THE REBEL KILLER

by Paul Fraser Collard

  Jack did not reply. He felt nothing. He stayed on his feet and watched as Thorne turned and walked slowly from the room.

  ‘You should be going with him, Mr Jack.’ Samuel spoke in a sombre tone. Jack walked to the doorway. The room where they slept was towards the rear of the house. They were allowed only into the adjoining room, a small sitting room with one narrow window that gave even less of a view than the one from the room in which they slept. Samuel had told him that they were not the only wounded Union officers in the building. At one stage it had housed nine more. Two had died and now the other seven were joining Thorne for their long journey to an exchange. Only Jack remained.

  ‘They told me that you’ll be moved tomorrow, Mr Jack.’ The big man had not shifted from his place at the door.

  ‘Then that means I have to go tonight. Have you found out where he is yet?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Samuel stood tall as Jack moved away.

  ‘Well then.’ Jack turned on his heel, wincing as pain lanced down his back at the sharp movement. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I shouldn’t. I didn’t keep you alive just to see you get yourself killed as soon as you could stand.’

  Jack offered a tight smile. ‘So long as I stay alive long enough to kill the bastard, then I’m happy.’ He looked quizzically at Samuel as he noted the reaction to his grim remark. ‘You really care what happens to me?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you are a good man.’

  ‘A good man?’ Jack scoffed at the description. ‘I am most certainly not one of those.’

  Samuel spoke in a different tone. ‘I’ve known men with blacker hearts than Lucifer himself. But you, you’re a good man, Jack Lark, as much as you try and hide it, and the Lord needs more good men in his world if some of its wrongs are going to be put right.’

  Jack could not help staring at him. ‘You think that is what I’ll do? Put right a wrong?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe you’ll just die. No, most likely you’ll just die,’ Samuel corrected himself. ‘But at least you’ll try to do something to make this world a better place.’

  ‘You don’t think I am up to it?’

  ‘I know you’re not. You’ll no get more than half a mile before they catch up with you.’

  Jack was watching Samuel carefully. It was as if a mask had slipped aside. ‘So why bother to help me?’

  ‘Because sometimes the good Lord tells you that you have to do what you know is right, no matter that you think you’re a fool for doing it.’ Samuel sighed, then took a moment to compose himself before he spoke again. ‘The man you are after, Major Nathan Lyle, commands a unit of cavalry that folk call Lyle’s Raiders. They went out west to Tennessee. There’s another army forming out there or some such thing. You’ll find them around Nashville.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Jack absorbed the information. It was all he needed.

  ‘You know you ain’t fit?’ Samuel forced himself to look into Jack’s eyes. ‘You ain’t strong enough for a journey like that. It’s over five hundred miles.’

  ‘But you’ll still help me?’ The distance was not a concern. He did not have much, but he did have time.

  ‘What if I say no?’ Samuel disagreed with obvious difficulty. ‘You shouldn’t do it, Mr Jack. You ain’t right.’

  Jack saw that the big man’s mask was firmly back in place, the earlier candid tone now hidden. He ignored the comment and moved back to the doorway, glancing into the next room. One of the two guards stood in plain sight. He had a thin, horsey face and he stared back at Jack blankly. After several long moments, Jack looked away.

  ‘Hey, Samuel!’ the guard shouted. ‘Get your hulking goddam black ass outside. There ain’t no need for you to be in here no more. You can go back to the barn with the rest of the damn savages. That Yankee son of a bitch can fend for himself now.’

  Samuel dipped his head and shuffled towards the door, but not fast enough for the guard’s liking.

  ‘Do as I say now,’ the man barked, ‘before I take a whip to you.’

  Jack watched as Samuel scurried away, his eyes kept low, his head bowed. He could not imagine what it would cost to be so subservient in the face of abuse from a man not fit to shovel shit from a latrine. He knew he did not have it in him to act so meekly.

  He consoled himself by thinking of what was to come. His plan was simple. That night he would dress and walk out of his room. From there he would find a way outside, then make for the livery, where he would steal a horse. Samuel had told him the layout of the two buildings and the quickest way from where they now stood to where the animals were to be found.

