Saving Yesterday (TimeShifters Book 1) (26 page)

In the commotion, they’ve startled a squirrel. It scampers across a limb a few feet from my head.

“You’re being bested by a tree rat.” The comment is followed by a round of laughter.

This time I hear the gun cock. I hold my breath. Ignore the bug creeping further up my knee. The shot cracks the air like a whip in the night. I watch the squirrel stop in the middle of his run, teeter, and fall out of view. A second later, there is a distinct, small thud. The men talk for a moment more. I can’t tell what they’re saying because their voices are too low. Whatever it is, they all leave.

Has an hour passed? Or mere minutes? As the moon carves its way across the deep purple sky, my eyelids start to feel heavy. So heavy. Maybe a minute with them closed might help. I’ll be more energized.

A loud yawn escapes before I can stop it. Where is Lark, anyway? Why do the other Shifters always have to leave to find horses? She should be here. Help me. She’s better at this sort of thing and knows what to expect. At the very least, I should have asked a few more questions. Like, after breaking open the lock, how, exactly, am I supposed to fend off ten soldiers?

A sick feeling rocks through my gut. What if she’s been captured? Maybe the Confederates won’t even come this way now. I could sit up here for days and not know what to do next.

I’m contemplating scrambling down from my perch when I hear a long, mournful howl that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

I blink a few times. Willing myself to be alert and focus. “Thank you,” I whisper.

Sure enough, horse hooves beat like a war drum against the ground. The wagon carrying Michael and Pinkerton creeks forward on squeaky wheels.

I scan the edge of the forest and can’t find Lark. What on earth am I going to accomplish without her? Maybe she’d want me to abandon the plan and start fresh tomorrow. No chance.

I have to try. Michael’s in there. I owe him. No. It’s more than that. I care about him. Maybe more than I care about anyone else in the world.

The carriage moves closer, and sways back and forth. No one is riding behind it, most likely because nobody wants their view blocked by a jail wagon for hours on end. I study the roof. It’s flat. If I hold on to a branch and dangle, I’ll only drop a foot or two before I land on top of it.

I can do this.

Purpose surges through me. I wait for the very last moment before clutching the rock in one hand and swinging down on the branch with the other. Bark rips at my skin, but I don’t feel the pain. I drop down onto the top of the jail wagon. The troops ride on. They haven’t noticed me. Gripping the edge for balance, I worm to the back end. Blessedly, there is a handrail across the top of the door. My guess is it’s for extra guards to hang onto while the thing is moving. I grab the bar and lower myself down the back.

My hands are sweaty and my grasp starts to slip. Feet spinning like a cartoon character, I find a three-inch ledge near the bottom of the door to steady myself. Readjusting my hold, I wait for the men’s song to crescendo. When they do, I smack the top of the lock with the rock as hard as I can. I have to strike it again before the metal breaks clean off.

The door flings open, sending me tumbling head over feet on the ground. I’m dazed for a second, but with it enough to see Pinkerton hop down and tear past me. Someone whistles. Lark stands twenty feet back, a horse next to her as she motions for me to run to safety.

But Michael hasn’t come out of the carriage yet. Jumping to my feet, I take off at a sprint. The swaying movement of the carriage makes the door start to close. I push myself harder and lunge toward the wagon, sticking my hand between the door and where it will close again. Pain shoots up my arm. I can handle it, though. My actions have kept the door from clattering shut and giving us all away. With strength I didn’t know I possessed, I yank myself into the carriage and find Michael tied to a bench.

He tries to shove me away with his feet. “Get out of here. They’ll catch you too.”

I grab his arm and squeeze hard enough to make him flinch. “Knock it off. I’m not leaving you.”

Even in the half-dark inside this box, his condition makes my heart constrict. The entire side of his face is one big bruise. A deep gash carves its way around his eye, and dried blood cakes his hair. The knot holding him in place is easy enough to work free. Once it falls to the ground, I pull him to his feet, wrap my arm around his waist, and we jump to the ground. Fall to our knees. For a heartbeat I think we’re free. Then I realize the carriage isn’t moving anymore, and no one is singing.

“Get up, Michael. Now!”

He must have some energy left, because he’s on his feet before I am. Michael grabs my waist, shoving me in front of him as we run. His body is a shield protecting me from any attack the soldiers might launch.

The troops holler something I can’t make out, and my lungs burn for air. Hooves pound behind us. We can’t outrun horses. Four gunshots break the stillness of nighttime. Then five, six, I lose count. Bullets hiss around us and pelt into the dirt and into nearby trees. Too close.

I spot Lark and veer toward her. But Pinkerton and the horse are gone.     

“Hurry!” Lark waves her hand. “There’s a portal just over this bend.” She points into the forest.

I’m a foot away when I see her stumble. I leap forward, catching her by the elbow. She gasps and coughs. Her eyes trail down her front, and I follow them to the bullet hole in her chest.

Michael’s beside me now, his breath coming out hard and fast. He throws his arm over my head, making me stoop as more bullets rip through the fabric of night above us.

I shove his arm away. “She’s been hit.”

The horses are off the road and charging through the bushes now. In seconds they’ll descend upon us. Probably crush us.

Lark totters. Her eyes droop shut.

Michael takes her from me, hoisting her into his arms. At a fast clip, we head in the direction Lark pointed. As we turn a small bend, I see the bright rippling light. The portal’s ready for us. I could weep. I glance back over my shoulder and gasp at the coming troops. Why did I stop running?

Michael’s more than twenty feet ahead of me, stumbling into the light with Lark limp in his arms. Everything around him starts to glow. He’s headed back to Keleusma.

Michael looks back just in time to see a Confederate soldier round his horse in front of me, cutting me off from Michael and Lark. The portal goes dark. They’re gone. Safe.

