Watcher in the Woods (19 page)

The man looked past David to Xander. “Oh, no,” he said. “How old are
you
?”

“Fif—” Xander's voice suddenly grew deep. “Eighteen, sir.”

The man frowned. “Beauregard hit our blind side. What's your take?”

“Pretty bad, sir. We saw . . . uh,
I
saw lots of casualties back there.”

The bearded man nodded. He said—more to himself than to Xander, David thought—“Retreat is not dishonorable.
Unnecessary
retreat is. I don't believe it's time to shoot the horse.”

“No, sir.”

The man scowled at Xander. “You know where the stockade is?” Conveniently, he pointed down the camp's center aisle.

“Yes, sir.”

“Carry on, then.” The man stepped aside.

David felt the barrel of the rifle poke his spine. His feet felt like they were made of cement, but they moved on down the middle of the encampment.

“What was that ‘shoot the horse' stuff ?” David whispered.

“I think it's his version of throwing in the towel. Do you know who that was?”

“A guy who almost shot me,” David said flatly.

“Ulysses S. Grant.”

When David said nothing, Xander went on: “He became president of the United States. He's on the fifty-dollar bill.”

Xander seemed more impressed by this last fact than by the first.

David simply nodded. As they moved toward the back of the camp, he finally spoke up. “How come I got the gray uniform?”

“Luck of the draw, Dae.” After a few moments, he added, “And I am sorry about this.”

“I know.” He walked a few paces. “Xander—”

“Don't use my—“

David said, “Xander, Xander, Xander.”

Xander sighed and said, “What?”

“I don't see any way we could look for Mom like this. And I just want to go home.”

“Yeah,” Xander said. “I have an idea. Come on.” He grabbed David by the collar and tugged him toward a tent.

“Hey!” David said. “What are you—?”

“Just trying to make it look real. You're my prisoner, remember? Now,
shhh
.”

Xander pulled the tent flap back. Past his brother, David saw a man getting dressed. Xander said, “Excuse me.” He let the flap fall back into place and pushed David on.

“What are we doing?” David whispered.

“I'm looking for something.”

“What?”

But they had reached the flap of the next tent. Xander had his ear close to the canvas, listening. Inside, someone was screaming in pain.

“Xander, let's go to the next one!” David said.

Xander pulled back the flap and gasped. David couldn't keep his eyes from looking. A man lay on a table, convulsing. Blood jutted from a wound in his neck. His screams became gurgles. A woman in what David assumed was a nurse's hat and covered in blood held a cloth to another injury in the man's chest. She looked up quickly.

“Boy!” she yelled. “You must fetch Dr. Scott. Two tents down. Hurry!”

“I . . . just . . .”

“Now!”

“Yes, ma'am.” Then something caught Xander's eye. He let go of David and stepped into the tent.

“
Xander!
” David whispered harshly.

“Didn't you hear me?” the nurse said. “Two tents down!”

“Yes, ma'am,” Xander repeated, but he continued into the tent. David saw that he was heading for a row of bodies lying near the side of the tent. A swath of tan canvas covered each body; only bare feet and hands protruded. On each covering was written a name: A. Powell, J. Davis . . . Xander bent and picked up the piece of charcoal beside the bodies.

“What are you doing?”

Yeah,
David thought.
What are you doing!

The nurse had reached the end of her patience with Xander. She screamed, “Help! Dr. Scott! Help!”

Xander darted to the tent flap and pushed David through it.

“What was that about?” David said. Then he realized that the nurse's yells were largely muffled by the tent material. With the yelling of commands to the soldiers and cries from the other wounded, no one would be able to hear her.

David pointed. “This way, I think. Dr. Scott, she said?”

“Hey,” Xander scolded. “You're a prisoner.”

They headed toward the tent she had indicated. Before reaching it, David felt a strong tug on his body, like a surf 's undercurrent. Just as he realized what it was, Xander grabbed his shoulder.

“David!” he said. “The portal. My clothes are pulling me that way. The rifle too.”

