by Alex Myers
“Just go away!” she screamed.
He slumped to the floor and they both sat with their backs to the door… with only the door and a million miles between them.
In a patient, calm voice, Jack said, “You deserve to be happy. Maybe that’s why you love me, because I love you for the person you are inside. Hopefully you can see it in my eyes whenever I look at you.”
She cried even harder, and between the tears she said, “Who said anything about love?”
“I did,” he said resolutely. “I finally said it, but I’ve thought it nearly since the day I met you.”
Rising to his feet he said, “Goodbye.” Jack got up and quietly let himself out of the house.
Jack was going to walk back home, then remembered his boat and that he was supposed to meet Sam back there. Plus, it was a closer walk to the boat, and he was feeling a little funky.
The more he walked, the worse he felt. This was the first time he had been on his feet in weeks; he was weak and nauseous.
At the Holt Street Bridge, he saw the taxi he had used to take Frances home. He called out to the driver, “Can I get a ride?”
“I’m off duty, Mac. Hey aren’t you that Jack guy I gave a ride to earlier tonight?”
“Yeah, I’m not feeling too hot. Can you give me a ride to the docks?”
“Sure thing. From all the goddamn grief you were catching tonight, you need a break.” The man hopped down and helped Jack onto the driver’s seat.
“The name is Aurellis Vitale.” He shoved an open hand in Jack’s direction.
“Jack Riggs, I hope you don’t mind if I lean over here against the side.”
“Not at all. Say, are you that inventor fellow that’s building that big place out by the Lynnhaven Inlet?”
“Lynnhaven Inlet? No, we’re right here by Broad Creek.”
“That’s right, that must be that other guy.”
“Other guy?” Jack sat up a little. “Another inventor?”
“He’s from Chicago, or worked in Chicago? I’m not really sure, I think he works for that group in Williamsburg?”
“The SAC?” Jack said. He felt so horrible that every bump in the road nearly made him throw up.
“I’m not sure. Hey are you going to be alright?”
“I’m not sure either. How much further to the dock at Widewater and Roanoke Streets?”
“Hold on Jack, we’re almost there.”
Aurellis helped Jack below deck and into one of the bunks. He was in a feverish sweat.
“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”
“Yes, I have my friend Sam, who should be here any minute. What time is it?”
“It’s probably around eleven o’clock. Do you want me to light a lamp?”
“No, I have electric lights that run on a battery, just turn that switch on the wall by the gangway.”
“I forgot you’re a fancy inventor.”
The LED was still lit when Murphy stood over Jack’s bed. “Are you okay, Jacky?”
Jack pulled himself up from the sleep of the dead. “Murphy, what are you doing here? What time is it? Where’s Samuel?”
“I’m here looking for you. Tisn’t anyone back at the complex. I was starting to get concerned.”
Jack sat up in his bunk. He felt whole again.
“It’s nine o’clock,” Murphy said.
Jack glanced out the window: it was dusk. He stood too quickly and had to sit back down. “It’s nine o’clock at night? Friday night?”
“Sure enough is. First Kazmer, then you and Sam.”
“I’ve been sleeping for nearly twenty-four hours.” Jack had slept in his clothes. He felt the front of his trousers. “How could I do that without pissing my pants?”
“Well, I guess the world is just full of mysteries.”
Jack ate like a starving animal and Murphy sat and watched. “You sure I can’t order you something?” Jack asked. “A Schnitzel?”
“I ate an early dinner. You’re eating enough for the two of us, I think your belly and backbone are bumpin’.”
“You know how sometimes I say things you don’t understand, that works both ways,” Jack said and smiled between bites.
“Where do you think Kazmer got up and gone to?”
“I’m sure Kaz has been kidnapped. I just can’t seeing him leaving Robbie. He seemed happy, didn’t he?”
“Other than pining away for that Turner woman, I’d bet he was as happy as a boardinghouse pup,” Murphy said.
“That’s the way I saw it too, and now Sam—I know Sam was happy, all his stuff was still there, right?”
“I didn’t go in his house, but all those damn cats of his liked to attack me when I went over to his house to check on him. Had to let three out of his house and gave them all about a leg of lamb.”
“Lamb?” Jack asked.
“All hellfire, I don’t know what cats eat, and it stopped their confounded meowing.”
“See, something happened. He loved those cats. I think the same people are responsible for them both. I think it’s the SAC.”
“The Fire-eaters?” Murphy said.
“What does the SAC have to do with the Fire-eaters?”
“That’s who the Southerners Against Compromise is, the Fire-eaters, I served in Congress with most of them.”
“It’s more than Winston Creed and Abner Adkins?” Jack said.
“Don’t know Adkins, but Creed was just one of about seven or eight of those that called themselves the Fire-eaters. Senator Brinkley was one of ‘em.”
“Was?”
“There was some sort of falling out a while back, bout the same time they took a violent turn.”
“I’m going to head up the James River. I’m going to get my friends back.”
“When it gets down to nut-cutting, you can count me in.”
“What does that mean?” Jack asked.
“I’m coming too.”
