by Holly Hook
"Who are you?” he calls. He straightens up at the sight of us. “What are you doing out here? This is no place for ladies.”
“I know.” I stop next to him. The two of them are standing next to each other. If a shell lands here, Time will open up a rift and swallow Frank. Fred will get blown to pieces. Then it will be done. We might have only once chance at this, especially since Isabel's faster is waiting out in the Hub for us. I speak as fast as I can. “The two of you need to move away from this spot. There's going to be a shell coming down any second. It'll kill you--” I point at Frank's twin brother--”And you don't even want to know what'll happen to you. Move!”
Frank stands closer to the tree. He faces his brother. “Do you know these people?” he asks. “Did you meet them in town?” There are nerves in his voice.
Fred shakes his head. He looks so much like Frank that it's eerie. The only difference is that he was a freckle on the side of his head.
“I don't know who they are," he says. “Never seen them.”
“Move!” Simon grabs onto Frank's sleeve and pulls.
Frank staggers away from the tree. "What are you doing?" He lifts something away from it—a rifle--and pulls against Simon. Is he still going to kill us? Is the human Frank just as terrible as the Timeless version? I don't want to find out.
I grab Frank's other arm and the rifle strikes my leg. “I mean it. We're just trying to help you,” I say. “We...we came from the future. All of us. The two of you are supposed to die in a cannon blast. Don't you hear them raining down? You need to get to the front lines or you need to run. All the shells are landing back here.”
"Let go of me," he says, shoving me back.
I let go of his arm and stagger back. He raises the rifle and Simon releases him. He doesn't aim it at us, but he doesn't need to.
Earth explodes only a hundred feet to our left. Frank and his brother jump.
“See?” I press.
“Frank, I know you don't think you know me, but listen.” Isabel pushes past me and faces him. “You are in danger. If you don't move, you'll die. I know you, Frank. You don't want to do that. It'll cause you to make so many mistakes in the future.”
“You don't know me,” Frank says. “Are you insane?”
“Frank, I know your birthday. It's June fifteenth. I know your mother's name. It's Aggie. I know that you love the blueberry muffins she makes and that you love jumping into the river off that tree back home. Trust me when I say that I know what's going to happen to you.”
Frank stares at her like she's landed from another planet. We have to move. I face the sky but see nothing raining down. More thunder echoes from the distance. He faces Fred. “Did you tell her to say that?”
Fred holds up his hands. “I didn't. I swear on my life.”
“Frank!” Isabel waves her arms. “Leave. Why are you standing way back here, anyway?”
Frank pales and faces her. He's shaking. “Because I made a terrible error, okay? I didn't realize this war would be so long. So terrible. I've seen friends die, girl. I've seen them bleed out on the battlefield. I can't do it again. My friends...John...Randall...they're up there, ready to charge into battle. I'm not going to watch that happen to anyone else.”
His voice grows an octave with each word. He's cracking. Frank's breaking apart. This is where it started. This is where he messed up and why he's so obsessed with doing what he's told. I remember his words on the ship. I'm never going to avoid my duty again. So much hell came out of that.
“Then move,” I say. “Run away. Desert the army if you have to. Just get away from this spot!”
Another shell whizzes through the air.
It grows louder. Louder. Frank looks up and his brother curses.
"Now!" I yell.
I grab Frank's arm. Isabel takes his other.
We pull. He staggers, unable to resist both of us. At the same time, Simon dives for Fred.
The earth explodes. Dirt and smoke and shrapnel fly everywhere. Something burns my arm. I scream but keep my grip on Frank. We're dragging him. There's gold, shimmering where the cannonball has just exploded. It's a rift—the very rift meant to open up and claim Frank at the moment he was supposed to die. One of the few rifts strong enough for mortals to see.
We still have him. Frank's still in our grasp. “Pull!” Isabel yells. We take him farther and farther from the rift. His boots scrape against the grass.
Where's Simon?
Where is he?
