Where the Dead Talk (28 page)

"A bit more effort, boys," Pomeroy said. "Just imagine you’re slipping it right into your friend King George’s arsehole. Grunt a little."

It wasn’t exactly a quiet operation, but Pomeroy didn’t think that silence was the better part of stealth in light of what they were about to face. Morrill directed the men with the other cannon, occupying Captain Adams at the same time. The second cannon crested the top of the small incline, the others just behind it, carried with grunts and curses. Pomeroy went over to the team around the first gun.

"Push it right up to the trees," he said.

One of the men straightened up and turned on him. He took the musket slung across his back and lifted it towards him.

"I thought we was here to kill lobsterbacks – not take orders from them," he said.

"We should start with this one," another said.

"And you’d regret every second you wasted doing it, trust me," Pomeroy said.

"Only take a second," the first one said.

"I’m not anyone you bloody need to worry about," Pomeroy said, "but you should bloody worry about what’s out there. Death, darkness, and misery – that’s what’s out there. And believe me – as one who’s seen both sides of this conflict begin, that’s actually worth fighting for. None of our disagreements matter one whit in the face of that. Know that better than any one of you lot."

He turned and walked over to Brewster and Adams. The back of his neck itched – right in the spot they’d shoot him if they were going to. Each step forward seemed to make it itch more, but no shot came.

"Colonel Brewster," he said.

"Major?" Brewster said. He was supervising several men at the first gun’s caisson in readying the ammunition.

"A word please," Pomeroy said.

"Ready your shot," Brewster told the soldiers nearest him. He turned and took several steps away with Pomeroy.

"Perhaps you’ve found your calling, Brewster," Pomeroy said.

"I serve ale, not lead, Major. How are we going to sight the guns?"

"On the fly. We have a slight high-ground advantage here. Lower the barrels and have the men wheel them forward until they just clear the branches. Then, we’ll loose one giant volley – artillery and infantry. Have them load and prepare to fire, and have them go for the heads. Keep the aim high. We don’t take the heads off, we don’t stop them. I’ll watch and dial in the cannon for the next round."

"How are you going to get them to listen to you?"

"I'll wager that once they get a good look at the nightmare before us, they'll listen to anyone who even vaguely sounds as if they know what they're doing."

"Wager?"

"Come on, Brewster. Hardly the first wager I've ever leaped into with very little in the way of forethought - wouldn't you say?"

He straightened out the front of his uniform.

"And then we’ll see how well those silver-eyed bastards deal with a few dozen rounds of minnie ball and four barrels spitting four-inch shot," he said.

"Yes, sir," Brewster said.

The sky crackled with flashes of muted light through the thick tree cover of their location.

Lost To Hope

They were alone under the stars, their escort of two militia men walking alongside the horses. The smell of the night woods was strong. Carolyn’s back ached, her legs and buttocks ached – just sitting in the driver’s seat of the wagon was difficult.

"We should have all left," she said.

"You can thank young Master Chase for that," Elizabeth said, not unkindly.

She turned around.

"Thomas?"

The MacGuire’s boys turned from where they were leaning against the right side of the wagon, looking out into the darkness. Thomas was gone.

The argument was short, but heated. Their escort were adamant that they had their orders – but Carolyn would have none of it. She was going to find Thomas, and that was that. She flicked the reins, getting the horse to speed up.

"Remember," Elizabeth said, "no further than the edge of the village. If we don’t find him before then –"

"I know," Carolyn cut in. "He can’t have gotten far."

Thick woods came right to the road along the northern side, and rolling meadows and fields disappeared off into the darkness to the south. She scanned the road ahead of them, pale in the starlight. Empty. The wagon banged over a rut in the road leftover from the spring run-off. They were soon back at the border of West Bradhill proper, three miles from the center of town, and no sign of Thomas. One of the militia men spoke up.

"They all came this way," he said. He pointed off the road. "All their tracks are here, and head off into the forest."

"And we haven’t seen him," Elizabeth said.

