Angels & Patriots

by Salina B Baker

  “What’d you think happened to Brandon and Ian?” Patrick asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Michael responded.

  “We gotta talk about it. If we live through what’s about to happen, we gotta find them.”

  Michael shot Patrick a sideways glance.

  “Colm’s gotta have some idea about what’s happened to them,” Patrick said. He flicked the one-inch twig over the ledge and then picked up another long twig. “If Ian went to Concord…if Henry was in Concord…what if Henry saw Brandon on the road to…”

  Michael snatched the twig from Patrick’s hands. “Stop talking!”

  Patrick looked at Michael, surprised. “There was fightin’ in Concord! Demons was probably there! You cain’t pretend nothin’ bad’s happened!”

  “Demons?” Prince was alarmed.

  “Shhh,” Michael warned. He stood up. “They’re volleying up the road to the west.”

  Patrick stood up. Prince stood up.

  Suddenly, the militiamen were on their feet and alert. They all heard the shots.

  “Spread out and load your weapons!” Captain Parker ordered. “Watch the flankers! And pray to God to watch over you!”

  Seamus reluctantly took the order, which forced him to leave Liam’s side.

  Liam moved closer to the edge of the ridge with a group of men.

  Jeremiah took a position near Michael and Patrick.

  The Lexington militiamen saw Captain Leslie Parsons and his ragged company first. Colonel Francis Smith rode just behind them, at the head of the main column with a light infantry regiment directly following. Next, Captain Walter Laurie’s company came into view.

  The exhausted British regulars had been under rebel fire since leaving Concord. They saw and heard the swarming rebels in the woods on the ledge above them and in the woods on their right. The British officers, wearing bright redcoats and brandishing bayonets, pressed the need for speed. Colonel Smith’s flankers lagged behind when the column moved from open farmland to the terrain they were navigating now. The rocky narrow road dipped and rose, slowing the frazzled regulars.

  There was one important difference between the previous rebel snipers and those who were about to open fire on the column. Captain Parker and his men were determined to avenge their dead family members and neighbors who had fallen on Lexington Green.

  The Lexington men unleashed a ferocious volley that slammed into the column’s left flank. Colonel Smith was shot in the thigh. Captain Parsons was wounded in the arm. There was a volley of rebel crossfire that killed a British captain and several men in his company along the column’s right flank.

  Major John Pitcairn rode forward and directed a counterattack while the rebels continued to fire at will. The major ordered grenadiers from the rear to assault Parker’s men on the right and left flanks.

  Liam and the men closest to the edge of the ridge to the left of the British column, were overrun by the grenadiers. Three grenadiers with orange eyes swung around and converged on Liam.

  He jerked the ramrod out of its holder beneath the barrel of his musket, and fired at one orange eye. The musket ball destroyed it. Liam leapt forward to stab the ramrod into the demon’s other eye. He was shoved to the ground.

  The one-eyed demon walked over and put a boot on Liam’s chest. “So, you are the angel that has been forsaken for disobedience. Am I correct?”

  Liam was terrified, but he experienced an emotion he had not expected—anger. He jammed the ramrod into the demon’s balls.

  The demon extracted the ramrod and tossed it aside. He leaned over. His one orange eye showered Liam with sparks that stung his cheeks. The demon asked, “Is that your answer?”

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose it makes no difference,” the demon said. “We shall see if you can die.”

  A young rebel shot at, what appeared to him to be, British grenadiers harming a fellow rebel. His musket ball struck a demon in the back of the head. The demon turned, aimed his musket at the young man’s right eye, and fired. The musket ball pierced its target. The stunned man staggered backward a few feet, then collapsed and died.

  The demon placed its boot on Liam’s chest and said, “Stand up, angel!”

  Liam complied. He heard musket fire, saw black smoke, and smelled gunpowder—the last sensations his physical body would ever experience. His spirit was saddened, knowing he would not have a chance to say goodbye to the angels with whom he had spent millenniums.