The smoke settles. The golden curtains swish one more time as if angry that they didn't claim their prey, and vanish. Only destruction, a splintered tree trunk, and two figures on the ground remain.
“What?” Frank manages.
He's alive. Awake. We've prevented Time from taking him. We've stopped him from ever terrorizing us again.
Now we're free to go back to 1912 and make sure we survive the sinking. We're free to make sure Nancy never snaps out of existence from our stupid mistake.
But where's Simon?
Fred lies on the ground. He pushes himself up. His blue uniform is covered in bits of dirt and dust. He's survived. Simon's pulled him out of the way just in time.
“Simon!”
He's there.
Next to the tree trunk, clutching his leg.
I drop Frank. He's no longer my concern. I have a feeling that after this, he'll run. Get out of here and never look back.
“Simon!”
I run up to him. Simon lifts his head. How close was he to the blast?
“Julia.” He grabs at his pants. “My leg.”
“You look like you're okay,” I say, helping him up. But he grunts and falls back to the ground.
“My leg!” His face tightens up in pain.
Then I see.
There's a piece of shrapnel sticking out of it—and a red stain growing bigger and bigger on his pant leg. Simon claws at it, unable to dislodge it. He curses louder than I've ever heard him.
He's impaled. Bleeding.
My heart about stops. "Oh, my God."
“What's going on?” Frank's there, mouth gaping open. “What—you were right. How did you know that was going to happen?”
“Just help!” I can't believe I'm asking for Frank's assistance. I hook my arm under Simon's. “You have to get up. We can't stay here. Hurry!”
There's a loud cheer from the front lines.
Then gunshots, cracking through the air behind us.
The final battle has begun.
Chapter Fourteen
Simon manages to get all the way up. “Your leg,” I say, repeating him. “We've got to pull that out.”
“Not here." He tries to put weight on that side, but staggers. I catch him. Frank grabs his other arm. I feel as if I've landed in some strange parallel universe where nothing makes sense. Frank. Helping us.
Then I see all of Simon's injury.
The shrapnel has gone all the way through. Simon's calf is tight around it and his face has contorted with agony. Are there any arteries that go through that area? I don't want to take the chance, but if we leave that in, he might get an infection. My thoughts spin and I bite in a scream. I have to be in charge here. I can't panic.
Shots fire. I glance back. Smoke rises from all the rifles at the front lines. The Union soldiers keep up a high rate of fire. Somewhere on the other side of it, soldiers charge and a horse goes down. Will the fighting come back here? I don't think they will. The Union managed to hold the Confederates back. We still have to get Simon out of here. Now.
“You have to walk.” I let him lean on me. “Take weight off that leg. Back to the rift. Now.”
“What's a rift?” Frank asks. His face is big and scared, but he glances back to where the battle's taking place, at all the smoke and fighting bodies and gunshots. Fred's next to him, wearing the same expression. It's clear that they'd rather go find a rift than go over there. It'll be safer for him that way. Will Time try to claim him again? I hope not.
“We'r
e taking Simon there,” I say.
“What's this?” Fred's there, shaking his head. “You...you saved our lives!”
“Just help!” Isabel waves her arms and waves us towards the trees. "You guys just carry Simon. We don't want him bleeding any more before we get to the Hub."
"There have to be medical supplies here,” I say. “For the wounded. There must be. They'll treat Simon.”
“No offense, but I really don't want to be treated in this time period,” he says. "They might decide to cut off my leg. Is that true?” He faces Frank.
“It happened yesterday to a couple of men,” Frank says. “They screamed. I'm afraid Simon's right. And what are you talking about time periods for?"
We're walking now, away from the main charge and back up the hill towards the trees. We'll be safer up there. More sheltered. Away from the main battle. And no one will see us. They'll want all hands on deck down below. Simon seethes and with every step I absorb his pain. His face is pale. All the blood's draining out of it...and out of him. I glance down to see blood on his stockings. What are we going to do once we get to a tent? I don't even know how to dress a wound. I've kissed plenty of Melvin's, but nothing like this. Father never had these problems. And Mother didn't stick around long enough to teach me anything like this.
