The Time Rippers Book 2: Gettysburg by Pete Bertino - HTML preview

CHAPTER 2 ENEMIES

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Date: December 24th 1862 Universe: 1

Colonel Nathaniel Francis Bueller stood in the sprawling parlor of his mansion, that was decorated gaily with silver bunting for the

Christmas season, amongst his many guests and

fellow officers of the Confederate Army. He stood resplendent in his gray uniform, proud of his rank and the status of his social class. He held one of the largest plantations in all of Georgia and held more slaves than any other in the state.

At the corner of the parlor was a ten foot pine decorated with silver tinsel and his late mothers crystal stars that his father purchased for her during they’re first Christmas as man and wife. The

plantation had been beneficial to his family since his grandfather built it just after the revolution. It had been the Colonels plantation since his father gave it to him as a

graduation gift after he completed his education at West Point.

Things had changed drastically since then, the

times had changed. In his fathers day, the

government didn’t give a shit about niggers anymore than they did the redskins. Now the country was split and grabbing at each others neck.

Not that it was a surprise to anyone south of

Washington City that it came to this.

Senator Calhoun had tried once without success, and not a very good try in the Colonels opinion.

The times had changed though since 1832, and this time the South was ready. They had secured

numerous victories, but had yet to secure one in the North.

The Colonel was hopeful that next Spring would

end with the South marching into Washington. He kept an eye out for Colonel Price, a Tennessee

native that was keeping him informed of the current campaign being planned. At the moment it seemed everyone but Price had arrived as The Colonel

mingled with his guests, ever since his wife died he had to be host for any dinner parties or

celebrations at his residence.

The four house slaves walked briskly to and fro serving drinks and hor doeurves to the many

guests, dressed in red velvet jackets and pants with matching white shirt and tights. A half dozen more were in the kitchen putting the final touches on a capon for the main course with every side dish and trimming one could imagine despite war rations

being at there tightest. Of course The Colonel

could get around them, he having the governors

ear, who was at attendance this evening, wouldn’t dare to refuse him leeway.

On the wall behind him was a painting of The

Colonel himself he had commissioned after the

war had begun, the painting showed him in full dress uniform, his hair long and curly, but slowly revealing a scalp in a horseshoe pattern, was black as midnight except at the temples were there was the slightest hint of grey, his Van Dyke he kept a good length

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showed more grey. The painter, an annoying lyme prick insisted it show the right side of his face, but The Colonel wouldn’t hear of it.

“You see this?” The Colonel said grabbing the

Englishmens hand and making him feel the deep

groove of his scar which caused the painter to

shake with fear at the man who was over six feet tall and whose fingers were like iron bands.

“Sir, it would be more proper...”

“You show my left side or I’ll whip you like a

nigger,” he said evenly.

He would have been handsome if it had not been

for the scar on the left side of his face. A present from the enemy during the Mexican War. It had

been during the Battle of Buena Vista when a runty little Mexican younger than his own son was now, took a shot at him with a musket that was more a

relic than a weapon.

A pellet from the musket had caught just past his lip and traveled along the left side of his face up to his earlobe. The grove was deep and bloody, the burning pain of the shot filled him with such rage that The Colonel, then a captain for the US army, charged the soldier that wore a ridiculously large hat and hacked him to death with his saber.

The scar left any resemblance of the handsome man he had once been far behind. His smile looked like a scowl of a madman that made many feel unsettled even at the best of times. But such vanity as looks was of no concern of his any longer, not since the war between States had begun. Now, his vanity

was power. He could finally take advantage of his influence and attain power far greater than a

governorship could offer.

When Georgia seceded, he took up the 10th

Georgia infantry and given the rank of Colonel for the CS Army. Eventually he would be governor of the state once the war was won, he would garner financial help to his fellow countrymen in anyway possible and favors for those who could stand in his way after independence was achieved.

Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer was something he had come up with during his

youth at West Point spending long hours reading countless books on warfare including the classics

'The Art Of War’ and 'The Prince.’ He wanted to cover all his bases if some fool tried to call him on his patriotism when the time came for him to run for the presidency. That was in the not to distant future though, five years at the very most if victory was secured this year. In the near future he would be leading one thousand of Georgia’s bravest boys into battle once spring came around again.

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The war was dragging on far longer than it should have in his opinion, even with General Lee at the helm. To Colonel Bueller, the war should have

been won already. If the war department in

Richmond had half the brains he had, they would have that nigger lover in the White House begging for peace. No such luck though, not with most of the war being fought in the Confederacy’s neck of the woods.

“We must strike at the heart of them Yankee

bastards!” he thundered when Order 191 was

being penned.

An order he had helped pen with Lees own

Adjutants, Special Order 191, was a plan to divide the army then regroup in Maryland and surround

Washington city itself in hopes of forcing a peace.

But some damned fool lost it and had been found

by the enemy and what should have been a resounding victory for the Confederacy became a miserable defeat at the hands of the damn Yankees.

“Father...er Colonel.” Corporal Francis Bueller said with a crisp salute.

“At ease, son,” The Colonel said saluting back.

“whats on your mind?’

“Is it true General Lee’s comin?”

His boy, was anxious to meet General Lee, though The Colonel had met him a few times already and that was enough for him. The person he was hoping to see tonight was Colonel Martin Price, who was an old friend from West Point that he had stayed in touch with over the years through letters.

The Colonel gave his scowling smile before

answering, rubbing the Confederate half dollar he kept in his trouser pocket, a good luck charm that had saved his life during battle last year. He was

thrown off his horse after a muzzle loader had

peppered his steed. He stood up with a bloody

forehead his ears filled with the sound of white noise looking around in a daze.

He looked down and saw the shine of silver reflect sun light into his eyes, when he bent down to pick it up a damn Yankee, probably the one that shot his horse, had taken a swing at him with the blunt end of his Springfield. The rifle missed him

completely, Bueller felt the wind of it ruffle his hair. The blue back fell to the ground from the force of his swing, Bueller removed his sidearm Colt and shot the Yankee in the head before he

could get back up.

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“I’ve heard as much. Though I understand his wife has taken a bad cold, and may not show. Such a

sickly woman.” he said with a tsk tsk sound that held little sympathy.

