Hank shoved the end of his stick into Reynolds’s gut. The aged surgeon wheezed a cough, doubling over. Wolf rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.” With a grimace, Reynolds forced himself upright again.
“You say that now,” Griff said with a smirk. He jabbed his cudgel into Wolf’s belly, forcing the air from his lungs. The baton blurred as he struck Wolf’s leg and shoved him to the ground. A sharp slap sounded out as Griff connected another blow to the meat of his raw back.
Roberts grabbed at his assailant’s hand. Every eye in the room watched the hapless struggle. More prisoners got to their feet. Others shouldered in closer.
“What’s this pup doing?” Hank said. With a thick hand and iron fingers, he cupped Roberts by the neck, restraining him. “Both of you go in the cellar now.” He let out a laugh.
Griff hauled Wolf upright then pointed his truncheon out at the rest of the officers. “I saw you fellows standing up. Don’t think for a second you would make it ten feet without this place going up in a ball of flames.”
“But we could take you with us,” Major Olmsted said. He was their unofficial leader, and there was anger in his eyes. The cramped officers inched closer like a phalanx of the imprisoned and the guards tensed, scanning the crowd. Griff spit on the floor. “You want to get killed over these two nobodies? You want all these innocent men to die?”
Olmsted raised his chin, resting a hand on Reynolds’s shoulder. “You remember what we can do.”
Griff laughed like a deep booming bass drum. “You remember where you are.” He shoved his way through the crowd, both Roberts and Wolf at their mercy.
A cold sweat broke out over Wolf’s body. They’d been found out. Horror must await them, and the men were saddened to see it. They turned away from them as if their bad luck could infect the others.
The steps creaked as they made their way to the first floor. When they reached the bottom, a guard wound a crank and the staircase mechanically clicked until back in place, inaccessible from above and effectively trapping the prisoners in the upper two floors.
Wolf slowed his gait in resistance, and Griff drove him onward as if he were a scolded child. “Hurry up.” The two guards forced the prisoners down drab hallway past the kitchen and bringing them to a halt at the commander’s office.
Griff knocked with hard knuckles.
“Enter,” came a voice.
Griff opened the door and shoved Wolf inside closely followed by Roberts.
Lieutenant Ross sat behind his desk. Two candles illuminated the room, casting long shadows in the corners. His brow creased at the sight of the prisoners.
“I said only Colonel Wolf.”
Hank scratched his head. “The little one tried to fight. I was going to take him to the cellar.”
Ross shoed him away. “Get rid of him.”
“Come,” Hank said, manhandling Roberts by the collar. His boots squeaked over the floor. Wolf reached for him, and a sharp crack from Griff’s stick kept Wolf in place.
“Close the door,” Ross said. He glanced down at his papers again. His eyes scanned the document from behind his glasses.
Griff chuckled. “I’ll be waiting for you.” The door clicked closed.
Ross glared at the door. The nib of his pen aggressively dunked inside the inkwell. “Colonel Wolf. We keep meeting like this.” He scribbled on a sheet of paper; his eyes locked in on his work.
Wolf stood silently, rubbing his hand. Cold sweat began to form on his brow. Did they find me out? A mere corporal masquerading as an unknown colonel. Or is it worse? Is Payne back for another round? The thought made his stomach roil. The melted skin on his back had only just begun to heal into a tight raw leather. “I already told you everything.”
A deep sigh escaped from Ross’s lips. “No, you didn’t. I know you lied, Mr. Wolf.” Have they found the letter?
He shook his head no. Deny. Deny. Deny. “I didn’t.”
“Have I ever told you about the books?”
“Yes, sir.” Wolf gulped, the threat of the unknown looming like the shadow of death.
“I told you how strict they are about the numbers?”
“Yes, sir.”
Ross inspected the paper in front of him again. “Everything is just a number. You are just a number. We are all just numbers.” He paused, letting the truth of it all sink in. “All entrusted to me. It takes a meticulous mind to make sure they are always correct. Do you know what makes a number correct?” His eyes narrowed at Wolf as he tried to determine if he understood his meaning. “A man makes a number correct.” He raised his eyebrows. “Or incorrect, but my numbers are never incorrect.”
