by Cathy Peper
She kept on. Her legs ached and her fingers grew cold inside her gloves. Surely she should have reached the lodge by now. She must have gone the wrong way. Was she about to reach the clearing again, having gone in a circle? She trudged further, but neither lodge, nor clearing came into view.
At last she stopped to rest. A glance at her watch showed her it was nearly eight. She’d been walking for almost three hours, long enough to get back to the rental center. She must have gotten turned around. Her stomach growled and her mouth felt dry. She kept most of her supplies in her car when she was on stake-out, but there should be something in her bag. She slipped it off her shoulder and dug inside.
The contents comprised dozens of bits of paper—envelopes, napkins, and junk mail, all filled with her loopy handwriting—an old pill bottle, her mace, bungee cords and carabiners, her multi-tool, and...
Bingo! A handful of energy bars, squished and probably stale, a bag of M&M’s, and a half-full bottle of water. Better than nothing. She picked a bar at random, peeled off the wrapper and broke it in half. Returning half to the bag, she savored the other half, chewing slowly. It’s not like you’re going to be lost in these woods for weeks. Still, it seemed the prudent thing to do. It was hard to be optimistic when it was cold and dark. A hot cup of coffee sounded like heaven, but she made do with a few swallows of water.
Her snack disappeared all too quickly. What now? Continue walking when she had no idea where she was going? Or stay and wait for help?
What help? No one knew where she was. No one even knew she had been following Bob. The newspaper had taken her off the story. She lived alone, didn’t always show up at the office when she was pursuing a lead, wasn’t dating anyone, and only talked to her mother once or twice a month. How long would it take for someone to realize she was missing?
Wait, the rental agency wanted their ATV back. They would come after her, probably put the police on her tail if they thought she had stolen it.
Okay, but what happened when they found it? They might have sent someone after her when she didn’t return the vehicle by closing time. Had they found the ATV and taken it back to the lodge? Was that why she hadn’t been able to find it? But surely they would have looked for her. Accidents happened and it wouldn’t do their business any good if it got out that they didn’t care about their customers.
She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. She should have stayed where she was. Then they would know where to find her. Could they bring in tracking dogs?
She reined in her racing thoughts. Yes, she was in the country, but this was Tennessee, not a vast national park. She could have wandered into Reelfoot Lake State Park, which wasn’t far from the ATV site, but she wasn’t in Yellowstone. If she kept walking, she would eventually find a road or a farmhouse or something. She forced her aching body onward.
After another thirty minutes of walking, she turned off the flashlight to conserve her battery. She wandered farther by the light of the moon, but saw no sign of human life. No houses, roads or electric power lines. She truly appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. No point in wasting more energy. She would have to wait out the night.
“When I find Bob and Anne, I will kill them,” she muttered to herself. At least she had her coat and gloves. She piled fallen leaves against a tree. They would provide some cushioning and perhaps a bit of warmth. She pulled up her hood and plopped down in the leaves, her back against the tree. At least the cold kept bugs away. What about wild animals? There were bears in the Smokey Mountains, but she didn’t think there were any in the western part of Tennessee.
The cold of the ground seeped up through the leaves and penetrated her jeans. The earth smelled loamy and fertile despite the cold. She tucked her gloved hands into the crooks of her elbows. The tree felt hard even through her coat, but she was tired. All the walking, in addition to the explosion or whatever had knocked her out, left their mark. Things would look better in the morning, she hoped. She drifted off to sleep.
Four
Chapter 4
A blast shattered the morning quiet, startling Diamond from her doze. For a second, she wondered where she was and why she was out in the open. She quickly remembered following Bob and Anne on the ATV and the strange explosion which had knocked her off her feet. She glanced at her phone. Still no cell service and to her surprise, her home screen didn’t display the time and date. Still, it was daylight and surely she could now find her way to civilization.
Another explosion sounded in the distance. What was going on? Was it a bombing? Bombings happened in other places, overseas, or in big American cities. Not in rural Tennessee. However, terrorist attacks could happen anywhere.
Her muscles had stiffened overnight. Diamond lurched her way to her feet and took care of personal needs. I’m not cut out for this camping stuff. Her stomach growled. She ate the second half of her protein bar. As stale as it was, it tasted fabulous, the sweetness bursting on her tongue. She washed it down with the last of her water. Still hungry, she reached for another bar. No, when she reached civilization she would go to the nearest restaurant serving breakfast and order a pile of pancakes and a carafe of coffee. Until then she had to hoard her supplies.
“Let’s see what this bombing is all about.” She moved towards the sound of conflict for surely there she would find a town or at least the military staging training exercises.
The morning sun burned off the night’s chill, melting the frost, but also soaking her athletic shoes. The warmth felt good and exercise heated her body. After a few minutes, she pushed back her hood. Some trees sported buds, which surprised her since it was only February.
The explosions continued, which worried her. Would the military shoot off so much ordinance just for a training exercise? Terrorist attacks tended to be quick—in and out before the authorities caught on. This constant shelling seemed more like an actual battle, but she couldn’t believe that a foreign army had invaded the United States as deep into the country as Tennessee in one night’s time. She supposed it could be an air bombardment, but she didn’t hear any planes.