The Colonel’s wife had long since passed of

Scarlet Fever, though he did love her, she was too overbearing on his one and only son. He met her during his early days at West Point and married her when he finished there and inherited the plantation, and bared him his son, she died a few years ago while Francis was still studying at West Point. It was just as well, in his opinion, she could never look him straight in the eye once he acquired his scar.

It may have been the fever that caused her

squeamishness around him, she was so far gone by

then, she would swear the devil himself was in the room when she was by her lonesome as the fever

cooked her brains. Francis had taken it hard, but he was as resilient as The Colonel and would go on to graduate from West Point at the top of his class.

Even if The Colonel failed at the presidency, his son still had many years ahead to attain such a title if it was out of The Colonel’s reach.

“Good evening, Colonel Bueller.” said a grey

haired officer with black cavalry boots that shone like mirrors holding a glass of whiskey.

“Colonel Price, pleasure to see you again,I was afraid you wouldn’t make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss your Christmas get together for anything.” he said raising his drink to Bueller.

“You remember my boy, Francis don’t you

Colonel?”

Francis gave him a crisp salute.

“Francis, last I saw you, you were still a cadet.

You growin too fast boy.” he said saluting back.

“Son, why don’t you go mingle with the neighbors, Colonel Price and I have something to discuss.”

“Yes, sir.” he said with a smile and saluted before going.

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He headed over to their neighbors, the Wilkins, whose daughter Molly was a stunningly gorgeous

brunette with skin the color of fresh cream who was smitten with Francis. They owned a sizable

plantation themselves, and a marriage between

their offspring would give Francis more pull

financially when his marching days were behind

him.

“I have an early Christmas gift for you, Nate.”

Bueller took Price by the arm and led him to the kitchen, away from anyone listening. The kitchen was empty except for the slaves and the gold

brown bird that was the main course, it was in a large pan sitting in by bourbon gravy and smelled intoxicating.

“Whats the word from, Lee?” Bueller asked after telling his house slaves to disappear.

“We’re going north. May, June at the very latest .”

Price said above a whisper.

“God damn, its about time we take it home to those damnyanks. Maryland again?”

“No, the general wants to flank them in

Pennsylvania.We head back to Virginia in April.”

Bueller grunted, scratching at his scar which was dry and itchy during the cold months. It would be a good idea,he thought, instead of taking Washington city they could march to Philadelphia. The first major occupation of a Northern city could be the straw to break the Unions back. That would be

unexpected move, he had to hand it to General Lee, he could see this was a war of strategy and not of dominance.

“Philadelphia then. Might force that black

republican to see it our way. Who gets to go?”

Bueller asked anxiously.

Price knew why he was so anxious, he had been

screaming to invade North since the early days of the war. The few things Price knew for sure was that the 10th Georgia would be there along with

another fifty or sixty thousand.

“Lee said you’d be there, Nate. I heard those

words myself.”

“God damn, that sounds good,” he said giving

Price a companionable slap on the back. “Its about time, ever since the failure of 191, we’ve been letting those carpet baggers destroy

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our country, but we’ll pay them all back. Mark my words next Christmas we’ll drink to victory and smash our glasses upon the Liberty Bell.”

“I thought that would make your Christmas more

enjoyable. We’ll lick them Yankees yet.”

“I haven’t felt this good since that day I met

Lincoln. I ever tell you about it, Marty?”

Of course he had, he had told many about his

famous encounter with then presidential candidate Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln had been giving a speech in Maryland, while Bueller had been on a business trip to a plantation owned by one of his distant relatives. Bueller was taking a stage coach to the train station for the one o’clock train back south when he saw the lanky carpet bagger on stage yammering away with his reedy high pitch voice.

“Pull over here, sir.” The Colonel said distantly as he saw the lanky man with the stove top hat.

The sight of the Lincoln sent a fire in the pit of his stomach, he missed his train just so he could speak to him. When Lincoln finished his speech he began to greet and shake the hands of the listeners that had stayed behind, it was easy to get close to him.

Most who saw The Colonels smile backed away

fearing that face would fall upon them.

Lincoln outstretched his hand to shake his, and he felt more enraged that Lincoln didn’t reel back from his face like so many were prone to do.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Lincoln said with amiable smile.

“You listen to me you dirty nigger lover,” he said pointing a finger at the man with the stove top hat.

Gasps greeted this followed by a cold silence as Lincoln lowered his hand.

“you interfere with our way of life, I promise you we will unleash the dogs of war on you black

republicans in the name of The South.”

He spat at Lincoln’s feet and saw a stony glare come across the lanky man’s face, with a nod The Colonel wished him a good day and walked to the train station to find out when the next train was due.

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“I tell you Marty, that look he gave me was

priceless. I’ll never forget it. I hope to see his face again when he has to recognize our position

officially.”

Price chuckled at the pleasure The Colonel got

from the story he must have told a thousand of

times by now, since Bueller seemed more inclined to bite off heads than share a laugh recently it seemed like a good idea. Price wanted to make the most of his good standing in the hopes that when Bueller took the oath of office, he would remember him when positions needed filled.

“Its been tough for our side, Marty. Always short on supplies or men when we need them most, but

damn if we haven’t been givin the damnyanks what for anyway. They ain’t seen nothing yet . I have been yelling to the high heavens for this kind of campaign since this war started, now they listen.

And come the day of Confederate independence,

the whole world will listen.”

“Damn straight, Colonel,” Price said following Bueller back out to the parlor. “lets hope it wont be too much for our men though. The Yankees are tougher then we expected.”

“Our boys will take it to them, we just need to be a thorn in the Yankee’s side like ol’ General

Washington was in King Georges’. In the mean

time we just wait for the weather to warm up and the damn Yankees to get sloppy again.”

“I’ll drink to that!”

Date: May 22nd 1863 Universe: 1

Dig stood on the edge of the road, eying the forest to his left which came to an abrupt end as the

Schuylkill river cut its way through back to

Philadelphia. He couldn’t believe he was standing were Dark Hollow road and the covered bridge

would one day be. There was no bridge to cross, the river was deeper and wilder, Dig wondered if it was too deep to turn red during a rainstorm.

