The Left Behinds and the iPhone That Saved George Washington (24 page)

Because fifteen yards away from Washington is Butt-Ugly Kramm. Who has been waiting all this time for just this opportunity.
When everyone’s guard is down
.

Brandon, Daniel, and I are maybe fifty yards away. I don’t know where Bev is, or Elizabeth, or Captain Hamilton, or anyone else who can help.

And I can plainly see that no one, not for at least the next thirty seconds, will be able to get close enough to Washington to make a difference. Though it doesn’t stop us from trying.

Or running.

Or shouting at the top of our lungs.

“General Washington! Watch it! On your left!”

Washington turns to his left, and so does Kramm. Which means Kramm’s facing Brandon and me. He brings his right arm up, and fires.

Bam, bam, bam
. Three shots. From the Luger he’s been carrying around.

Two miss. One doesn’t.

I know, because I hear a sickening
thud
and a gurgle of blood about two inches from my right ear.

Kramm crouches, turns back to Washington, raises his Luger, and is just about ready to squeeze off the rest of his rounds and change the course of history forever when his head is blasted to kingdom come.

It explodes like a watermelon. As I may have said before, I don’t have to tell you what
that
looks like, do I?

Kramm had miscalculated: General Washington’s men—his troops, his soldiers, his brothers—had him covered the whole time. They weren’t
ever
going to allow their commander in chief to be cut down on the battlefield. One of the sharpshooting riflemen took out Kramm with a perfect shot.

The gurgling sound behind me? Kramm’s shot missed me and hit an already wounded Hessian soldier who had
just managed to get to his feet. He’s keeled over, grabbing his shoulder. I don’t think it will provide him much comfort to know that a German bullet did the damage.

Atop the hill, about thirty men come running over, and in a second Washington is surrounded by a protective phalanx.

So you could say a couple of things are going on here. It’s one of those
moments
of total confusion and chaos when everyone knows something
huge
just happened, but no one’s quite sure exactly
what
.

But I have to make sure I get to Kramm—or what’s left of Kramm—before anyone else. First thing I do is grab his Luger, and stick it in the back of my pants.

Next to him is the leather satchel, with the initials
T.G.W., INC.
I take it.

Last thing I do is start walking away—at a very brisk pace—from General Washington, his men, and Kramm. I act like I’m going to be sick, because it’s all too much for me.

After all, I’m just a kid, right?

T
HIRTY YARDS AWAY, WITH
no one near me, I open up the leather satchel. Inside there’s a bunch of stuff: papers, a pouch, three magazines for the Luger, a map, two Hershey bars, a compass, and a plastic first aid kit.

These are not items Daniel and Elizabeth are ever going to find at Ye Olde General Store.

I open up the pouch, and inside are maybe twenty or thirty coins.

I know what they are. Pure gold. You don’t even have to be an expert. And they’re also shiny and new, like they’ve just come from a store. On the front is a picture of an old dude with a beard. Around the edge it says
SUID–AFRIKA * SOUTH AFRICA
.

On the other side it says
KRUGERRAND 2002
and there’s a picture of a deer. Or maybe it’s an antelope.

I open up a packet of papers. The first thing I see is a printed note. Two pages. Not handwritten, and most certainly not on parchment. On regular 8 ½-by-11-inch paper.

I
READ IT AGAIN
.

And then another time.

After that, I recheck the stuff in the bag. I feel like eating the Hershey bars, but something tells me that just might be the last thing I’d ever eat.

I pick up the gold coins. I look at the maps, which are perfectly laid out, easy to read, and show precise locations and routes.

President, Things Go Wrong, Inc.?

What the heck is that all about?

“Mel?” I hear behind me.

I turn my head. Bev, Daniel, and Elizabeth are standing ten feet away. They must have followed me across the battlefield. Daniel and Elizabeth are grim, but seem
determined; Bev, on the other hand, seems a little shell-shocked.

“Are you okay, Mel?” Bev asks. “We heard that you … that you …”

“Were taken ill,” says Elizabeth.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Considering.” I check over the scene: our guys are rounding up their guys. Our generals are still on horseback, shouting out orders; their generals are walking with their heads down, ashamed.

About a dozen houses have had their roofs torn up or their front doors blasted through or all their windows broken—the owners won’t be happy when they find out. Debris is strewn everywhere: broken bags of flour, scattered remains of food, pieces of furniture, mismatched planks of wood, pieces of roofs, and other sorts of unidentifiable junk.

“How about you guys?” I ask. “Bev?”

“It was horrible,” Bev says. “Absolutely horrible. I’m not sure I can … I know how to …”

“Deal with it?”

“Yes.”

“Think of the cause, Bev. Think of the results.”

“This will be a lesson to them,” Elizabeth says, glaring. “When we put our minds to it, we shan’t be stopped. They’d best leave, the British, and take their Hessians with them. They’ll never conquer us. Never.”

“Elizabeth,” I say. “I have a feeling that you’re one hundred percent right about that. But our job is done here. Anybody seen Brandon? We can’t go till we find him.”