  Something grazed his forehead. He tried to raise his hand to touch the wound, but he had no control of his arm. To his left, he saw a bayonet blade sail through the air toward him. Who throws a bayonet like a knife? It is going to skewer my spirit. But it cannot bleed. Or can it? I wonder if Heaven’s melodic music will mourn for me.

  Liam’s deranged coda conjured a figment of a tall man with long curly brown hair that had slipped from its usual neat queue. The man stopped the bayonet’s flight by seizing it in his right hand. The three demons and the dead men they possessed ignited into an inferno of orange flames, and then disintegrated in a shower of sparks.

  Liam’s spirit was plunging into the darkness from which he would never return. Then, he heard the beatific melody of Heaven, a tune so ancient no living thing could recreate the tones and chords. Green and gold sparks enveloped his physical body, and silver light washed over his spirit. He came to rest in the arms of his archangel.

  Colm was there.

  Liam lost consciousness.

  Colm carried him to higher ground on the ridge, away from the volley of musket balls, and laid him on the ground. Then, he moved forward through the gray haze of gunpowder to the edge of the wooded ledge. On his right, Seamus knelt on the ground, reloading his musket.

  When Seamus was done, he replaced the ramrod, and then looked around as if he had lost something. “Liam!” He stood up and shouldered his musket. “LIAM!”

  There was a volley of musket fire from the regulars on the road. Seamus aimed at a regular with orange eyes. His musket misfired. When he stopped to reload, Colm was by his side. The relief Seamus felt was overwhelming, but he kept his attention on the battle as the regulars shot off another volley.

  Then, for a moment, the only sounds were the redcoats’ boots marching on the road and the clop of horses’ hooves. Captain Parker’s unexpected shout to retreat pierced the bright spring afternoon. There was confusion as the militiamen fell back.

  Colm walked to the edge of the ledge and looked west down the road. The rear of the column was visible now. The rear guard flanked three British officers on horseback. He recognized Robert Percy, but he didn’t need to see a physical body to recognize Henry. The archangel sensed the most heinous creation of God’s wrath.

  A shaft of light shined through the trees and lit up Henry’s yellow-green eyes when he turned his head to say something to the officer riding to his left. Colm didn’t recognize the officer, and he was unable to determine whether or not the man was a victim of demonic possession.

  Colm’s greater concern was distancing his men from Henry as much as possible. He needed to slow Henry’s progress.

  “Ya do know Henry and Robert are with the column?” Colm asked Seamus when he returned.

  “Aye, but I don’t know if they know how many of us is here,” Seamus said. “Ian and Brandon is missin’. We think Ian might’ve tried to make it to Concord, and Henry might’ve gotten to him along the way. I sent Brandon to find him. They never came back.”

  Colm’s eyes flashed.

  He already knows, Seamus thought.

  “Liam’s been shot, and he’s unconscious,” Colm said. He pointed toward the higher ground of the ridge. “Stay with him until he wakes, then take him to Joseph so he can look at the wound on Liam’s forehead. I doubt Joseph can do anything, but maybe—”

  “You cou’dn’t let him die, cou’d you?”

  Colm’s jaw muscles twitched. He pushed his hair away from his face and looked westward over the ridgeline. Final
ly, he looked Seamus in the eye and said, “I cou’dn’t.”

  Seamus said nothing. He suspected Joseph had unknowingly influenced Colm’s resolve to punish Liam. It was best to let his suspicion blow away on the winds of change.

  “Joseph’s with Fergus and his militia,” Colm said. “They’re about two miles east of here. The quicker ya can get Liam to him the better. They’re going to be engaged in battle as soon as the regulars arrive at their position. I’m going to look for the others, and send them to ya. Then, I have to figure a way to slow Henry’s pace.”

  “You ain’t doing that alone are you?” Seamus asked, wearily.

  Colm avoided answering the question by saying, “Keep them safe.”

  “Wait.” Seamus reached into his coat pocket and slipped out his butcher knife. He offered the haft to Colm.

  Colm grasped it, then turned and ran west through the woods along the ledge. A few minutes later, he came upon a group of militiamen bent over something on the ground.