AM sat upon his horse at a slant looking

uncomfortable. He and Dig looked back toward the direction of Porter but it was obscured by trees,

large unfamiliar pine trees that looked mammoth compared to the Maples, Birches, and Oaks that

made up the forest in 2011.

“Jesus Christ,” said Dig in disbelief. “there’s nothing but pine trees.”

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“Yes,” AM said with a nod. “After the Civil War, a logging boom will hit Pennsylvania. In the next few decades these pine will be cut down.”

“It’s like a whole other place. I wonder how

Porter looks.”

“Just a few houses and a farm north of here, I doubt we will see it. This place is still controlled by the wildlife and hidden by the forest.”

Dig thought back to the rip to 1830, inside

Philadelphia where mountain lions still reigned supreme. The loud scream recurred to him, causing his heart to pound and a chill to race up his spine.

“If your cold, get back on the horse and lets move, we can make Conshohocken by morning.” AM

called from the horse he awkwardly sat upon.

Dig laughed at AM’s keen observance of him, he would have made a great trial lawyer that’s for sure he thought. Because the Dark Hollow road

bridge did not yet exist they had to detour south to shallow waters and cross. After crossing they

followed the Schuylkill river most of the way there along its bank, having to reroute again later due to inaccessibility after three days of a late spring storm causing the river to swell making them travel farther and farther from the signal, Dig noticed the river had turned red.

When the sun shone on there fourth day out they made up the lost time by riding most of the night through to a full moon. By the next afternoon they had reached the port city of Conshohocken, they saw a woman close to forty years old in a blue

dress and a faded rag tied around her chestnut hair to keep out of her eyes,carrying a bucket filled with what looked to be apples.

“Ma’am” Dig said tipping his hat to the woman who returned his politeness with a small smile.

“Be careful who you speak too, John Wayne. I told you about the raiders from the South, she could have asked questions.”

“Oh, come on. I’m just a handsome yank, I don’t think she’s gonna call the feds cause I said hello.

You gotta admit I do look bad ass in this hat

though.”

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“Kapow, mofo’s!” Dig said mimicking a gun with

his hand and aiming it at the trees beyond them.

AM tried to sigh heavily but chuckled instead and continued to lead the journey into the forest. So far the woman was they only person they had seen

since leaving Philadelphia on horseback.

They broke off the river and stayed on the western half of the town and ventured into more forest

following a large stream remaining unseen by

anyone else. By nightfall they were in the deep woods getting closer to the signal the Qpad

emitted.The only real delays they suffered were AM’s constant need to stop from the discomfort of a crooked saddle.

“Careful you don’t fall off again. I don’t think they’ve invented the wheelchair yet.”

“They have and I won’t.” he said trying to sit

straight.

As they rode, AM kept sliding to his right on the saddle and was having difficulty sitting. After so many hours, AM began to feel like he was splitting in two at the ass cheeks. Dig on the other hand had had great success learning from Red. He was riding some of the hot blooded stallions at his ranch before AM returned five days later.

“He’s got the makins of a cowboy yet.” Red said to AM. He was an old cowboy with a dusty Stetson

hat and a thick gray handlebar mustache and

shoulder length hair. On his hip sat a well oiled revolver.

Red Ramblin, from Wisconsin originally joined

the Army’s Cavalry where received a number of

purple hearts in Vietnam. He taught at the summer camp AM attended as a boy, when Dig began to

rip, AM sought out Red for riding lessons. He had been a good and patient teacher that helped Quake learn to ride which was a near impossible feat

since he had a deep fear of being more than a few feet off the ground.

“Dig’s hot blooded, too.” Red said with a smile that was either filled with humor or worry.

He had even tried to chase a runaway calf and had nearly caught it when jumping off his horse and attempting to hogtie it, but the calf had a hell of a kick that Dig hadn’t expected to be so forceful and

lost his grip on the animal. He had no idea how to tie a lasso and was prevented from learning due to AM’s arrival. To Dig a horse reminded him of a

motorcycle that was a living and feeling creature.

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“I think your saddle is crooked, why don’t you let me fix it.” Dig said stroking his animals neck

before getting back on saddle.

“Ill be fine, it can wait until we make camp

tonight.”

AM was wrapped in a drab blue colored blanket,

it was late May but the day still had a chill to it.

Atop his head sat the same hat he wore when he

took Dig on his first rip.

“You know maybe you shouldn’t wear animal fur

around them, that’s why they don’t like you.” Dig said pointing to AM’s head.

“That’s ridiculous.” he said as he flicked the reins on his horse for it to move, it did eventually.

“Come on, would you want to give some one a ride if they wore a human head for a hat?” Dig said

with a smirk.

“It’s not a horse on my head.”

“They’re all animals, they’re all related. You wear that on your head, they probably think of you the way we think of Jeffrey Dahmer.” Dig said riding side by side with AM, but constantly getting ahead

of AM.

“This god damn horse is too slow.” AM said

irritably.

“AM, you won’t go faster if you don’t fix the

saddle, it’s probably uncomfortable for the horse too.”

After twenty minutes Dig had readjusted and retied AM’s saddle and tried to give him a quick run

through of what he was doing. The road they

traveled on was slowly narrowing into a path,

plagued with varying sizes of trees. After so many nights in the pine forest that no longer existed, it was beginning to lose it’s novelty to Dig. But the dirt of the woods was a lot softer than the floor of the Quartermaster Military Depot.

The last good nights sleep he had was...oh but that

hurt so bad to think of her.

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“You OK?” AM said looking at Dig closely.

“Yeah,” Dig said slowly.

He took a deep breath and put back on his brown Stetson, a hat Red had given him for being a good student.

“Saddles good, lets get going.” Dig said getting on his horse.

AM got back on his and sat straight for once, he sighed with relief when they began moving and he didn’t slide to the right again.

“You sure your OK? You look white.”

“I am white,” he said quickly “you ever wonder

what you’ll do once were done. If we live through this and save the day. What are you gonna do.”

AM thought for a moment before answering.

