Lawrence

Abigail wrapped her thin fingers around the pull chain. One yank would open the storm cellar and give her a straight shot for the road. Once there, she could flag down a traveler and get the help her family needed, but her arm would not move. Whether it was from fear or fatigue, both were inconsequential. She had to pull the chain, had to find the place inside her where courage was born and make a break for civilization, for providence, for preservation.

Dust tickled her nose as the big man walked across the kitchen floor, the boards straining against his massive bulk. She couldn't remember his face, only his brown muddy boots. As she viewed them from beneath the bed, they seemed like two wolverines, staring her down, waiting for her to make a move so they could spring forward and trample their prey. Instead, they had moved on, the idea of an empty bed had not given their wearer second thought, all he cared about was that which he could see, and an empty bed was just that, an empty bed, no meat to be had.

Ginny screamed from the far corner of the kitchen. Abigail's older sister was tough, a real fighter, but the big man had broken her with his sweaty-handed molestations. As her scream settled, it became a whimper, then a deep, agonizing groan. The floorboards beneath that corner of the kitchen began to bow. Abigail was loath to imagine the big man on top of his sister, kissing her, trying to coerce her into another horrifying act.

"Get off her," Abigail could just make out the rasping voice of the thin man. "How good she gonna be to us with you on top her every ten minutes?"

Earlier, through a crack in the closet door, Abigail had seen the thin man. He had slunk around the house as if he had no spine, relaxed and cool. In any other situation, he may have been good company, quiet and easygoing, but in this situation, his demeanor made him as menacing as a badger in a potato sack. His smooth arrogance and total lack of feeling had seen him through the death of both Abigail's parents, and would eventually guide him, unflinchingly, when it came time to dispose of Ginny.

Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled. The lonely cry carried with it despair that Abigail hadn't yet felt. In the past twelve hours, her mother, father, and two brothers had been raped, mutilated, and dumped in the storm cellar. After this, nothing would ever be the same again, but if she and Ginny could be spared, then maybe, just maybe, they would find strength in each other, strength enough to move on and lead normal lives.

Abigail glanced over at the stack of bodies. She dabbed at the blood on her forehead. Both the corpses and her head wound served as a reminder how close she had come to death. The big one had found her in a closet and proceeded to beat her like an arrogant horse. If it had not been for the thin one, she would have died right there. The thin man had mercy on her and left her alone, for a while. It may have been from boredom or from spite because she had hidden from them for so long, but no matter what it was, once skinny had finished with the rest of the family, he started on her. Mostly it was insults at first. He accused her of having nothing on her chest and being useless to him. When she had stood up to him, called him an "itchy rooster", he picked her up and tossed her down the stairs. While Abigail slipped into unconsciousness, she had heard the man say, "I kilt the young one" and then he laughed. Stupid mule had the nerve to laugh at her.

Laugh now, she said to herself, grip tightening on the pull chain.

It was not yet dusk and the encroaching darkness seemed to collapse the storm cellar around her, reducing it to a tight space where Abigail found it hard to breathe.

"Pull the chain," she said through gritted teeth, and that's exactly what she did.

Once the cellar was open, she froze for a moment, terrified that the two men upstairs had heard her. Had there been only two men, or were there three? Now that she thought about it, there may have been a third man, short and stocky with hair on his knuckles. Or maybe her fear was creating a sketch, a combination of the two killers, the fat hairy one and the skinny smooth one merged together to form a menacing ringleader.

Abigail screamed as a hand fell upon her shoulder. He had her, the hairy beast had her and now he was going to break her neck.

"Quiet, girl!"

The owner of the hand spun her around, and covered her mouth.

"You want them boys after you, too?"

When she saw the black skin of the hand that held her, Abigail began to cry. Shad dropped to her level and looked at the wound on her head. The middle-aged black man had a kind, open face that usually carried a warm smile, but he was not smiling now. In fact, he looked pretty banged up, blood pouring from his split lip.

"Ms. Abigail," Shad said softly, "Is there anyone else in the house?"

"Ginny," Abigail gasped. "Please, Shad, she's had enough."

"You go on down the hill. My wife's down there with a couple of the neighbor folk."

His words were assured as if this black sage knew the answers to the biggest questions.

"Shad, why'd they do that? Why'd they kill mama and the boys?"

"Quantrill’s Raiders come to town today. Boys done brought hell."

Shad steered her in the direction of his wife and gave her a gentle pat on the back.

"Me and Ginny gonna be along shortly, don't you worry."

