Saving Yesterday (TimeShifters Book 1) (18 page)

“Sure thing, Sterling.”

When the others leave, I pound on the man’s—Sterling’s—back, and try to land solid kicks to his stomach. With a growl, he secures my legs and gives me a shake. “Don’t mess with me, girl. Promotion or not, I’ve a mind to shoot you right here if you don’t quit.”

He’s right. Now’s not the time to make an escape. Because if he set me down—then what? I’m tied, and he has a horse. Not really a fair match for a getaway.

Grunting, he tosses me over the front of his saddle. The horn jabs my spleen. Sterling mounts, and his knees dig against me. I hear a group of men joining us. It’s more than the two who were here a moment ago.

Sterling circles his horse while the others unhitch theirs. My head’s no more than three or four feet from the ground. I bob with every move the animal makes. Each muscle twitch could pitch me face-first to a death by trampling. Stiffening only makes me totter more. I swallow hard. Relax. Just relax. Easier said than done.

“I thought I made it clear, we’re not bringing anyone else with us.” Sterling does not sound pleased. In fact, he snarls whenever he talks. As hard as I try, I can’t lift my head enough to see the others.

Different voices filter my way.

“The boy checks out. He wants to join the army, but they told him he was too young.”

“He doesn’t look too young.”

I hear Michael’s soft laugh. “People always tell me that. I’d like to join, if you’d allow me.”

No, no, no. Michael is not supposed to be here risking his neck for me. His words from last night pierce through me with the power of a breaking dam.
“Do you really think I could do that? Just let you die right in front of me when I could do something to prevent it? Come on, Gabby.”

I should never have come. When I see Eugene, I’m going to call him every foul name I can think of. How quickly I broke my promise to help Michael. I’ll never gain his trust again now. The backs of my eyes sting with gathering tears.

Sterling rests his hand on my back. “You can join as long as you don’t slow us down. Understood?”

Without another word from the men, the horse I’m on takes off. As we bump along, I shut my eyes, and try to keep this morning’s sausage and apples from making a reappearance.

If some great and powerful Oz really does control when we shift, now would be an excellent time. Besides, Pinkerton’s safe, so at least Michael should have shifted. Unless this is punishment for bending the rules.

We ride for what feels like a few hours. Summer sun scorches my neck and arms. Horse sweat lathers along the straps of the saddle, which are near my head. I find some relief as we enter a wooded area, and the horses slow to a walk. As we weave between trees and tramp over shallow rivers, I lose track of time. Before long, we stop.

Sterling dismounts and lifts me, only to drop me onto the ground. I land hip first. Pain shoots into my spine, and I have to bite the nasty cloth to keep from crying.

Another man carries over a large rope and fastens me to a tree. The thick hemp cuts into my wrists. I slump there and watch them set up camp for the night. Most of all, I follow Michael’s movements. He gathers dry branches and sets up tents—jokes around with the other men as if I’m not even here. Which is probably his plan. Showing interest in the captive girl will toss unwanted attention his way. Still, a quick wink or a chin-up couldn’t hurt.

A short guy plops down a few feet from me. “We’re going to be fried as a floured chicken by the time we reach the fort.”

Sterling spits a long stream of tobacco. It explodes against the hard-packed dirt, flinging some onto my pants. “We’ll ride by night from here on out. Sleep and hunt by day. That way, we avoid crossing paths with other troops—both kinds of troops.”

“And avoid getting yelled at for taking so long on our errand.” A man near the horses yawns long and loud.

“Don’t tell me you wanted to get back straight away to the fighting?” Sterling smirks.

Since being captured, I’ve avoided looking at them, but I do now. Even if they end up hurting me, I want to see the men as individuals like Michael said I should. Where once they might have been handsome, their cheeks have sunken in from lack of food. They all sport matching bags under their eyes. No wonder they’ve taken their time heading back to their post.

The soldiers are worn down—bitter from war. Who can blame them? In my time when people are separated from their loved ones for long durations of time there are ways to stay in constant touch. Email, texts, and video chats keep spirits high. But in this time? They probably can’t even get a note delivered since they travel from battle to battle.  