“I’ll probably go back to school. Not law, maybe history instead. It might make my parents feel a little better about my future. I think that would make my mom feel better anyhow. My dad is more

reluctant to say anything about it because I think he’s disappointed, he wanted me to practice law like him. Family tradition you might say, though he never looked happy doing it.”

“I have no idea what I’ll be doin.” he said with a distant look as he rode a few feet ahead of AM.

AM felt bad for his friend, he looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Which they both in a way did, still it looked to him that Dig was hardest on himself about Marisa, and

what lay ahead for him. AM felt troubled about his future, but knew he would be financially secure no matter what, but Dig would be starting his life all over again with very little.

They rode on in silence, AM would put his finger to his ear were he wore a tiny wireless hearing aid that was emitting beeps from the Qpad. It was a special design by Quake made

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to only pick out sounds emitted from the Qpad. So far they only heard one beep that slowly increased in speed as they traveled farther and farther west.

“We should find it tomorrow.” AM said as they made camp that night under the branches of a pine that looked tall enough to touch the sky.

“Hope it’s not suck at the bottom of a lake or

pond.” said Dig sounding a little more upbeat than he had earlier.

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

The moon was small and high in the sky,

surrounded by stars as Dig threw more wood on

the fire. The forest sounded quiet and still until the sound of an animal shrieking filled the darkness around them. Dig stood up slowly looking around, AM’s eyes were looking everywhere at once, their horses began to stomp and whine franticly.

“I’m glad we got a gun.” Dig said patting the

horses and holding their reins steady.

AM purchased a Colt Peacemaker before ripping,

shells and all, for Dig to use when they needed to hunt for food and protection from...but AM

didn’t

want to dwell on that. The horses he purchased

from a farmer close to the city’s downtown area

were Ben Franklin’s house still stood. The farmer had claimed to AM that his father had been

personal friends with Dr. Franklin. AM seemed

interested, but Dig wondered if AM wasn’t

feigning interest to haggle a fair price from the man.

“You think his dad really knew Ben Franklin?” Dig asked after they bought the horses.

“He may have, his farm does lay along Ben

Franklin’s land. Its all a brick courtyard now

though, even Franklin’s house is gone in 2011.”

They purchased bacon and hardtack from the same farmer enough for a week at least before Dig

would have to start finding with the .45 or the fishing pole he made with a tree branch and a few feet of fishing line he brought with him from the

present.

They had taken strips of deer jerky from home as well but no granola bars. AM’s stomach grumbled loudly for the jerky, almost as loudly as it had for the chicken dinner he enjoyed with the children and the sisters.

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He hoped that Sister Eva and the children were

OK, he still felt sad about having to leave them.

Though he was content in the knowledge that the last of the pirates had been driven out of the area by the time he and Dig left. It hurt less for him to think of them than to think of Angie.

They ate in silence for awhile, the horses stood close to the fire cropping the grass below them finally at ease thanks to Dig. Crickets chirped softy into the night while an owl began to hoot. Dig

chewed on a piece of meat that was burned on the outside and raw on the inside but hardly noticed

the taste.

AM sat Buddha style tapping away on the screen of his Qpad. They lit a small fire not just for cooking but to see as well, the light of the Qpads alone was too eerie and would draw more attention than a

camp fire.

Dig used the fire to try and cook what AM had

alleged to be bacon. After thoroughly chewing it and swallowing it, he took out a lump of white and yellow from his back pack. He eyed the baseball sized food closely.

“What the hell is this called again?” Dig asked while trying to tear the bread in half.

“Hardtack. It’s a biscuit. The army issues it to soldiers for rations.”

Dig took a bite and a began to chew it with visible effort more effort than the bacon required.

“It’s like chewing leather.” he said after a deep hard swallow.

“Standard issue rations for both sides, they taste better when they’re fresh.”

Dig gave up trying to eat anymore of it and tossed the biscuit back into his pack. He looked in the direction of Conshohocken but saw no lights.

“Do you think we’ll see any soldiers?” Dig asked.

When they first arrived in Philadelphia, there had been dozens of blue uniformed soldiers in the city.

They looked as fierce and as brave as there early 21st century counterparts. It felt

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strange to Dig that just a few miles south of

Pennsylvania was a foreign country filled with

Americans.

“I doubt it, I was afraid they would be everywhere but that only seems to be the case in the city.

Conshohocken is small port city but like our little suburb of Porter they go through the whole war

without any boys in blue ever stepping foot near here.”

“How about rebels? They ever get near here?”

AM sneered and spoke through clenched teeth.

“An abomination.”

“This really bothers you?”

AM placed the Qpad down and looked south

towards the Confederate states with reproach.

“A nation founded to continue the ownership of

one man over another is vile . The Confederacy is an abomination to freedom and the self evident

truth that all are created equal. The fact that it happened once means there is always a chance of it happening again. History repeats itself.”

He spat a loogie after speaking the word Confederacy into the fire that reflected in his eyes.

Dig looked at AM with an eyebrow raised.

“Do we have a cold?” Dig asked in jest.

“The word leaves a shitty taste in my mouth.” he said sounding as forthright as the night he kicked that hoodlum.

“I read once that President Lincoln never said the word Confederacy during the entire war, I see your not much different from him.”

AM nodded sharply and sent a glare southward

into the night. Dig looked south and sent up his middle finger, they looked at each other and

laughed.

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“Fuck them rebels! Right Sugarfoot?” Dig said to his horse which neighed softly to the sound of Digs voice.

“You named the horse?” AM asked.

“Yeah. Didn’t you?” Dig said sounding mildly surprised.

AM shrugged and began tapping away on the

screen again. The idea of naming his horse never occurred to him, the only pet he ever had was a cat that he rarely saw when he was at home between

rips. Still the idea made sense to him since horses were a domesticated animal.

They awoke the next morning after sun up, and

continued their trek along the stream.After an hour they halted a few yards away from the stream. AM

got off his horse and walked slowly towards it

before looking down at his feet.

“It’s here, underneath me.” AM said getting down on one knee and feeling the ground.

Dig got off his horse and tied it to a tree, after leading AM’s horse to another tree to tie it too he joined his friend.

