Saving Yesterday (TimeShifters Book 1) (24 page)

“You’re going to steal from them?” I keep my voice low.

“Technically, they stole from me first. To have any hope of success, we need a horse. We might as well leave if I can’t get him back.” He rocks on his heels. “If anything happens, hide. I don’t want them to see you.”

“You’re the pro, nothing will happen.” I try to smile at him, but I know it wavers.

Before he leaves, he hands over the backpack. A few feet away, he looks back at me, a glint of excitement in his eyes. I shake my head. Adrenaline junky. He lives for this stuff. No telling why he tried to back out when we were at camp.

 I’m biting my nails as he slinks over to the horse. He’s so low to the ground that I can hardly see him. Michael’s reaching to unloop the reins when the guns cock.

Three men materialize from the forest. Each with a rifle aimed at Michael’s chest, back, head.

My heart stops beating and works its way into my throat. I can hardly breathe. I debate screaming. The sound might startle the gunmen and give Michael a couple seconds to dart away. But he’ll need more than seconds to avoid a bullet.

The man with his gun leveled at Michael’s heart takes a half step closer. “Hands up. Nice and slow now.”

I hold my breath. Dig my nails into the dirt.
Do something, Michael.

When Michael raises his hands, the soldier behind him waggles his gun back and forth. “Drop to your knees.”

Michael glances over his shoulder. Then he obeys. I wait for him to bust out some special move. Attack them. He always has a plan.

Instead, their guns follow him. All three pointed at his head.

My muscles turn to concrete, and my lungs refuse to fill. They wasted time at Keleusma teaching me about horses and bombs. They failed to prepare me for a situation like this.

There’s a small knife in Michael’s backpack. What? Jump out of hiding and wave the four-inch blade at his captors? A whole lot of good that’ll do—probably get us both shot. Besides, unzipping the bag alone would draw the gunmen’s notice. Basic self-defense is no match for a rifle.  

If only I could find a rock. That’s what they do in the movies, right? Throw something in the other direction and send the buffoons chasing after the sound. Maybe two of them would run off and Michael and I could take down the last one without waking up the six men snoozing around the campsite. Okay. There’s no chance of that happening. Even if there was, I’m not risking one of those men putting a bullet through Michael or myself.  

I inch away from a prickler in the berry bush that’s pinching my arm. Why doesn’t Michael do something? Not sure what exactly, given his situation. But like I told him before, he’s a pro. He should know what to do, even if I don’t.

The soldier in front jams the point of his rifle into Michael’s throat. “Sterling! I think you’ll want to come see what we’ve got cooking over here.”

Half dozing, Sterling curses as he flips over. “This better be good, Bryant. My heads still aching from that drink last night.”

“You’re in luck, because we found our tea-maker.” The rifleman standing behind Michael smirks.

Sterling stomps over and lets loose a hoot. “Well now! You found our dirty rat.”

Making a huge show of his actions, Sterling scratches his chin as he walks a circle around Michael. But Michael keeps his eyes trained forward, as if Sterling doesn’t exist. In front of Michael again, Sterling squares his shoulders and draws a smaller gun from his belt. It looks like one from an old Western.

Now there are four guns pointed at Michael. My stomach drops to the ground.

He waves the gun. “Customarily, I don’t take kindly to people who put medicine in my tea unless I call them doc. First things first, someone needs to tie him up so he can’t try any more tricks on us.”

The soldier who’s been standing to Michael’s side trots back to the campsite and pulls a length of rope from a nearby wagon bed. He hops over a few of the sleeping Confederates on his way back, waking them. Now there are ten men to me and Michael. And I thought our odds were bad this morning.

While most of the soldiers are paying attention to the ones rising to their feet at camp, Michael tilts his head ever so slightly in my direction. His eyes rush to find mine for a split second. Then he closes them and shakes his head just once. The message is obvious. He doesn’t want me to help. I’m not to put myself in danger at any cost. No matter what happens to him.

Cold creeps down my spine.

