Time Rip

CHAPTER ONE

1864, Virginia

The young Confederate soldier runs down the steep hill through the thick woods as if he was being chased by a hundred Union troops, his bare feet pound the leaf covered ground, as hard and fast as his heart. His Springfield rifle thrown down, nearly tripping over it. His legs crash through the shin deep creek, he staggers and falls into the water.
The soldiers dirty hands collect water, quickly raising them to his mouth. A snap of a twig from behind makes the teen soldier slowly turn his head in the direction of the sound. Water drips off his chin, His frightened brown eyes widen, pupils dilate as he stands and pushes through the creek, arms flailing as if it was helping. He escapes the water, wet feet slap brown fallen leaves, slipping, sliding. The young Confederate soldier with an outstretched hand grabs a sapling to avoid falling. Spinning around a larger pine. Out of breath, tilting his head back against the tree, his legs shaking. His right hand pressed on his heaving chest, eyes closed attempting to calm his breathing.
The snap of another twig. The young soldiers eyes open, a small stick lands on his forehead from above. Shakes his head. Looking around, stepping away from the tree, an invisible force doubles the soldier over as if hit by a horse, his legs kick out behind, his body crashing hard on his stomach. His jaw tightens. The soldier rolls to his right side into a fetal position, crossing his arms around his abdomen. A trickle of blood forms in the corner of his mouth, a string of blood and saliva dangles from mouth, to forest floor.
The soldier looks up in pain to see a black skinned figure, a single red eye in the center of the face where a nose should be. It stands motionless over him. Frightened, the Confederate rolls to his back and on to his elbows, pushing with his legs, heels of his feet digging into the earth. The black skinned, cycloptic figure closes both hands slowly into tight fists, stepping towards the withdrawing soldier.
The young Confederate quickly back pedals to a tree, and pulls himself up. Raising his hands in surrender to the silent attacker. "Please, don't kill me." The dark figure reaches the soldier in a heartbeat. The mysterious figure, with lightning reflexes, throat punches the Confederate with its right fist. His dirty hands cover his throat, bent over choking. The dark dealer of death pivots its left foot, as its right leg kicks the soldiers inner right thigh, crumpling the young soldier to his left knee. The assassin, quickly hops off its left foot, and with its right knee, jamming it into the neck of the soldier, pinning the defenceless confederate soldiers head to the tree.
In complete submission, the young soldier, wheezing through his bloodied nose. His trachea being crushed. The assassin leans forward close to the slowly dying soldiers left ear, the dark assassins featureless face, its chin almost touching its own knee. Its single red eye, unblinking. "Where is General Jackson?" A low hissing whisper escapes the featureless face.
The young soldier, gasping, gulping for air. His blue lips pursed attempting to speak. The assassin releases its grip, the Confederate collapses to his hands and knees, arching his back, heaving trying to breath. The assassin kneels down to the side of the soldier, waiting for an answer.
"Where, is General Thomas Jonathan Jackson?" The assassins voice cool, calm and calculated. The Confederate turns his head in pain. Shakes his head. Forces an answer. "I don't know?, I'm not privy to such.." The assassin lashes out with blinding speed. The punch strikes the young soldiers left temple, bouncing his head off the tree trunk.
The soldiers eyes open wide. The assassins left elbow rests on the left knee, lowering its featureless face on the back of the hand as if tired. The single red eye staring at the dead soldier.
The assassin lifts its head, as if it heard something. Standing quickly, turning its back to the large tree, slowly glancing around it. A Confederate officer on the back of a sleek chestnut horse. The reins relaxed in the officers tan gloved hands, resting on the saddle pummel.
The assassin leaving the cover of the tree moving quickly and silent to another large tree, getting closer to the officer. The horses head rears back towards its rider as if startled. The officer his brow showing perspiration trailing down his face into his long well groomed mustache. Taking his right gloved hand, reaching down the neck of the horse attempting to calm it. The horse taking several steps backward. The assassin suddenly reaches around grabbing the horses bridle, the assassins right leg pushes off the ground, as the left leg crashes into the ribs of the officer. Dismounting him, crumpling the man on the ground. The officers hat flys off, rolling on the brim resting against the base of a nearby tree. The assassin maneuvers under the horse and slides next to the officer as the shocked officer trys to stand. The assassin tangles and trips the horse soldiers leg falling him backwards again to the ground. Rolling onto his chest, pushing up with his arms to stand. The assassin rolling back on to its shoulders, back arched, springing up and forward to its nimble feet to meet the Confederate officer.
