Saving Yesterday (TimeShifters Book 1) (19 page)

He turns away. “It doesn’t matter. We need to keep going.”

I force myself to keep up with his fast pace. “It matters to me.”

His eyes dart to my face. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Enough.
Snagging his arm, I bring him up short. “What happened? Michael, please.”

A mocking smile pulls his lips to an odd angle. “I’m not the saint you pegged me for. Nicholas pulled me before I could cause any more damage.”

Great. Another ambiguous non-answer. Clearly he’ll never trust me.

Releasing my hold, now I’m the one to march off without him. “Fine. I thought we were friends, but I guess I was wrong. Way wrong.”

“Don’t be like that.” He hurdles a bush to catch up.

I face him, my hands balled at my sides. “
Then tell me
.”

For a moment I don’t think he’s going to answer. He looks up at the sky, and works his jaw back and forth. But then he leans toward me, into my space. “I killed my Pairing. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

I take a step back, bumping into a tree trunk. Uneven bark scratches my skin.

Any warmth I felt earlier becomes ice lodged in my veins.

Killed her?

Sweat slicks my palms. My first impulse is to scamper away from Michael. Put as much space between us as possible. But all I can do is stare at him. I’m sure my mouth hangs open. His chocolate eyes hold mine, but not like a predator. No, they are soft—pleading—like a doe about to be shot.

I wait for him to tell the story. To explain what drove him to do something so horrible.
Ask him what he means.
He just stands there, a few feet away, watching me. Then again, do I really want to hear all the sordid details? Yes. Of course I do. Not to judge him, but to find an out clause, because it can’t be true. This is Michael, after all. Quick to laugh, takes a kick to the stomach and still likes me. Michael.

Then why doesn’t he explain? Or slap me on the back and tell me he’s joking?

He’s most likely waiting for me to say something—anything—but what can I say? If it’s true and I tell him I don’t believe him, that won’t go over well. If he’s kidding and I act horrified then I’ll lose my friend. He’s asked me to trust him so many times. Can I?

Michael hooks a hand on his neck.  I flinch at his movement, and it’s like I’ve failed a test. His eyes flicker to the ground, and he shakes his head. “We might as well finish this mission so we can both get out of here.”

So we don’t have to be together anymore.

Somehow I’ve disappointed him acutely, and he’s ready to be done with me. To pull back into the world where he works alone.

He tugs the bag off his back, drops to his knees, and riffles through the contents. I slump to the ground in a heap at the base of the tree. Waiting to see what he’s doing.

“Here.” He hands over a small bundle wrapped in white cloth.

I unwrap his offering, and my mouth instantly starts to water. It’s a chunk of meat that he must have saved for me from the Confederates’ dinner. My eyes mist over. He’s thought of my needs before I even remembered I’m hungry. Starving, actually.

“You haven’t eaten all day.” He dives again into his pack, fishing out the water bottle, crackers, and beef jerky.

One bite in, and I start devouring the meat. I have no clue what it is, and my world is better that way. The chunk is gone in a flash and I’m licking the flavor from my fingers when Michael hands over the water. Without a second’s pause, I bring the bottle to my lips and chug. I used to avoid drinking water at home. Pop and juice always sounded so much better, but this water tastes magical. As if it’s the best drink of my life. I forget that maybe Michael wants some and finish every drop. He doesn’t say anything as he tucks the empty bottle back away, just hands me a couple crackers and a strip of the jerky. After I swallow the crackers, I wish I hadn’t drunk all the water just yet. It would have been nice to wash the crumbs down.

Adjusting the straps on his backpack, Michael stands. With his impromptu picnic, I figured we were going to rest here for a little bit before continuing on. Clearly I was wrong about that. The moment I gain my feet, he pivots away from me, setting off through the forest. Okay, we’re still not talking. I scrub my hand down my face, then follow after him.

The air around us is humid, and the sweet smell of moss mixes with something heavy and wet on the wind. Perhaps there’s water nearby? There is. If I cock my head I can hear a stream.  