Abigail stumbled down the hill, her legs like jelly as she crossed the uneven ground. She tripped once, twice, three times. On the third fall, someone helped her to her feet. Looking up, she hoped to find the sweet face of Shad's wife, instead she found herself staring into the demon eyes of the third man. He was short and evenly muscled, with long thick hair on his fat gorilla knuckles. His left eye was stark white and matched by a long, jagged scar.

"Damn, girl, your boy has got some kind of heart," he snarled, then smacked her back to the ground. "Shame I had to cut it out."

Abigail saw the fresh blood on his hands and felt for the first time an incendiary anger even her good Christian morals could not contain. She bit, and no ordinary bite, she dug her teeth in and tore the flesh away from the back of his hand. He screamed and swung at her, but she was already on her feet and running back to the farmhouse. Just as she reached the orb of light from the kitchen window, Ginny and Shad exploded from the house. The old black man was leaning on the Abigail's older sister, blood dripping down his right arm.

"Abigail, run!" Shad yelled with all the strength he had left.

Behind them, the two men emerged, the thin man had a large bloody knife in his hand and the big one wielded a sledgehammer. Abigail could tell from the state of Shad that while the thin man had cut on him, the gorilla wailed on him with the sledgehammer. Suddenly, Abigail was lifted into the air and slammed face down into the dirt. The hairy knuckled one put his knee into her back and held her down.

"Bring that hammer here!" he snarled.

The big one smiled, his attention shifting from the old black man and the teenage girl, something Abigail was grateful for, despite her situation. Every second she could prolong their lives was well worth it. The big one stopped within two feet of her and raised the sledgehammer above his head.

"Abigail, don't look!" Shad yelled.

Abigail saw Shad from the corner of her eye. He was flat on the ground, his hand reaching for her, though he was more than six feet away. Ginny just wept, knowing that once they were done with her little sister, she would be next, and her fate would be much worse.

The big one grunted as he started to swing the hammer.

"Hold that weapon!" cried a thunderous voice.

The clop-clop-clop of horse hooves against the hard Kansas earth caught Abigail’s ears. A rider atop a fine horse approached the slaughter site. Abigail could see her reflection in his boots. She had never seen footwear with such a high shine before.

"Crack her like a watermelon!" the hairy knuckled one bellowed.

"Did you not hear my order?!" the well-dressed soldier screamed. A stream of spittle flew from his mouth. “Back down now!”

"They're Jayhawkers, sir!" the thin one rasped.

"You men are to disperse and rejoin your brigade," the well-dressed man said rather calmly and eloquently.

And just like that, the three men dispersed and the carnage was over. No one else was going to die tonight, at least not on the Pritchard farm. The well-dressed soldier pulled Abigail to her feet and dusted her off. He offered the same courtesy to Ginny. He then removed his hat and introduced himself.

"William Clarke Quantrill," he said with a half-bow. "Excuse my lieutenant's behavior. Just the other day lost both his wife and child. And true enough, they do call him Bloody Bill."

Quantrill took a knee next to Shad. He grabbed the old man by the hair, pulling his head back roughly. Abigail tried to stop him, but Ginny held her back.

"Fortunately for this dog, I've seen enough murder today," his voice was soft, nonchalant, as if Shad were some vagrant animal.

Then, he stood and wiped his boots on Shad’s broad back.

"I must apologize for my men,” Quantrill said. “They were instructed not to harm the young women. Orders were for boys and men."

With a look to the declining sun, Quantrill slipped his hat back on and mounted his horse. He gave a refined wave, and rode from them, quickly closing on his retreating men. Abigail threw herself into her sister's arms and wept.

___________________________________

As night fell and the North Star rose, Abigail and the other survivors topped the ridge overlooking the town of Lawrence, Kansas. Fires still burned in the streets. Wild dogs roamed the colonnades and alleyways, tearing flesh from the bodies strewn across the landscape. Shad stopped and looked at the devastation. Abigail waited for him. He was a man of color, but family nonetheless. He had worked the farm since she was a little girl, and had given her as much education as her own mother and father. Abigail reckoned that she and Ginny would be just fine, as long as they had each other, and Shad to look over them.

"What do you see?" she asked.

"Aww, nothin', Abbie," Shad choked back a sob. "Just don't know when it's ever gonna be right for folks."

"I guess folks is folks, can't much change ‘em."

"No, I reckon not."

Together they joined the survivors of the massacre, and made their way north, guided by the brightest light in the sky. Behind them, Lawrence burned.