“How’s it lookin?” Dig asked standing over him.

“The ground’s pretty soft. I think we could dig it out in a few weeks depending on how deep it is.”

“Is there anyway to figure out how deep underground it is?”

“ No, but it can’t be more then twenty feet deep, the signal is strong.I just hope no one decides to go hunting here or we may have to wait. I don’t see anything that would suggest some ones camped

here for quite a while. You’ve made camp in the woods, what do you think?”

Dig walked around for a few hundred feet but saw nothing that suggested anybody had made camp

here in a long time if at all. Although the area was pleasant, the stream was possibly a hazard if the rain was constant it would probably flood and

wash out anyone or anything nearby.

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“I think if we stay here we might be OK.” Dig said upon his return.

AM had already begun pacing the small area were they would have to dig. After a few minutes of

arithmetic and guesstimations on how deep the

cube might be entombed AM predicted a stay of no more than a month, two at the very outside chance it was more than twenty feet below.

“Two months?” Dig asked.

“Yes, with no serious set backs we could get it out of here before July. And only one of us can dig at a time in case the walls cave in one can get the other out.”

“You think that’ll happen?”

“This close to water the ground is soft and we

have no wood to shore up the sides, we’ll need to make the hole at least five feet in diameter to have enough space to dig up dirt and get it out. ”

The shovel they used was from 2011, that folded in on itself to make carrying easier . AM used the little bit of rope he had and some of Dig’s fishing line and branches from a nearby tree to peg off the area to dig up. Dig volunteered to start the digging and began tossing shovelfuls of brown and black earth over his shoulder while AM visited the

stream nearby to test the water to make sure it was safe to drink and cook with using a tab a of paper the size of a fortune in a fortune cookie.He placed it in the stream for a few seconds and watched it turn from white to green meaning the water would

be safe to use.

Dig enjoyed the exercise of digging a hole, it kept

his mind from wandering to the bad thoughts of Marisa and her death. He didn’t know if he’d ever get over it or move past it and was grateful that his journey for the cubes was keeping his mind from dwelling on it for too long. By early afternoon he was too caught up in monotony of digging to think about anything else.

“I’ll take a couple of hours to dig tomorrow.” AM

said when night began to fall.

“Alright, I can go fishing. I’m done eating

thumbtack.”

“Hardtack.”

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“Yeah, well I’d rather eat thumbtacks.”

“Maybe I’ll try out the six shooter. Just don’t expect anything bigger than a rabbit an you’ll be satisfied I hope.” he said with a half smile.

“Please not often. I don’t want to attract attention.”

“OK, I’ll try not to go GTA on any rabbit. Fair enough?”

Date: June 28th 1863 Universe: 1

Rebecca Willow splashed away the sleepiness

from her eyes with the cold stream of water that flowed past her church and home that was a few

miles south of the village of Conshohocken. It was after sun up when she made her customary journey to pick berries and other wild fruit.

She was a brown haired women in her mid

twenties wearing a yellow dress hand made by her that went down to her ankles and would be filthy with mud and burrs and twigs after a trek into the woods. She was one of the members of her church called “The Women Of The Wilderness” that was

not officially recognized as a legitimate religious organization by the Federal government.

They had to pay taxes that was strangling the

church to death, forcing them to live off the land and be ostracized by the nearby village because the church was run by women and where men had no

say in the affairs and were few in number. Ashley Oak was the leader and tried with out success

numerous times to obtain recognition from the

government as a religious organization, it had also been her idea that all the woman change their last names to that of trees because of there longevity and to give the impression that they were here to

stay for awhile.

She had traveled all the way to Washington City before the war but was laughed at by the senator that served her state when she informed him that she was in charge of affairs for her church. Since then the church had gone through rough times, much rougher than what the Mormon church went

through farther west.

“Of course they have it easier now,” Ashley said one day after Sunday service. “the government tells them to change doctrine and they do it.”

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The senator had advised her that the Women Of

The Wilderness try to do the same, but that only enraged Ashley who promptly left with an un

ladylike swear and exited the senator’s office.

Now that taxes had been raised for the war effort Rebecca and other church members were forced to forage in the woods for food.

They all felt the injustice and anger Ashley had felt when they were still unrecognized by the

government and felt it there religious duty to

continue the doctrine of letting no man lead them, though there church had been started by a man

sometime ago. There church had almost fifty

members but all of them worked hard at making a community for themselves and their children.

Rebecca felt her face heat with anger at the ridicule she and her sisters suffered everywhere.

They had used to visit the general store of the nearby village with just some reproachful looks but were still considered part of the community.

When the government shunned them, Ashley began

giving sermons about the wickedness of the men

and government. The village responded to them

with refusal of service no matter how much money they had, though it was always very little.

She released her brown hair from a bun and

soaked her locks in the cool water, gurgling

peacefully.The humidity was already as thick as fog when the sun rose that morning and the heat of the westering sun would only get worse if she

didn’t get into the shade of the trees. She had already said her morning prayers at the tiny log structure that was there church, before making her pilgrimage to the forest.

She had run into Rosa Carmichael Locust, a middle aged woman with gray hair woven into an absurdly small bun on her head just outside a small log

cabin that served as a schoolhouse. She was the church’s lone school teacher, and was known to

have a heavy hand with the children.

“Have you heard the sound of rifle fire recently?”

she asked Rebecca who was out everyday in the

woods foraging.

“I have once or twice but it is north of were I go, I assumed it was from the village.”

She had heard the occasional shot but it didn’t sound like rifle fire but more of a loud popping sound that had greatly diminished as it reached her ears. Her only guess was that it had been men of the nearby village hunting with revolvers.

“I wonder if the war won’t finally come to the

Yankees.” she said through pale wrinkled lips.

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Rebecca could see Rosa’s even white teeth through her sneer.

“I wish the rebels would kill all the Yankees, and lock up their loved ones in the darkest pits of hell.”

she spoke with an unsettling twinkle in her eyes, a look Rebecca had seen numerous times on Rosa.

