ONE IF BY LAND, TWO IF BY SUBMARINE

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER NINE

T.J. climbed out of the wagon with a loud sigh. "Seriously, I have to be arrested in the first scene?" Clapping his hand on the skinny soldier's shoulder, he added. "How about we try something more original than escaped slave?"

The soldier's shoulders stiffened and Kep's uneasiness grew. Beside him, Tela's jaw tightened while Max looked frightened.

"If you wish to draw another breath," the soldier said through broken teeth, "unhand me."

"My bad." T.J. extended his palms. "No breaking character." 

A man with white stripes on his sleeve strode over.

"Sergeant!" The soldier held up the poster. "Look at this. And the boy's got no freedom papers."

Kep's breath caught. If just for a second he believed a real soldier in 1775 believed T.J. was a real runaway, the outcome would be terrifying.

As the sergeant and a third soldier came toward them, T.J. started climbing back into the wagon, glanced at Kep, and whispered, "Dude, this place feels so real even I could buy into your conspiracy theory. Wherever they've got the camera crew stashed, they're getting some great footage." 

"You're going nowhere without papers, boy," said the skinny soldier.

 T.J. winked at the team and whispered even more softly. "Time to stir things up."

"No! Don't." Kep reached to grab his arm, but T.J. rounded on the soldier.

"Tell your king we Americans aren't taking it anymore," said T.J. "You sorry red you-know-whats would be smart to ship yourselves back across the big blue ASAP, boys." 

It happened in a blur. The skinny soldier grabbed T.J. by the collar and slammed his rifle butt at his head.

T.J. ducked, but too late. The rifle rammed into his temple with a sickening thud. The only other time Kep had heard a sound like that was at a swim meet when a diver hit the board. T.J. crumpled into the dirt.

Tela screamed. Max froze. 

For a split second, Kep expected a whistle—someone yelling hold up, we've got an injury. An accident. 

No whistle. 

Heart pounding at jack-hammer speed, Kep sprang out of the wagon. He rushed at the soldier, but rough hands jerked him to a stop. Another soldier held him from behind, gripping both his arms. Twisting, he tried to get loose, but the hands clamped harder.

"Attacking a king's soldier is a hanging offense," a voice said in his ear. "Cool down."

T.J., still on the ground, slowly raised his head, outrage and disbelief spasmed across his face. "What the—What're you—My parents'll sue you for every penny! You have no right—"

"Rights?" spat the skinny soldier standing over him. "A runaway slave? I would advise you forget rights and focus on obedience." He glanced at the poster again. "T.J."

Kep watched, helpless, as T.J. struggled to sit, his fingers touching the raw gash at his temple. T.J. didn't seem to be listening to the soldier. He twisted his neck staring at the soldiers, the guard house, the gun trained on him.

"Oh my god..." T.J.'s eyes locked on Kep's "This is messed up. Kep, this is—real."

A chill sliced through Kep's body. Real. Real blood dripped down T.J.'s cheek. Real soldiers all around.

"And you." The skinny soldier Kep had tried to tackle started toward him. "Your lack of respect needs attending." He padded closer and grabbed a heavy stick from the ground.