The officer drawing his long thin sword, slashing down, vertical. The nimble assassin intercepting the sword blade inside the arm wielding it, the Confederate right arm trapped over the dark figures right shoulder, the soldiers elbow snaps upward to the sky, the sword point stuck into the forest floor. The dark figure, with the twist of hip and turn of its body, gripping with both of its hands around the gloved wrist of the Confederate officer, as his body windmills, crashing hard on the ground knocking the breath from his body. Twisting his wrist the other direction, the muffled snap of breaking bones. The curdling scream of pain, then stifled, the dark assassin covering the Confederates mouth with a free left hand.
The assassin, leaning closer to the officers left ear, pushing a knee sharply into his lower back, involuntary arching the Confederates back. "Where is General Thomas Jonathan Jackson?" The officer gasping, " General Jackson is not my commander." The assassin's knee pushes sharply, deeper into the officers back, ribs crack. Followed by an intense moan from the Confederate.
"I'm going to ask you one more time, where is the General?" The Confederate turns his face, wincing in pain. "I don't... know where he is?" From behind, "Who goes there?" The assassin glances over its right shoulder to see two Confederate soldiers standing some forty-five feet away, rifles at the ready.
     The assassin slowly stands, the left hand leaving the Confederate officers mouth. A slim concealed blade bloody, retracts back into a hidden wrist sheath. A very fine puncture into the cheek and mouth. Blood runs rapidly onto the forest floor from the officers opened mouth, his teeth stained in crimson. The Confederate officers head thuds, lifeless against the base of the tree. The soldiers eyes widen, startled by the assassins frightful appearance. One soldier stutters, "Wha..what in the name of Christ, are you?" The assassin slowly raises its hands, stepping  away from the officers body. "I'm looking for an audience with General Thomas Jonathan Jackson."
     The slim, but tone build of the assassin the light footfall steps approaching the soldiers, rifles still shouldered. "I don't recall seeing anything like you before?" The other soldier glances with tired eyes to his fellow Confederate , and back towards the now very close assassin. "You a slave?" The first Confederate soldier nods. "Go on and check him for weapons."
The second soldier lowers his rifle, stepping forward. With a blink of an eye, with hands still raised the assassins left hand straight into a fist landing a punch into the throat of the Confederate soldier. Startled, staggering backwards. Collapsing dead, the soldiers body violently thrashing. The assassin side stepping the remaining Confederate rifle, trapping the weapon on the assassins right shoulder, black hands on both side of the rifle, a heartbeat the rifle butt crashing into the right cheek, breaking facial bones, sending the soldier reeling back into a nearby tree. The assassin skillfully spinning the rifle overhead, rifle now pointed at the soldier, the bayonet, mere inches from the soldiers neck.
     A yellow blinking light on the right forearm of the assassin. The assassin turns its one red, unblinking eye at it. The soldier attempts to escape. Not fast enough, the bayonet piercing the soldiers neck under his  left ear, the assassin pushes with shoulders, pinning the Confederate to the tree, stepping away, releasing the grip of the rifle, the soldiers limp, dead body hanging.
Left hand of the assassin touches the right forearm, the blinking yellow light disappears, a "beep, beep, beep" sound a transparent  white screen appears on the forearm. The assassin speaks into it. "Agent 1514, ready to return, standing by."
     A muffled female voice in response. "Agent 1514, set your return beacons now."
The assassin walks deeper into the woods. Touching the white screen, sliding an index finger across. Three small lights, like fireflies leap off the assassin, buzz around for a moment, as electrical pulses course through the assassins body, seemingly unharmed. The assassins body turns to an ash cloud.