Page 3

Peter began to move, then stopped suddenly. He turned, feeling the world around him slow to a crawling pace. The rain seemed to hover in the air, falling silently, sliding through the air on its downward path. Peter turned around completely, every sense in his body screaming, his eyes wide. He heard nothing of the world except the low, steady, resonating beats that pounded inside his ears. A breeze pushed at his face suddenly, and he was conscious of air sliding along his cheeks and hair. In slowing motion, the drops splashed on the mud near his feet. As he turned, he knew. No! The sound of the gunshot still reverberated in the air. A high-pitched droning screamed into his ears the reality of what had just happened. Peter turned. Samuel. What he knew to be true was too horrible to be real. But there was Samuel- falling, as if held up by the swirling fog around him, slowly, drifting to the ground, a bright spray of crimson lifting from his chest. Samuel's head was thrown back, revealing a face filled with shock and defiance all at once. Samuel was shot.

"Run Peter!- NOW!!" The men screamed for him to follow them, diving into the sunken pit of tattered earth. Peter was paralyzed with shock. He stared at Samuel's body, lying still on the ground. His mind reeled, hearing the whispers echo in his memory- surrounded- surrounded! As indecision seized his muscles, suddenly Samuel's body became back dropped with a mass of glowing red materializing in the fog behind him. Peter's mouth fell in open shock as his vision was filled with a line of red-clad soldiers, marching, marching- toward Samuel- toward him.

Peter turned and bolted, running and sloshing through the mud. He dove into the pit, where his three dumfounded friends lay, staring with the same horror at the scene that had driven Peter to flee. Peter threw himself into the mud, staring intently through the foggy air, seeing the soldiers stop moving when they came to Samuel. The wind was picking up. It blew hard into the men's faces, whisking the rain into their eyes. The fog undulated and moved like a living being, fighting the wind. With every shift of movement, the fog revealed more British soldiers. They seemed to fill the horizon, turning the woods into a haze of red mist. Samuel lay there unmoving. Peter and the others watched. The soldiers kept advancing. Surrounded. Peter shook with violent emotions rampaging through his body. Why? Why Sam? Why, oh why? With trembling hands, he wiped beads of sweat and rain from his face.

CRACK! Another shot rang through the air. Samuel's body twitched. Another shot. The men around Peter cried out and slid into the bottom of the pit, enrapt with despair and fear. Shocked, Peter looked at Weatherfield. His face was emotionless- almost apathetic, the man had given up all hope. Another man wept silently, shaking violently. The third man was pounding the ground in front of him, spewing chunks of mud into the air and muttering unintelligible words with fierce emotion. Peter looked back toward Samuel again. The troops had reached him now. They stopped. Peter was in awe of the sheer number of men that stood there. Each one held a hostile grimace. They searched the woods, waiting, hoping to prey on another victim. They knew there were still stragglers left from the battle. They were hunting them. Peter's heart burned inside his chest. His eyes stung with tears and sweat and rain. Jean was dead. Samuel was dead. The men below him gripped each other now.

"Peter..." Weatherfield's eyes were so filled with sadness that Peter's heart swelled again as he gazed on him, "this is it, isn't it?" His question hovered in the air, stilling the men. They all looked at Peter, all of them waiting for his confirmation, waiting for his command to surrender their lives to this fate. Crouching low, Peter moved his face close to the others. He looked into the eyes of each of them, as if searching their souls. Is this how it would end? Was this muddy pit to become their ignoble graves? His breathing was shallow and quick. His teeth were clenched and his eyes were set with sudden fierce determination.

"Face into the wind."

The men all looked up at him at once. He continued looking at them, as he stood up to his full height in the muddy little pit. He stared at the three men, and inside his eyes, something of a fire glimmered weakly growing ever stronger until his jaw set in a driving determination. He drew the musket to his chest, pulling the hammer back, then turned, facing the impenetrable line of soldiers that stood not sixty yards away. "Face into the wind."

He climbed to the top of the pit, staring down the line of trees. The three other men climbed up behind him, holding their weapons high. The rain pounded them, shattering shards of water bounced off their heads and shoulders. Before them stood their enemies, like a solid wall of red and white halting their vision. Peter squeezed the gun in his hands, seeing Samuel's sad eyes looking deeply into his own. He sucked in a breath, feeling the wind buffet his face and wet body, sticking his clothes to his skin and flapping his coat against his legs and back. Taking one step forward, Peter looked at the barricade of shimmering steel and wood and metal that lay stretched out before him. He whispered Samuel's name into the fleeting air, then gritted his teeth, and charged forward.

The woods were silent that night. The rain had ceased in the evening, and a quiet calm settled on the wet forest. The rains had passed, and the leaves glistened with moisture. As the sun settled beneath the horizon, darkness fell gently upon the earth, and a peaceful silence settled into the quiet valley.

copyright 2005 Taylor Allen

previous