by Alice Addy
It all started easily enough. No one expected that they would soon be involved in one of the most deciding battles of the entire war. The Confederates just needed shoes.
* * *
Tony looked down at his bruised and swollen feet. He, along with many of his friends, had wrapped burlap, leather, even leaves around their feet, to protect them from the sharp stones they were forced to walk across. Boots were as important as bullets in this war. An army could not be expected to win a war in their bare feet.
Looking through his eyeglass, the commanding officer spied a column of Union soldiers riding across an open area, just south of the little market town of Gettysburg. He gave the order to attack. “Go get those shoes,” he barked to his men.
Tony watched his fellow soldiers easily overtake the Yankee column, killing them, and taking their shoes—among a few other items they thought they could use. No one wanted to acknowledge the fact that men had died to provide them with the shoes they so badly needed. The men all rejoiced as they slid their muddy feet into the soft leather.
“I’ve got a bad feelin’ thar’ll be hell to pay fer this,” said a young lad, excitedly, as he laced his boot. “These are damn good boots, and they fit…well, almost,” Samuel chuckled.
Tony admired his own new boots. “They do feel good, at that.” No one seemed to notice that Tony didn’t speak the way a good southern boy should. He sounded like a Yankee, but he proved he had the heart and the courage of a Reb. He’d made few friends in the two years since he’d signed up, to fight for the South. Everyone knew him to be a loner, and gave him all the privacy he required, but he was still well liked, and could be depended upon to watch your back.
Tony looked up at the skinny, freckle-faced boy, smiling innocently. “How old are you, kid?”
Immediately, the smile was replaced with a seriousness of purpose. “I’m old enough. How old are you?” he responded.
Tony laughed and practically choked. “You’d never believe me, kid. It doesn’t make any difference how old you are, I guess. I can see by your face you believe in the cause, and I’m proud to have you with me.” Tony meant it, too. The kid had heart.
While the men enjoyed their spoils of war, news of the little skirmish was putting all the elements together for a major confrontation, with both sides vowing to be victorious and turn the tide of the war.
General Heth had been surprised to find two Union brigades in the little town, and attacked. That afternoon, General Lee arrived and directed his forces to push the Union lines back, further.
“We need to advance here, men. We need to bring the war to the civilian population, in the North, making them as weary of the fightin’ as our families have become. We can take this little bit of Pennsylvania, men. We must!”
Lee gave the orders and the valiant soldiers succeeded in pushing the Yankees through the town and up to a series of hills called, Cemetery Ridge.
Union Commander Meade immediately sent for some badly needed reinforcements. Before the day was out, more than 160,000 men had gathered at Gettysburg.
Tony and his friends waited. “Damn, but it’s hot,” Tony growled. Sweat dripped into his eyes, causing them to burn. “I knew these damn boots were gonna get us into trouble.”
Young Samuel laughed. “Yeah, but I’d rather be runnin’ away from them Yanks wearin’ shoes on my feet, instead o’ high-tailin’ it outta’ here, barefoot.”
“You do have a point,” Tony conceded. “Let’s try to get some sleep.”
Day Two was simply miserable. As the sun rose up over the ridge, the heat was already sweltering. All day long, they charged forward. The Confederate cannon barrage wreaked havoc and destruction on the Union’s defenses. Casualties on both sides were heavy, and still the Rebs could not push the Yankees down off the hills.
Day Three, and it was imperative they turn the tide. Lee gave the order for Pickett to attack through the center and charge up Cemetery Ridge. The fighting was hand-to-hand, and the most vicious anyone had ever seen. Several times, Tony couldn’t advance, for the number of bodies piled up in front of him.
Eventually, out of bullets, the men lowered their rifles and led with their bayonets glinting in the sun, and their loud Rebel yell filling the air.
“Samuel, stay next to me!” Tony hollered. The boy had done well, and Tony would not allow him to fall, now. “This way,” he pointed. Samuel followed wordlessly. All color had drained from his young face.
