by M. S. Parker
I was sure that would be it for me, but that was when Gracen moved. His cane caught the redcoat square in the jaw. The man staggered, surprised by the attack, but collected himself quickly. He went for Gracen, but I grabbed at him as he passed. His elbow connected with my temple, and my grip loosened enough for him to break free.
He grabbed his gun and turned on me, ignoring Gracen as the soldier who'd been shot joined in the fight. He grabbed Gracen's leg, but I barely had time to register it before the leader drove his bayonet down.
I screamed at the pain searing through my leg as the blade sliced through skin and muscle. Grabbing the barrel of the gun to keep the soldier from pulling the bayonet out, I kicked with my good leg. From the corner of my eye, I saw Gracen knocked to the ground. The man above me saw it too and reached for his dead comrade's gun.
Without thinking, I yanked the bayonet free, sending a fresh wave of pain blasting through my system. Swinging out, the bayonet sunk into the leader's side before he could reach Gracen. I twisted it sharply, and the soldier turned toward me. Our eyes locked for a brief second before he slumped to the ground.
I fell back, the pain in my leg and shoulder overcoming the adrenaline. A gunshot made me jump, and I looked over to see Gracen holding a small pistol, smoke still coming from the barrel. The injured soldier was now dead.
Gracen's eyes met mine, and I saw horror at what we'd done. I opened my mouth to tell him that we hadn't been given a choice, that it had been us or them, but I knew he wouldn't understand, not when he'd been so certain that his father's loyalties would protect him.
At the moment, however, that wasn't our biggest problem.
About thirty yards away, three more redcoats were running towards us, and I knew there was no getting away.
9
“The key is to not get caught.”
Wilkins and I had been doing grunt work all day, and all I wanted now was to grab a nap in the short time we had before dinner.
“Go to sleep, Wilkins,” I called out.
“I’m serious, Daviot,” he said. “This isn’t a place where you want to play hero. To these people...anyone who's not Muslim is an infidel, and they're going to treat you like one. Probably worse since you're a woman doing a man's job.”
I shook my head, knowing it was pointless to argue with his stereotyping. The truth was, I'd met several locals over the past couple months, most of whom had treated me with respect, some I even considered friends.
“When the going gets rough, Daviot, you run,” Wilkins continued. “And if you can’t run, you better make sure you have a bullet left that you can aim at your head.”
I sat up on my elbow and looked over at him, frowning as he stared back at me with his child-like grin. “You know you’re full of shit, right?”
“Am I?”
“Go to sleep!” This time, my tone was harsher, and when I laid back down, he didn’t reply.
The water was cold, and I instantly snapped awake.
I was on my knees, my hands tied behind my back, and the wound on my leg crudely tied to stop the bleeding. My face and hair were dripping from the water they'd thrown on me.
I looked up from my kneeling position, taking in my surroundings. A few feet away from me sat Gracen. He was in a chair, frowning at the officer who leaned calmly against the edge of an oak table. I had a feeling Gracen had sold the same lie he'd given the other soldiers, which meant I was the more expendable of the two of us. The fact that the officer was smiling at me didn't make me feel any more at ease.
There were four other soldiers around us, and the closest one to me held the bucket that I assumed once contained the water that was now running down my face. I glanced at Gracen, my eyes catching his, and the worry I saw there was surprising.
“I always thought of you colonists as a rugged bunch, wild dogs running about and snapping your muzzles at anything that walked by.” The officer sneered down at me. “While your friend put up a surprising fight, in the end, you were still no more than I expected.”
I stared up at him, silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reply, though I knew exactly what he was talking about. The sound of gunfire had ceased, the battle obviously over. The British had won, but I knew what was coming. I gave the man a small smile.
“This amuses you?”
I nodded. “You might have won, but I’m pretty sure you’ve lost more than you’ve gained.”
A fist connected with the side of my face, and I fell backwards, unable to stop myself from hitting the ground hard. My cheek throbbed, but my leg hurt more. The way I'd fallen had pulled the muscles in my leg and made the wound bleed again.
“I do not like being here,” the officer said, standing up and dusting his coat as he looked down at me. “I would much rather be home, among civilized people, but until this rebellion is quashed, I'm here. So, you will help me get home. Let us start with how many men are outside Boston, shall we?”
“I don’t know,” I answered.
A kick to my ribs and I gasped as the air was pushed from my lungs.
“When are your reinforcements arriving?”
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know.”
Another kick, probably cracking my ribs.
The officer sighed heavily. “Lying will get you nowhere. Now, you know that someone such as yourself, dressed in non-regulation uniform, can be considered a spy. And we hang spies.”
“I demand a meeting with General Gage,” Gracen cut in.
The officer looked at him for a few seconds before back-handing him, the ring on his finger leaving a thin cut across his handsome cheek. “You don’t make demands here.”
“My name is Gracen Lightwood, captain.” Gracen looked pissed. “My father is Roston Lightwood. We are loyal British subjects and friends to the Crown. Our lands were presented to us by the king himself. I demand to see General Gage.”
