CHAPTER THREE
The first time Ashley Higgs saw a dead body, she’d been twelve years old on a family vacation in rural Georgia. A scenic route turned into carnage as they came upon the remains of two cars strewn across the two-lane road. She’d recognized the blue car. Full of teenagers, it had blasted past her family’s sedan a good twenty miles before. The blue sports car lay crumpled on its side. The other vehicle, a black diesel truck, sat across the center line with a crumpled front end. The smoking sports car looked to catch fire in a widening pool of spilled fuel. Her father jumped out of the car and took two steps before leaping to one side.
“Sonuvabitch!” He’d stepped on a severed forearm.
The three teenagers were strewn and mangled across the road. The driver’s side door of the truck had opened and the driver, a thick man in overalls, staggered and fell onto the road. Blood poured from his nose. Ashley and her mother grabbed the first aid kit and started for the man. The mangled limb caught her eye and she froze. It was the last time she could remember not knowing what to do in an emergency situation. She’d never seen anything like Kennedy’s wounds.
“Higgs?”
She looked up into the soft, round face of Mike Martinez. The freshman cadet was well over three hundred pounds and would never finish the ROTC program because of an ongoing Adderall prescription. It was too bad. The kid had heart for miles. He never stopped shuffling through physical fitness training. He’d cried on their first ruck march in the early-morning humidity, too, but he’d never quit. He looked at her face and not the carnage that was Kennedy’s body.
“I can’t reach anyone on the radio.” He shrugged. “I’ve tried my cell phone, too. Nothing.”
Higgs nodded and looked back at Kennedy. Most of Kennedy’s ribcage on the left side was exposed. The shot, whatever it had been, had killed him instantly. His left lung shredded and aorta cleanly severed, the gangly freshman had been dead before he’d been stabbed twice and crumpled into the snow. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Martinez knelt next to her on the snow-covered grass. “You’ve been an EMT for a while, too.”
She chuckled slightly. “I’ve seen two GSWs—sorry, gunshot wounds. Neither of them were anything like this.”
Martinez did not look at Kennedy’s body. Higgs realized he was trying not to vomit. He coughed and asked, “What do we do?”
“Yeah!” a new voice came from over Martinez’s shoulder. Higgs bit the inside of her lip. Diana Dunaway was the antithesis of Martinez. She never wanted to do anything and complained constantly. Twice a week, she’d collapse during physical training. The first couple of times had been scary, the cadre yelling at each other and calling the ambulance. When it kept happening, and her antics increased, everyone could collect her off the football field and sit her down until the rest of the battalion completed their exercises. Somehow, she passed the physical fitness tests and stayed a cadet. Higgs knew that Dunaway only stayed in the program because of her parents. Both of them retired as full colonels and wanted the same for her. She said she wanted to go into the finance corps and was studying to be an accountant. When she wasn’t trying to major in theater, too. The nickname of drama queen was all too perfect. “I’m cold.”
Higgs looked over her shoulder and locked eyes with the girl. “Do some pushups. You’ll stay warm.”
Dunaway sneered but said nothing. Higgs looked at Martinez and then at Booker – a quiet sophomore cadet who’d been in ROTC for a year. No one knew him well – except that he spent every weekend at home in Chicago rather than at school. She’d almost forgotten he was there. “Get Kennedy’s poncho out of his ruck. We’ll make a litter and get him out of here.”
“You want us to carry his body? There’s like four of us?” Dunaway whined.
Higgs whirled on her. “Yes, Dunaway. That’s exactly what we’re going to do. Never leave a fallen comrade! Got it?”
Dunaway nodded and looked away. “Yeah. I guess.”
“You guess?” Higgs stood up and stepped over to her. “Until we figure out what’s going on, you’re in my fire team. That means you do what I tell you to do. Got it?”
“Yeah,” Dunaway said. “I got it.”
Martinez shook out Kennedy’s poncho. “How do we do this?”
The ground was open field with a few trees. They could drag Kennedy if they had to. “Lay it down next to him. We’ll roll him onto the poncho and drag him. It’s easier than building a field expedient stretcher.”
Martinez did as directed. As he did so, he looked up at Dunaway. After a few seconds, she shrugged out of her rucksack and set her rifle atop it. Together, they spread the poncho. Martinez barked a little laugh. “Why are the ponchos woodland camouflage and everything else the digital ACU pattern?”
Higgs looked at him. “Lowest bidder.” They glanced at each other and continued their work. She repacked the Combat Life Saver bag. Better than a traditional first aid kit, it could handle everything up to minor surgery. “Ready?”
