Saving Yesterday (TimeShifters Book 1)

by Jess Evander

  Why did he leave me? Okay, we’re still in the same clearing. But it’s not the same.

  A lone bird sings in the darkness again. His song sounds like five different bird calls mixed into one. I can’t quite place it. Aren’t birds supposed to be silent at night?

  What if the bird is some Shade signal and he’s leading them to us?

  “Are you still awake?” I whisper.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you hear that? The bird? It’s eerie.” Tucking my knees to my chest, I try to stay fully covered by the small blanket.

  Michael tilts his head to the side. “That’s a mockingbird.”

  “Do they ever knock it off?”

  “It’s a male. He hasn’t found a mate yet. They’re not unlike us in that way. He’s lost or alone, so he’ll stay out late. Making noise, no matter how long it takes until someone notices him.”

  Great. Now I’m sad for a bird’s plight too. “I wish he’d find someone.”

  It takes a minute, but Michael stands up and claps a few times. A small bird takes flight from a shrub. It circles in the air, calling out, until it reaches the treetop where it begins its song all over again.

  Michael takes a couple steps my way. From the way he shuffles, I can tell he’s tired. “I better go get water so we have it in the morning.”

  The water bottle is still resting on the ground from when he dropped it. I sit up, grabbing Michael’s hand as he walks past me. Stopping him. “Don’t. Don’t leave me here. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

  He squats down to my level, cocks an eyebrow. “If I’m gone too long, you could sing for me, like the bird.” Pointing up, he smiles deep enough to bring out his uneven dimple.

  I swallow hard. “Would you answer me?”

  “Always.” It’s just a whisper, but the single word thunders through me. Does he know what he’s saying?

  I count to a hundred in my head. He’s still there. Smiling. “Michael?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t shut my eyes. What if that Shade comes back? What if he finds us while we’re asleep?”

  He tucks my bangs back behind my ear. “He won’t.”

  “You can’t be sure of that. If they catch me, what will they do?”

  “You don’t have to worry.” His tone is soft, even.

  “Please don’t leave.” I’m selfish. Completely. He needs water, but I can’t stand the thought of being alone.

  He sighs. “I won’t go anywhere. I promise. Lay back down.”

  When I obey, he adjusts the blanket so it covers me.

  I’m on my back, so I can gaze up above me. Keep an eye on the mockingbird.

  Before I realize what’s happening, Michael presses a kiss to the palm of the hand he holds, and tucks it under the blanket. The place where his lips touched burns. I won’t have to worry about being cold again tonight.

  Even still, I sit back up and grab Michael’s hand again. “Stay.”

  He rubs the back of his neck. “I just said I would.”

  “Not over there again. Here. I want you close by.” I might regret being so bold tomorrow, but right now, I’m okay with it.

  His hand closes around mine. “Are you sure?”

  I answer by tugging on his arm, which throws him off balance. He chuckles, if only for a second, and then drops to his knees next to where I lay. Michael doesn’t lie down next to me. Instead, he leans, sitting up, against a tree near where I am. His legs are inches from me.

  The nearness isn’t enough. I need contact.

  I lift my head, scoot over, and use Michael’s closest thigh as a pillow. I turn so I face him. “The backpack’s too lumpy.”

  Michael doesn’t say a word. But he relaxes, uncrosses his arm and rests a hand on top of my head. I reach up and lift his hand off my head.

  Michael starts to pull it away, but I hold his hand tighter. Letting him know I didn’t mean I don’t want him touching me. I just want to hold it again. I lace my fingers with his and tuck our clasped hands in the hollow of my neck in between my chin and collar bone. I stare up at him. He’s looking out at the clearing, his brow furrowed but his mouth relaxed. Is he angry? Annoyed? Pleased?

  Just before I close my eyes, he looks my way and catches me watching him.

  “Sleep, Gabby. No more fears. I’ll watch over you.”

  Birdsong wakes me, more than just the mockingbird. Sunlight pierces through the treetops like a dozen blazing javelins. Sweat already covers my forehead and my upper lip. I scrub a hand over my eyes, my mouth. I start to roll onto my back, but something blocks my way. Michael. I freeze. His hand rests on my hip. It’s dead weight. He’s still asleep.

