Hands to Rescue

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A GUN COCKS WITH a loud click as Liam's voice sounds hushed in the rain. I crouch, taking careful steps around the wagon, inching closer to hear. "If the colonel wanted to see you in person, general, I believe he would have. Now it's just you and your guys here, and me and mine." Liam's voice is steady, even and calm as I imagine a smoothly carved pistol in each of his bronzed hands. "We have men lining the trees like a pack of wolves ready to pounce." I sense Liam pausing to read the bitter general's eyes, almost seeing him cock his head in his own winsome, cunning way. "If there is to be gunfire tonight, the first musket ball will most certainly find it's way to your heart. But would you really favor being known as a man who desired bloodshed?" Liam's voice peaks with mystery, toying with the impatient general. "Let me take the boy and then you and Col. Holt can have your reunion at a later date, otherwise I might have to fire. And if you think I'll miss, general, please tell me . . ." I hold my breath and imagine the green spark in his eyes. "Does my hand shake?"
Then General Ashton's revengeful laugh pierces the silence and I feel like cowering underneath the canopy of the forest once more. "Young boy, you are smarter than most, I admit. But I am not intimated by you and am getting quite bored of this chatter." The general's voice hardens and I hear the crack of a hand against a hard table. "Order your regiment to surrender, or the boy dies whether you get a shot off at me or not."
Silence.
A soft, boyish whimper cuts to the very marrow of my bones. A hard slap to Michael's cheek makes me jerk, almost sending me into the tent to liberate him myself. "Are you so deaf? I said order the surrender!"
I quickly run over the ideas of Liam pushing back again or ordering a surrender . . . which one? He wouldn't be so foolish to surrender, but will he be so brave to demand Michael over again?
"The boy comes with me, general. No other options." I listen for any waver in Liam's raspy voice. Finding none, a smile tugs at my cold lips. I breathe in heavily. He can do it, he really can.
But of course, the general will not be so easily convinced. "Son, I have a proposition, and it is the only one by which I will agree to hand over the boy. He's been quite irritating anyways, thrashing and kicking about, refusing to be quiet about how his Papa is going to kill me." I clench my fists, prouder than ever of Michael and his resilience against the British men's treatment. "You tell that colonel to come out from hiding if he wants to save any bit of his son. If not," the general's voice raises in an authoritative warning, "I'll send that boy back with half his limbs."
I bite my lip to keep the tears from running as hot coals over my cheeks. Short breaths come out as panicky whispers. "No, no, no . . ."
I asked You to get him out . . . I begged you!
"That's not an option, general." I hear the desperation in Liam's voice and I quiver in the rain's soft shower as what feels like a blanket of defeat drapes over all hope that remained.
The pause in the night echoes unbearably too long. "Not unless you care to die tonight."
Pain ripples through my chest so that I tear at my dress's material for relief, frightened now for Liam's life and not even allowing myself to consider loosing he and Michael this night. A yell and then a slap, the sound of Michael trying to escape the general's grip and suffering a blow makes me cringe and lower further to the ground with a tremble. "Michael! Don't, don't . . ." Liam's panicked command silences Michael's cry. I whimper, huddling my knees to my chest and biting my dress to keep from screaming at the entire situation.
"Boy, I'm getting tired of this. Get the colonel or we're through." The change in the general's tone makes my heart pound in an urgent desire to see Michael and Liam walk out of the tent. My eyes dart furiously at the ground, searching their options. Can Liam grab Michael and run out while Kel holds the general at gunpoint?
Not if there are several Dragoons in the tent.
The air itself seems to tense in suspense, and the long silence pierces the night as loudly as the gunshot that suddenly rips through the tents wall. A British soldier stumbles out, tearing through the material and to the ground, holding his blood-covered chest. Liam's bellow blends in with a second gunshot and a rough cry. "Michael, run!"
I burst forwards, standing, and reach out to catch my heart that feels as though it jerks out of my chest.
A shadow slams into the side of the tent. It's Liam, thrown by a bullet as he slides down the canvas and leaves a trail of what must be blood. My heart sinks, my stomach drops, and suddenly I cannot follow what's happening, why two other shadows now pull up Liam's slumped form. My watery eyes blur my vision, but I see Kel hold a small form and charge from the tent in desperation for escape.
As if hit with a dagger, I stumble, swaying from side to side, gripping the sides of my face. "Wait, wait!" I can't stop my cry. I look from them to the tent in furious angst, torn apart, the shadow of Liam's limp body obvious through the tent's canvas. "Liam, Liam . . ." Consciously, I barely notice my own voice that comes out as a rasp as I break into a run without thinking, past the tent and towards Kel. "Stop it!" My voice cracks violently, carried away by the raging wind so that he doesn't hear me. I reach him in only a second, tearing at his shirt. "Stop it, stop! Please!" My lip quivers under the weight of terror.
The alarm in Kel's face shows it all, that he will not think for one second about coming back for Liam, not while the colonel's son is in his hands. "You foolish girl! Run! Just run!"
"Kel!" I scream in sudden outrage, terrified, broken all at once at the simple thought of Liam O'Dally. My teeth grit and I grab Michael's wrist, torn between the longing to hold him and the ache to see Liam alive. My hoarse shout echoes in Kel's face. "I have Michael! Get Liam back! Go!"
I see the change in Kel's face. I know he'll go. I turn and run, unable to stop my body from wrenching in terrible sobs, though the fire in my veins hasn't completely diminished. Looking back, I gather Michael in my arms as his legs swing around my waist. Straining, I look for any sign, any hint of Liam being alive. A groan—almost a growl—escapes through my gritting teeth as I struggle to turn my head fully behind my shoulder. "Come on, Liam . . ."
Shoes slipping in mud, I look back ahead to keep my footing. We approach the end of camp, the entrance to the forest, and it's here I find the colonel's gaze as we slow down from the extreme run. Michael immediately slides out of my arms and into his. I hold my stomach, wondering how it all happened so fast. How everything went wrong. The fear in Papa's face is no match for the anger, and he looks from me to Fields and back, kissing the top of Michael's wet head and rocking him back and forth.
"I can explain everything," I hurry, desperate. "Liam's shot, Kel went back, and I took Michael." I run to his chest, forcing him to understand with my burning eyes. "Please, Papa! We have to help." Something snaps in Papa's eyes. The reality of it all and the hopelessness of this night lining his brow. But deeper than this is a determination to fight.
And yet . . .
"No." His voice is cracked and pained as he hoists Michael up. "We must leave." My hesitancy keeps my feet to the ground. "NOW!"
I jump, fresh tears flowing. Fields nods firmly and turns, leading the way of escape into the forest. My lips fumble in response, hands gripping onto Papa's shirt. "What?" I can't stop my words laced with anger. "Papa! Go back!"
His broad back faces me and I consider turning around myself. But I can't leave Michael, not after just rescuing him. My fists clench and all I want is to pull at the back of Papa's coat, force him around, anything.
Anything . . .
"Liam! What about Liam! Papa!"
But no one hears the hopeless scream, not even the trees.

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