They made little progress. Tony’s hands were soaked with Yankee blood and it turned his stomach. What the hell was he doing here, in the first place? This wasn’t noble. This war was insane. Just as he rounded a stone wall, Tony’s heart lurched in his chest. At some point, Samuel had taken the lead. Now, standing squarely in front of the kid, was a blue coat, his rifle aimed at Samuel’s narrow chest, and determination in his cold and empty eyes.
Before he could think, Tony lunged with his bloody bayonet. He felt it sink deep in the muscled chest of the soldier, just before he felt the burning pain of a bullet, as it tore through his gut. “God,” he moaned. The pain was indescribable. He heard a scream. Was it him? Was it the man he stabbed? No, it was Samuel. The boy had grabbed the fallen Yankee’s rifle and fired it into his chest. He was going to fire again, when a stray bullet from an unknown source, entered the back of his skull and exited right between his disbelieving eyes. Samuel fell to his knees, in front of Tony.
Momentarily, Tony forgot his own pain, as he looked into the beautiful face of a boy, too young to be there, and he felt his heart wrench. Sightless eyes stared up at him, bewildered. This was a good boy—no—this was a brave and good man. His ma and pa had done a good job in raising him, and it hurt to know they would never see him again.
In anguish, Tony hoped he would die of his own injuries, but he knew better. In fact, he felt very strange. Something was different. He could hear the fallen Yankee’s thoughts. It was impossible to read another’s mind, but this man was coming through loud and clear without saying a word.
After a few silent minutes, he whispered to a stunned Tony. “Name’s Paul Grant. You’re not crazy, brother, unless you think being here, is crazy.” The stranger closed his eyes for a few moments, holding his shirt to his wounds. “I won’t die, you know. I take it, you won’t either.”
Tony was dumbfounded. He’d never met another man, such as he—other than his best friend, Thomas. There had been rumors there were more, but he thought they were just that, rumors. “Who are you?” he gasped.
“I told you. We are brothers, of a sort.”
“You don’t know what you’re sayin’. You’re dyin’. I killed you and I’m happy that I did. Samuel shot you in the chest. No one survives a wound like that!” Tony sounded like a child to his own ears.
The Yankee laughed. “I guess it is a hard thing to comprehend, but it is true, nonetheless. Surely, you have heard the stories. There are quite a number of immortals, such as you and I. Not all of them are sane, however. This affliction, that we share, can drive some mortals mad, causing them to react violently. Some choose to live life in a reckless and immoral manner, but most prefer to exist peacefully, in the shadows. There are more than one or two, here, in this very war. That’s why I am here. I hunt.”
“You hunt who? Them?” Tony could not believe his ears. “Are they Rebs?”
“Oh, God. I know I won’t die from these infernal wounds, but they hurt like the dickens.” The Yankee grasped his chest and pressed hard, as he tried to sit up.
“Yes, I hunt the renegades, and it is of no importance on which side they choose to fight. It doesn’t do anyone any good, if they are allowed to run amok, among the general population, and with no fear of reprisals. Now, you are …?” He waited for an introduction.
“Tony. Private Anthony Bowles, actually.” Tony was reluctant to give the stranger too much information. He had been relegated to the shadows for too many years, and he trusted few.
“When were you turned?” the stranger as
ked, as if it were the most common of questions.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Tony insisted. He hesitated, looking at the man with the very wise and unusual golden eyes. After several quiet moments, he decided to trust the stranger. He could hear inside the man’s head, and his thoughts were honorable.
“My best friend and I were attacked by wolves, near Prague, in the early fall of 1810. We surely would have died, had it not been for the efforts of a very young and innocent gypsy girl. We didn’t ask for this.” He suddenly became defensive.
“It’s all right, Tony,” Paul whispered. “We all have a similar story. It’s hard to share. I think we should stay where we are, until this blasted skirmish is over, and then hightail it out of here. Are you with me?”