  There was no great subtlety to the escape plan. He knew it would likely involve killing. He would have to pass through the guardroom, and there were sure to be more men stationed at the livery. The idea did not bother him. He had just looked one of the men he would most likely have to kill straight in the eye, and not even that had raised a flutter of emotion.

  Nothing mattered. No one mattered. Save for Major Nathan Lyle, the man who had killed Rose.

  Jack waited until it had been dark for several hours. He had no pocket watch, but he sensed that enough time had passed for the night to reach the dog hours when sentries thought only of sleep.

  The room was lit with a faint pale moonlight when he got to his feet and dressed swiftly in his hand-me-down civilian clothes. He barely registered the pain. He thought only on what was to be done.

  The urge to cough came on suddenly. He stifled it as best he could, burying his head in the crook of his arm, fearful of the noise he was making. A rattle deep in his chest followed the cough. It had been brewing for days. Like everything else, it had to be ignored.

  He scanned the room once, then moved to the doorway. He thought about taking the sheets from the bed, but he did not want to be encumbered and so left them behind. He would start his journey with nothing save his battered uniform, which he had bundled into a small canvas haversack that Samuel had liberated from one of the dead prisoners.

  The sitting room was empty and he crossed it without hesitation. The door to the room where the guards lived was wide open, and he could hear the sound of at least one man snoring. He did not stop even as he slipped inside.

  It was exactly as Samuel had described. A scarred pine table was pushed against one wall with a mismatched collection of spindle-backed chairs tucked underneath. There was a wide wing-backed armchair in one corner. It was old, the fabric covered with rents and gaps through which wiry strands of coarse stuffing poked. A single gas lamp stood on the table, but it had long been extinguished. The only illumination in the room came from the watery moonlight filtering in through a wide bay window.

  There was one guard in the room. He was asleep in the armchair, his head thrown back so that he looked up at the ceiling, his mouth open. He snored gently, the sound rhythmic.

  Jack looked at the familiar horsey face. It was the man he had stared at that afternoon. He presumed the second guard had been moved elsewhere. There was, after all, only a single Union officer to be guarded. It was a pragmatic and sensible decision, but it would cost the sleeping guard his life.

  The snores stopped. The guard woke gradually, his hand lifting to wipe away the drool that had run from the corner of his mouth. It was only when he straightened his neck and saw Jack that the first alarm showed in his eyes.

  Jack was on him in an instant. There was no thought, just action. The guard had done nothing more urgent than sit upright before Jack had his hands wrapped around his throat. The man fought then, arching his back, his only thought to push Jack away. But Jack was ready. He brought his knee up sharply and pushed it into the guard’s lap, forcing him back into the chair, his fingers locked like claws around the man’s pulsating, trembling throat.

  The guard fought for his life, his fists flailing and battering at Jack without pause. Jack kept his arms locked straight and ignored the blows, which grew steadily weaker as he throttled the life out of the man. At la
st the guard’s arms fell to his sides. Still Jack held on, long past the point of death. There could be no mistakes, not when he was one man amidst an entire enemy army.

  He felt no trace of compassion as he looked into the guard’s bulging, staring eyes. He had held their gaze the whole time. He had seen the shock and the fear reflected deep within them; the rush of terror as the guard finally realised that death was coming to claim him. And he had seen the last light of life wither and die.

  He gasped as he finally let go, the breath escaping him involuntarily. A strange groan followed as he pushed himself away from the body, a final rush of air escaping the open mouth of the man he had throttled. Then Jack was moving, his hands flexing as he eased the pain from his aching fingers. He scanned the room, expecting to find a musket or some other weapon. Yet he could see nothing more dangerous than a small pocket knife. Clearly the guard had not anticipated the danger in his task and had not bothered to arm himself.

  It did not matter. Jack moved to the door that Samuel had told him led towards the livery, just a few minutes’ walk away. It was a simple enough task to unbolt it then slip outside. He did so without so much as a glance back at the man he had just killed.