Two men wrap the cord around Michael’s wrists. When they tighten the knot, he winces. Grabbing hold of the rope, one man yanks Michael to a standing position. The action wrenches his arms into a weird angle. Heat races across my chest, down into my fists. I have to bite the side of my cheek before I yell at them to stop.

Sterling spits out a wad of tobacco, and it lands near Michael’s feet. “Who else is with you?”

Michael stares at the base of a nearby tree.

“Talk, boy.” The man behind Michael shakes him so hard I’m sure his teeth rattle.

Clearly agitated, Sterling works his jaw back and forth. “Speak up now. Who do you work for?” When Michael offers no answer, Sterling growls and lunges toward him, grabbing Michael’s shirt in his fists. “I’ll kill you. Hear me? You’re no use to me unless you talk.”

Even though Sterling has him hauled up on his tip-toes, Michael doesn’t flinch. Just looks the man dead in his eyes.

With a long huff, Sterling releases Michael. “Jake, turn out his lights. Maybe some down time will loosen his tongue.”

Jake—the soldier standing behind Michael—turns his rifle around and slams the butt of the weapon into the pressure point on Michael’s shoulder. Michael drops immediately to his knees. The other men stand back as Jake strides around to face Michael.

“Nighty-night.”

As if it’s a baseball bat, Jake swings his rifle. It connects with the side of Michael’s face with a loud crack. A bloody gash erupts across his temple. I jam my hand into my mouth to keep from crying out. Michael doesn’t even have time to groan or yelp. He crumples to the ground. Hopefully, he’s unconscious.

Two of the men lift him while another unlocks the caged carriage. A few drops of his blood splatter on the ground while they wait for the door to open. With a heave, they toss him inside and slam the door closed again.

I scoot back as quietly as possible. But my whole body is trembling. How bad is Michael hurt? Will the bleeding stop? What if he doesn’t wake up?

This is my fault. In the end, there’s no other way to dice this situation. I’m not supposed to be here. If Michael had come alone, then he never would have had to join up with these men and betray them to save me. He’d probably be sipping coffee with Pinkerton right now, laughing about some daring escape as they travel to meet up with President Lincoln. Instead, once again, I’m to blame for a world of pain falling upon Michael.

“What now?” The one named Jake straps his gun back to his belt.

“Plan doesn’t change.” Sterling kicks at the pile of ashes in the fire ring. “He’ll be out for a good while. We’ll start moving when the sun goes down and continue to head toward Camp Beauregard. Now we’ll have two spies to toss at the Commander’s feet.”

A soldier only a few yards from me snorts. “Who knows? Maybe he’ll talk and we’ll knick ourselves a couple more.”

“Yup.” Sterling adjusts his coat. “I sure would like to get my hands on that gal again.”

His voice alone makes me shiver. With great care, I crawl backwards out of my hiding spot and slink down until I’m near the river. I run about fifty paces toward the river’s source and then cut back through the forest on the same side as the Confederate troops. The road they’ve been traveling on must be this way. I have to find the path and follow it.

In my haste, I’m stumbling through the underbrush, making altogether too much noise. I stop, glance around and gain my bearings. The river still trickles behind me, but I don’t hear conversation from the Confederate camp, so hopefully I’m far enough away to avoid capture. After a deep breath and a sip of iodine-laden water, I press on. More slowly now, picking my way through the down branches and years of rotting leaves.

Back in my normal life, if I found myself in a situation like this, I’d run. Okay, let’s be honest, that’s all I’ve done since finding out I’m a Shifter. Ran away from Michael when we first met, pushed him aside in Keleusma took off on him when I found out about my mom. Something inside begs me to flee now too. But I can’t. Abandoning Michael is not an option.

The day is fading to evening when I decide to rest for a minute. Finding a log that’s only half rotted, I test a portion to see if it’s safe to sit on. It seems sound enough. I dig into the backpack and stuff down a couple crackers, which make me thirsty. The water is truly terrible, and almost gone now. I’ll need to refill soon. If by some stroke of luck I do rescue Michael, he’s going to need something to drink and I’m going to need clean water to doctor that cut on his head. Hopefully I can get him back to Keleusma before he gets a big scar there too.