The officer bent down, his face inches from Gracen’s as he smiled. I'd seen that look before, and it wasn't one I cared to see now. This captain wouldn’t be intimidated.
“I know your father,” the captain said. “Now, I ask myself how he would react to knowing that his son was found in the company of a sympathizer, or worse, a colonist soldier. I doubt he’d be very pleased.” The officer grabbed Gracen by the jaw. “He may ask to put the noose around your neck himself.”
Gracen didn't even flinch. “Let us send for my father and see?”
The officer let go of Gracen and gave him a shove, knocking both Gracen and the chair onto the ground. One look at the expression in Gracen's eyes told me that no matter what his politics were coming in here, he wouldn’t extend that loyalty to this captain.
“Now,” the officer cut into my thoughts as he crouched in front of me, “let us discuss what information you will give me.”
I shook my head and closed my eyes, bracing myself for another beating. When I felt pressure on my leg, a boot pressing down on my wound, my eyes snapped open, and I screamed in pain.
“This is bleeding badly,” he said, his tone almost conversational. “You might not even make it to the gallows.” He removed his foot and leaned closer. “Now, I can make all that pain go away, or I can make it much, much worse. The choice is yours.”
I didn’t answer, focusing instead on taking slow, deep breaths as I fought through the pain. I could take more, even though the prospect wasn't appealing. All I needed was for him to decide to leave me to die at some point and hope that I was able to escape.
Let them have their fun, for now. I planned to kill each and every one of them as soon as I had the chance.
The officer sighed and heavy hands grabbed me by the shoulders, picking me up. They dragged me to the opposite side of the tent and tossed me there to lick my wounds. The bucket was tossed aimlessly at me, the hard wood slamming against my head as it tumbled away. Dazed, I watched it roll...only to stop at the side of a musket, the protruding bayonet inches from where I lay.
I sat up slowly, exaggerat
ing the extent of my pain as I watched the officer and soldiers shift their attention to Gracen. Two of them yanked him upright.
“You know, I do not consider colonists to be true British citizens,” the officer said. “Not like you and I, Mr. Lightwood. I see them on the level of the Irish, or the Scots. A lower class of being. They can hardly be surprised to not be afforded the same liberties as those of us more deserving.”
“I know what the colonies owe the Crown,” Gracen said stiffly. “And as you pointed out, I am not colony born.”
The officer nodded in mock approval, applauding softly as he smiled at his soldiers. “I do believe we owe the man an apology, do we not, boys? I say we free him from his shackles and pour him a cup of tea.”
The mockery wasn't lost on Gracen, and the look on his face said he didn't appreciate it. I had a feeling that Gracen Lightwood wasn't accustomed to being mocked.
Keep them busy, Gracen, I thought. And we might just get out of this alive.
Fortunately, the captain was willing to help as well. “Tell me, Loyalist Gracen Lightwood. Why are you with this colonist?”
“As I previously told you, he is a servant. My steward, specifically. And he accompanied me on a trip. We were on our way home when we were ambushed without warning or cause.”
“And where were you before this?”
“Farther South, visiting friends.”
I slowly shifted my position closer to the bayonet beside me, keeping my eyes on the soldiers the whole time, stopping when one looked over at me, then resuming movement when they looked away. I kept going until the tip of the bayonet poked into the small of my back, and the ropes around my wrist rested on the sharp blade.
The officer looked at Gracen skeptically, and while all attention was focused away from me, I used the opportunity to cut the ropes. As I sawed up and down, I felt them begin to loosen but knew it would be a while before I could get all the way through. I didn't rush it though. Getting them off was one thing, finding a way out of here something else completely.
And with Gracen tied to a chair, escaping wouldn’t be easy. Taking on three unseasoned soldiers was one thing, and we had barely come out of it alive. Four soldiers and an officer were an entirely different issue. Add to that the fact that I had no idea where we were or what would be waiting outside this tent, I knew the odds were stacked against us.
I needed a plan and quick.
“Tell me, young Lightwood,” the officer said, his voice even louder than before. “Why haven’t you enlisted in the king’s army?”
Gracen didn’t answer, his silence deafening, his expression impassive.
The officer smiled. “Perhaps you might be more like your colonist friend here than you care to admit.”
“Not all men of eligible age have enlisted.” Gracen's voice was mild. “I happen to know of several English-born citizens who prefer to show their loyalty to the Crown in other ways.”
The captain gave Gracen a look of pure disgust. “Citizens who think they are too good to fight for their king are little better than cowards.”
Gracen flushed. “The king knows that my family is loyal, and when my father hears of how I have been treated, there will be hell to pay.”
The officer didn't look worried, but he did stand and speak to the other soldiers. “I believe we have given young Mister Lightwood and his steward enough to think about. We shall come back later to determine if their tongues have been loosened.”
10
We were alone for hours, neither one of us speaking, though I wasn't sure if Gracen was staying silent for strategic reasons or because I'd pissed him off. Either way, I used the time to gather information that could be potentially useful.