Simon's mortal now.
He could die.
Of infection or bleeding or whatever. He could die.
“Come on!” I push on. There's a white tent up ahead. Its flap is open. It's empty. There's a crater next to it where a shell has barely missed. The men who were inside are lucky.
Unlike Simon.
He took Frank's shell for him.
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
“It hurts,” Simon manages through clenched teeth. “It really, really hurts.”
“I know. We'll get you help.” There must be an army doctor here. What if they do take off Simon's leg? They're not going to put him under to do it—will they? They don't have operating rooms out in these battlefields. It's not like Nancy's time. They'll probably tell him to bite down on something.
I kiss Simon on the cheek. He smiles. “I feel better now.” Then he seethes again and goes down.
“Whoa!” Frank pulls him up. He faces me. “We should carry him. Get his legs off the ground. He's going to bleed more like this.”
I look down at his leg. His pant leg is even more red. Scarlet. Fresh blood is spreading around the older blood which is turning brown in the air. A metallic smell hits me, mixing in with acrid smoke. Frank's right.
“Simon, you're going to hate this,” I say over the sounds of the gunshots and the cannon blasts. “We have to carry you like you're a baby.” I laugh. I'm past nervous. I'm terrified.
He relents. “Fine.”
Frank grabs his legs and I keep my hands under his shoulders.
"I can carry his upper half," Fred offers. "Please. Let me help out a lady."
"I've got him." I know I should let Fred to the hard work, but I can't let go of Simon. My heart pounds. What if he dies out here in this battle and they bury him, just another body amongst thousands of others? Forgotten, forever?
“Don't give up, Julia,” he says. “Even if something happens to me, I'm still there in 1912. At least, I should be.”
“But you aren't,” I say. “You came out of 1912 with me. If you die here, you die.”
“Good point.” He manages not to grimace and that's good. I hate seeing him in pain.
We're almost up the hill now. My arms quiver with his load. Isabel waves us closer. “This tent,” she says. “There was a doctor in it earlier, but he's gone. Probably down to the battle. Get him in here.”
We have to hurry. The medical tent won't be free much longer.
We carry Simon in. There's already a cot set up in anticipation of wounded soldiers. And if Simon's not wounded, I don't know what he is.
"Set him down,” Frank says.
We do. Simon groans, seethes, and grasps his leg again.
“What's in here?” I ask, looking around. I dread the answer. There's a leather strap on a table along with a bullet. I remember reading something about doctors having soldiers bite that while they did their procedures in the field. There's also something that looks like garden shears and—I kid you not—a saw.
“No!” Simon yells when he sees it. “I do not want to be here. Take me to the Hub. We can find a time where this will be painless to heal. Like Arnelia's time. I'm sure they have something that would work.”
He seethes and grabs his leg again. There's blood on the cot.
“There's got to be something we can tie that with,” I say. "You're still bleeding. You might not make it through the Hub and to Arnelia's time."
“Then we'll need to pull this out now!” Simon grabs for the shrapnel. “It's not very big. I know you can do it, Julia. Then, you need to tie my calf with something tight to stop the bleeding. My blood isn't clotting around this. After that we need to go somewhere better to treat it."
The battle outside grows louder. Is it getting closer? Isabel waits at the mouth of the tent along with Fred.
My stomach turns at the thought. I've seen people dying in front of me, but I don't think I can pull that out and handle seeing all the blood.
"Julia, I trust you." Simon lets go of his leg.
“Simon's right. This needs to come out." Frank moves aside as Isabel crams in beside him. Outside, the sounds of the battle rage louder. “We need to hurry. The fighting is looking worse."
“I don't know if I can." Bile rises in my throat and I swallow it back down. This is my love lying here. I need to come through for him.
“This wound will become septic," Frank says. He positions himself at Simon's shoulders. “We have to pull it out, apply pressure, and pour some alcohol on it. There's some right over there.” He points at the table, to where several bottles of whisky wait. “It might anyway, since it's such a deep wound.”