CHAPTER 4
Saturday, June 27, 1857
Jack still wasn’t feeling one hundred percent, and without Sam’s help, he didn’t trust himself sailing the big boat alone, so he and Murphy took the stagecoach. They learned from the driver that the SAC plant was three miles from Williamsburg near the James River and Jamestown.
They stayed on the coach through Williamsburg. Jack was astonished how similar it looked to the town he went to school in 150 years later. The stagecoach station in Jamestown was near the river.
“I reckon that’s the SAC plant, that big facility over yonder. You can practically chuck a rock here to there,” Murphy said.
“Let’s go see what we’re up against.”
“Know thy enemy, right, Jack?”
This was too weird. That was the second time he had been quoted from the ‘Art of War’ in a week. “Where did you learn that quote?” Jack asked.
“You told me.” Murphy looked at Jack as if Jack had lost his mind.
“Oh, then by all means, as long as we are here.”
They stood in front of the SAC Manufacturing Plant on the riverfront. The James River, on the other side, was completely obscured from view.
“Wow, I didn’t think it would be this big, I don’t remember all this,” Jack said. The SAC Plant sprawled for three-quarters of a mile in all directions.
“You’ve been here before?”
Jack didn’t want to tell Murphy that the last time was 2005. “Yes, but it’s been a while.”
The factory, dark and foreboding, had a blast furnace bellowing great belches of smoke into the midday sky. Tangles of pipes, clouds of steam, catwalks of steel looked like ribs on a giant brick and metal monster. It smoked; it rumbled with a saw-tooth snore, it rained down black soot from the six-bricked smokestacks. Workers swarmed around its docks and armed guards stood in out of place in what looked like newly built turrets around the perimeter.
“Good Gravy! That place is big as all hell and half of Texas. What do you reckon they make in there?”
“Close
as I can tell, a little bit of everything. Basically whatever they can steal. I think this place, or at least part of it, is fairly new.” Jack was fairly sure that this place wasn’t here, at least in his version of history. Jack already knew the research facility in Virginia Beach that Murphy told him about was new to this ripple in time.
They walked around the far end of the building, opposite the entrance, and climbed a small hill. “What do you know about this part?” Jack asked.
“It’s my first time here too,” Murphy said.
Shielded on three sides by the hilly ridge, and the fourth side by the factory itself, was a two-story building a hundred yards long and twenty yards wide. There were small porthole-sized, deeply inset, rectangular windows about every ten feet. Heavy block style rustication and lack of bigger windows or doorway made the building seem like an impenetrable fortress.
“Wow, get down Murph!” Jack said as he ducked behind some scree from the hillside. Jack pointed to the two guards with rifles on the roof of the building. Two other armed guards were at a fenced gate area between the two buildings.
“Are they keeping people out or keeping them in?”
“Does it matter? Wait, look.” Jack pointed to the windows. Most of the windows were filled with faces, and they all seemed to be staring at them.
“Those men look dead, ‘ceptin someone forgot to tell them.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this place. Come on, let’s go see what we can find out.”
They walked toward the armed men guarding the gate. Jack saw another turret with guards and another man with a rifle on top of the building by the hill. What is going on with this place? As soon as the guards saw them they raised their weapons. Jack and Murphy raised their hands to show they were unarmed.
“What do you want?” a guard screamed.
“I’ve come here to see Winston Creed.”
“No can do.”
“How about Abner Adkins?”
“Can’t see him either.”
“I’ve got business with them.”
“They are not here. They are at the place at the beach.”
“Virginia Beach?”
“Yeah.” The guard looked like he answered too fast and wanted to take it back.
“Lynnhaven Inlet?”
“Who did you say you were again?”
“I didn’t.”
The second guard, who had been quiet, pointed and with great urgency said something to the first guard.
“I think you and you grandpa need to get out of here now.”
Behind Jack and Murphy, a half mile back up the road from Williamsburg, a dark covered wagon was heading toward the plant. The two guards looked extremely agitated. He raised his rifle again and pointed it at Jack’s head. “I said get the hell out of here now!”
The second guard fired a shot into the air over Jack and Murphy’s heads.
“Okay, we’re leaving,” Jack said. He grabbed Murphy’s arm and pulled him down the road to Jamestown. After they were fifty feet away, Jack said to Murphy, “I think there’s something in that wagon they don’t want us to see.”
They slowed their walk down and kept glancing back over their shoulders. The first guard still had his gun aimed in their direction as the other guard moved to open the gate for the approaching wagon. The wagon stopped in front of the gate and both guards moved quickly to get the wagon into the enclosed area as quickly as possible. Jack and Murphy stopped and turned around and stared at the unusual wagon. It was eight foot long, four feet wide and four feet high, painted black, pulled by two horses, and had bars on the windows. A ragged man with stringy hair and beard raged inside the enclosure, the lone driver looked bored with the process.
“What the hell?” Jack said mostly under his breath.
“I think that’s the loony wagon.” Murphy said.
“I don’t think we were supposed to see that.” They walked a little further along. “How well do you know Senator Brinkley?”
“Stephen? Served four years together in the Senate, served on a committee together. I know and like him, consider him a friend.”