“We’re going?” says Bev.

“You’re going?” says Daniel.

“We have to,” I say. “Once we’re all together.” I hold up Kramm’s leather satchel. “I found some interesting stuff. Pieces to the puzzle, you might say. We’ll take it back with us and figure things out.”

“Back?” says Daniel. “Back where?”

“Back home. Our home. Now—when’s the last time anyone saw Brandon?”

Daniel raises his hand, points down the hill. “Your Brandon went that way. He said he needed to find something.”

“Find what?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Oh brother.” I start down the hill. “Let’s go,” I say. “Bev, from here on in we all stay together. And we only have one last thing to do: locate Brandon. Then we can get out of here.”

We begin walking. Our Continentals are lining up Hessian prisoners, and going through the houses they used for barracks. But no Brandon among them.

Below us is a bridge. It’s at the bottom of a sloping hill, past the battlefield and beyond the small number of buildings that constitute the city of Trenton. It’s a stone bridge, and it crosses a meandering stream called the Assunpink Creek. The Hessians could have retreated across the bridge instead of staying to fight. Could have, but didn’t.

Brandon is in the middle of the bridge.

Leading the mare and the chestnut shorty that brought us here.

“Brandon!” I say. “What are you doing?”

“Getting the horses, dude. We told that guy we’d bring ’em back, remember?”

“How did they get across the bridge?”

“Must have run when the shooting started. Horses get scared, you know, and don’t know what to do. Just like people sometimes.”

He stops. Brandon’s face isn’t right, though. He’s usually kind of goofy, if you want to know the truth. Never serious.

Except now.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Brandon. What’s the matter?”

“Well, it’s just that … these horses? I really couldn’t let them get away. It’s been on my mind. After what we put them through? We rode ’em all night in the blizzard. And I don’t know when they’ve last eaten.”

“Well, you got them. So we’ve done all we can. It’s time. For us. You know. To go back.”

Brandon gives each horse a nose rub. “I don’t know, Mel.”

“You don’t know about what?”

“About going back. To school? Term papers? Tests and quizzes? Maybe I should stay. Take my chances.”

“Come on. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why’s it so ridiculous, Mel? I might not even make
it out of the sixth grade. I think I’m pretty much failing everything.”

“That’s because you don’t even try, Brandon.”

“No, it’s because I don’t even care, Mel. I tell you what I do care about, though: horses. Too bad I can’t go … you know. Home.”

“You mean, like New Mexico home, right?”

“Right. We used to have horses, on our ranch. Then everything changed. You know. When my mom started to get all … kind of weird.”

“I know. Bev should be in California with her mom. I should be with my parents in New York. But … what are we going to do, Brandon? They don’t call us ‘left behind’ for nothing.”

“What we can do is we stay behind on our own. Not some place they dump us.”

“We all go, Brandon. Or we all stay.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“And who elected you, Mel? I don’t remember there being a vote.”

“You can’t stay, Brandon. This is the
past
, for crying out loud. What do you think you’re going to do ten years from now? Twenty? Think about it.”

“You and Bev can go. I’m staying.”

“What about us, Brandon? What if the phones have to be programmed for the same time? Then maybe it won’t work for any of us, and we’ll all be stuck here.”

“How could you know that?”

“ ’Cause I worked on the thing. Dr. Franklin helped me, remember?”

“So Benjamin Franklin told you we all have to go? At the same time?”

“He didn’t, but I bet he would. Whether the app works that way or not. He’d say we all have to hang together, because if we don’t, we’ll hang separately. He was talking about all the guys who signed the Declaration of Independence, but it goes for us too, just the same.”

Brandon doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t disagree either. Instead he scratches the horse again, and both of them nuzzle closer.

“They have horses in New Jersey, Brandon,” I say. “Even today.”

“I know. It’s just that I never get near any.”

“So maybe we can do something about that, okay?”

“Okay,” he says. “When?”

“As soon as possible. But first, there’s another thing: see this?” I show him Kramm’s satchel. “I think there’s a lot more to it than just this. Kramm isn’t the only bad guy. There’s a bigger bad guy who goes by the name of Kurtis. We’re going to need to figure out who he is and what he’s up to before … before stuff happens. Or doesn’t happen, as the case may be. So this might not be our last adventure.”

I finally got his attention. I’m trying every trick I have, because I know I’d never forgive myself if we left Brandon behind.

It would be kind of … un–American, wouldn’t it?

“C
OME ON, MAN
,” I say. “Let’s go. Can I take one of these? Maybe you can teach me how to ride a horse someday. It could come in handy.”

Brandon hands me the reins to the mare. I give her a tug, and together we all walk back across the bridge. Bev and Daniel and Elizabeth are waiting.

“We good?” says Bev.

“We’re good,” I say.

“So that’s it? We can go?”

“Pretty much. We have to make sure the horses get back to their owner, though, right, Brandon?” I shift my eyes to Daniel and Elizabeth, and scratch my chin. “If we could only find two people who could use a ride back.”

Brandon hands them the reins. “See if you can find