Martinez grabbed Kennedy’s body on the right side and rolled him onto the left. Something wet smacked into the ground and Dunaway choked. Higgs reached down with her gloved hands and tucked the loose intestine back into Kennedy’s abdominal cavity. Booker turned away. Distinctly pale, Martinez swallowed and looked at Dunaway. “Come on, Dunaway. We can do this.”
“Grab his legs, Dunaway,” Higgs directed. “On three we’ll roll him onto the poncho. Ready? One, two, three.”
They moved in unison and settled Kennedy onto the poncho. “Now what?” Martinez asked.
“Get him into the center of the poncho, if we can. Grab his shirt at the shoulders. We’ll grab the corners and move him together. It will be awkward, but the poncho slides better than his clothes or boots will.”
Martinez blinked. “Where are we moving him to?”
Higgs put her hands on her hips and took a deep breath. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. Tactically, they should wait for their friends to return and move as a group. But, what if they didn’t come back? The radio sputtered and crackled, but there were no voices. Emergency signals of vehicle horns and star clusters—handheld flares—were nowhere to be seen. Darkness and the temperature fell at the same time. “If we don’t hear from anybody in the next fifteen minutes, we’ll head toward the road we came in on. We’ll find somebody.”
Martinez nodded and knelt on one knee. “Might as well rest a bit, Dunaway. Take a knee.” The young woman did and Higgs joined them. Booker remained standing.
“Both of you turn around and face out. Let’s keep some security, okay?” They shuffled on their knees until they each faced the wilderness with a hundred and twenty degrees of vision. “Keep your eyes peeled.”
“What are we looking for?” Dunaway sniffled.
Higgs closed her eyes. Oh, just shut up. There were four females in the whole Panther Battalion. One, a senior who spent more on makeup than Higgs spent on her off-campus apartment and another freshman like Dunaway except she barely spoke. Either of them would have been an improvement. Whatever Dunaway’s parents held over her, it was strong enough to keep her in a program she wanted nothing to do with. Unlike Higgs.
Since her older brother died in Afghanistan five years before, serving in the military was all Higgs wanted to do. She wanted to rectify the poor treatment that killed her brother. The words “if only” stung. If only they’d recognized the infection. If only they’d evacuated him in time. If only they hadn’t mistaken the symptoms for malaria for three days. If only.
The breeze freshened and the cold stung her eyes. She wiped them with the back of her gloved hand as two figures emerged from the far tree line. “Contact.”
Martinez shifted on his knee. “Stratton and Koch.”
Higgs watched for a moment. Koch’s familiar stride was easy to spot. The guy walked like a robot. That his idol was Arnold Schwarzenegger was no surprise. Despite his penchant for bad cigars and three-hour gym sessions, Koch had a serious girlfriend. They were high school sweethearts and the two of them were cute together. Stratton, on the other hand, had no real social life and walked like he’d been born with a rifle in his hands. Weaponry fetishes had to be real, at least that’s what it seemed like. Stratton had more weapons in his apartment than anyone she’d ever met, including ridiculous throwing knives he tossed at a ratty dartboard all hours of the day.
Stratton and Koch approached quickly. Higgs stood up. “What’s going on?”
Koch stopped but would not look her in the eyes. Stratton brushed past her, walking in the direction they’d come out of the woods.
“Stratton?” Higgs asked. He kept walking quickly and disappeared into the tree line near where Kennedy had died. She turned to Koch and saw tears streaming down his reddened cheeks. “Koch?”
The big sophomore said nothing and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his uniform. There was blood on his sleeves. A lot of it. Fresh tears pooled in his eyes and fell like the others.
“Koch? Talk to me. What happened? Where’s Porter and the others?”
When he didn’t respond again, she walked over and tapped his shoulder. His eyes turned to her with a combination of rage and guilt. He opened his mouth and a choked sob escaped. He looked up over her shoulder.
“Ruck up! Let’s get the hell out of here,” Stratton hissed.
Higgs faced him. “And go where? We need to wait for the cadre.”
Stratton closed the distance. “They aren’t coming, Higgs. Now get your shit together and follow me. We’re not in Kansas anymore.”
“We need to wait here, Stratton.” Higgs turned and looked up at him.
“Didn’t you hear me? The cadre aren’t coming, Higgs! You stupid bitch—”
She didn’t hear anything after that as she swung her right fist and connected with the side of Stratton’s sneering mouth. He staggered backward into the snow and dabbed at his mouth, smiling at her viciously.
“You done? Grab the extra rucks and get your ass moving.” Stratton pointed down at Kennedy. “What the fuck is this?”
“We were ready to move him,” Higgs said.
“Leave him here.”
Higgs shook her head. “Not a chance. Never leave a fallen comrade, Stratton. Does that ring a bell?”