Candlelight flickered and melted wax dribbled from the flame down the sticks and on their bases, reminding Wolf of the skin on his back under Payne’s tortuous brand. The flames reflected upon Ross’s glasses, making it difficult to read the man’s eyes. He would not meet Payne again a prisoner. He’d die before that. Revenge or death, but never on unlevel ground.
Ross stood, gesturing like he would at a dog. “Take off your clothes.”
His ears must have betrayed him. Why on earth would a man want him to strip down? He gulped down a parched throat. What sick and depraved torture did Ross have in store for him? “Pardon?”
“Remove your uniform.” Ross turned around and opened a wardrobe cabinet and began rummaging through. He held up Confederate gray uniforms judging the size. “Hurry now, off with it. We don’t have time.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There isn’t much to understand, Colonel. You are being liberated from Libby.”
Wolf’s entire body was paralyzed in shock as if he’d grown roots and become a tree in a second. It’s a trick. He’ll strip me naked and whip me or something even more devious.
“This should do,” Ross turned around and tossed him a jacket. Wolf caught the rebel coat in his arms, holding it out for inspection.
“Give me your overcoat and jacket,” Ross said, ushering him to throw it over.
“You’re going to get me shot.”
“I assure you I am not. Now, hurry. After we take down the stairs for the night, the guards start drinking. Hell, most fall asleep or leave. The longer you tarry here, the less time you have to distance yourself from Richmond.”
Hesitantly, Wolf took off his overcoat and frock coat, handing them to Ross. The prison commander took them and crumpled them in a bag.
Draping the plain wool rebel jacket over his shoulders as best he could, he gently pulled it tight. It fit him well. Yellow piping braided the cuffs.
“Off with you pants. Hurry,” Ross said. Wolf gave him a questioning glance, but Ross paid him no heed. “Here try on these trousers,” he said, handing them over. “No need to be total regulation.”
Wolf still felt awkward like he was being duped into a false escape only to be humiliated. He hurriedly pulled the pants on and Ross approached, inspecting him.
He straightened Wolf’s collar. “Try and comb your hair over.”
Wolf wiped a hand over his head then smoothed his beard.
“This will have to do. I will send away Griffin. We will wait for a while, and you will simply walk out the front.”
“Walk out? I’ll be shot.”
“Why would we shoot our own men? Take a look at your uniform, Colonel. You are now a rebel.”
“But why are you doing this?”
Ross stared up at him. “We’ve been given orders to start sending the Union officers south. In the next few weeks, we will begin to transport the prisoners. Apparently, high command doesn’t like sitting on 15,000 enemy combatants in their home capital all waiting to break free and ravage her. No, no.” He grinned and Wolf wondered if he’d gone insane. Perhaps they’d be shot together. “Every mile further south you go diminishes your chances of escape.” Ross grabbed the bag filled with Wolf’s clothes and shoved it into a larger cloth satchel.
“But the beatings and you let Payne?” Wolf’s eyes narrowed. “The Un
ion men here hate you. How is it possible for you to be both a Union man and tormentor in one?”
Ross stopped what he was doing, dropping the bag. “How do you convince everyone you aren’t a sympathizer? You act like the meanest, cruelest patriot there is. It allows me free reign all over this place. No one questions my orders because I rule with an iron fist.” He sighed. “Your circumstances were regrettable, but I assure you that I am your ally.” He snuck a nervous look out the window. “I had to be more careful when I was under Taylor, but when he got sick, everything became easier. Even now, everyone thinks I’m extracting information from you. Rumors run the mill. Now step aside.”
Wolf took a few steps toward the corner of his office. Ross opened the door a crack, poking his head into the hallway. “Griff, you may go. I will put this one away when I’m done.”
“Okay, boss. You sure?”
Ross shoved a hand in his pocket removing a greenback. “Why don’t you grab a bottle of something for you and the boys?”