What if more than a night had passed? What if, like Rip Van Winkle, she had slept for over a hundred years and would return to find everyone she knew dead and gone and World War III taking place in Tennessee?
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Great, two days in the wilderness and I’m talking to myself and believing in fairy tales. She marched on, the sun to her back. The noises came from the west, the direction of the river. She was backtracking, covering ground she had walked last night, but the sound of human activity drew her on. Dangerous human activity.
She kept to the cover of the trees as she grew closer. She could now hear the back and forth of the shelling, demand and response. Another blast. Screams filled the air, chilling her blood. They sounded real. Did soldiers scream when they “died” in a drill?
She slipped through the undergrowth until she reached the edge of the woods. Before her stretched the shoreline and then the wide expanse of the Mississippi. To her astonishment, two tank-like boats, each with a billowing pair of smokestacks plied the river, firing upon the shore.
Meanwhile, on the shore, behind an embankment, a second group fired back with large, antique-looking cannons. This was no terrorist attack or military operation. It looked like something she might see in a movie. Could it be a reenactment of some sort?
One boat fired, and a cannonball whistled through the air, striking the embankment with a bang and sending dust and debris into the air. The ammunition was live. Not even die-hard re-enactors used live ammunition. Several years ago, she’d covered a story about a local Civil War reenactment group and although they were picky about wearing period clothes, cooking period meals and carrying weapons appropriate to the time, they did not actually shoot at each other. If she didn’t know it was impossible, she would have thought she was gazing at a real Civil War battle.
Diamond slumped against a tree, her relief at signs of humanity dampened by the accompany
ing violence. Her plan to approach these people for help now seemed foolhardy. If she stepped from the protection of the forest, either side might shoot her. Still, if there were people here, there might be other, less militant, people nearby. Following the river seemed her best bet to find them, but should she go north or south? If this truly was the Civil War, the North were the victors.
“Impossible. The Civil War was more than a century ago.” More self-talk, a known sign of insanity. Still, she turned north. She kept to the trees, but stayed as close to the river as possible. After a while, she came upon what appeared to be a log road. She checked both directions. No one in sight. So she took the road, moving far more quickly than she could in the forest, although occasionally the logs shifted beneath her feet, squelching in the mud.
She heard the oncoming soldiers before she saw them, hundreds of feet tramping on the logs and snatches of shouted orders. Once again, she withdrew to the trees and hunkered down. Minutes later, the column passed. She watched men wearing a variety of uniforms, but predominately gray, pass by. The majority wore hats and boots, carried bundles on their backs, and rested muskets on the shoulders.
It has to be a reenactment. I should show myself and ask for help. But recalling the ships she had seen in the river, the cannonballs exploding on land and the haunting screams of pain; she kept still. Once the men were gone, she continued up the road.
She passed a few stragglers, ducking into the cover of the trees before they saw her. Most appeared sick or injured and unable to keep up. Their pallor and the blood staining their bandages appeared too realistic for Diamond’s peace of mind. One man staggered and fell a few feet from where she crouched.
She eyed him warily, but he didn’t move. If he was playacting, he was very good. A bird squawked overhead, erupting from the trees and flying over the river. A crow? Diamond didn’t know for sure, but the bird was black. Was it waiting for this man to die? She shivered.
Keep going. He’s nothing to do with you. Besides, all this is make-believe, anyway. She stepped out onto the road. The man didn’t move. Keeping her eye on him, she dug out her phone again. Still no service, and no date and time. What did you expect? That it would say 1860 something? She put the phone away and stepped closer to the injured man.
He was younger than she had first thought. His beard made him appear older at a glance, but up close, his skin was smooth and unlined. He had a high forehead, wavy brown hair, strong cheekbones and an aquiline nose a bit too long for true masculine beauty. Still, he was a handsome young man despite his pale features.
Walk away. There was no story here and playing the hero only invited trouble. He’s so young. And handsome. Not that it mattered. He was trouble, plain and simple.
Or was he? Maybe he can help. He was no threat to her in his current condition. She couldn’t risk approaching the army, but she should be able to handle one wounded soldier.
“Hey, mister, can you hear me?” She shook his shoulder. He moaned and his eyes fluttered, but didn’t open. She scanned him for injuries. Blood seeped through his trousers on his left leg. She sighed with relief. Nothing that seemed immediately life-threatening. If it was even real. She knelt beside him in the mud and touched the bloodstain. The dampness transferred to her glove. Wrinkling her nose, she sniffed at the substance, catching the faint whiff of iron. If it wasn’t real blood, it was a very good imitation.
The scrape of a shoe on the logs sent Diamond fading back into the underbrush. Another straggler appeared, his arm in a sling. He stopped by the fallen soldier, swaying on his feet. He gripped the man with his good arm and shook him forcefully.
“You can’t stay here, ‘less you want to be captured by the Yankees.”
This time the man’s eyes opened. “You go on. I’ll catch up.”
“Be quick about it. They can’t be far behind.”
Diamond was close enough to read the dubious glance the man gave her soldier, but he didn’t have spare strength to give. He staggered onward.