Tony looked down at the boy lying dead at his feet. There was nothing he could do for his young friend. He gave a silent prayer for the lad and then nodded. “When you go, I’ll leave with you. Hope you have a plan.”
By nightfall it was evident the South would not route the Union forces, and General Lee was preparing to withdraw. As the final assault came to a close, more than 51,000 men had perished. Two men should have been added to that list, but they crawled away and managed to heal their mortal wounds in less than a fortnight.
It is said that Lincoln was very unhappy that General Meade did not pursue General Lee, as he pulled back. The War Between the States could have ended there, he said. No one really knows why Lee was allowed to exit the battleground, as he did, nor can they explain how Jonas, his youngest in command, survived, time and time again after suffering grievous wounds in combat. He was known to be fearless in battle, and very, very lucky.
CHAPTER TWO
The sign on the door simply read: Grant Paulsen—Investigator. Tony chuckled to himself. “Yeah, and a little more, I think,” he muttered, under his breath. Suddenly, while he was still studying the door, a voice bellowed from the other side.
“Gonna’ stand out there all day or are you coming in?”
Grant was in fine voice today, Tony thought.
Upon entering the small, but neat office, Tony felt the old and familiar electricity travel up his spine. Being in the presence of another immortal, always brought an odd tingling sensation to the nerve endings running up and down his back.
Grant’s hands and feet would warm to an alarming degree, when Tony was within twenty feet of him. In some cases, he could actually see through the eyes of his prey, making it easier for him to locate them. Some immortals felt feverish or sick to their stomach, when in close proximity to their own kind. A woman, in France, always got the hiccups. It was these various and sometimes humorous signs, that helped a hunter make contact with the others. Also, they very often saved him from a fate worse than death.
“Take a seat, Bowles...or is it Barker?” Grant asked, good-naturedly.
“Actually, it’s Barton, now.”
“Can’t keep up with you, Tony,” he chuckled. He pointed to a leather chair in front of his desk. “Take a seat. My girl, Sophie, is out of the office for a while. I think it’s best if she doesn’t meet you. Cute kid, but curious as all get out. In fact, I’ve been thinking of letting her go. It’s just that she needs the money, I pay her, and she’s very good at what she does.” He thought for a moment and sighed. “Oh, well, we have a brother to find. Better get to it.”
Tony was always taken a little aback, by the cavalier attitude Grant had toward his chosen profession. Actually, it wasn’t fair to say he had chosen to be a hunter. It was what fate had chosen for him, and he was damn good at it.
“What have you been able to come up with? Did he snatch the toddler? Is he really feasting at the zoo?” Images of a crazed man gnawing on the leg of zebra crossed Tony’s mind.
Grant snorted. “The zoo story is just that…a story. I checked with the head gamekeeper, and the boy who cleans up there. Not a word of truth to it. All of the animals are accounted for. However, the child is still missing, and I have a bad feeling about it.”
“What do you want me to do?” Tony asked, letting Grant run the show. “I can prowl around at night, listen for his voice. Have you been able to see anything yet?”
Tony could hear what the immortals were thinking. It was his own particular gift. He could feel what they were feeling, if they were within range. When he was first saved from death, this gift almost cost him his sanity. He couldn’t shut out the constant voices in his head, the sounds of their tormented pleas. To whom the voices belonged, he hadn’t been certain, but they roared through his head, night and day, never ceasing. Over the century, he’d been able to focus his mind and shut out most of what they said. Now, he heard them only when he chose.
Grant did not hear the voices, but he could see through their eyes, when he concentrated very hard. His ability only extended about 10 miles or so, but that was usually sufficient to catch a rogue. It was both a gift and a curse. Through the eyes of a lunatic, he had seen horrific images that still haunted his nights.
Grant sat his large frame on the corner of his desk and ran his hand through his thick brown hair. He closed his golden eyes and his brows knitted together in concentration. “I see only darkness, but that’s what he sees. I know it. He must be hiding in a cave or a basement without windows. It’s total blackness. The problem is…every once in a while…I see the slightest movement of a small foot. It’s the child. I’m certain of it.”