“Thanks, Ross! Everyone thinks you’re a cold-hearted bastard, but y’all right by me.”
“I’m sure they do, now goodnight.” The prison commander closed the door and let out a deep breath. “Now, we wait.”
“I ain’t going.”
Ross ignored him walking back to his desk.
“I said, I ain’t going,” Wolf said louder.
“What do you mean you’re not going?” Ross said, anger encircling his eyes.
“I can’t go without Roberts.”
“Nonsense. I can only get you out.”
Wolf gave him a terse shake of his head. “Not without Roberts.”
“I don’t have a uniform for him. Do you understand what it takes to get one of you out of here? You cannot even fathom the risks involved for everyone in our network. One slip and we all hang.”
“I do. But I can’t leave my pal. You can go on and take out Captain Reynolds. He’s a surgeon and a good man.”
Ross shook his head. “I don’t pick.” He rubbed his hands together like a guilty thief on trial. “I suppose I should be trying to get more of you out while I can.” He peeked through the window again. “Your chances of success will go up alone.”
“Roberts or send me back upstairs.”
With a dirty glare, Ross hurried for the door and disappeared into the hallway. He soon returned with Roberts. His short comrade squinted at Wolf as he walked in. “Wolf?”
“Yes.”
“What in the hell you wearing that for?”
Ross stripped off his rebel jacket. “I don’t have time to find you another one that might fit. You must take mine.”
Roberts gawked at it. “You gotta be shittin’ me. You’re gonna shoot us, right?”
“We don’t have time. Wolf will explain later.”
“Put it on,” Wolf said.
Ross went to his window, narrowing his eyes as he examined the street again. “We must go now. Out the front door. Continue along Cary Street. It’s this one here.” He pointed out. “Someone else will meet you a few blocks north.” Ross hastily took a candle and set it on the windowsill. The flame flicked and rolled. He sat back down at his desk and rearranged his papers. “The signal is set. Good luck, gentleman.”
Chapter Four
April 29, 1864
Libby Prison, Richmond, Virginia
The two prisoners stepped into the darkened musty hallway as free men. The door closed loudly behind them. The warped floorboards creaked beneath their feet.
“Is he bein’ honest?” Roberts said softly.
“We’re in it now.”
“Don’t matter, I suppose. You don’t want to be in the cellars. Rats. Tons of rats. And them colored boys down there have it worse.”
They passed empty desks and tables that normally held the guards during the day. The kitchen was dark, the stink of constant use seeping forth like an overflowing sewer.
The door to the prison that sat open during the daylight hours was now closed. Wolf placed his hand on the door. He looked to his friend for confirmation that he was ready to step into the unknown. Roberts gave him a determined nod. With a push, the door swung open with an angry groan.
Campfires in front of the guard barracks across the street blazed in the night. Shadowed guards huddled around them drinking, eating, and chatting with one another.
A couple of guards stood sentry on each corner of the warehouse. They lazily kept their eyes on the whitewashed walls for the dark silhouettes of prisoners scaling them in the night.
The former prisoners took a step onto the street lined with uneven cobbles. The stars above them shone like little pinpricks of light in the tapestry of night. Although it had been over seven weeks, it felt like a lifetime of imprisonment.
The faint smell of tobacco mixed with stagnant water blew from the nearby riverfront, and Wolf never smelled anything so pure and sweet.
“Nice and easy now. Just two officers out for a stroll,” Wolf said. He tried to control his gait and make his limp less noticeable. Anything to normalize the appearance of the two escaping prisoners.
They made it to the corner. Two night sentries stood there. They leaned on their muskets like exhausted men on walking sticks. Neither wore rebel gray, but instead, butternut jackets and broad slouch hats. Without much concern, they glanced at the disguised prisoners and quickly dismissed them.
Wolf nodded in their direction and turned down Cary Street, making for the other side of the road away from the guard barracks.
They passed along a dark warehouse, each step giving them a burst of optimism that maybe they would escape.