  A man said, “I am not savoring taking Jedidiah home to his family. His wife did not want him fighting at his age.” The man who was speaking lapsed into a coughing fit.

  He’s dying of consumption, Colm thought.

  When his coughing calmed, the man said, “We need to lift him.”

  “You heard Captain Parker,” another man said.

  They reached down, cradled the dead man in their collective arms and walked east toward Lexington. Colm saw two other men walking deeper in the woods along the ridge, carrying a dead teenage boy. Those killed were the reason Captain Parker had signaled a retreat.

  Colm searched the hundreds of retreating militiamen for Michael, Patrick, and Jeremiah. Michael’s voice couldn’t have been sweeter if it had been Heaven’s music itself.

  “Damn, Prince! Why’d ya go and get shot again?”

  Colm saw his little brother and Patrick near the high ridgeline. A young black man was sitting on a boulder. Patrick was sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of him.

  “Come on, Patrick! Henry’s coming. We have to go!” Michael looked over his shoulder as if he expected to see Henry or Robert. He blinked, turned around, and blinked again to make sure the man coming toward him wasn’t a mirage.

  The Bohannon brothers’ palimpsests surfaced. Colm put his right hand on the back of Michael’s head and pulled him into his arms. The brothers’ tight embrace soothed their angelic spirits, and quieted the dread harbored by the ghosts of the souls that once belonged to the human men, Colm and Michael Bohannon.

  When their spirits calmed and their palimpsests faded, the Bohannons let go of one another. Colm went to Patrick, embraced him, and patted his cheeks. It was a human act that made Patrick feel safe.

  “Where’s Jeremiah?” Colm asked.

  “I ain’t sure, but I think he went to help with a wounded man who was on the first line of defense back toward Merriam’s Corner,” Patrick said.

  That means he might have to pass the rear of the column on his way back, Colm thought.

  “Ya boys start moving east,” Colm said. “Find Seamus and Liam and keep going until ya meet up with Fergus and his militia. And stay together!”

  “Someone has to get Prince home,” Michael said.

  Prince looked as if he was experiencing the rapture. He beheld Colm with eyes that had never seen such omniscient beauty. He asked Colm, “Are you God?”

  Colm’s eyes flashed silver light when he looked at the young man.

  “You are!” Prince exclaimed.

  Michael rolled his eyes. “He isn’t God.”

  “Go!” Colm said to Michael and Patrick. “I’ll make sure Prince is looked after.”

  “Ain’t you comin’ with us?” Patrick asked. He didn’t want to move on without Colm.

  “No. I can’t leave Jeremiah behind and—”

  “—and what?” Michael felt the dread he had just shed return.

  Colm’s jaw tightened.

  “NO!” Michael screamed. He felt his palimpsest panic. “HE’LL GO CRAZY IF YA DO THAT! NO! STAY AWAY FROM HENRY!”

  Patrick’s gray eyes widen with fear. “Who’re you talkin’ about, Michael? You were goin’ on about this the day Liam went to see Abigail Adams! Who the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

  The sight of the angels’ dissent and uneasiness made Prince forget his own existence.

  Michael walked backward a few steps. He fisted his hands and clenched his jaw. “I’m talking about the soul of the man who used to be Michael Bohannon! Don’t tell me ya don’t feel the man who used to be Patrick Cullen! Don’t deny ya don’t worry about Seamus like a human worries about his brother!”

  Colm went to Michael and seized his wrists. “Put a period to it! Do ya want Henry and his demons to hear ya?” He shook Michael. “Do ya?”

  Michael was stunned by the tears that welled in his eyes. His human vessel had never cried.

  “I have to slow Henry down,” Colm said evenly. “I have to make sure he knows I’m here. I have to make sure ya are out of his way. We didn’t come here today to die. We came here to fight as patriots.”

  Patrick was shaking. He had been denying his recent, abrupt dreams of Seamus shouting at him, in an old language, as he struggled to free himself from the arm his brother had wrapped around his neck.

  “HENRY’S PROBABLY ALREADY KILLED IAN AND BRANDON!” Michael screamed at Colm. “WE CAN’T LOSE YA, TOO!”