  The night air was chill. After so long held prisoner, it felt strange to be outside, and for a moment Jack could do nothing but stand there as he tried to adjust to the change. There was a sharp breeze and he felt the touch of its icy fingers on his skin.

  For the second time, the urge to cough came over him. He held his breath and choked it down, yet still he spluttered, flinging scraps of spittle from his lips. He could feel the sheen of sweat on skin that felt too hot.

  He moved away quietly. The town was near silent at this dark hour, and he walked as briskly as he could through the quiet streets. He would not skulk in the shadows. Only thieves and ne’er-do-wells tried to hide in the night, and although he was both of those things, he had learned long ago that it was better to appear to be about a less illicit purpose.

  He had no idea how many Confederate soldiers were stationed in the town. Samuel had told him that most bivouacked in the fields around about, but that many officers had found lodging in the houses of Gainesville. It was their horses he was after, their mounts likely to be of a superior quality to those from any of the cavalry units in the vicinity.

  He paused, another cough struggling to be free. The air rasped in his chest as he sucked down a deep breath and used it to stifle the urge. It hurt to do so, his chest protesting as he stretched it then held it tight, the pain enough to bring tears to his eyes. A single one fell from his eye, carving a path through the sweat, cool against the heat emanating from his skin.

  There was nothing for it but to carry on. He could feel his senses closing in around him; he heard little save for the rasp of his own breath and the thump of his heart.

  The hand that reached out from the darkness to close around his mouth took him completely by surprise. A strong arm hauled him backwards. He could do nothing but back-pedal awkwardly as he was dragged into an alley that led down the side of a sorry-looking clapboard house. His assailant said nothing as he handled Jack as easily as a father might manoeuvre a difficult toddler.

  As suddenly as the hand had appeared, it left Jack’s face and he was pushed back so that his spine rested against the side of the building. His first reaction was to fight, and he bunched his hands into fists and searched the darkness for his assailant’s face.

  ‘Easy there.’ The familiar voice spoke softly and soothingly. ‘You take it nice and easy, Jack, I ain’t going to hurt you.’

  ‘You!’ Jack did not have the breath to say more. A cough burst from his lungs before he could suppress it, spewing out whilst his eyes screwed shut against the pain the spasms sent shuddering through him.

  ‘What are you doing here, Samuel?’ He finally got the question out. He took as deep a breath as he could manage and peered into the darkness.

  ‘Helping you,’ Samuel replied with a soft chuckle. ‘Looks like you need it.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Jack wiped the traces of phlegm from his lips.

  ‘Uh huh.’ There was gentle mockery in Samuel’s voice. ‘You’re barely on your feet.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Jack forced firmness into his voice. In truth he felt appalling. He was sweating freely and his chest felt as if it had been bound with iron bars.

  ‘You’re burning up.’ Samuel reached out with the back of his hand, pressing it against Jack’s forehead. There was familiarity in the touch, a reminder of the care that had been given. ‘You should go back.’

  Jack swallowed and shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘You ain’t up to this.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ His breathing was settling. ‘What the hell are you doing out here? Won’t they punish you if they find you wandering about the damn place?’

  ‘A lot happens after dark around these parts.’ Samuel’s reply was calm and even. He was clearly not concerned. ‘You ever heard of the underground railroad?’

  ‘Yes. A little.’ Jack knew something of the way slaves were smuggled out of the South and into the free North and it had been the underground railroad that had helped Rose on her own journey to freedom.

  ‘Then you’ll know that plenty goes on in this part of the world that the white folks don’t know about.’

  Jack was aware of the change in manner that had come over the slave. There was none of the subservience he had displayed when with his white masters. He was a different man to the one Jack had become used to being around.

  ‘You’re a part of it?’

  Samuel grinned, revealing his bright white teeth. ‘I do what the good Lord tells me to do.’

  ‘And he tells you to smuggle slaves to the North?’ Jack stifled another cough.

  ‘He tells me to help others.’