  I lift his hand and scoot out from under it so I can place it on the ground without waking him. Sitting up, I turn and look at him. His other hand rests on his chest. His head leans to one side, mouth open, breathing heavy. The sight charms a smile to my lips. Do all men look that cute when they’re sleeping? I fight the urge to brush the hair from his forehead. He deserves rest. Clean water should be ready for him.

  Yawning, I stretch and my spine makes a bunch of popping noises. My whole body is sore. Note to self, sleeping on the ground is not advisable. Those men on survival TV shows are certifiably nuts. Or they’re paid an obscene amount of money to live like this.

  I run through the last few days in my mind, taking stock. Confederate soldiers on our trail who want to kill us. Check. Shades intent on capturing me. Check. When we get back to Keleusma, we’ll be in trouble for taking part in Eugene’s science fair experiment. Double check.

  Way to start off the day with excellent odds.

  I push to my feet. How long did we sleep? Whatever, I’m awake now. I grab the water bottle resting near my feet, then search through Michael’s bag and find the iodine. In this heat, we need water if we’re going to accomplish anything. I stuff the blanket into the backpack and zip it carefully, not wanting to wake him.

  In an effort to make the least amount of noise possible, I step heel to toe and head to the river. At least, I think I do. Last night, I stumbled to it right away. I’m walking in the same straight line I think I followed then, but I guess not. Closing my eyes, I hope to sharpen my senses. Where is the water? If those stupid birds would take a breath, I might be able to hear something. I tilt my head, turn in a slow circle. Then—right there—the distinct gargle of a stream. Odd, how things can seem different by night.

  The river skips over a pile of boulders here. I sit on a dry outcrop. Plunging the bottle into the water, I try to remember how many drops of iodine Michael told me a container this big needed. The water has to be treated before we can drink it. He explained all about typhoid and dysentery and how people aren’t clean in this time period. Really, it was a lovely conversation. Okay, I’m lying. I wish I hadn’t been there. A spinal tap might have been more fun. Now I’m terrified of all water. Which I’m sure was his whole point.

  I squint at the bottle of iodine. Directions on the label would be nice. More is always better. Right? I take the eyedropper from the iodine. Fill it up four separate times and dump the liquid into the water. Place the bottle on a nearby rock. Now just wait thirty minutes and I’m set.

  It’s hard to tell thirty minutes without a watch, though. If there are suggestion boxes at Keleusma, I’m going to fill out a comment card. Wardrobe needs to get on inventing a watch that’ll work no matter where you are. Come on, they can make clothing, bags, and shoes that trick the Norms. How difficult can a watch really be?

  I wrap my arms around my knees and gaze down at the ever changing stream. Watch a broken twig sail down the rapids. Basically zone out.

  Last night, Michael asked me if I knew my worth, but the real question is—does he know his? His father dead before his eyes, carrying the weight of the accident that killed Kayla, then add his mother’s abandonment. How does he smile so much? See good in the world? The truth is, Michael’s far more special than I will ever be.

  Even when it comes to me, he’s
more patient than anyone should be. His ready laugh alone leaves me feeling more positive about life than usual. I’m starting to grin even thinking about him.

  Wait. Do I have feelings for Michael Pace?

  I let go of my knees. Snap my eyes back into focus. No. It’s not possible. I mean, we haven’t known each other long. That’s not how I work. I have to really know someone to feel such a strong attachment. Or do I? It’s not like I’ve been in love before.

  Maybe I’m just confused. Michael’s always there for me. He sacrifices for me and thinks of me first. No one else has ever done that for me. He makes me smile and offers constant encouragement. His presence makes me feel safe without him even saying anything.

  Okay, that’s all fine and good. But we also fight like two hound dogs over the last scrap of meat. I’ve never had an urge to shake someone as many times as that thought hits me about Michael. Then again, I’ve also never felt the need to protect someone like I do Michael.

  Oh. I cover my face with my hands.