Evening swathes the sky in a thick, purple cloth. While some leave to hunt, a few soldiers start a fire. The flames are high enough to make a cub scout squeal. Fingers of smoke tickle the canopy’s underbelly. Heat bathes the area. I press my tongue against the inside of my cheeks—my mouth is dry, and my lips cracking. Even my eyes burn, as if all their moisture has disappeared. No one offers me water. If they did, I’d gulp it right through the handkerchief. I shut my eyes, but my head still throbs.

Shuffling as best as I can, I try to work my way to the other side of the tree they tied me to, but the rope snags halfway. I’m stuck at an angle, but if I look to my left, I can pretend they’re not there. My eyes rove over the underbrush, trying to remember what Indiana Jones does in moments like this. The snap of a twig nearby announces men returning, and the end of my escape plans.

They’ve bagged a few squirrels and four fish. I watch dinner roast over the fire, knowing they aren’t planning on sharing any with me. I’m right. The men pick the carcasses clean, piling the bones nice and nearby. A barrel is pushed to the end of a supply cart and tapped. The men line up. Each waits to fill their tin mugs with the brew.

Sterling toes off his boots, stretching out near the fire. “With a spy in our midst, let’s keep our wits about us tonight. Only one drink a piece then water or tea.”

A couple of the men grumble.

Michael downs his glass. “No worries, men. I’m famed in my town for making the best tea in a twenty mile radius.”

“Only ladies make tea.” The shortest of the soldiers mutters, but as he talks he pulls a bashed up kettle from a pack on the supply cart.

Michael rubs his hands together. “Just wait, you’ll see.”

“That sounds intriguing.”

Nodding, Michael turns his back to the group of men and sets to work going through the sacks on the cart. I hope he thinks to bring me a drink. He starts to make rounds, filling mugs with his concoction from the kettle and skips me. Great. Don’t mind me, I’ll just sit here and die of dehydration. No big deal.

Sterling takes a swig and starts to cough. “That’s the bitterest tea I’ve ever tasted. What’d you put in there, son?”

Michael grins. “It’s my ma’s secret recipe—I promise it gets better after the second cup.”

Which seems to be true because they all ask for seconds … and thirds.

Some of them play a game with marbles. I press my elbows into my middle when my stomach grumbles. But for the most part, everyone’s forgotten I’m here. By now a group of the men have already dozed off.

Michael jiggles the kettle. “There’s still more.” Men wave their cups in lazy arches in the air. He works his way around the group, providing more refills.

Someone to my left yawns. “Know any songs, boy?”

Michael clears his throat. “There is a land where cotton grows, a land where milk and honey flows. I’m going home to Dixie. Yes, I am going home.” Who knew he could sing so well? His baritone lulls a few more men to sleep. Others join him for all seven verses, but their words slur a bit.

By the fourth song, Michael sings alone again. “For Southerners never yield. And when we think of those who are away, we’ll look above for joy that Bobby is a Southern soldier boy.”

He falls silent then. My eyes meet his in the dying light of the fire. He raises one hand, palm toward me, asking me to wait. A symphony of crickets back up a chorus of piping toads. It would be pretty, except half the men are snoring too.

After what feels like an hour but is probably five minutes, Michael reaches for his backpack. He picks his way over the men toward me. I don’t dare move or say a word. From his bag he pulls a knife and flicks it open. Squatting over me, he presses a finger to his lips, and then starts to saw the binding from my hands. Next he releases my feet, and finally he cuts the rope securing me to the tree trunk.

Hand under my elbow, he helps me rise. My knees start to cave, but he steadies me. “Careful, don’t make any noise,” he whispers.

I latch onto his arm. The muscles in my legs are cramping from not moving all day.

His eyebrows lower and he leans closer. “Can you walk? Do I need to carry you?”

I shake my head. Pulling strength from deep inside, I take a few steps. He points out a path that has the least amount of branches and crunching leaves on the ground.

Michael’s mouth is close to my ear. His breath warms my cheek. “We have to go slow for the first bit here, but when I say to, we’ll run.”

I glance back over my shoulder. “We won’t be able to put enough space between us and them before they realize we’re gone. Someone’s bound to wake up.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“But if they—”

“Gabby, relax. I drugged them.”

I stop walking and meet his eyes. “They aren’t dead … are they?”