“Can you talk to him, see what you can find out about this place? My gut is screaming something bad is going on here.”
“I know that the Fire-eaters nearly lost the election for him and right now he’s blaming them for what happened to his wife.”
“Mattie Turner?” Jack asked.
“Or whatever the hell her name is.”
“I know it’s bad, but see if you can’t stoke that fire a little.”
“There’s only one problem. Senator Brinkley is at the State House, back up in Richmond. I’ll head up there on the next coach.”
“From here in Jamestown?”
“Aim to. I see a couple of coaches there now. ”
They had two coaches heading to Richmond over the next couple of hours, but none heading toward Norfolk. There was a coach leaving Williamsburg in three hours for Norfolk.
“I’ll walk there, I’m fine,” Jack said.
“If you think you’re well enough.”
“No problem. Contact me at the complex, we have a telegraph line in there now. Get in touch with any kind of word or if you need me.”
“Alrighty. In Richmond I’ll be at the Capitol Hotel; when I get back here to Williamsburg, I’ll be staying at the College Inn.”
“Jesus Christ, Murph, for a guy that lived in a hovel, you sure know a lot about hotels.”
“What’s that one sayin’ of yours about your balls?”
“Busting my balls?”
“Yep, that’d be the one. Quit busting mine. See ya, Jack.”
“Fine, I’m heading to Virginia Beach.”
CHAPTER 5
Saturday, June 27, 1857
To make it to Norfolk that night, Jack needed to walk to Williamsburg to do it. Jack was no stranger to the town, having attended William and Mary College in the mid 90s. When he was there for college, Colonial Williamsburg had over five hundred original and reconstructed public buildings, private homes, taverns, and shops, as well ninety acres of gardens and village greens. Characters roamed the city streets dressed in authentic era costumes and would explain life the way it used to be in eighteenth century America. You could see glass blowers, blacksmiths, and cooks plying their trades. Other than the presence of automobiles, the downtown streets Jack now walked were very similar to the streets he walked a hundred and fifty years later. He thought it didn’t look quite so touristy, and where the 2013 colonial style Burger King should have been, now stood a building that sold slaves.
It was a brown, one-story brick building with bars on the windows. The building was marred with dirt, and several windows had been broken and not repaired. There was a professionally painted sign over the door that proclaimed, “Bolton, Brose and Company – Dealers in Slaves” and below that, in smaller type, “Auction and Negro Sales”. Next to the open door sat an elderly black man smoking a pipe.
“Are you a slave?” Jack asked.
Without looking up from his pipe lighting the old man said, “Nope, I be a freed man.”
“Are there slaves inside?”
“Nope, they all be at the auction block.” He pointed to the right side of the building.
Jack followed the sound of the noise coming from around the building. Twenty-five men were gathered around a large raised platform. While some of the men looked like they could be the owners of large plantations or their overseers, a good number of the men didn’t seem like they could afford a decent set of clothes.
Jack asked the nearest man, “Has it started yet?”
“Just fixin’ to get ready to start.”
Two rough-looking, large white men pushed an equally large black man up the stairs leading to the block. The black man was shirtless, barefoot and wore pants that looked like a burlap sack. There were shackles on his neck, hands and feet. His eyes were downcast and he moved like an automaton.
“Gentlemen, my name is Bolton and this i
s my partner, Mr. Brose. Welcome to this week’s auction.”
Many who sold Africans would often add a few household items to the sale so they would not to appear to be “slave dealers”, but not Dan Bolton and Billy Brose.
Jack could hear a few men in the gathering commenting about the black man’s size and muscularity.
“The first item of today’s auction is a field buck. He’s strong, healthy, and has never tried to run. As you can see,” the man named Bolton pulled the black man’s pants down and turned him so the crowd could see, “he has only been beaten a few times for minor offenses.” He made the man step out of his pants and continue turning.
The man introduced as Brose said something to the prisoner and he began to jump up and down. Saying something else to him, he began to dance like a drunken marionette. Several potential buyers approached the stage, poked, and prodded the slave, examining his feet and asking to see his teeth.
Bolton said, “Let’s start the bidding out at one thousand dollars.”
The man sold for $1650. Jack watched in horror as several more slaves were bought and sold, including an extremely dark-skinned man with flaring nostrils whose back had been so severely beaten that the scar tissue looked like a relief map. The past beatings branded him a troublemaker and runner, and subsequently he only sold for five hundred dollars.
Quite a few of the men paid their prices, picked up their purchases, and left. Obviously, they knew the program and it was that the best offerings went first. Ten prospective buyers, only half interested, were standing around the auction block when the last man was brought up and displayed.
“This old man’s name is Hercules,” the sweaty Bolton declared, “and he’s what you’d call a house and farm nigger. He’s not quite up to heavy manual labor anymore, but he’s extremely good with children and small household duties.”
The old man on the auction block stared deeply into Jack’s eyes—begging. An electric shock went through Jack’s body. It was the man Jack had seen at Mattie Turner’s place back over a year ago. Jack had never forgiven himself for not helping him then; he would make up for it now.