“If they’d been trickin’ us, Ross would have shot us by now,” Roberts said.
“We can only hope. Just stay steady. A few blocks to the meeting point.” He chanced a glance back at Libby Prison. The candle had disappeared from Ross’s window. The guards on the corner still had their heads down. The two men continued away from the James River wharfs and warehouses. Three men passed by on the other side of the street, loud and drunk. Wolf kept his eyes toward the ground ahead.
A hulking man ambled down the street ahead of them. He sauntered with a swagger of a big man that threw his weight around and wanted everyone to know it. He wore a faded gray private’s coat and a bushy beard splayed on his chest. Wolf considered crossing to the other side, avoiding him, but decided it would appear even more suspicious.
“Keep calm,” he whispered to Roberts.
“I be as calm as I can be,” Roberts hissed.
As the man got closer, fear expanded in Wolf’s gut like a hot air balloon preparing to take flight. That mean, vacant face was unmistakable.
Roberts passed, keeping his head down, but the man stared at Wolf as he side-stepped around. The big man slowed and stopped, a long dagger at his belt, a cudgel on the other side. A bottle of whiskey was clasped in his other hand.
His voice came like a howitzer belching forth a hot shell. “You boys look family like. I know you?” His words froze them in their tracks.
Roberts was quick to respond. “You sure do know us. We’re on the other shift. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, our sisters know one another.”
“They do, sir?” Griff scratched at his beard with a thick finger. His eyes narrowed a bit as he tried to recollect.
Fast-talking and lying were two of Roberts’s fortes. These things came easy to him as his everyday survival depended on it growing up on the streets. “Sure do. Met in school, they did.”
“My sister’s down in Martinsville.”
“Well, sure, she is.”
Wolf nodded eagerly.
“What’s your sister’s name?” Griff asked.
“Josephine.”
Griff thought for a moment, shaking his head. “No, I don’t remember her.” He pointed a finger. “But I know you.”
“Like I said, same shift. Best carry on. We’re in a hurry.” Roberts bobbed his head and took a step.
“Wait,” Griff commanded, freezing the men
in place. “You be Union boys,” he said. He took a few steps closer, straining for a better look in the dark.
“Nope,” Wolf said.
Nodding, Griff reached for Roberts’s uniform touching it. A bold move for a man of lower rank either stupid or confident in his assessment. “New uniforms too. Where’d you get those?”
Wolf hadn’t realized his hand had made a fist. His knuckles were flying through the air long before it even registered he’d leapt into action. His fist punished the man’s jaw in a wicked surprise hook.
The towering guard’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he went crashing onto the street like an oak tree falling to the ground. The bottle hit the cobbles with a smash, sending booze and shards everywhere.
Roberts stared at the unmoving guard and then back at Wolf. “Now that’s a waste.”
Ignoring him, Wolf quickly searched the man, robbing him of his long dagger. He secured it on his belt where it belonged and drew the knife from its sheath. “Should slit his throat and do everyone a favor.” The blade was a dull gray in the night.
From the alley shadows came a voice. “What happened here?”
Wolf’s hand squeezed the hilt, and he prepared himself to kill whoever spoke. “Beat my sister, he did. He only had what was coming.” He sheathed the knife but kept his hand over the hilt.
A silhouette stepped closer, becoming a man. He must have seen the whole thing. Wolf’s hand hovered closer to the hilt. How much force was needed to keep this man silent? His face was covered in grime like he worked with coal or in a factory. He had a thick mustache on his upper lip also stained with soot. “I think I know your sister.”
The two escaping men shared a glance. “Say, would you happen to know where she is?”
The man hurried closer and grabbed Griff by an arm. “Help me get him off the street. Then I’ll take you there.”
They dragged the hulking guard into the darkness of the alley where shadows and criminals reign supreme. Griff’s head banged off the ground as they dumped him.
“He knows us,” Wolf said to the man.
The man’s eyes grew larger, the whites multiplying in size. “He knows you?”
Northern Blood Page 4
