“Demon, I’ve been expecting you!” the sexton spit. “May God strike you down and—”
The creature flung him into the wall, the matches scattering onto the floor like scurrying insects. The impact tore a second gash in his forehead and lit up stars behind his eyes. Providentially, he landed next to his gun and groped his hand around it. But he couldn’t fire yet; the Regulars would hear a gunshot, he knew. Paul needed the signal first. The Sons needed the signal.
The creature’s head slunk into a moonbeam and revealed a face like that of a giant salamander. Snarling, it bit down on the gun stock, thrashed it out of the sexton’s hands, and tore it in two. Its red eyes burned, its gaping mouth leaked saliva.
Backing away, the sexton’s hand played over the fallen matches and an idea sparked in him. “Spawned from hellfire? I’ll show you God’s fire.”
The old man struck a match and tossed it at the creature’s wire-thick fur. A small patch caught fire and the creature’s red eyes bulged. It pressed its nose into the sexton’s throat, huffed putrid breath into his face. Reeling, the old man picked up the splintered gun barrel and rammed it forward, crunching it through the creature’s thick skin, dousing his arms in hot blood.
With a wail, the creature leapt over the side of the steeple, down to the ground below where it rolled to put out the flames. With an agitated chuff, it took off running. The sexton looked to see where it was headed and caught a flash of its tail as it charged into the blackness of the trees, heading north. North toward Paul.
Paul! he thought. The signal!
Grabbing up two of the lanterns, he lit them and held them high. His face blazed with searing infection, and his ribs were surely cracked. Still, he held the lamps, all the while wondering how best to warn everyone of this other threat on the loose.
***
On the far shore they pulled the small boat onto the land. Through the night’s fog, Paul was just able to make out two orange glows, like distant dying suns. Joshua saw it too and pointed. “Look! They’re crossing the river, marching here.”
“Yes,” Paul replied. He grabbed both Thomas and Joshua’s hands, shook them fervently. “Thank you. The Sons thank you, too.”
“I still can’t believe that ship didn’t hear us,” Thomas said. He raised an oar wrapped in an old petticoat. “Didn’t really think this would work.”
“Quiet as a sleeping baby’s breath,” Joshua added.
Paul left them to their own devices, and ran north into Charleston. Two vagrants picking through a feed trough betrayed the town’s only silence, but they scampered down an alley when they saw Paul. The town center was also bare, most people having retired for the night. Stopping under the gas lamp outside a mercantile storefront, Paul cupped his hands to his lips and took a breath. Here was the moment they’d all been waiting for. Here is where he gave up the last of his freedom under the current rule. Let my lungs be strong, he prayed.
“The Regulars are coming!”
He ran down the street repeating it over and over: “The Regulars are coming! The Regulars are coming!” He rapped on doors, he kicked storefronts, he banged on windows. Doors opened, gas lamps lit, people emerged with children hugging their legs. Yes, they had known it would happen sooner or later. The Regulars were coming.
***
Joshua and Thomas were half way back across the river when they heard the distant cry of Paul waking the town. They spoke in glances, aware that they were nearing the Somerset. The large man-of-war had been anchored on the river for a month now, and was manned with the enemy. They rowed slower to lessen the noise. Joshua finally spoke: “I hear Paul. Think they can hear him, too?”
“If we can, they must—”
The boat lurched! Something smashed into the bottom, tipping it up. Both men threw their arms up to stay balanced, almost dropping the oars. It splashed down again and thankfully remained upright. There was a moment of silence and then a low splashing sound in the water, passing by them. Looking back toward Charleston, the men watched as a large wake cut across the surface of the water, heading toward Paul’s screams.
“The devil was that?”
“Shh. A bluefish I reckon. Let’s get home. I’m freezing.”
***
“Paul, you’re a dreadful sight.”
Paul sat at the table of Deacon John Larkin, momentarily warming his hands, wishing he was back home without the fear he felt inside of him giving him such cramps.
“The Sons saw the signal, the lanterns, right before you arrived,” Larkin continued. “The plan is working so far.”
“John and Sam won’t know. They’ll be taken by surprise unless we warn them somehow. Lord, I’m frozen to the point of pain.”
Larkin looked out his window toward the river; no sign of the Regulars yet. “You have more than a moments lead. But they’ll be coming fast.” He looked back at the runner, saw the flushed cheeks and heaving chest and felt the man’s pain. Still, he couldn’t urge Paul to stop; the detriment would be too high if John and Sam were captured. “Brown Beauty is out back. She’s yours.”
“Are you sure? It’s a long way. Can she handle it?”
“She can handle it. She’s my best. There is much to do here now. Hurry! You must go.”
As Paul was leaving, Larkin gripped his shoulder. “It’s up to you.”
“My life for it. If necessary.”
Paul found the horse behind the house, undid her reins, and climbed atop her. “I hear you are fast, girl,” he cooed to her. “Fast enough to save us all, I hope.”
He kicked her sides and she took off through the town. Disheveled people lined the streets, some shaking in anticipation, some shaking with fear. He yelled as he went: “The Regulars are coming!”