  He’s my Obi-Wan. You don’t fall for your trainer. Besides, I don’t know him. There, that’s settled. I cross my arms, but I can’t help the smile that tickles its way over my lips again, or the light haze floating in my head.

  Concentrate on something else already. Like hurting feet. We walked too much yesterday. I bet a wade into the stream will help sooth them. I tug off my shoes and peel off socks that have seen better days. Sigh as I dip my feet into the frigid water. This is why we treat the water. Because gross people like me dangle their nasty appendages in the stream. I close my eyes for a few minutes and tip my head back to catch the sun. The contrast of coolness on my feet and warmth baking my cheeks is perfect.

  Finally I determine that thirty minutes must have passed. I take my feet out of the water, shaking off the droplets. I’m in the midst of dabbing off my damp skin when I see the two inch scar near my big toe. I outline the raised skin with my finger. That scar’s from a time when Porter and I were both trying to ride one bike together. He peddled, and I held my feet to the side. My foot ended up tangled in the back wheel. Ripped through the skin clear to the bone. I screamed loud enough to make Porter jump off the bike. After letting it, and me, clatter to the ground, he ran home to get my dad. I stayed on the curb howling, my foot still stuck.

  I hold my thumb over the scar. Porter.

  I bite back a moan. It’s not fair. Even if Michael doesn’t have a Pairing anymore, I do. I can’t care about Michael, at least, not in that way. That’s how this all works, right? Does Porter feel for me the way Dad loves my mom? I swallow hard.

  Besides, after all the insight Michael gave me about my mother last night, I need to follow the rules from here on out. Prove I’m nothing like her, and that the rest of the Shifters can trust me. Rejecting the Pairing won’t go well for me. It can’t happen.

  No boat rocking whatsoever.

  After a very deep breath, I lace my shoes and start back to Michael. But again, I can’t remember the way. Why do trees have to look the same? Can’t one be crooked or weepy? A simple landmark, really, I’m not asking for much. I march up the stream a ways. This looks like the spot I came through last night. But I can’t be certain.

  A moment later, I hear talking. Michael doesn’t talk to himself, so ... who is it?

  Curiosity takes control of my movements. I wade through the water and crawl up the opposite bank. There’s a narrow dirt road on the other side which looks like it leads to a clearing. I skirt a pile of horse manure. A horde of flies buzz around it. Fresh.

  Lowering my center of gravity, I follow the sound of a few men laughing. There’s a large copse of berry shrubs right in front of me. Inch by inch, I work my way into them. Their thorny security systems prick me, but I bite my lip and duck further in.

  Six feet away, several Confederate soldiers lounge near a spent fire. My hands shudder a little. Adrenaline. One man leans back on his elbows, adjacent to where I hide. His boots are off, and his toes peek through the holes in his worn socks. Hopefully, even if he spots me, I can get a good lead.

  Sterling’s long hair is unmistakable. Unfortunately, his boots are still on. Rats. Now if I’m spotted, I’m in for trouble.

  Afraid the colored water bottle will be easy to spot, I hug it to my chest. They were this close to finding us last night. Correction. They are still a stone’s throw to discovering where we are. One more careless minute at the river and they might have stumbled upon me.

  I have to get back to Michael. Warn him. Get us out of here.

  “No need to feed him.” Sterling’s voice rattles through me. I brace myself with a palm to the ground.

  I adjust to get a better view. A soldier stands near a type of carriage I’ve never seen before. Not that I’m a carriage expert, but it looks like a jail cell on wheels. Okay, what I imagine a jail cell looks like. It’s a black box attached to a horse. The back door has a padlock and bars. A man’s pale hands hang out of them. Well, that or a woman with baseball mitts for hands.

  “If you say so.” The soldier near the caged carriage tosses a pan of food to the ground and stomps away. That’s when I see him. Pinkerton. They’ve captured him.

  “Soldiers on his side burned my whole village to the ground and slaughtered every pig from my barn so my family wouldn’t have food to eat. He can go a day without food.”