It was Ashley, the church’s leader in all its affairs, who had given rise to the idea of aiding the

southern rebels if they ever arrived in hopes of

gaining recognition from their government and being allowed proper religious status. So far the war had been fought mostly south of Pennsylvania and west of Ohio.

“I hope so as well,sister, but I fear we may never have that pleasure. I’ve heard many of the towns people say the war will never come to our

borders. That the rebels, have not enough men to cross this land.”

“What do those heathen know of God’s will,” she answered with another sneer. “they worry about

niggers and nigger rights. What about our sisters rights and our church’s rights? If we had more than a few rifles, we could attack the village ourselves for the rebels. They would greatly reward us for

the delivery of a port. ”

It was an idea that was too ambitious and Ashley let Rosa down gently, Rebecca found out later in confidence. Rosa had approached Ashley with the idea of storming the port.

“She has no fear, but we have no weapons.”

Just a Burnside Carbine, used by Rebecca who

was the only woman to have ever used a firearm.

Ashley would never allow a man from the church to wield a firearm not that there were very many.

“If only we had the resources dear, Rosa.”

Rebecca reminded her. “We can barely feed our

little ones.

They had scraped by the previous winter on very little and were fortunate not to be wiped out by plague or the Native Indians that still fought for their land. A few children had died of malnutrition and a few of the older church members died of

dysentery and pneumonia.

“Yes, I know dear. The Lord I hope shall provide us a miracle.” Rosa said with a deep frown before going back inside the schoolhouse.

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Rebecca stood up from the stream and squeezed

the water from here hair before putting it back into a bun and took her wicker basket and carbine. She held her head high and thought back to how she

had grown in strength.

Rebecca loved the church, and her sisters

especially Ashley. Years before she was a member of the church, she was seventeen and a new bride.

Her husband, Marshall Simon, was a farmer with a dozen acres of land who was prone to hitting her

when he was drunk, or tired, or had a bad harvest, or for his own amusement.

Rebecca would sometimes see Ashley, near her

land where she would buy fruits and vegetables

from Marshall’s stand.They would talk about the bible, and the beauty of Pennsylvania, they had a good repore. Ashley suggested she stop by for

services some Sunday morning.

“Please come visit.” she asked more than a few

times.

Ashley stopped by once a week to purchase apples or cukes and talk with Rebecca, finally convincing her come to by. She had even talked Marshall into coming along which was quiet easy since Ashley

had purchased so much from their stand.

He came but had left promptly dragging Rebecca by the arm when he saw the pastor was Ashley, a

woman. Rebecca who had a fresh bruise on her

cheek, came by to apologize the following day. She still wanted to be apart of their group but doubted they would accept her, she didn’t feel useful to anyone for anything as Marshall was prone to tell her.

“A spiritual community lead by the loving hands of Gods daughters,” Ashley said to Rebecca “He

needs all his daughters to help.”

“I wouldn’t know how to help.” she said.

“What can you do?” Ashley asked her simply.

She though about that over the next few days,

wondering if she could really be of use to them.

She knew how to hunt, and had spent her life doing farm work. She had been carrying a bucket of milk she had filled, trying to answer the very question

when she fell.

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She had been just a few feet from the house when her foot caught on a rabbit hole and she dropped the bucket of milk she was carrying. More often than not, Marshall would laugh at her and call her a few names to rub it in, but he had been drinking heavily and was already in a foul temper.

Before Rebecca could get onto her feet, Marshall pushed her back down with a kick to the back of her knee. She let out a grunt that was filled more this surprise then pain, she didn’t even hear him

approach.

“You dumb friggin twat." He said taking her by the arm forcefully. “ how in the holy hell you expect me to earn fer us if you spillin shit all over the place. You see this?"

He grabbed the bun of her hair and twisted,

Rebecca screamed as tears filled her eyes from the pain. Marshall turned her head towards the ground were the milk had spilled, pressing her face into a small puddle of milk and mud.

“Drink, bitch. Can’t sell it so gotta put it to some use."

Marshall was a large man over six feet tall and two hundred pounds of farm muscle, when five

foot tall Rebecca at a weight of a hundred and six tried to get up he simply pressed her back down with little effort. She tried to turn her head but she could only move her feet and hands, he had her

arms and legs pinned down.

When she began to snuff up milk she began to panic and prayed repeatedly though she couldn’t recall what she was praying for. For God to save her she

thought later? From what she was told about

marriage from her parents, she was his property.

Even the Bible said so.

She tried to get up again, but he was dead weight on top of her, he laughed but she couldn’t hear him.

The pressure of his squeezing her face first into milky mud and lack of air filled her head with a white noise. She thought she was dead for a half a moment, when the weight of Marshals body

disappeared.

She barely had time to turn herself over when she was picked up like a rag doll. Marshall pulled her body close to his, she thought he was going to kiss her. A crushing blow like a steam locomotive

traveling at high speed hit her stomach.

Without any air in her lungs she could not cry out in pain, she collapsed to the ground quietly as Marshall did once or twice when he had been blindly drunk. She tried to open her mouth and

breath but the pain was too great and she cried out a breathless whimper.

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She had to roll on her side before she could breath again, she was crying and had drank the Lord only knew how much muddy milk. Her body convulsed

as she greedily sucked in air, her face felt sticky with tiny gobs of mud attached to her faced as if glued there. She saw his face, and wondered how

she ever thought it handsome.

He stood over her like a giant in a fairy tale from her childhood. He had thick dark colored hair

when they first wed and still had most of it, with skin that looked like porcelain. Now his face was red at the cheeks and his nose was wrinkled with nostrils flaring.

He lowered himself down on his haunches and stared at her closely for a few seconds without speaking. She shook with adrenaline waiting to

see if he would strike her, all he did was point at her and say: “Quit yer cryin an watch yer step next time.” he spoke to her the way he might to a child that had finished throwing a tantrum.

He got up without another word and went back

inside the house, it was all over in less than a minute and a half. But for Rebecca it seemed to last at least an hour, it took her most of the hour to get off the ground.

Instead of heading back to the house to wash her face, she walked in the opposite direction in a stupor of pain. It was twilight before she reached her destination, Ashley’s church.