***
It crawled onto the land, sniffed the air. Its prey had been here recently, the stench of human sweat was only outdone by the recent defecation of some nearby doe. Oh, how it loved the smell of flesh, be it man or animal. But especially man. It moved cautiously toward the lights ahead, toward the hive, where beings stood in dim rectangle lights looking around. Too many of them, it decided, it couldn’t go that way.
Heading west for a minute, it found a cow trail that put it through a darker part of the town, near the fields. It hugged the trees as it went, sniffing the air to retain the scent of its prey.
***
Brown Beauty obeyed Paul’s every command, leaping boulders and zig-zagging around trees like a honey bee. She was fast, as Larkin had promised, and while she knew nothing of revolution, was keenly aware of the night’s fear and tension. She was full of it now, and it drove her.
Paul kicked her sides again as the town of Medford faded into the shadows behind him, its residents awake and watching the streets now. Ahead lay the bridge to Menotomy.
***
The creature’s chest hurt. Blood trickled from where the old human had wounded it. It felt a pang of shame at having run away, but knew it couldn’t afford to be slowed down. It had its orders, after all. Better to continue on its quest than die unfulfilled. Waiting for the signal to attack had felt like an eternity. The chickens and sheep it had had to eat to stay undetected for weeks had not satiated it in any real sense. Human blood was the best opiate.
At the northern tip of Medford, it slunk out of the trees near an abandoned cobble-stoned street and spotted a dirty human digging through a trash pile. Even through the considerable distance between them, the monster could smell the harsh fumes of human waste and sweat.
Like the man, it was hungry. It was always hungry. And since it had received its signal tonight, humans were now allowed.
Built for speed by the gods, it covered the hundred yards in seconds flat. The hungry man had just a moment to hear its approach, question the noise, and turn around before the beast was in the air, swiping with its claws. The man’s head exploded into chunks like an apple shot by a bullet.
***
The river was black, the moon hidden behind charcoal clouds, the
dead land covered in fog. As Paul neared the bridge, three men in dark red coats swam into view. One of them shouted: “Halt! Identify yourself!”
“Yah!” Paul shouted, kicking Brown Beauty in the ribs. With breakneck speed, he plowed through the sentries, sending them to the ground where they scrambled to fire their weapons. The pellets whizzed by Paul’s ears and struck home in the nearby trees.
“I will return the sentiment!” Paul hollered back to them as he rode off the bridge and into the woods.
A mile passed, and then another. The trail was dark and deathly frigid, the bare tree limbs looming overhead like crippled bones. At a dip in the road, Paul slowed the horse and moved her to a half-frozen puddle. “Whoa, girl. Take a drink.”
The horse bent down and drank as the wind howled through the boughs. Yet, aside from the wind, the forest was strangely quiet. No scurrying rodents, no hooting owls. It was as if the creatures were afraid of something.
“Be quick about it, girl. I’m not much for ghosts but this place—”
Brown Beauty’s head snapped up. Paul heard the noise too. “What is that?” It was someone on horseback, coming his way.
There was no time to hide. The enemy must have followed him from the bridge; he would have to make a stand. Unshouldering his gun, he spun Brown Beauty around and aimed into the darkness.
A horse came barreling out of the black, a figure atop it, a gun in its hand.
“I’ve come for you, you bastard Regular!” it shouted.
Paul relaxed, he knew the voice. “William, it’s me. Paul,” he yelled back.
William rode up on his horse, letting his gun face the ground. “Ah, Paul, I thought you were one of them Regular scums. So… they sent for you too.”
“Yes. Who else to run through the cold night? My blood is ice these days.”
“Damn winter is lingering, that’s for sure.”
“Were you followed?”
“Ha! I’m not that obvious. Let’s not forget who made it in and out of Madame Raleigh’s establishment for an entire month without paying.” He laughed.
Paul laughed too. “You know the route they’re taking, I presume?”
“I do,” William replied.
They shook hands across their steeds. “Ride with me to Lexington,” Paul said. And as he said it there were faint screams from back toward the bridge. “Sounds like those bastard Regulars at the bridge are being punished by their superiors for letting us get through. We should hurry to John and Sam while we can. The cache is exposed.”
“I’ll race you. Let’s go.”
***
Its muscles were hard as bricks, propelling it forward like an arrow. Behind it, at the entrance to the bridge, three mutilated humans lay oozing fluids onto the dirt. It had fed on them for a moment, then realized its mistake. The red humans were off limits. The creature would likely be reprimanded, perhaps even punished now, unless it fulfilled its duty. No matter, between the vagrant and the sentries, the furnace in its belly had fuel for a while. It had a job to do, and the stench of its prey was not far off.
***
Paul and William rode into Lexington, their horses hot and chuffing. The fog still rolled along the ground, reflecting the moon whenever it slid from behind the clouds. They both shouted, “The Regulars are coming! Wake up and get ready! The Regulars are coming!”
“Where are John and Sam?” William finally asked.
