge on healing humans,” Gertie said southern belle style.

Marco’s eyes looked heavenward at the Gone with the Wind reference, then went wide. We hit the ground as the roar of cannon fire concussed the earth.

“What the fuck?” He stood and focused his attention on our landing area. We were in a tight circle of trees and brush. A tiny hole in the landscape of Gettysburg.

We moved away from my outhouse toward the edge of the clearing. Stepping over a split in the low brush, we walked a few paces down a trail for a look around. Another cannon fired in the distance and everyone flinched. We peeked through the thick brush. I bit my lower lip. We weren’t in the clearing Al had designated for us.

“Where in Hell’s Kitchen did you land us?” Marco asked.

A live action version of the Call of Duty video game LARPed in the low ground below us. Soldiers were running, cutting through the trees, firing their weapons into the thick pink dust.

Gertie’s breath tickled my cheek as she leaned next to me for a better view of the situation. “Where’s the tavern?”

I leaned back on my heels. Gertie gave me a concerned glance.

“Jen what the F…?” Marco pulled back from the brush and stared at me.

“I may have missed my mark.” I stood unsure.

“What do you mean, you missed your mark?” Gertie’s voice held a slight quiver.

“I’m not sure.” I glanced around at the trees surrounding us. We stood and started in the opposite direction. A twig snapped ahead, and a rustle in the bushes had us moving closer together.

A man stepped into the clearing. He held a pistol in one hand and his hat in the other. The man seemed to be in a state of urgency. Marco snapped to a salute. Gertie stood mouth agape. I copied Marco.

“Who taught you to salute like a damn Brit?” He asked me. “Palm up soldier.” I turned my palm up and held my position. The three of us were creating a stronghold in front of the outhouse I’d so carelessly forgotten to dismiss.

“At ease soldiers,” the man said, then turned his attention to me. “Which corps are you from lieutenant?”

The sweat beaded up on my hairline. Jake had given us several different scenarios based on our landing location and the troops in that area, but since I had botched the landing, I went with my gut.

“First Corps, sir. We were separated from our regiment.”

“Who is your division commander?”

“Hood, First Texas sir,” Marco answered, adding a Texas drawl to his words.

“I do admire my Texans,” he said, holstering his pistol. “You men did a good job taking these woods. Another victory in our pocket.” His eyes took in the structure behind us. “I declare, I’ve not seen one of these so far from the farm.” He removed his frockcoat, handed it to Gertie, who clasped it in her hands and gave a clumsy curtsy. His steel blue eyes sparkled as he spoke to her. “Thank you, my dear.”

He moved toward the outhouse and opened the door. “Carry on, men,” he said and paused, regarding Marco. “Please guard me as I use the Johnny hole.”

Gertie’s face screwed up in disbelief. I took a deep breath, ready to protest, but Marco jabbed me in the ribs with his elbow.

The man entered the outhouse, and we took a step back, expecting my vessel to eject the general with his pants around his ankles.

“Was that who I think it was?” I asked Gertie.

She stood speechless for a moment. “General Robert E. Lee.” His name came out in a whisper.

The outhouse gave a shudder. We moved a few steps backward. The air around us began to swirl. Leaves and debris from the forest floor rose from the ground. My vessel shook and moved like a contestant in a dancing contest. A crack of thunder and it vanished. The swirling debris dropped to the ground as if it were never disturbed.

“Jesus H. Christ, what happened to the general?” Gertie held her free arm out in question as her other squeezed General Lee’s coat folded over her forearm to her chest.

“Jen get it back!” Marco hollered.

I touched my key and beckoned my ride.

Nothing. The air around us stood still.

Marco grabbed me by the shoulders. “Why didn’t it come back?”

“I don’t know!” I yelled up at him.

Gertie moved toward the empty space my vessel had occupied. Marco released my shoulders when Gertie yelped.

“Y’all, we have another problem.” She covered her mouth and pointed at the ground. A shallow grave housed the body of a man directly under the spot my outhouse had vacated.

“Did I l-l-land on that man?” My words tumbled out in a frantic slurry.

“Nice work, Dorothy.” Marco brushed by me to view the dead guy.

“Is he…dead?” My voice caught as we gathered around the man.

Marco bent down and felt for a pulse. “Yeah, but you didn’t do it. He’s been shot.”