She had entered the little community, that was

fenced off pathetically with chicken wire and broken pickets on all sides, with her hands partly up as if push her way through a curtain. Ashley had

been on the porch of her home reading a scripture, she didn’t look up until a startled gasp came from someone.

She had been carried inside Ashley’s home by a

broad shouldered sister who’s name Rebecca

couldn’t recall. Ashley held Rebecca who shook

with fear, and urged her to leave him and seek

sanctuary in her church.

“Marsh...I can’t survive without...I...I” Rebecca said with tears running down her face.

“NO!" she said angrily and gripped Rebecca’s hands so tight she winced. “Answer! Answer what I asked you when we last spoke!" she shouted at her while shaking her. “Answer!”

“I can hunt!” she said with fresh tears coating her muddy sticky cheeks.

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“What else?” Ashley asked more gently as she

stroked her sisters cheek.

She looked at Ashley, and took a deep breath before speaking.

“I can farm. I can ride a horse. I can do anything.”

she said losing the shakiness in her voice though her body was still racked with pain.

“Then you don’t need him, so you will leave. We shall cast him out as the Lord cast the first sinners out of paradise.The Lord will protect his

daughters, and I shall be with you.”

Ashley washed Rebecca’s face and joined her when she returned to the farm, to confront Marshall. He was drinking Kentucky Bourbon and

smoking a poorly rolled cigarette sitting at the kitchen table. It was full dark by the time they reached her home.

“Did you bring home an ass for me worth sticking it in Becca?” he said when Ashley entered behind her.

Rebecca ignored him and said: “I'm leaving

Marsh. I....”

“You’re a numb twat,” he said with a chuckle “you haven't cooked me dinner yet. I’ll ta take a horse

whip to your skinny butt and that cunting pastor witch if ya don’t get me somethin ta eat.”

He put his Bourbon down and looked at Rebecca

with his stony eyes, he would do it. She knew that, Ashley either didn't believe or didn't care.

“Such a vile mouth,” Ashley said returning his

stony glare.

“Mind your business or I'll shove hot coals in your snatch and sew it up. Now get over here Becca or you ass is gonna shit blood for a week.”

“No” she said with a quivering lip.

Marshall got up and quickly grabbed his wife

roughly by the arm.

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“You little twat!” he said squeezing with as much force as he could.

Rebecca howled in pain, Ashley jumped on

Marshals back and grabbed two handfuls of his

hair and pulled with every ounce of strength. He let out a shout of pain, and gave Ashley an elbow into

her stomach, causing her to lose her grip on him.

With his free hand he pushed Ashley into the open doorway from the kitchen into a hallway.

With her out of the way, he focused all his rage on his wife and threw Rebecca to the ground. Ashley was motionless for only a minute, she sat up in the hallway, the tight bun of her hair lopsided and unraveling. At the end of the hallway was a pair of split logs, next to it was an ax. Ashley without a second thought got up and took the ax and went into the kitchen.

Marshall had his back towards the hallway and

Ashley, in his hand was the bottle of Bourbon,

though weather he intended to drink from it or

bludgeon his wife with it no one would ever know.

Ashley raised the ax and brought it down upon his skull.

Blood sprayed on them and on the wall and

windows, dripping down in gory purple red

streaks. I’ll never get rid of those stains Rebecca though absently. Her husband cried out briefly

before collapsing, although dead his body began to twitch and jerk uncontrollably, causing Rebecca to scream in horror.

Marshals neighbor Dick Hopkins was on his way

over to Marshall’s carrying his hunting rifle and a

pair of rabbits he shot when he heard Rebecca’s scream and came running, dropping his rabbits and holding up his rifle like a soldier storming a fort.

Inside Ashley still held the ax, as Rebecca covered with the most blood got up slowly, watching

Marshall, afraid he might rise up and grab her. She stood next to Ashley and nearly fainted when she saw her husbands brains protruding from the gash in his head, it looked like spoiled cauliflower.

Ashley grabbed her before she fell. Rebecca took the ax and used it to walk herself into the hallway and away from the red horror.

Ashley stood over the dead body, looking down at the mayhem she visited upon his head. She smiled and thought of a story she read sometime back,

called “The Red Death” but she couldn’t recall the authors name. Marshals blood was still warm on

her face when a man appeared in the doorway to

the back yard with his rifle aimed high.

“Oh sweet merciful, Jesus. What did you do!? Oh, mother of God what have you done!? Get'em up,

put your hands up...don't ya move now or I'll fill you with so much bird shot you'll piss lead for a year, lady!”

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Ashley looked at him but didn't raise her hands.

The man kept his rifle high and circled her around the kitchen, circling him the whole way until their

positions were reversed. His hands shook as he

regarded her as a dangerous animal.

The man saw her eyes searching him, he had seen such looks while hunting bigger game than rabbits he thought. Her eyes and the silence was filling him with butterflies, he spoke so he wouldn’t think about this woman’s piercing eyes.

“Whacha gotta say for this, missy?”

She smiled ever so slightly in remembrance and

said: “Poe.”

“Wha...” the last word he ever spoke was ended

with a breathless howl, the ax had entered his back and pierced his lung.

With all her strength Rebecca tried to pull the ax out, but he fell to the floor. Ashley rushed to her side and helped her wiggle it out of Dick who was still alive. Blood was foaming and dribbling

through his lips as he cried breathlessly trying to take in air through his damaged lung.

“Close the door,” Ashley said.

Rebecca did so with out a word, Ashley finished Richard by removing his head with the ax in one quick swipe. Ashley told her they needed to leave everything as it was and head to her church. It was a dark moonless night but they ran the shortest route through the woods to the church.

The little community was already in bed for the night and were unobserved by the fellow church

members, not that it would have mattered if they had been seen, they took care of their own. They went inside Ashley’s, she instructed Rebecca to start a fire and to strip down to nothing.Rebecca started the fire and undressed leaving only her shoes.

“No, we must burn everything.”

Dressed in nothing but the darkness of the night they went to the backyard where a well sat, each taking a turn pumping the well while the other sat underneath and let the water

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rinse the dried blood from their bodies. The water cooled their hot faces, Rebecca began to shiver when a wind picked up.