What is Michael’s plan, anyway? Where is he leading us? I don’t dare ask him. Now is a time for silence. The pace he sets speaks volumes. He wants to focus on doing something, not thinking. And definitely not talking.

I’ll respect his wishes for now. At some point, he will have to give me answers, though. This ceasefire way he ends uncomfortable conversations isn’t acceptable. Not when we’re trying to accomplish something together. And not when I still want to be his friend.

It all makes me want to pick something up and throw it at him, just to force him to stop for a bit. Let me regroup. But then it hits me. Have I ever been a friend like I’m expecting him to be? Seriously, have I ever really opened up to Porter or Emma?

 Lost in my thoughts and masked by darkness, I bash into a fallen tree on the ground before I see it. It happens too fast to catch myself. I tumble over. My hands splay out to break my fall, and something pierces my left hand. Searing pain shoots up my arm. I roll over and land a solid kick to the offending tree. I instinctively bring my sliced palm to my lips, and it tastes metallic. Blood.

Michael’s at my side in an instant. He eases my injured hand away from my face. “Does anything else hurt?” His eyes rove down the length of my body.

I extend both my legs, making sure nothing else is wrong. A dull throb on my shins, but otherwise I’m fine. “Just my pride.” I offer a weak smile.

He doesn’t smile back, doesn’t even look at me—just the cut on my hand. Both of his hands cradle mine. He tilts it, trying to find the best light through the canopy to examine my wound. His thumbs trace over the sides of my palm, sending the sensation of a thousand marching ants up my arms.

“You’re lucky. It doesn’t look too deep.” Releasing my hand, he fishes the iodine from his bag. “This will hurt.”

With my bottom lip between my teeth, I nod. He tips the bottle. A screech escapes from my lips. I can’t help it. The iodine sears into my cut. It’s deeper than I think we both first imagined. Michael gently tugs my hand closer when I try to snatch it away from him. He leans over, blowing on the cut. This cools the burn at once. Next he finds my shirt in his bag and tears a line of fabric from the bottom. So much for being able to return his spare. He wraps the makeshift bandage around my hand, tying it off at the end.

I’m about to thank him when a sound makes us both freeze. Boots clomping over the ground mingle with the pound of horses’ hooves. All those noises are followed by a voice that raises the hair on the back of my neck—Sterling’s. “Did anyone else hear a scream? They’re near. Find them.” He swears.

I dig my nails into Michael’s arm. He touches a finger to his lips, and then slings his bag back over his shoulder. We’re still crouched together next to the rotting log. Basically out in the open. Surely the soldier will be able to spot us.

A large bug scurries over my exposed ankle and I fight the desire to shoo it off. Any second now, a gun will be leveled at us or someone will toss a burlap bag over our heads. Taking us to who knows where. If the Confederates were angry with me before, they must be livid now. And not just at me, but at Michael too. They must have realized by now that he freed me.

Less than fifty feet away, twigs snap, and there’s a smattering of low conversation.

Michael squeezes my good hand. “Now.”

He doesn’t wait for me to figure out what he means. He hauls me to my feet, and we take off at a sprint. Without breaking our handhold, he leads me in a zigzag pattern through the woods. We skirt trees, hurdle logs, pound over shrubs. Hopefully, our movement is masked by the Confederates’ own footfalls. But they have horses, and there are far more of them than us. They can fan out over a great distance. It’s only a matter of time before they catch up.

Somehow, while I’m mentally spazing out, Michael formulates a plan. Or gets lucky. He whirls me around and shoves me toward a large tree. I see right away what he wants. The trunk has a narrow opening. The tree is dead, so inside is probably hollow. Just like when I hid in Keleusma, I suck in and squeeze through the hole. Please don’t let there be any animals inside. At least not a mean badger, angry bats, or anything along those lines.