The Warrior Ethos was a moral construct the Army instated during the Global War on Terrorism. That they’d had to construct a device to teach their soldier about teamwork and persistence was not lost on Higgs or most of the other cadets. The four points of the Ethos invoked great passion, but the harsh reality was that it had to be taught at all.
I will always place the mission first.
I will never accept defeat.
I will never quit.
I will never leave a fallen comrade.
“Don’t lecture me, Higgs.” Stratton spat into the grass and snow. There was some pink tinge still from where she’d bloodied his mouth. It felt strangely good to know she’d hurt Stratton at least a little for all the shit he dealt.
“We move Kennedy with us.”
“Fine. We’ll need his gear anyway.”
What? Higgs blinked as Stratton continued giving orders. “Pick up the extra rucks, too. Let’s get to the cabin.”
“What cabin?” Higgs asked. There was no response. “What’s going on, Stratton?”
“Keep your goddamn voice down!” he hissed. “It’s time to go! Come on, Martinez. Koch. Let’s get moving.”
Dunaway interrupted. “I can’t carry two rucks.”
Stratton whirled on her. “You want to end up like Kennedy? Pick up another ruck and start walking.”
Martinez looked at her and then picked up an extra ruck. Pulling the shoulder straps on, the rucksack rested on his chest in a mirror image of the one on his back.
Booker did the same and spoke for the first time that afternoon. “I’ll take this side.”
Koch moved slowly, but did the same. Higgs caught his eyes and tried to smile, but the big kid looked away. She turned and saw Dunaway trying to figure out whose rucksack weighed less. “Just pick one up, Dunaway,” she said and did the same. Getting it set on her chest took a moment, but soon they were all ready and standing around Kennedy’s body.
Stratton stood at Kennedy’s head. “I’ve got the shoulders. Martinez and Koch, you take the front corners. Booker, you’ve got the feet. You two”—he gestured at Higgs and Dunaway—“just try to keep up.” The smile on his face made Higgs want to hit him again. And again.
They picked up Kennedy by the poncho litter and started to move. Higgs grabbed Kennedy’s belt with her left hand. God, he’s heavy.
“Grab the other side, Dunaway,” Higgs said.
Within a minute, they were all breathing hard. Martinez kept talking and trying to motivate them.
“Come on!” he panted. “We’re closer to the trees.”
“Shut up, Martinez,” Stratton huffed.
Dunaway let go of Kennedy’s belt and the whole group shuddered and stopped. “Sorry! My hands hurt!”
“Pick him up, Dunaway!” Stratton and Higgs said at the same time. The freshman did, and almost immediately starting sniffling. They shuffled and walked slowly, so much so that as Higgs looked up and saw the outline of the cabin in the distance, soft light coming from its windows, she was surprised.
“We’re here,” Stratton said.
Higgs looked past Martinez’s arm at the front of the cabin. A horse-drawn carriage sat in the mud. Mason and a shabbily dressed man shuffled out of the cabin’s door carrying a naked body. In the back of the carriage were two others like it. They lifted the body into the bed of the wagon.
Porter.
Higgs dropped Kennedy’s belt and stepped around Martinez. Mason was already walking toward them. “Strip Kennedy’s clothes and boots, then get your gear and get inside.”
Higgs put up her hands and hit Mason in the chest. “What happened to Porter? What in the hell are you doing, Mason?”
His dark face was drawn and tight. “Look, Higgs. We’re in trouble.”
“Yes, we are! We should be back there waiting for the cadre and trying to make contact with the—”
“The cadre aren’t coming, Higgs. Nobody is.”
Hands still on his chest, she shook him by his load-carrying vest. We’re not in Kansas anymore, Stratton had said. “What’s going on?”
Mason took a breath and spoke softly. “As near as we can tell, we’re back in time.”
“What?”
Mason took a breath and shook his head. “Grantville? Alexander Correctional Facility?”
Everyone knew of the Grantville incident, and the Alexander Correctional Facility had been a more recent unexplained disappearance. The difference in weather after the flash made sense. The lack of snow beyond their rally point in the forest reminded her of the differences found in vegetation in Grantville and Alexander. It wasn’t possible, was it?
“You mean we’re back in time?”
“December 21, 1776. We’re north of Trenton, New Jersey,” Mason said.
Higgs shook her head. “The Revolutionary War?”
“Yeah,” Mason grunted. “And we’re in British-occupied territory.”
“Oh, shit.” Her mind spun as she tried to remember the shreds of history she’d had in high school and college. Washington would attack Trenton in a couple of days, and win. That would turn the war in American favor. “What do we do?”
