Corpses on the Field

The bodies were sprawled across the ground and stacked upon one another, the closer we drew to the entrance of the dugout.

A faint smell of gunpowder mingled in with the heavy stench of blood hung in the air, and as we approached, I asked my companions to be wary. The bodies in front of us were fresh, and not only might there be wounded among them, but the killers might be nearby as well.

I need not have feared on either account.

There were no wounded, only dead. And whatever had done the killing was gone, and for that, I was thankful.

Most of the dead were armed with rifles, a few with pistols, and all with the unmistakable katana of the Japanese warrior class. These were fighting men, undeniably skilled in the arts of war, and whatever had slain them had done so with ease.

We picked our way through the dead, gathering ammunition and weapons, food, and clothing. None of us knew how long our trek would be to return not only to my own lands but to my own reality.

Gods’ Hollow has a habit of casting the unwary traveler wherever it wishes to.

As we finished our battlefield scavenging, Isaiah motioned to me, and I joined him and Bram at the entrance to the dugout. From somewhere within came the faint sound of singing. It was a soft voice singing in perfect English, and it took me a heartbeat to recognize the voice.

I motioned for silence, and we hastily retreated to where the rest of the Akatuyians waited. Within moments we were once again on the move, everyone quiet, the fear palpable among us.

And why shouldn’t it be?

It was the killer who had been singing in the dugout, and I knew the voice of my mother anywhere.

End, Jan. 5, 1890

Begin, Jan. 6, 1890

As we walked through a small clearing, we caught the sounds of work coming from over a small hillock. Several of us scouted forward, leaving the bulk of the Akatuy people in a defensive circle.

We crept up the hillock and, flattening ourselves to the ground, we edged forward the last few feet. On the other side of our position, we discovered a group of men working on a road. They called out to one another in the same bastardized Russian my new friends spoke, and it was easy to see that the men on the road were of two distinct varieties: prisoners and guards.

I took close stock of the situation, counting the men and identifying what weapons were there, and what tools could be used as weapons. The convicts were, for the most part, young and fit. Many of the guards were the same. Both types would be able to put up a rough fight if we didn’t have good ground to defend ourselves on.

Turning, I motioned for the Akatuyians with me to fall back, and they did so. We eased our way to the bottom of the hillock, and when I turned to speak to them about our plan of action, I went silent.

On each man’s face, there was a look of horror. When I asked what was wrong, only Bram answered me.

“We have to keep moving,” he informed me. “Quickly, too.”

“Why?” I asked. “Do you know those men?”

He nodded, answering after a moment, “Duncan Blood, we are those men.”

My shoulders sank as the truth of what he told me sank in.

We had stumbled into an alternate reality to their world, one where they hadn’t escaped or been cut off. The men we had seen were younger, so perhaps their chance to escape might come, but there was one thing I knew for certain, and that was the men and women of Akatuy would not risk killing their younger selves.

Without any discussion, I nodded my head and motioned for them to follow me back to the group. It would be easier to walk than to argue, and I had no desire to kill any who had helped me.