Two more horses close me in. Three guns cock.  

I fling my arms over my head, as if that’ll save me from a bullet. Heat coils around my wrist, and at first I think they shot me, but then comes a familiar bolt of light, wrapping me in a wave of charged air.

The soldiers unload their guns, but the bullets pass through me. Their choice words sound far away.

My feet aren’t touching the ground anymore, and my body feels bigger than the space around me, stilting my breath. Wind rushes past my ears. Darkness comes like a heavy shroud. I hear whispers and screams from a distance—other Shifters passing through time.  They’re unable to control their own future.

Just like me.

Maybe I’m getting better at this, because I land on my feet. Then again, maybe not because I feel like I’m going to puke. Hands and knees still trembling, I try to concentrate on my surroundings, but I can’t shake the time travel induced haze. My ears register sound, but nothing in particular. It’s like listening to the hum of conversation in the middle of a packed cafeteria and not actually hearing anything. As if there’s a blindfold over my face, my eyes refuse to focus.

“Out of my way, lady!”

My vision clears just in time to see a huge team of horses hooked to a carriage clip-clopping toward me. The driver yanks on his reins. Luggage attached to the roof of the carriage wobbles like crazy. The people inside probably bang into one another. Both horses thrash their heads to the side, but their progress barely slows. Just in the nick of time, I dive out of the way, toppling onto the road. Crawling quickly in the other direction, I miss being crushed under their pounding hooves by a couple paces. A twister of dust coats me as they thunder away.

Near death experience number four. Or more? I don’t know. It’s only been a few weeks and I’ve already lost count.
Breathe.

On my hands and knees, I take equal turns gasping and coughing up dirt. I spit once to clear the taste from my mouth. It doesn’t work. Dirt clings gritty and bitter to my tongue. What I wouldn’t give for beef jerky right now. But the bag with provisions is gone, left in Pinkerton’s time somewhere in the middle of the woods of Tennessee. Will the Norms find it? Or does it become camouflaged? At least Michael and Lark are safe back in Keleusma.
Please let Lark be alive.
 

More hoof beats. I swivel my head only to discover that I’m in the middle of a large road. Night cloaks the area, but I’m in a city of some sort. Despite the late hour, pedestrians clog the street, weaving in and out of people on horseback. Intricate glass and iron lampposts line the road, casting circles of light and painting shadows in between.

I scramble to the edge of the road, pulling myself out of traffic. A small boy with blazing red hair watches me from a few feet away.

He tilts his head. “Are you all right, lady?”

I tap my chest and rise to my feet. “Me?” I brush off the dirt clinging to the back of my legs. “I think so.”

His eyebrows furrow. “You don’t look too well.”

“Thanks, kid.”

Large green fields stretch out on either side of the road. There are more trees in the area than I would have thought. I’m used to cities from my time where we tear down every hint of wilderness. Throw up concrete and steel monstrosities and paste every inch of the land with urbanization. Only to add a square block of park with shabby grass, toss some greenery on a building’s roof, and plant a couple saplings along the road. All because we want to be tricked into thinking we’re still around nature.

The city I’m in now seems to be constructed around large trees. Maybe they lack the ability to yank them down. Or maybe they appreciate the beauty. Who knows?

“You like my outfit?”

I jump. Totally forgot that kid was nearby. I glance his way. Capri type pants meet long socks. Wearing a coat that cuts a few inches above his waist and a funny hat, he looks a bit like a character from a movie.

I shrug. “Sure.”

Not the right thing to say. His gaze bounces to the ground. Okay, I’m not getting better at this shifting stuff. What would be time appropriate? Think like Michael or Lark. Become these people. I glance around. Who are these people? I don’t know where or when I am. I shouldn’t even be wasting time with this kid right now. That is, unless he’s a part of my mission.

Why did Nicholas send me here? I bite my lower lip and ball up my hands. Why can’t Nicholas just speak to me plain and simple instead of turning everything into a colossal game of pin the tail on the donkey? There’s no one here to spin me around and direct me the right way to go. Fine. He can sit somewhere with his feet up while I do all the dirty work. I unfurl my fists, letting the blood flow back into my fingers. I can do this without his help.

I put my hands on my knees, bringing myself to the kid’s eye level. “Your outfit is very handsome.”

A blush masks his freckles. “Ma said I had to wear my new duds for service today.”

Perhaps it’s a clue. “What kind of service?”

“For church tonight. Good Friday. Sometimes the President comes to our night service.”

“So the President is in town?”

“Of course, Miss.” His lips pull, like I’ve said something very wrong.

I force my smile bigger. “I apologize. I’m new here. Can you tell me why the President is in town?”

“Why, he lives right there.” The child points behind us. Bathed by lamplight, a house glows in the distance across the large field. I have to squint to make it out. It’s two stories and has a circle driveway. The white house doesn’t look that impressive.

Wait. “The White House. We’re in Washington, D.C.?”

The kid hides a chuckle behind his hand. “You sure are a strange lady. I don’t know what you mean by D and C. This is Washington City and Georgetown’s yonder that-a-way.”

If that’s the White House, then—I look across the street. Dad and I went to D.C. once when I was younger. I remember more from photos than the actual trip. But I recall enough to know that the Washington Monument should pierce the sky just across the street from here. I crane my neck. Sure enough, the start of the monument gleams white against the curtain of night. It’s only about a third of the way built.

“So he—the President, is at your church right now? Maybe you should show me where that is.” Anyway, a child like this shouldn’t be wandering the streets of a big city alone. Where are his parents?

“Naw. He didn’t come to service tonight. Caused a stir among the parishioners. Ma and Pa are back talking it over with all the adults. I could bring you there.” He motions me to follow, but I don’t.

For some reason, a tug in my gut tells me I need to locate the President. “Where did he go instead?”