“What will happen now?” Rebecca asked once they finished searching Ashleys home for any

evidence of their deed.

Ashley stared quietly into the fire watching the evidence burn away forever, feeling confident this

would work out for the best.

The crime was investigated, but Rebecca was

never a suspect, such a crime could never be

committed by a woman was the attitude of the

sheriff. He was a handsome man who had seen

much, he had claimed. He was very gentle with

Rebecca when asking about Marshall.

“I understand you two had a fight before this crime took place. Could you tell me about it some,

miss?” he asked in a most polite way.

This was the question they had anticipated and

prepared for before hand. Rebecca began to cry, but in a quiet fluttery way that caused the Sheriff to act the gentleman and give her his hankerchief, exactly as Ashley had guessed any respectable

lawman might.

“It’s my fault he’s dead, sir. I dropped the milk and he threw me out for being so clumsy.” she said

pressing her hands to her face as if to cover tears but she had rubbed a small piece of onion on her palms to help bring tears.

“If I had enough sense to watch my step, Marsh

wouldn’t a been alone for some maniac to cut him up.” she finished the last word with a shudder and eyes redder than the devil.

So they looked in all the wrong places and asked all the wrong questions and surmised a drifter had done it or possibly the red savages that were

known to still raid the area. In the end, Rebecca was free and the Women of the Wilderness

acquired much needed farm land.

“There are two things you can be sure about,

Rebecca” Ashley said afterwards “God's endless love, and man's pigheadedness.”

Rebecca began to hum a religious hymn as she

made her way into the shade of the forest and out of the sun. She enjoyed the green smell of pine and the twittering of God’s winged creatures, they

helped to melt the anger she felt. She began to pick some rasp berries when she thought she heard a

voice some distance off.

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It sounded far, but not as far as it usually would

have been if it were people from the village. The voice began to fade. She waited for a few minutes before continuing on her way, but kept silent.

If it were people from the village the worst that would happen would be exchanged glares and

nothing more. She walked for nearly twenty

minutes before coming to a cluster of blackberry bushes that were just beginning to ripen. Then she heard the voice again, louder than before, she stopped walking and listened closely but the talking stopped.

Feeling curious she placed her basket down and

held on to her rifle. The land here was not owned by the church or the nearby village leaving anyone free to roam where ever they pleased. It hadn’t been very long ago a red savage had scalped a

missionary and ravaged his wife before killing her.

She crossed the stream and walked northwards

amongst the trees and bushes stepping lightly on the ground carpeted with pine needles. She walked

farther on stopping every few feet to listen. As she drew closer the smell of horse dung filled her

nostrils.

“Jesus Christ, I can smell it down here.” cried a voice a few feet away.

She came through a thicket of bushes and came to clearing of twenty feet were the smoky remains of a campfire lay and close by a horse tied to a tree, the pile of dung she smelled lay just behind the horse in its own smoky remains. At the center of the encampment was a squarish hole were another cry emitted, this one joyous.

“Got it!”

She stared at the hole raising the rifle to her hip, and nearly pulled the trigger when a set of hands rose out of the hole and gripped the sides, there was a grunt and then a face appeared. He

scrambled up and over the lip of the hole rolling on his back.

His face and shirt were smeared with dirt and

streaked with gobs of mud, breathing frantically eyes closed tight unaware he was not alone. He

placed his hand in a pocket of the dungarees he wore and pulled out a small black box with yellow

brown stripes. He sat up with his back towards her and reached into his back pack and removed what she thought at first to be a mirror.

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She nearly laughed aloud at the idea of a man

carrying a mirror, she gasped instead when he touched the mirror and a green glow came over the glass of the mirror. He turned quickly at the sound, his eyes widened as she raised the rifle at him.

“Stand up.” she said steadily though her heart was beating in her throat.

He stood slowly, not putting down the objects he carried. He was short and scrawny, with hair at strange angels from dry mud, he kept his eyes on hers showing fear but not out right terror.

“What is that, in your hand? What is it?’ she said more sternly than she had ever sounded.

The man stared back not answering, she stepped

forward after a half minute of waiting for an

answer. She stood close enough that he could make a grab for the rifle if he wanted to risk it, but he still sounded winded from his climb out of the

hole.

“What are those things?”

When he still did not answer she raised her rifle and pointed it at his face.

“Do not think I wont shoot, now tell me.”

“They are artifacts, I am an archaeologist. They have no value.”

“Put them down.”

He was still only for a moment before placed them gently on the ground.

“Step back.”

The scrawny man walked back a few feet, his eyes never leaving hers. She bent down and quickly

took the mirror which was pitch black and atop it stood another box but the box was a bright green were it was yellow before. She stood up and

placed a finger on the screen.

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She grew wide eyed when it turned green then

blue, before showing the most amazingly life like picture of mountains she had ever seen. It was color, deep rich colors beyond the eye of the imagination, the mountain looked real enough to touch she anticipated the feel of cold rock when

she touched the picture.

They sky above the mountain peaks was eye

wateringly clear and blue, she tried to pick up other features of the picture but tiny shapes

covered most of the picture. Some shapes were

familiar such as the worm and the eye glass but had names that made no sense to her. One shape was

obviously a book but the word below it was

Ereader. She lowered her rifle just a little, the scrawny man instantly made a grab for the carbine but fell to his knees.

She quickly stepped back and dropped the Qpad

and raised the rifle this time with the stock facing down, and quickly hit the scrawny man in the head.

He fell unconscious onto his stomach. She debated on weather to shoot, but was not anxious to kill, it's not as if he was her husband or a nosy neighbor.

She bent down and picked up the magic mirror, it didn’t shatter from its fall. She carefully put it into the man’s pack along with the other box. She went over to the whole he crawled from and saw it was water at the bottom he had apparently been digging for a while.

She looked through some of the mans possessions and found a paint brush and shovel that looked so

small she thought it was a childs toy. Small tools for a small man she realized and laughed, but what was this object he had dug up?

She took him over her shoulder, and laughed again.

This time at how light he was and placed him

across the saddle of his horse untied it from the tree careful to avoid its droppings, and went back to the church to see Ashley.

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