  Creeping backwards, I hold my breath. Berry juice and bristles slash across my upper arms.

  One of the soldiers stands up. “Did anyone else hear something?”

  “Sounded like a raccoon in the bushes. Go check it out.”

  The man tugs on his shoes.

  I back away as quickly as possible. Once I’m by the stream, I jump the three feet of water. Almost going right back to our camp, but I stop. What if they spotted me? If I’m being followed, I can’t lead them directly to Michael. Not that I know the right way, but I know for sure our camp isn’t further up the river. Turning in the opposite direction, I stick to the curves and bends the water has carved in the earth. I walk for a good ten minutes and then stop. If someone followed me, I’d know by now.

  Any mist from this morning has dissipated in the heat of the risen sun. It’s going to be another stifling day. If Michael’s awake, he’s more than likely thirsty. Beyond that, he’ll wonder where I am. Rather than let him go searching for me, I’d better make my way to our camp now.

  Leaving the stream’s trail, I circle back through the woods. A heartbeat later, I come close to falling into a jagged ravine, wobbling on the edge for a minute, arms and water bottle flailing. Breathe. Wow, glad we didn’t run across one of those last night. There wasn’t a slope or anything to hint of danger. Keeping an eye out for more, I press on. It is Tennessee, after all.

  It takes me a few minutes to reach a narrow space in the ravine. I hop to the other side. Where’s that idiot mockingbird when I need him to sing me back? Our camp must be this way. It has to be near. Sure enough, as if I suddenly have some inner compass, I’m there. Michael stands a few feet away, his back to me.

  “Michael!” I almost plow into him.

  He twists around, smiling like he’s five and it’s Christmas morning. “You’re here.” He catches me in a hug. He crushes me to his chest, and his lips are right under my ear. “I thought you freaked out. After that talk last night. I thought you just took off on me.”

  He’s squeezing hard enough to steal the air from my lungs. I squirm from his hold. Thrust the water bottle between us. “Drink up. You have to be dying of thirst.”

  “Thanks.” He tips the canteen in a salute, takes a sip. Nose wrinkling, and eyes scrunching, he looks like he smells a skunk.

  Oh, no. I lace my fingers together, feigning innocence. “Too much iodine?”

  Hitting himself in the chest, he coughs twice. “You could say that.”

  “Sorry, guess I’m not perfect.” I try to snatch the bottle from him, but he lifts it out of reach.

  “I know.” He winks. “I heard you snoring last ni
ght.”

  My hands pop to my hips. “I do not snore.”

  “You do.” He takes another swig of the water and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “But don’t worry. It’s real soft. Cute.”

  No one is cute when they snore. I’m about to argue, until I remember my pact not to engage with him. Remember the Pairing.

  When he kneels to shove the canteen in his bag, he’s right at eye level with my arms. He hand hovers above the bag, not zipping it. First his eyebrows lower. Then he reaches for my closest wrist. “Why do you have—”

  I slip both arms behind my back.

  Standing, he puts his hands on my shoulders. Keeping eye contact the whole time, he tip-toes his fingers down my arms until he can grasp my hands, which he tugs from their hiding spot. “You’re all scratched up.”

  “I fought some bear for his share of berries.” I smirk.

  He rolls his eyes.

  Right. I did have something to tell him, but once again, his easy banter has thrown me off course. “We need to get out of here. The Confederates are right across the river.” I point in the general direction.

  The smile on his face melts. His hands tighten around mine for a second. “They’re right there? Did they see you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then let’s put some distance between them and us.” He jerks the bag off the ground, slings it over his shoulder, and holds his hand out to me.

  “We can’t. They have Pinkerton.”

  His eyes widen. I probably should have started our whole conversation with that little piece of information. If he hadn’t gone and hugged me, I would have remembered to.

  “I don’t know.” He hesitates, which makes no sense at all. This is the guy who ran down Wall Street knowing a bomb would deploy any moment. At Keleusma he begged to come back on this mission.

  I toss my hands into the air. “Come on. There isn’t anything to think about. We were sent to rescue Pinkerton. So we’re going to go over there and rescue him.”