He whispered, “Go inside and get warmed up. This is Mister Daniels and his daughter’s place. He’s a gunsmith. We found the three Hessians who killed Kennedy beating them. The daughter, Emily, was about to get raped.” Mason took a breath. “They shot Porter. Koch beat one of them to death, Emily Daniels killed another one, and the third got away. Well, Emily shot him too, but he escaped into the forest.”
“Emily? That the daughter?”
“Yeah. Go in and talk to her. Try to figure out anything you can do to help.”
“What are you doing?” She tilted her head toward the cart where Koch and Martinez had just loaded Kennedy’s naked body.
“Ditching the bodies in a sinkhole a mile or so away. When I get back, we need to talk. Plan. Shit, I don’t know what to do. Stratton wants to go after the guy that got away. I think we have to figure out the big picture.”
“You think the guy will bring back reinforcements?”
“Maybe. I’m more concerned that he has Kennedy’s rifle.”
Higgs opened her mouth, but stopped. The rifle. Were it to find British hands, it would change the course of history. “We’re changing history.”
“Yeah,” Mason said. “Really managed to fuck this up, huh?”
Higgs looked at him and released his vest. “I’ll get everyone taken care of here. You do what you need to do.”
“If something happens and I don’t come back, you take charge. Don’t let Stratton bully you.”
Her fist hurt, but she knew she’d do it again if she had to. “I won’t.”
“Have everyone drop their gear in the parlor, to the right. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
Daniels called, “Mason? You ready?”
“Coming.” He looked at Higgs a final time. “Help me figure this out.”
“You got it.” As he walked away, grabbing Martinez and Booker to join them, he told them to drop their weapons. Martinez jogged them over to Higgs.
“Be careful,” she said.
“You going to tell us what’s going on?” Martinez asked.
Higgs nodded. “As soon as you get back, if Mason doesn’t tell you himself.”
“Roger that.” The big freshman jogged back to the wagon and climbed aboard. Mister Daniels handed him and Booker long muskets before snapping the horses’ reins. They plodded off into the darkness.
Higgs turned to Dunaway and Koch. “Let’s get the gear inside. The room to the right. We’ll warm up and figure out what’s going on.”
“Not going back inside,” Koch said.
Higgs looked at him. “Yes, you are. We are all going inside and figure out what’s going on.”
Koch stared. “I can’t.”
“You have to, Koch. I know what happened, okay? Mason told me. You did what you should have done.”
Tears appeared in his eyes. “You really believe that, Higgs? That I should have killed that man?”
Higgs nodded. “You just contracted, Koch. You were going into the Army. What do soldiers have to do? Be trained to kill in defense of their country. Their values and the lives of the people close to them. You did exactly what you should have done.”
Koch nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“It’s getting cold and we need to eat something. Where’s Stratton?”
Dunaway pointed. “He went inside as soon as we got here.”
Higgs frowned. “Fine. Let’s get everybody’s gear inside and warm up.”
* * *
Ghosts. The ghosts followed them out of the woods. Stumbling in the darkness, the cold seeping through the wound in his back, the Hessian clutched the strange rifle by its handle and blindly sought the Trenton Road. Darkness falling, he rested against a tree for a moment and felt his body growing weaker. If he did not find the road soon, he would die. The colonel needed to see this weapon. Needed to know about the ghosts in their midst. Hiding in the middle of their territory and unseen. Huge things that looked like men but fought like demons. Poor Essen beaten to death after shooting one at close range. They did not scatter like the rebels did. They stayed together. Fought like demons.
The colonel must know.
Go, he told himself. Keep moving. Instead of north, he headed south and then southwest past the gunsmith’s cabin toward the Delaware River. The night cold and dark, he struggled to see anything. Bare branches in the low, thick brush stabbed at him from a thousand places at once. Tearing through the remains of a summer thicket, he looked up into the sky for a star to navigate by, but there were none visible through the low, thick clouds. Head down, breathing ragged, he pushed into the night toward what had to be the Pennington Road. There would be patrols there. He could warn the colonel before the surgeon pushed the schnapps into his hand to dull the pain.
Go.
Deeper into the full darkness, his wobbling legs threatened to collapse at every other step. He came to the bank of a creek, but could not stop himself and tumbled into the icy water. Fighting to the surface, he clawed to the far bank and crawled until his body was out of the water. Shivering madly, he stumbled to his feet and pressed on for a few minutes before his weakened legs gave out. Barely twenty feet from the road, he fell to his knees. His addled mind dropped toward a confused shock, but he took the heaviness in his limbs as fatigue.
Rest. A few moments and I’ll get to the road. He took a deep, heaving breath and closed his eyes.
He tumbled forward to the forest floor, the odd, cold rifle in his grasp. It did not take long for the cold to sap his remaining strength and leave him dead in the underbrush.