The man had a deep scar from temple to jaw. The bullet went through his right temple above the scar and exited out the back of his skull. Blood pooled behind his head. His ripped trousers and stained jacket of a mismatched uniform made it difficult to tell which side he fought for. I had read many soldiers wore their own clothing, but nothing about this man revealed he was part of a regiment or that he had participated in a battle, except the gunshot wound that ended his life.

Relieved I hadn’t killed a man, I took stock of his dark skin and husky frame. “Who do you think killed him?”

“Jen, we’re in the middle of the Civil War.” Marco sat back on his haunches.

“Do you think he was a traveler?” Gertie asked.

His shirt lay open and his neck bare. “If he was, his key is gone.” Marco pointed to his neck.

“Based on the clothing, he might be someone’s slave.” Gertie said.

I winced at the idea.

A glint of steel winked at me from the side of the soldier. I knelt next to him and pushed him to his left. He laid on his unsheathed sword as if the weapon was tossed carelessly aside. The handle had the same design as the one I remembered from my bedroom. I pulled the sword away from his body.

“It looks like the sword from Caiyan’s treasure room.” I ran my hand across the blade. “But maybe not, there’s no message on the blade.”

“Who is this man?” Gertie asked.

Before we could obtain any further clues to the identity of the man, the bushes rustled again, and a young soldier stepped into the clearing. He seemed surprised by our presence and saluted me. “Doctor, what are you doin’ here on the battlefield?”

“I—” clearing my throat, I returned the salute and lowered my voice. “I was summoned to help this man, but I’m afraid I was too late.”

He moved in next to Marco and viewed the dead man. It wasn’t the first time the young man had seen a corpse. His blue eyes held a degree of familiarity, and I saw them track to the coat Gertie still held in her hands.

“Where’d ya get that co—”

Marco gave him a right uppercut to the tip of his chin that lifted the gangly soldier off his feet. He went lights out and Marco lowered him to the ground.

Gertie and I gasped. “What did you do that for?” I asked Marco.

“If he starts yelling for help, we’re in trouble.”

Gertie used the general’s coat and made a pillow for his head. A wisp of white hair fell across his forehead. I found his kepi hat and laid it on the ground next to him.

“Now what do we do?” Gertie asked.

I moved to the edge of an overlook. “I don’t know where—” and then I saw him. The boy from the letter. His legs caught in the casualty of a battle-ridden snake-rail fence, and his left shirt sleeve soaked dark with blood. Unable to reach up and remove the heavy wood off his legs, he lifted his head and wrote on paper propped against his thigh.

“Oh no,” I said.

“What?” Gertie followed my gaze to the boy.

“Oh. Jen, you didn’t land us near the boy from the letter?”

“What boy?” Marco crossed his arms over his chest.

“There was a boy I read about. He was stuck on a fence and bled to death because he couldn’t free his legs. He wrote a letter to his mother.”

Marco frowned.

“I was concentrating on the designated landing spot, and then the words that poor soldier wrote in the letter came to mind. I’m sorry, I thought about him during the transport, and landed here um…accidentally.”

“Crap on a cracker,” Gertie said.

I stared at the battlefield in the setting sun. Men scattered the field, dead and dying. Medics, slowly, carefully, made their way across the open field, offering water and choosing the wounded to be carried off by stretcher. Soldiers lucky enough to walk drug their comrades by the arms away from the enemy fire.

“I’m going to save him.”

“Jen, no fucking way am I going to let you go into that battlefield.” Marco stomped about. “The cannon fire alone is deadly.”

Gertie remained quiet.

“I know…I know, it’s violating the rules, and I’ll probably get in trouble, but I can’t sit here and watch him die.”

“Thousands of men are dying. You going to save them all?” Marco asked me.

I pondered the questions for a moment.

“For the love of God, she actually thinks she can.” Marco looked helplessly at Gertie.

“Marco, you can use your gift to slow time, and Jen can free his legs,” Gertie said. “If we are close to the Rose Woods, which I think we are, the fighting should be done for the day.”

Another cannon blast echoed in the distance, and Marco grimaced. “It doesn’t sound like it’s done.”

“Marco. You didn’t read the letter. He’s only a boy. He shouldn’t be here. He lied about his age to serve his country.”