  “Stop shouting Michael!” Patrick said, trying to neutralize his own panic.

  A small group of militiamen with shouldered muskets had gathered around the angels. A tall, rough looking man coughed and said, “My order was to retreat.”

  Colm let go of Michael’s wrists and walked away.

  Michael ran an unsteady hand across his sweating forehead.

  Patrick took a deep breath. “Captain Parker, Prince needs help gettin’ home.”

  John Parker knew his time on Earth was coming to an end. Now that his body was close to death and his soul would soon be free, he was able to perceive things beyond this world. He knew the man who had walked away, and these beautiful young men before him were angels of a god who no longer loved them. Parker wondered if he wanted to meet a god who could turn his back on such splendid creatures.

  “We will take care of him,” Parker said. “Now, do as your angel commanded.”

  Michael and Patrick moved off to the east without a backward glance.

  “Farewell, angels,” Prince whispered. “I hope I see you again someday.”

  From the wooded ledge, Colm watched the British regulars move eastward. The exhausted men marched through the rough terrain with a renewed urgency. Here and there, an enlisted man stopped to offer assistance to a wounded comrade. The names of the dead were noted before they were stripped of their weapons—and then left behind as the regulars continued east toward Menotomy.

  Now, the rear guard of the column was directly below the place where Colm stood and watched. Rocks and dirt showered the road, impeding Lieutenant William Sutherland’s way.

  William looked up at the ledge. The source of the avalanche was not evident. He turned his horse back to circle around the debris in the road.

  Colm considered his course of action. He wanted to avoid a confrontation with Henry. A showdown between the leader of the demons and an archangel would ignite a clash of power that would summon a tempest of collateral damage upon the hundreds of humans on the road and along the ridgeline.

  It had happened in 1318 at the Battle of Faughart in County Louth in Ireland, four years after Henry had taken the body of the dead knight, Sir Henry de Bohun. The fierceness of Heaven’s warrior and the heinousness of God’s wrath collided during the battle, and human casualties, including the brother of the King of Scotland, Edward Bruce, were the result.

  Henry’s obviously playing a game, Colm thought. He somehow made Ian a part of his game, and he’s not ready to end it.

  William Sutherland’s horse cleared the debris. Colm gripped the haft of
the butcher knife and jumped onto the road in front of Sutherland’s horse, startling it. Sutherland, addled by his horse’s sudden reaction tried to stay in the saddle, but his boots slid from the stirrups. He desperately tried to replace them to regain his balance.

  The horse’s front hooves plunged to the ground. Colm darted to the left. He grasped the saddle’s cantle and pommel so he could lift himself up high enough to shove the toe of his boot into the empty stirrup.

  Sutherland shoved the sole of his left boot into Colm’s chest, which caused Sutherland to slip sideways in the saddle.

  Colm slipped his foot into the left stirrup and threw his right leg up and over the back of the horse. He slid into the saddle behind Sutherland. The horse reared again. Colm tightened his thighs, threw his arms around William’s waist, and gripped the saddle horn.

  The archangel’s spirit pressed heavily on the demon’s spirit. If the pressure went on long enough, the demon’s spirit would compress and disintegrate.

  “Get control of ya horse,” Colm said calmly.

  “Fuck you, archangel! I will die before I let you use me to your advantage.”

  “Then ya have made ya choice.” Colm brandished his knife and aimed it at one of William’s eyes.

  William’s demon panicked. He reined in his horse.

  Colm’s sudden appearance on the road and the chaos that ensued caused the captain of the rear guard to shout at his weary men, “Make ready, but hold your fire!” He and his two lower ranking officers drew their sabers.

  The captain walked toward Sutherland’s horse and shouted at Colm, “Dismount immediately, Yankee!”

  Forty muskets were aimed at Colm. If they fired, they would also hit the man with whom he shared a saddle, but he wasn’t certain that would deter them from shooting. Gunshots fired by humans couldn’t kill Colm, but he would be severely crippled until he had a chance to heal. He couldn’t risk it.