Paul steered Brown Beauty toward a small house on the far side of town. It was the kind of decrepit, insignificant house even termites would overlook, purposefully chosen for its ruse. These are the tactics that have allowed the Sons of Liberty to progress, thought Paul. He dismounted and knocked on the door. A small man with gray hair answered. “Yes?”
“You know who I am?” Paul asked.
The man scratched his chin. “Yes.”
From behind Paul, William stuck his head forward. “Where are Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock? Now, old man!”
But before the man could answer, the two men in question appeared behind him.
“Paul,” Sam Adams said. He could say no more as he knew what Paul’s presence meant.
“It has begun,” Paul answered. “You must leave now. William and I will continue on from here, and prepare everyone.”
“How much time?” The second man asked.
“Perhaps an hour, perhaps less.”
***
It was getting closer, it could see lights through the ground cloud. A town was coming into focus. It slowed its run to a trot, then to a walk. People were running this way and that, a drum was being beaten. There was too much activity to approach outright. Again, it would have to maneuver around the edge of the habitat. The smell of its prey was very strong, but even so, it might have to lay in wait until it could get a clear path to the man it was after.
Slinking into the weeds, it crawled on its hairy belly to a nearby chicken coop, bit the wooden slats in half and tore at the three chickens inside before they had time to squawk. Chicken blood was foul in comparison to human blood, but it would do. Several feet away, the humans lit fires and ran about shouting.
***
John and Sam sat atop their horses, pointed away from Lexington. The fog had drifted further to the ground and pooled there like water. William was about pounding on doors and helping people barricade their homes.
“Thanks for coming, Paul,” Sam said. “We’ll send word when we reach safety.”
“I will follow you out to be safe,” Paul replied.
The three of them set off into the darkness while behind them William’s voice rang out: “Everybody wake up! Get your guns!”
They were a few minutes out, the noise of the town disappearing steadily, when John spoke up, “What about the papers?”
Sam and John exchanged glances, stopped their horses, and then looked at Paul. “There is a trunk, in a tavern…if it should fall into enemy hands…”
“It is taken care of,” Paul said. “Now go!” He slapped their horses and they bolted into the darkness.
It took but a moment to return to the town, where even more people were now out running around. Women were crying and hugging their husbands, men were loading guns; dogs barked, horses whinnied. Paul grabbed a young boy who was running by with a rifle, yanked him to a stop. The boy was afraid, his inexperience with war plainly visible in his eyes. “The Tavern?” Paul asked. “Don’t stand there, boy, tell me where the tavern is!”
“Over here.”
Paul grabbed two more men with guns and beckoned them to help. Together, the four of them entered the dark tavern. “Spread out and find the trunk,” Paul ordered. “Don’t waste time!”
The four of them stumbled around in the dark, knocking into tables and chairs, muttering curses as they banged their shins. From the back room the boy’s voice called out: “Over here. I found it!”
All four men were there in a heartbeat, staring at the large trunk filled with records of the Sons of Liberty. “We must carry it out of here and arrange to get it to Mr. Hancock and Mr. Adams. Help me with it.”
***
A new smell was in the air. The smell of a thousand humans from somewhere else. The beast lifted its head out of the tall weeds, the chicken blood on its nose congealed and cold, and looked toward the woods it recently came through. Visible within the criss-crossed limbs, a sea of red was marching.
Somewhere in the recesses of its eons-old brain, it knew not to bother the red humans. Somehow it knew they were off limits. It didn’t know how it knew these things, it just knew.
Slinking through the grass, it moved further away from the town. Its prey was still close by, but it would have to wait even longer now.
***
“Pick it up!” Paul shouted. “We have to hurry!”
The four men struggled with the heavy trunk as they carried it up a dirt road toward the woods. If I keep exerting myself, thought Paul, I’ll never last the night. I’ve come too far to give up now.
William app
eared on horseback, leading Brown Beauty alongside by her rein. “Paul!” he shouted. “Paul! They’re here!”
Paul and his workers dropped the trunk. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. They all looked back toward the other end of town, where the morning’s sun was just climbing over the horizon, not yet high enough to reveal the approaching army.
“The men are gathering on the field.” William said. He was doused in mud and wet with sweat, but he was strangely calm, eager even.
“We have to get north, warn the others,” Paul replied. “Quickly men, heave!”
They picked up the trunk once more and carried it uphill.
***
It was slinking around the field, staying close to the trees. Many men had gathered in the field, each holding the same type of weapon that had wounded its chest hours before. Too many men with too many weapons. The situation was growing worse. Better to get away from this threat. It moved slowly, working its way toward the north
***
The morning sun crested the horizon, spilling gold over the moist green and brown field. The air was damp and cold, the smell of birch and oak pungent. Men of varying ages, from boys to seniors, stood still as the fog swirled around their feet. A sea of red jackets marched their way, trampling the beginnings of spring’s grass back to dirt. In the trees, a single bird began the first song of the morning; the last song some of the men would ever hear.
The sea of red made its way through the town, leaving a trail of cries and screams in its wake, then marched onto the field and stopped. In tiers, the enemy positioned itself for battle, the men in front dropping to their knees, the men in back pointing their guns over the heads of the front row.
Several seconds passed and nobody was sure what to do.
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