“Jen’s right. He enlisted as an eighteen-year-old, but he’s only twelve, and well…maybe Jen is supposed to save him,” Gertie said.

“Twelve?” Marco’s eyes grew wide. “I’ll go alone.”

“No, we go together.”

Marco opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off.

“Your gift to slow time will last longer if you focus, and I’ll help the boy. Gertie can stay here with…” I tipped my head toward the soldier Marco had knocked unconscious, who didn’t look more than a teenager himself. “You can alert us to anything suspicious.”

Gertie raised her eyebrows.

Point taken.

“Two grown men holding hands squat walking across the battlefield won’t look suspicious at all.” Marco pulled his forage cap down on his head. “Let’s motor.”

We crouch walked to the open area, and I dropped to the ground. Marco did the same next to me. My inner voice kissed her rosary and crossed herself.

“Hold my hand,” he said, lacing his fingers in mine. He reached up and touched the key hidden beneath the dirty collar of his uniform. We crouch walked toward the boy. Time warped and a few sharpshooter bullets whizzed over our heads in slow motion. I refrained from looking to my right to see if any connected with the men protecting the newly captured area.

We stopped twice so Marco could reset. His gift only lasted minutes. I did as he instructed. We passed a man face down, shot in the back of the head. Marco relieved the dead man of his gun and haversack.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not walking around Gettysburg unarmed. He doesn’t need it anymore.” He gestured at the man.

Jake was right. This wasn’t a smart idea. We’d save the boy, find Caiyan, and get the hell out of Dodge. Whatever Mortas was doing here, I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay and find out. On our third rest stop, a group of soldiers passed us, climbed the fence, and, guns in hand, ran toward the north end of the field.

Marco jerked his head toward the boy. “Almost there.”

Our last crab crawl attempt reached the boy. I released Marco’s hand to examine him. Blood soaked his left pants leg and his gun rested on the other side of the fence waiting for him to make the climb over. With the letter clutched in his hand, he blinked up at us as I spoke to him.

“I’m a doctor,” tiny white lie, “I’m going to move your leg off the fence.” His dark hair, wet with sweat, stuck to his grimy, angelic face. When his big brown eyes focused on me, he spoke.

“Thank you, sir, but I fear I’m done for.”

A bullet tore through the top stake of the fence and he winced. “It don’t hurt much.”

“Shut it, I’m helping you down.” When I had freed his leg, he slumped to the ground. A small wound to his upper arm had stained the sleeve of his uniform.

“You’re going to be fine,” I told him.

“The cannister got me. I felt a piece bite my leg, my shoulder. I wrote this here letter for my momma, would you see she gits it?”

I folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket. “You’re not going to die today.” He smiled, the smile of an innocent boy. One that should be at home playing with his dog, dreaming about the neighbor girl, having his mother kiss him goodnight.

It would be impossible for Marco and me to carry the boy to safety. I wouldn’t ask Marco to risk his life, again. A few yards behind me, medics transported an injured soldier on a makeshift stretcher off the battlefield. I looked down at the boy. “You shouldn’t walk on that leg. We’re going for help, stay here.”

“Thank you, sir.” I handed him his gun and we copied our squat walk, hand in hand, toward Gertie.

A cannon blast hit behind us, yanking us apart and knocked us off our feet.

“Marco?” I called out, but the dense smoke blinded me.

“Jennifer, keep low and make your way toward my voice.”

He was in front of me. I hunkered down, moving quickly along the fence line. Men lay dead around me. Dirt, grime, and blood crusted their faces. The ground softened under my boots, and I ignored the reason why. The air, thick with smoke, forced me to cough. I covered my mouth with my hand and kept moving.

The smoke cleared momentarily. Marco waited next to Gertie in the trees, using their trunks for cover. He beckoned me toward him. Another cannon fired, and they were lost in the fog of destruction.

There was too much death. Bullets thudded as they cut through flesh, gunfire echoed in the distance like a thousand men chopping wood. The wail of the injured men and animals accompanied by the occasional boom of the cannons had me covering my ears and curling into a tight ball. My stomach clenched, and I waited for calm.

As I raised up in the dusty pink of the cannon dust, that’s when I saw him, creeping through the trees toward my landing area. He was dressed in federal blues. Caiyan, a few feet from Marco. The two men I loved most were on opposite sides of the proverbial Mason-Dixon line and the battle raged on.