As the light coming in through the tent changed, then receded, the temperature dropped, making it a little more bearable. The sun had fallen, and although I'd been able to cut through my binds, I stayed where I was, waiting. Thinking.
Based on the voices outside, the soldiers had rotated shifts, the first two having left at sundown. They were replaced by two younger sentries who sounded like boys barely out of high school. I remembered back to when I'd first enlisted and wondered if they were going through the same shock I had gone through the first few nights away from home. Then I realized that they were probably closer to sixteen than eighteen, and a wave of guilt washed over me.
I didn’t want to hurt them, knowing well that they weren't responsible for what happened to Gracen and me, but I had a pretty good idea that if I waited any longer, any chance of escape would be gone. I didn't know the details surrounding the aftermath of the battle, and I didn't want to risk us getting caught up in something else. It was now or never, and after listening to the sounds around me, I had a strong feeling that whatever camp we were in, this tent was on the edge of it. If that was true, we could escape through the back and be gone before anyone noticed.
I looked at Gracen, hoping to somehow get his attention without having to speak, but he seemed to be asleep, an incredible feat given the fact that he was still tied to a chair. I just hoped that his limbs hadn't fallen asleep and that he'd be willing to listen to me when I told him to run.
Now that my hands were free, I removed the bayonet from the musket, then whistled to the sentries. They both peeked inside, and I saw that I was right about their age. Neither one looked old enough to shave, which didn't make what I had to do any easier.
“I need a drink,” I said, making my voice raspy and weak.
The boys looked at each other, and I could tell they were trying to figure out what to do.
“I'm sure your captain wants us alive so he can question us further, and I've been bleeding a great deal. Some water will go a long way to making sure I don't die in the middle of the night.”
The boys – I still couldn't think of them as men – looked at each other. The first shrugged and the second rolled his eyes as he made his way out of the tent to get my drink. I gestured to the other boy, then at my leg.
“Mind taking a look at that?” I asked, letting my head loll over to my shoulder. “The bandage might need to be tightened.”
The boy sighed and lowered his musket. I apparently looked bad enough that he didn't consider me a threat.
I'd been counting on that.
As soon as he was close enough, I grabbed him by the collar of his coat and slid the bayonet into his neck, my hand covering his mouth to stop any sound from escaping. Blood gushed as his body dropped and the bayonet came loose. My stomach churned, but I managed to keep myself from throwing up. I hadn't had a choice. Knocking him out wasn’t an option, not when I needed to make sure he wouldn't wake up at the wrong time.
I closed his eyes, looking away as I quickly pushed myself up to my feet. I told myself that he probably wouldn't have made it through the end of the war anyway, but it didn't soothe my guilt.
I limped to the entrance and waited, the bayonet held firmly in my hand. Gracen stirred but didn’t wake up, and I silently prayed he stayed that way until I was ready. I didn't need him second guessing what I'd done.
I was doing enough of that myself.
When the second soldier walked in, I waited for the flaps to close and quickly wrapped an arm around his neck, putting the bayonet’s tip near his carotid.
“One word,” I whispered, realizing I couldn’t make myself push the sharp tip through, “and you’ll be joining your friend over there.”
I turned him slightly so he could see the other soldier. He gagged, and then I slammed the end of the bayonet against the back of his head and lowered the unconscious boy to the ground. I stared at him, knowing I should finish him off, but couldn’t.
Giving myself a mental shake, I knew I needed to move quickly, not knowing how long it would be for the next guard shift, and definitely not willing to stick around and find out. I'd been lucky twice today, and I didn’t want to push it any more than that.
I heard Wilkins’ voice in the back of my mind, urging me to run, to save myself. I hobbled
to the back of the tent, and with the tip of the bayonet, sliced downwards, ripping at the fabric while praying I was right about the tent’s position. I peeked out through the opening I'd made and was greeted by an empty field with a tree line a dozen yards away.
That’s the third one, I thought to myself. There wouldn’t be any more lucky breaks for me after this one.
I walked back to where Gracen sat and then took a minute to tighten my bandage. He would have to be strong for the both of us because I was fading fast.
As soon as I started to cut the ropes around his wrists, he snapped awake. For a moment, he struggled, and I was afraid he'd panic and alert soldiers to the fact that something was wrong.
I grabbed his shoulder hard as my hand slammed down on his mouth. He looked at me, frowning in confusion. Then he looked past me at the two soldiers on the ground and all the color drained from his face. I shook him back into focus and then took my hand from his mouth.
“You did that?” he whispered.
“Now’s not the time,” I said. “We need to go. Can you walk?”
Gracen didn’t answer, only stared at the two soldiers lying on the ground, the pool of blood around one of them soaking into the dirt.
“Gracen?”
He finally turned to me. “Yes?”
“Can you walk?” I repeated my question.
He stood up slowly, shaking his legs before nodding at me. I staggered, and he caught me. For one long moment, I found myself staring deep into his eyes, momentarily mesmerized by them.
It was as if all the air was sucked from the tent as he held me for that moment. Then he blinked and his face morphed into confusion as he looked at me. He shook his head as if trying to clear it and I realized I needed to do the same.