“I feel it too,” David said. “Just go tell the doctor—”

“Are you crazy? We gotta go now. The portal moves. We can't risk losing it.”

“But, Xander, that man.”

“We're not supposed to be here,” Xander said. “If he dies, that's the way it's supposed to be. Now, come on.”

He grabbed David's collar again and yanked him toward where they both knew they would find the portal—beyond the row of tents opposite the ones Xander had been looking into.

David looked back at the tents. What if that man died because they didn't get the doctor for him? The nurse had not asked Xander for a glass of water but for a doctor, a lifesaver. He felt he was walking away from something important. The dying man was out of sight. And they weren't doctors. They couldn't
really
help the guy, could they? But did these things—that they couldn't see the person who needed help, that their help was limited to getting real help—mean they didn't have to try as hard as when David had saved the little girl from being run over by the Nazi tank?

Then again, Xander was right. They knew from watching the worlds through the doorways that the portals drifted around. It was as though they were caught in a river current. And they didn't know enough about how they worked to know for sure they wouldn't simply drift away or vanish altogether. If they didn't reach the portal when they had a chance, they could be stuck in Civil War world forever. They might die there—and sooner rather than later. What good would that do?

He let Xander pull him more easily toward the portal. Then his legs were moving fast alongside Xander's, and he pushed the dying man from his mind.

“Do you feel it?” he said. “Is the pull getting stronger? I can't tell.”

“I think so. Come on.” They ran between two tents. David thought he saw it: a hundred yards away where the field met the woods, the base of a tree seemed to shimmer and ripple, as though he were seeing it through the heat waves of fire.

“There it is!” David yelled and picked up his pace.

Xander grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Hold on a sec.”

He ran back toward the front of the tent.

“Xander, come on! What are you doing?”

Xander disappeared around the edge of the tent. When David reached the corner, he found Xander drawing on the canvas of the tent with the charcoal he had picked up. David recognized the cartoon face that was his family's inside joke. The way he was drawing it, it would be four feet up, right on the front of the tent.

“What are you
doing
?” David yelled.

“I'll explain later,” Xander said. “Go to the portal.”

David looked back through the tents. His heart sank. The portal was gone. Then he saw it again, deeper into the woods. It was drifting. He knew at any moment it could just . . . float away.

“Hey, you!” someone yelled.

David turned to see a soldier standing in the camp's center aisle pointing at him—or at Xander, who was still drawing on the tent. Either way, this kind of attention wasn't good. Several of the pointing soldier's comrades turned to look. Whether they didn't like Xander defacing the tent or a Confederate soldier standing in their camp, unshackled and unguarded, he didn't know. But that something disturbed them was clear: two of the soldiers raised their rifles.

“Xander!” David yelled.

His brother's eyes darted toward him, then around to the object of David's concern. Xander dropped the chalk and bolted around the corner of the tent, slapping David on the back as he did. They ran for the woods.

Was the portal getting smaller or just farther away? Didn't matter—David would keep running until he reached it, and if he had to, he'd squeeze into a space the size of a mouse hole to get home.

Behind them someone yelled again, more insistently.

David's cast bounced against his ribs, causing jagged bolts of pain in both his arms and his ribs. The side of his jacket that had been hung loosely over his cast slipped off. It flapped behind him as he ran as fast as he could, staying right on Xander's heels.

A shot rang out. The musket ball tore through the woods ahead of them, sending branches and pine needles flipping through the air.

David would not have thought he could run any faster, but he did. He pulled even with Xander, then passed him.

Another shot, but he didn't see where that one went. A sickening thought crossed his mind. He yelled, “Xander?” He could not hear his brother's footsteps or breathing over his own.

He was ready to stop when Xander answered right behind him: “Go! Go!”

They hit the line of trees. David leaped over a tangle of branches. He came down on a small bush, almost fell, stayed up.

Without pausing, he ran directly into the shimmering, swirling portal.

