Spyglass

Chapter 4

I have a jumble of thoughts as I run through the woods. I stay insight of the road with one destination in mind.

When I reach Sackett's house I don't bother knocking. I storm down the hall and am just about to climb the stairs when Sackett appears at the top. "My fiance is dead." Sackett looks down. I raise my voice. "Did you hear me? Nick Alcott is dead!" By the end of it I'm screaming. "The man I love is dead!" Between streams of profanity I charge up the stairs.

Claire slips between us and says something to Sackett. He replies and turns to me. "We have to leave right now. The soldiers woke up and they aren't happy. To prevent your question: no, I did not have you followed. I sent out a rider the moment you stormed through that door. We are going to camp."

"Is the wagon- of course it is. I assume you are sending someone to collect my things?" I put aside my anger and rush back down stairs.

"Exactly how many soldiers are we running from?" Sackett puffs as he follows me.

"Three. But they will call for reinforcements when they can't find me."

"I'll take care of that."

"Two of them can't stand." I say as we hurtle through the dining room. Sackett pauses in shock. I try to look at anything but the chair across from me. Just 2 hours earlier my living breathing fiancé was sitting down; smiling at me. I clear my throat and we run out onto the porch that raps around the house.

We dive into the wagon waiting there and are soon sitting up strait; catching our breath as we speed away. I look at sackett out of the corner of my eye. Then I punch him. I feel my fist hit his brow and his check bone. We ride along in silence for a while. The driver knows where to go. I try not to hate this man. All he has in common with nick and I's driver is his occupation. And this is probably a continental soldier anyways.

My assumption turns out to have been right. We arrive at what can only be the continental army's bases of control in under an hour. As we travel down the main path, more and more soldiers follow us. Their eyes linger on me- even some of the younger ones. I must remind some of them of those they left behind. And others, well, I know I'm pretty. I glance down at my dress; suddenly self conscious and immediately regret it.

The navy blue dress is torn at the bottom- showing to about half way up my shin- and the skirt is covered with Nick's blood. In the dancing firelight the blood looks fresher. I smooth down my dress and that is when I see my hands. My right hand looks normal enough- if a bit dirty but my left hand is not my left hand. Up to the veins on my wrist the hand is covered in blood. It is caked under my fingernails and in the creases between my fingers. My whole hand is red. I swallow and stare at the horizon. I can not afford to show weakness here.