My heart hammers. I search around for something to apply pressure with. I find a long, white cloth. “This will work. To stop the bleeding.”
“I'll hold him down.” Frank grabs onto his shoulders. "I'm the strongest."
“No!” Simon yells. “I mean—yes. Do what you have to do. I'm not going to go any farther like this. And if you can't get this out, leave me here. Go back to 1912 and see if you can fix things yourself.”
“No!” I plant another kiss on his lips. He melts into me, begging for the pain to stop. “Hang in there.” I look at Isabel and she nods. She grabs the cloth from me and holds it ready. I have to do this without passing out. Without throwing up all over Simon. I'm not sure if I can.
I grab onto the edge of the shrapnel. It's warm. It might even be the heat from the shell itself. Has this burned Simon? Maybe it's helped cauterize the wound on the inside.
I pull.
Simon screams. It's the worst sound I've ever heard.
“Give him something to bite down on!” I yell. I remember the leather strap hanging in the tent. That's what it must be for. “Isabel—give me that.” Why can't there be anything here to knock him out? Anything to dull the pain?
Isabel hands me the leather strap. She's quiet. Pale. Scared.
“Good,” I say, cramming it in his mouth. “Bite down on this. I'm sorry.”
“This is what we have to work with,” Simon says.
“Ready?” Frank asks.
I grab the shrapnel. It cuts into the palm of my hand but I pull. I close my eyes and they water. The smell of Simon's blood fills my nostrils and he groans. I know he's biting down, just waiting for the agony to be over. The shrapnel gives. There's a disgusting squishing sound and vomit rises in my throat. It's his leg. My God, it's Simon's leg making that sound.
And then it gives completely. I fall back, holding a slippery piece of metal in my hands.
Simon screams. I don't dare open my eyes. "Isabel!”
She pushes past me and at last, I can open them. I hold the shrapnel in my ha
nds. It's about eight inches long and pointed on both ends. Sharp. Covered in blood. It's on my hands, staining them red. And Simon writhes on the table as Isabel presses the white cloth to his leg. “Get the alcohol!" she yells.
I run and grab a bottle of yellow-orange liquid. Uncap it. Yes. It's alcohol. “Move the towel.” I'm going to see the wound. Simon's in some major hurt.
Isabel removes the towel. There's a three inch long gash right on Simon's shin, just missing the bone. Blood dribbles out.
I pour the liquid over it.
Simon writhes in pain again. He keeps the leather strap in his mouth, biting down. “I'm sorry!” I say. “We can't have it get infected. Turn over.”
Frank still has his shoulders. “Turn over, sir,” he says.
Simon finally does. He seethes a couple more times in the process. His calf's exposed and the wound here is even worse. There's more blood. It spurts out and stains the cot. The doctor's going to have a mess to clean up when he gets back.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Yes!”
I pour the whisky over the wound. I know it's only cleaning the surface. We have to move quickly once we're out of here, before infection has time to set in. Simon bites in his scream this time. I press the towel to his wound. The stench of alcohol mixes in with his blood and a wave of nausea sweeps over me. I hold it back. I'm not going to get sick here. I can handle this.
Outside, cannons fire and something explodes nearby. Bits of dirt rain down on the tent, making tiny shadows above us. We're not safe here, either. Sometime, another shell might come through the tent. We're dead if that happens. “I need to tie this around your leg,” I say. I can't think of anything better.
“That's a piece of cake compared to the other stuff,” he says.
I wrap the towel around his calf and tie it tight. It's got to stop the bleeding enough to let it clot. I can't have Simon bleeding out in the Hub. There's no help there. And how do we run if Isabel's father is still waiting?
“Up.” I hook my arm under Simon's again and he sits up. “We didn't have to saw off your leg. We need to find Monica before any soldiers get here.”
"They were holding a strong line,” Frank says. “The generals have ordered the regiments to rotate every few minutes, so we can keep a high rate of fire. I heard them talking.”