  ‘Even if you have to risk your life to do it?’ Jack could not hold back the question.

  ‘If that’s what it takes.’ Samuel’s smile disappeared. ‘If you’d seen what I’ve seen, Jack, you’d do the same. So I help where I can. It’s not much. By the time they get here, they’ve already come so far. I just help move them on, get them one step closer to being free. Not helping, turning a blind eye to everything that goes on, well, that’s just the same as being one of them.’

  ‘Aren’t I one of them?’ Jack whispered the question. He had slowed his breathing to try to avoid bringing on another bout of coughing.

  ‘No. This ain’t about white folk and black folk. It’s never that simple.’ Samuel spoke with obvious passion. ‘The colour of a man’s skin, that don’t mean anything. It’s what’s inside that matters. A man’s heart, that’s what’s good or evil.’

  ‘How do you know which is which?’

  ‘I trust what the good Lord tells me.’

  ‘He speaks to you?’ Jack could not hide his scorn.

  ‘Not like you mean.’ Samuel flashed his bright smile once more. ‘I ain’t no crazy man, listening to voices in my head. But I know what he wants me to do.’

  ‘And that includes helping me?’

  ‘It includes telling you to go back to your damn bed and forget this.’

  ‘I can’t go back.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because this is something I have to do.’

  Samuel’s smile widened. ‘It’s the Lord. He’s guiding you.’

  ‘No.’ Jack’s denial was immediate. The force of the reply made him cough, and he had to bury his head in the crook of his elbow to stifle the sound.

  ‘Call it what you will.’ Samuel waited for the fit to pass before he spoke again. ‘But I tell you this. I think you’re doing the Lord’s work.’

  Jack shook his head, but he had no breath for a reply. He could see the passion burning in the larger man’s eyes. He could not hope to understand it. He had been born in the shittiest rookeries of London, where life was cheap and an unmitigated struggle from the cradle to the grave. Yet even such hardship as he had experienced could not have taught him
what it would be like to be a slave. He did understand one thing, though. He knew what it was to fight against fate. He saw the same desire in Samuel’s eyes. The two of them could not have been more different, and yet they shared that same obsessive, hopeless desire.

  ‘It must be hard . . .’ He could feel his chest tightening again, so he paused, sipping the air until the threat of another spasm ended. ‘It must be hard to play that part of yours. To be so meek. So servile.’

  ‘It kills me.’ Samuel stared at him. ‘It kills me a little bit more every day, but we do what we have to do, don’t we? We play the part and hide our true selves away.’

  ‘Do we?’

  ‘Come on, Jack. You ain’t said much more than three words straight since you woke up, yet I reckon I know you as well as I know any man. I see that you hide yourself. Keep everything close.’ Samuel’s eyes bored into Jack’s own. ‘You still sure you want to go ahead with this foolishness?’ He edged closer.

  ‘Yes.’ Jack forced out the word.

  ‘Then you’ll need this.’ Samuel handed over a leather satchel. ‘It ain’t much, they don’t feed us too well, but it’ll see you free of hereabouts. After that, you’ll have to forage for yourself.’

  Jack took the satchel and pulled the strap over his head, settling the bag on his hip.

  ‘And you can have this.’

  He took the second item, a bowie knife with a blade the length of his forearm. He had seen many of the soldiers on both sides armed with knives like this. It was a popular weapon and one that he was sure he would need.

  He glanced at the sky. Already the fringes were starting to lighten. It was closer to dawn than he had thought. ‘I need to go.’

  Samuel nodded slowly in agreement. ‘Head west. Don’t stop, not unless you fall out of the damn saddle.’

  ‘I have to get a horse first.’

  ‘It’s waiting for you. Follow this alley. It’s hitched at the far end.’

  ‘You did that for me?’

  ‘I’ve got to keep you alive, even if you’re intent on getting yourself killed. Anyways, you didn’t have a hope in hell of getting out of here by yourself.’ Samuel’s opinion of Jack’s plan was scathing. ‘You can barely stand, let alone fight.’