Beef jerky doesn’t sound too tempting, but I’m still hungry, and any protein would be helpful right now. I rip off a hunk and chew on it, forcing myself to swallow. The guys at school tote this junk around with them everywhere. Beats me.

Rescue Michael? Yeah, I’m not going to be able to handle this on my own. Tipping my head back, I study the sky through a break in the canopy. I don’t know if that’s the direction I should point when addressing Nicholas. But
up
sounds right. Above is pretty—the sky, rain, the sun. At my level is discouragement, people living beside each other and not really caring about anyone but themselves. And people hurting each other. Below me? Dirt, worms, moles, and dead bodies in coffins. All considered, up is my best option.

I sigh. “Okay. Not quite sure how to do this. But could you help us out? I’m not good at any of this stuff. I don’t really think you have the right girl, but I guess that doesn’t matter because Michael needs someone and I’m what’s here. So, please work something out so that he can be saved. If I have to give up going home so he can be safe, I will—I do. Just protect Michael.”

Without realizing it, I closed my eyes. I open them now. The world seems the same, my situation hasn’t changed, but the knot in my chest feels a little looser.

More of the day has passed than I realized. Hints of darkness begin to stretch across the sky. I have an hour, maybe two before the Confederate soldiers are on the move. The muffled sound of people talking makes me freeze. Boots crunch on the ground. I duck behind a tree with branches that grow all the way to the ground. The glossy leaves hold a pungent smell, and I wrinkle my nose.

After waiting a few minutes, I don’t hear anyone talking, so I crawl out from my hiding spot. On the other side of the tree is a dirt road about ten feet wide. Deep ruts carved by wagon wheels and coated with horse droppings tell me this is a commonly used path. I just need to find out if it’s the road the Confederates plan to use to reach Camp Beauregard.

Sticking to the heavy growth on the edge of the road, I stay on my hands and knees. I’m ready to drop to my stomach and shroud myself in the branches again at any moment. Each sound, even birdcalls and hopping squirrels, sends me glancing over my shoulder. I’m well concealed, but those soldiers know this area better than I do. What if Michael cracked and told them about me? I banish that thought right away.

He’d never.

Still, I peek over my shoulder again. My hand moves forward and lands on something that doesn’t feel like ground at all. No. It’s slick, leathery, and warm. I pivot my head back to looking forward and gasp. A shoe. Not just one, but two, only six inches from my face. My heart rockets. I lick my lips.

They’ve found me.

But then, those don’t look like the boots the Confederates were wearing. Actually, they look pretty similar to the ones I have on. My eyes travel to the person’s knees. The pants look like mine too. My gaze bounces up the person’s tiny frame. A set of wide blue eyes look down at me. Blonde hair falls over her shoulder as her lips twitch in an effort not to smile.

Bursting to my feet, I toss my arms around her, hugging tight. “Lark! You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

She laughs. “And you have no idea how bad you smell.”

Same old Lark. Shaking my head, I grab her arm and lead her a few feet off the road. “How did you know to come? Did Eugene send you?”

“No. He couldn’t have. I wasn’t part of the original mission.”

“But then how—”

“Looks like Nicholas just thought you needed a little Lark Power.” She pushes up her sleeve, making a muscle.

“We sure could.” I want to ask her how long she’s been here. Did she get pulled because of my plea to Nicholas or is this a coincidence? But now’s not the time to hash that out.

“Speaking of ‘we.’” Lark makes a show of standing on her toes to glance behind me. “Where have you hidden Michael?”

I clamp down on her arm again. “They have him.”

Her eyes grow bigger. “Who has him?”

I spend the next ten minutes filling her in on everything. Tell her about my mistakes and about Pinkerton and getting caught. The only bits I leave out are the parts about my mom and Michael’s past.