"He must have cut north earlier, through the woods," Carolyn said. If Jonathon were here, she’d slap him, and scold him, and scream at him. Scream at him for being so openly strong-willed, and for being so stubborn. For being everything that a younger brother would emulate. She slid to the edge of the wagon and climbed down, holding onto the side.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth said.

"I’m going to find him," she said.

"But you agreed that if we –" Elizabeth said.

"Yes, and I’m sticking with that. Please. Go. I’ll catch up with you once I’ve found him," Carolyn said.

"Don’t be ridiculous," Elizabeth said.

"I’m quite serious," Carolyn said.

"You can’t expect to simply march into the dark forest and find the boy by yourself."

Carolyn walked across to the side of the road, looking into where the path led. It appeared a black tunnel compared to the starlit road.

"We’ll see," Carolyn said. It was as if Jonathon’s had spoken.

"We can’t stay," Elizabeth said.

"I wouldn’t ask you to," Carolyn said.

"The children."

Carolyn nodded. A few minutes later, they had the wagon turned around yet again. Elizabeth flicked the reins and the wagon moved forward, east, away from the town.

"Be careful," she said.

Carolyn raised a hand in agreement and farewell, then turned and faced the entrance to the wooded path.

Thomas.

The darkness of the woods was shocking; just seeing the path was a struggle at first. She kept going. A rumble and flash of light passed through the trees. Loose old branches shook free, falling down around her. The sky turned a strange blue in a quick flash – the blue of a corpse’s lips. A medium-sized oak stood silhouetted ahead of her. She was at the edge of the forest, where it met the lake. The water lay just past a dozen yards of soft ground and ferns.

She gasped at what she saw.

Body after body stood in the water, slouching, all facing the center of the lake. In the center, a huge column of darkness rose up, full of movement and the source of the flashes of sickly light. The water was dancing all around, waves rising and falling. Whatever will she’d had before began to dissolve. She tore her eyes away from the huge shadow and searched the edges of the lake, all around. Maybe Thomas was watching as she was. In a sudden fit of horror, she turned back to the bodies – and searched for any that looked like a boy. They were old and young, tall and short. Some looked nearly normal, others were filthy with leaves and mud. A few looked sunken and rotted. They all stood so still.

Nearer to her, a man stood in the lake, his hair long, his hands raised in front of him. They shone as though he held a deep fire. He sang even though the bodies in the water came toward him. His voice grew loud enough for her to hear the words, though she couldn’t understand them. Her pulse raced as she saw the cold glint of silver eyes.

And then the shore of the lake exploded in a line fifty yards long. Flames spit out from the trees, followed by a gut-shaking boom. A buzz ripped the air into loud screaming whistles. The water around the bodies jumped up all around, spray shooting off to the left. One of the bodies nearest the man blew in half. Another lost its head, the hair and bone lump of it tumbling up into the air and then landing in the water with a splash. Then the man was punched sideways, landing in the water. She shook her head, confused as to what had happened. She looked over to the shore where the firing had come from – it had to be the militia, the Major. The man struggled. The rows of bodies had been thinned, as wheat before a scythe, but there were still dozens moving towards him.

And we need to help because Nashoonon can fix it – was that had Thomas said?

She watched the man try to stand, but slip down again in the water. She ran out across the muddy shore and splashed into the water. The air was freezing and wild, blowing around in all directions; the water was icy cold. A pair of gaunt women pushed through the water toward her, dresses filthy and eyes silver. The man held his leg, his face a grimace. The glow around his hands and arms was almost gone, a faint trick of the eye, an afterimage floating around his fingers. Dark blood ran down his thigh, flowing out of a rude hole of torn skin and torn breeches. He looked up at her in shock, his eyes squinted in pain.

"I’ll help," she said, scared by how much blood was leaving his body, "I’ll help you."

She reached down and tried to get some sort of a grip underneath his arms. They were strong. He tried to pull away.

"No, don’t," he said.

There was a splash in front of her.

"We have to get out of here –" she said.

He pulled away and she lost her grip on him.