There isn’t much room. When I try to stand to make space for Michael to enter, I bash my head along the jagged ceiling. Rotten tree chunks shower down onto my shoulders. I have no clue how, but Michael shimmies in. He leaves the bag outside, probably stashed in a bush if I know him at all. But there’s hardly room for him. We both try to move, but have to squat at odd angles. His elbow digs into my side and my knee is pinning his ankle. My leg starts to spasm.

As usual, Michael thinks faster than I do. He crumples to the ground, hooks my waist and pulls me into his lap. With my feet resting on his leg, I have to perch like a bird, but we both fit. He wraps his arms around me. The action steadies both my body and my thundering heart.  

I’m safe with Michael. That is a truth I can never doubt again. He will always take care of me first. In fact, I’m certain he’s beyond uncomfortable for my sake. With his back against the decaying inside of the tree, and holding all of my weight, he can’t be enjoying this moment. Who knows what bugs are racing over his back, yet he doesn’t twitch or move.

I loop an arm around his shoulder and rest the side of my head against his. Adrenaline surges through my body, but I try to even my breathing nonetheless. It sounds like he’s doing the same until his muscles tighten beneath my hand.

Sure enough, the troops draw near. At first I thought maybe we lost them, but no chance. The sound of a dozen men crashing through the woods is unmistakable. No longer just murmurs, they’re close enough for me to make out what they’re saying.

“Maybe you only heard a pack of coyotes.”

“No, it was them. They’re around here somewhere.”

Why didn’t the Laudanum hit them harder?

Moonlight glistens off a polished boot just outside the hole in the tree. The term
sitting ducks
finally has meaning for me. Michael tightens his arms around me, pulling my side flush against his chest. I lay my free hand—the injured one that he fixed—over his heart. Feel the constant, racing beat beneath my fingertips. It makes me set my jaw. We can’t get caught. I won’t allow it. I’ll claw at those soldiers tooth and nail if I have to. Whatever it takes. As long as I can be assured that his heart will keep pounding like this.

My stomach twists when I look at his face, though. Even in the dim light, the thought churning in his mind is easy to guess. His eyes are narrowed, his forehead wrinkled. He’s thinking the same thing I am, only about me.

Save us. Hide us.
It’s the same two phrases I begged when I was hiding in the dining room at Keleusma. Although this time, I know who I’m voicing my plea to. Nicholas. He has to be real. At least, I want to believe that he’s real and that we’re not stuck on our own. It helps to have an image in my mind of being watched over. Even if it’s not true.

Besides, there’s no way shifting came about on its own. It’s too intricate. There are too many details. Someone has to be the mastermind behind our missions. And like Michael’s said before, there is a sense of being led, even though I don’t hear guidance like Michael says he does. When I stepped onto the train and warned Pinkerton, I knew I had to do it, even if it put me in danger.

A voice breaks my thoughts. The soldiers are still right outside. “Why are we wasting our time on these two, Sterling? We don’t need them when we still have Pinkerton cornered.”

No. I helped Pinkerton get away. They must be bluffing to draw us out.

“I take it you enjoy being bested by a pretty-faced lady and a conniving boy? I say get all three of them—imagine the welcome that’ll be waiting for us if we succeed.”

“It would be nice for the rest of the encampment to think highly of our group, for once.”

It feels like hours before the Confederates move on, and even then, I wonder if they’re just outside the tree. Waiting to ambush us the second we crawl out. Every muscle in my legs burns. Itching to be stretched, or rested. But we stay, barely breathing as the night ekes onward. I rest my forehead against the side of Michael’s head. Close my eyes.

Once sufficient time passes, Michael finally nudges me. I move to crawl out of the tree trunk, but he catches my arm and eases his way in front of me. Of course he’ll go out first. When he flags for me to follow, I squeeze back through the hole. My hip makes a loud cracking noise as I stand. 

 As Michael finds his backpack, I tread a few feet away, craning my neck to locate the direction of the stream I heard earlier. I’m not paying attention as I wander farther from Michael. I turn past a group of trees and someone smacks into me. Toppling me off my feet, the person lands right on top, and the back of my head smacks the ground. Air is suctioned from my lungs and I wheeze.