“No, just sleeping.” He winks. “Heavily.”

“What kind of crazy herbs did you put in their drinks?”

He chuckles softly. “They were transporting medical supplies. I helped myself to some of their Laudanum.”

Laudanum? Somehow, the word unlocks a part of my brain that actually must have listened in class. Civil War. High injury rate. Soldiers with opium addictions.

Of course, the pain meds of the day are potent. 

“Thank you.”

He places his hand on the small of my back and guides me deeper into the forest. “Don’t thank me until we’ve put some distance between us and them.”

But we are free. Even if those men wake and see I’m not there, their minds will be far too clouded to track our movements, let alone catch us. Still, I don’t argue with Michael. Having him beside me again is enough to calm the tightness wedged inside my ribcage. Every muscle screams, and my legs tremble, but none of this matters. We’re safe. Michael’s safe! I trip, and when he rights me, I throw my arms around him, hugging tight.

I expect him to push me away. Tell me we need to press on further. Instead, his hands rest on my back, and we stand there leaning against one another.

His jaw presses against my temple. “I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Since I don’t have to make eye contact, words I don’t want to voice find their way to my lips. “I was so scared.”

Keeping his arms around me, he sets me back from him so our eyes lock. “I promised I’d never leave you behind.”

A strange surge of warmth floods my body. In his rich, chocolate eyes I see everything I’ve ever wished for—home, safety—someone who cares. My first thought is to lean in and kiss him, but I shake that away. Besides, he wouldn’t welcome something like that, even if I wanted to. I lick my lips and break eye contact.

He squeezes my shoulder and we start to walk again. Feeling more awake now, I take the lead on the narrow path.

“What I can’t figure out is how you got into that mess, anyway? I mean, what would they gain by taking you captive? It doesn’t make sense.” Michael’s making far too much noise as he walks behind me. The boy needs to learn to lift his feet.

“Oh, you’ll love this.” I launch into the story about overhearing the soldiers and saving Pinkerton.

Before I can finish, Michael hooks my arm and wrenches me backwards. He uses so much force it whirls me in his direction. In the silver light of the moon that slices through the forest’s ceiling, his brows are drawn low, and his eyes blaze.

“Don’t ever do that again!” He shakes me. “Do you hear me? Don’t ever put yourself in danger like that without letting someone else know. You’re not allowed.”

I’m tired and hungry, and emotion wins the battle of my strung-out nerves. Slamming my palms into his chest, I shove Michael hard. “How dare you! Not allowed? Oh, I’m sorry. No one told me that you were the only one allowed to have a hero complex around here.”

“Forget you.” He steps around me, crashing his shoulder into mine as he stalks off.

Staggering without the use of him as a crutch, I trail him. Today’s been too long. My stress level is off the charts. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so riled up. But I know we’re far enough away from the soldiers to yell, so I do. “You don’t just get to walk away from me whenever you’re upset!”

Fists clenched and arms pumping, he keeps walking. “I can do whatever I want.”

“Why? Oh, right. I forgot. You’re Michael the great and wonderful. Everyone adores you. Funny, everyone in Keleusma thinks you’re so capable as a Shifter, but when I ask them, no one knows anything about
who you are
. Or is that your angle? Be all mysterious?” He doesn’t answer so I continue to bait him. “Michael—the man who works alone and saves the world. Don’t pretend you can’t hear me.” I’m only a foot behind him now. “I
know
there’s something special about you. Lark told me.”  

He stops abruptly, and I crash into his back. But he doesn’t turn around. “I’m not special.” He pushes the words out through gritted teeth.

I hate the set of his shoulders. And I’m the cause of them. What’s wrong with me? Why did I provoke him after he just risked his life for me? I’m such a jerk sometimes.

Biting my lip, I lay my hand on his shoulder. “But you are. Lark told me you’re the youngest person to ever shift. That’s a big deal.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know why I shifted early.” As he turns to face me, I keep my hand on him.

The contact grounds me again. “Right—just that you were pulled when you were eleven.”

He rests his forehead in his hand. “None of them know. If they knew, they’d look at me differently. Might force me out.”

I run my fingers down his arm and take his free hand in mine. “Why?” I squeeze his hand. “Tell me.”