"I have to stay," he said.

She could see that his arms were trembling.

"It’s too dangerous –"

"Help me stand," he said.

"But –"

"Help me stand," he said again.

Her feet were freezing cold and weeds brushed up against her calves and ankles under the water. The silver-eyed women were getting closer to them. A rank odor of decay hit Carolyn’s nose. She lost her footing and fell on top of him, then slid into the icy water. Her side and elbow slipped into the soft muck of the bottom. She looked past him, looked past the women coming towards them. More bodies rose up from the lake, dripping black streams of water.

Not far off, Thomas spun his head around to the right at the flash of bright yellow. He felt a concussion in his chest, and in his ears. It wasn’t thunder and it wasn’t the rumbles that had shook the ground. He broke into a run. The edge of the trees ended and the lake opened up before him. Blackness stretched into the sky, an angry wound pouring forth violence and death. Air colder than a winter midnight washed over him.

And the bodies.

They filled the lake near him: men and women, children, old people. Staring and hunched, backs arched, silver eyes gleaming out of dark circles, slouching toward the shore. Their clothes were tattered – some wore only nightclothes. Dirt and filth covered them. Some had pale skin, others mottled patches of decay. He knew most of them – his neighbors, friends of his father, children who went to the schoolhouse. But they were all gone now, lost to days and light and laughter. Lost to hope. Like his own family, their lives had been unexpectedly snuffed out, embers blown away into cold darkness.

The water was black and choppy, stretching out into the night. Thomas took a deep breath and walked to the shore.

The Secrets of the Living

"Hold fire!" Major Pomeroy yelled, waving his arms, "DO NOT FIRE!"

Jude ran up to him.

"Did you see that, Major? We punched a hole right through –"

"Don’t let them fire again! It’s Carolyn."

He pointed. Confusion broke out among the men. Jude raised his voice, trying to get them under control.

"Load and hold, men! Load and hold!"

"There," Pomeroy said, pointing to the main group of the bodies, "right into the center there. Keep their shots away from the left entirely. Do not hit either of those two people down at the edge – don’t even aim near them. Do you understand?"

He pushed his way through the branches, getting a better look. Jude followed.

"You’ll give them the order," Pomeroy said, "get them pointed towards the center of the lake, towards that towering thing. Give me half a minute and then have the men fire – cannons towards the middle, muskets towards the bodies."

"Where are you going to –"

"No time to waste," Pomeroy said.

Past him, scores of bodies rose up out of the water, farther out than the ones they’d just shot at. Their eyes shone, looking like a hundred tiny, silver candles as they reflected off of the turbulent water. Pomeroy started past Jude – and Jude caught him by the arm and turned him to the water. Pomeroy looked at all the bodies that had just appeared and then back at Jude.

"Right," he said, "shoot them, too."

Pomeroy patted him on the shoulder, then broke into a running hobble down through

the trees that bordered the lake, shoving his way through the branches. Bursts of color – bright and quick as lightning – shot out across the lake from the center. The rumbling of the ground had become constant.

A shot rang out behind him and Jude heard the ball clip through the leaves. He screamed at the men to hold their fire as he ran back up to the guns. Several of the men had their weapons raised, getting a bead on Pomeroy as he ran off.

"He’s getting away," one of them said.

Another shot rang out.

"Damn it," Jude said, "lower them muskets right now!"

"But –"

"But nothing. He’s one of us – don’t you see that?"

He ran over and reached out, pulling down the barrel of the last musket trained on the disappearing figure of the Major.

"But if he goes to tell them what we –"

"Tell them? The British?" Jude said. "Boys, look around. Ain’t no British but our Major over there, and he’s doing all he can to save some good people."

He pointed at the lake.

"Now go on and a take a good look at what our problem is here," he said, "because we don’t have much time to stand around jawing about it. Go on."

Some of the men moved up into the trees. Some of the men just looked at him – they’d realized already that they weren’t facing companies of the King’s troops. Morrill watched the shore to where Pomeroy had run off.