“Hell,” Tony swore. “At least he’s still alive, but we’ll have to move fast. Total darkness could be anywhere in the city. Last night, I tried to listen for his voice or his thoughts, but got nothing. Some heavy breathing and a few grunts, was about all. I didn’t hear anything intelligible. Don’t know what to make of it.” Tony had never encountered anything quite so puzzling. “You don’t suppose he’s so far gone that he doesn’t have any coherent thoughts, do you?”
Grant stood and looked out through the floor to ceiling window, which overlooked the entire city block. “I think …”
“Hi, boss,” a bright voice called out, cheerily. “I’m back a little early, but I had some filing to do and thought it would be nice to get home at a decent hour. Got to watch American Idol. Have you seen this year’s singers? I think they’re great, but the guy with the …”
“Sophie!” Grant bellowed. “Focus! Can you at least pretend to be professional when we have a client standing before you?”
The young office assistant turned her huge turquoise eyes upon Tony. “Oh, I am so sorry. I get carried away sometimes. Please be assured that you are in the very best of hands, with Mr. Paulsen. He can find anyone or anything. Never fails. It’s really uncanny, when you think about it. Once, a lady came in, hysterical she was. It seems that her…”
“Sophie!”
“What?” She spun around to face her employer. “I was just apologizing. Geesh! I was singing your praises. Lighten up, Grant... er... Mr. Paulsen.” Her cheeks turned bright red with embarrassment. She should never have called her boss by his first name, in front of a client. Even she knew that.
Tony was trying not to laugh at the obvious discomfort of both Grant and his young assistant. He thought she was adorable. Her blonde curls bounced gaily around her delightfully funny face. He’d never seen eyes quite the color of hers, and her lips looked delicious. He noticed she was a complete package, full of soft, lush curves, and in all the right places. She was on the tall side, maybe five foot, eight inches. That was terrific, as his own considerable height intimidated shorter women, and he found it difficult to kiss them while standing.
“Whoa!” Tony managed to say, before laughing out loud. “Is it always like this around here? Do you always have this much fun?”
Grant rolled his eyes. “Not every day. Look, Tony. I think we should meet later and come up with a plan. How about you come to my place at seven? We’ll be alone. It will be quiet, there.” He shot a stern glance toward an oblivious Sophie.
Sophie interrupted. “No can do, boss. You’ve got a date to sco
pe out the new art gallery, on Embassy. I guess I could do it for you,” Sophie hinted.
“Ha! You don’t want to miss Idol, do you?”
“Look, Grant …er, Mr. Paulsen. When do I get to do some sleuthing? I’ve been taking classes at the community college. I know what to do. Really!”
Tony was mesmerized by the precious pout of her bottom lip. Her lips were so kissable, and he was a starving man. It had been decades since he’d lusted for a woman. He needed to say something.
Winking at Grant, Tony stepped up to the young woman and said, “There’s a number of things that a man can only discuss with another man. I hope you’re not offended. However, there are a few items that I’d like you to help me with, if you’re game. Could I take you to dinner at seven, and discuss them with you? I can meet up with your boss after his engagement.”
Sophie sucked in her breath and her eyes grew even larger with surprise. “Are you serious? You want to hire me as a private eye? What case do you need me for?” she asked in all sincerity.
“Tony’s just being polite,” Grant stated, without any sign of humor. “He’s only having you assist me, kid. His contract is with this firm, not you specifically. I haven’t said I agree to let you get involved.”
“Please, Boss. It’s my only chance to prove I can do it,” she pleaded.
Grant narrowed his eyes and tapped his lips with his fingers, as if in deep thought. He knew he was going to say yes, but he enjoyed watching her squirm. “Okay, Sophie. You’ve got your chance, but I’d better not hear any complaints.”