CHAPTER thirty - seven

TUESDAY, 1 : 22 A . M .

David was still running when he burst into the antechamber. He hit the far door at full speed. His cast hit first, then his knees and forehead. He began falling backward, when Xander came through the portal, just as fast. Xander slammed David back into the door. Both of them crashed to the floor.

“Ahhhg!” David screamed. It felt as though his entire left arm was on fire. The pain was so intense he saw nothing but a bright, blinding light in his head. He felt a hand clamp over his mouth.

“Shhh! You'll wake Dad.”

“I . . . don't . . . care,” David said through clenched teeth and Xander's hand. “My arm! My arm!”

Xander wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tightly, the way Dad would have done. “I know it hurts,” he said, “but it's just your arm, Dae. You didn't get shot. You're alive.”

It felt as though a sword had been run up the entire length of his arm. Slowly, while Xander rocked him, the agony diminished. The sword became a hot wire, then a throbbing pulse, like his blood was having a hard time traveling through the damaged highways of his veins and arteries.

After a while, David opened his eyes. They were sitting on the floor, leaning against the door he had crashed into. The portal door on the opposite side of the room was closed. Of course it was: it always slammed shut after a person went through. This time it had waited until both of them—Xander and David—had reentered the antechamber.

“Okay,” David said, pushing Xander off him. “I'm okay.” But he wasn't sure it was true. Each time his arm throbbed—which kept perfect time with the beating of his heart—pain shot into his shoulder and head. On the downbeats, when the pain took little breaks, his arm tingled. “My arm feels like it's asleep,” he said. “When it's not—
uuuhhhgg
—killing me.”

Xander scooted back on the floor and leaned into the bench. He was smiling.

“What's so funny?” David said. He was holding his teeth so tight against the pain, it felt like his molars would crumble.

“How many times did you get shot at?” Xander said. “And you wait till you get back home to get hurt.”

“I got hurt
coming
home.”

Xander shook his head, eyeing David. “You look terrible. Your face is covered with mud . . . where your tears didn't wash it away.”

David touched his face. He had been in too much pain to even realize he had been crying about it. He kicked out at Xander's legs, striking him in the ankle.

“Hey,” Xander said.

David said, “What was that, drawing Bob on the tent? We were almost free and clear until you stopped to do that.”

Xander's expression grew solemn. “Something Dad thought of,” he said. “It's a way of letting Mom know we were there. If she sees it, she'll know we're looking for her.”

“But what if it doesn't last?” David said. “Does anything we do in those other worlds matter? Do they stay the way we left them?”

Xander thought for a minute. He looked at the portal door. “Maybe we should go back and see.”

“No way!”

“I don't mean now. You know how the rooms change, how the things in the antechambers switch to something else?”

“Sometimes they're in another room. Sometimes they don't show up again until later.”

“Same as the portals; the worlds are cycling through the house,” Xander agreed. “There are twenty portals on this floor. What if there are a hundred different worlds? A thousand? It's like they move away from this house and then come back.”

“Like a Ferris wheel,” David suggested. “The seats move away from the guy who helps people get on at the bottom, then later on they come back down to him.”

“Yeah, like that,” Xander said. “But we don't know where the portals go when they move away from the house.” He gestured toward the portal they had just stepped through. “Let's let it go away. When it comes back, we'll check it out, see if the world beyond is the way we just left it or if it reverts back to the way it was when we first found it.”

David nodded, thinking. “So if it were a Ferris wheel and we left gum on the seat, would the gum be there when we saw the seat again, or would someone have cleaned it off ?”

“Right,” Xander said, smiling. ”In this case, will Bob be there when we check again? It's exactly the kind of experiment Dad talked about.”

David frowned. “How are we going to record what we learned if Dad doesn't even know we're doing this? You thought we could go over, take a quick look around, maybe find Mom. But, Xander . . .” He shook his head. “I don't think it's going to be that easy. Dad was right—we have to learn more about all of this. You can't take a quick look around when people are shooting at you.”