Her soldier struggled to his feet. He stood, bent at the waist, breathing heavily. He stepped forward, but his bad leg collapsed and he slumped once more to the edge of the log road.
“Do you need some help?” Diamond slipped from the trees.
The man tilted his head back and looked up at her, confusion clouding his blue eyes. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Diamond.”
“Do you live around here? Could you take me to your house?”
“No, sorry. But I could help you follow the others. You could lean on me.”
“Are you with the Confederate Army?”
Diamond shook her head. “I’m lost. I was following this couple and then there was an explosion. It knocked me out for a while and when I came to, they were gone.”
“A refugee then?”
“I suppose so.”
“Where do your loyalties lie?” Lines of pain flared from eyes dark with suspicion.
“I don’t want to take sides. I just want to get home.” It was a strange conversation. Diamond tried to stay close to the truth without revealing too much information. But she felt she was losing her grip on sanity or else dealing with people who were a whole new level of crazy, playing out a battle from the past with live ammunition, warships which must have cost hundreds of thousands of dollars and actual spilling of blood.
“I’d prefer not to take sides either, but I haven’t that luxury. If you help me, you might lose your neutrality as well.”
That’s a problem, especially since you’re on the losing side of this conflict. “No one needs to know I helped you. If I can get you back to the rest of your men, would you help me find these people I’m looking for?”
“Much as I would love to oblige, I don’t see how. Capture is inevitable. Even with your help, I couldn’t possibly march fast enough to escape—if escape is even still possible. Once I’m locked up in a Union prison, I’ll be no use to you.”
What’s going on here? Although she hadn’t completely abandoned her reenactment theory or the possibility that she’d injured her head in the explosion, making her totally bonkers, she was starting to believe she might actually be witnessing a Civil War battle. If so, it was a fantastic opportunity to see what had really happened all those years ago. She’d known Bob and Anne were hiding something, but time travel topped all her theories. If true, it was the story of a lifetime… but also a huge risk. Danger in the nineteenth century was far too real.
“I’ve been out of the loop since the explosion. I don’t know how long I was unconscious. Can you tell me what day it is?”
The man shifted position and winced, clutching his wounded leg. “We’ve been under siege for weeks. I got struck by shrapnel on the fourth of April. A couple days have passed since then, I reckon.”
April? Two days ago it had been January for Diamond. “And the year?”
The man frowned. “Listen, I appreciate your offer of help, but I can’t continue marching. I’ve got to go to ground, see if I can evade the Yanks. Do the same. Or follow the Confederate column. They’ll treat you decently so long as they have no reason to suspect you’re a Union spy.”
Diamond raised her hand in a stopping gesture. “Wait, I’m not trying to mess with you. Please, just tell me the year. And your name. I’ve told you mine.”
“I’m Jesse.” He tried to rise again and Diamond tugged at his arm. Together, they got him to his feet. “And it’s 1862 as you very well know.”
Yikes. The war had been going on for less than a year and wouldn’t end for another four. “Of course. And this battle is?”
Jesse’s dark brows tilted towards his nose as his frown deepened. “The Union’s trying to take Island #10, if that’s what you mean.”
The battle for Island #10. Diamond doubted she would have ever even heard about that battle had she not grown up in Tennessee. The island no longer existed in the twenty-first century. The river had taken it over. The Battle of Island #10 was a side note in the state history sh
e had studied at school, overshadowed by the far bloodier conflict at Shiloh—which was going on at the same time. She shuddered. Thank goodness the explosion had cast her through time, but kept her in the same location.
“A cane might help if you could grab me something from the woods.”
Diamond searched for a fallen stick, but most were too short or too wobbly. She finally found a sturdy limb that would support Jesse’s weight, but wasn’t tall enough. “This is the best I can do.”
He took it, leaning against it in an awkward stooped position. “Good luck to you, Miss Diamond.”
He was leaving, the first person she had spoken to in this strange new world. “Will it work? Do you think you’ll be able to hide from the Yankees?”
“Not likely, but I will make it as difficult as possible for them to find me.”
“If you expect to be captured anyway, why not lean on me and try to catch up to the rest of the soldiers?”
“I don’t expect they’ll fare any better than me.”
“Why not? Where are they going?”
“Our orders are to evacuate to Tiptonville, but I’m not sure we can escape now that the Union slipped a couple ironclads past our defenses on the island.”
Diamond thought back to her history lessons. She seemed to recall many Confederates taken prisoner upon the surrender of Island #10. But surely some had escaped. The Mississippi blocked their way to the west. The Union held the area to the north and perhaps had invaded the Tennessee shore to the south. “Why not head east?”
“No way to get across Reelfoot Lake.”
That’s it! Diamond snatched at the thread of hope. Some Confederates had made it across the lake. Not many, but a few. “Rafts. I remember now, the army has rafts and transports at the lake if we can get there.”
Jesse’s eyes narrowed. “How would you know that? This is the first I’ve heard about it.”
“The couple I told you about. I overheard them talking about it,” she improvised. She wasn’t sure Jesse believed her, but he appeared deep in thought.
