Mines

Chapter Twenty-eight

Rain patters down through the leaves of the forest surrounding them. It drips onto our hats and veils. Increasing the speed and intensity of the stream beside us. Eliza and Peggy Schuyler stand in the front in black dresses the other rebels managed to provide. Hands linked, tears and rain pour down our faces. Many of the slaves that have just been freed glance around in amazement, because most of us have never seen rain when living in the desert. Personally, I don't like it. It makes me all wet, shivery, and cold. I wrap my arms around myself and glance to my right to see Alex standing there. Just standing. He doesn't move a muscle and his brilliant eyes have gone still, unmoving, fixated on a point that seemed several miles away. I pat him gently on the shoulder to bring him back to the reality of this funeral, and he seems to jerk back in consciousness. His face twitches and he turns up to stare at me with a wide eyed, horrified expression on his face.
"You good?" I mouth to him, and he doesn't respond.

We found the other rebels about two days ago, while trudging through the hot, humid forest that surrounded the mountains on the edge of the desert. One of the slaves tripped over a tree root and crashed into the underbrush, attracting just about every soul in the forest with his screams of pain as we examined his broken ankle. We heard the silent rustle of leaves and saw a somewhat pudgy girl with dark hair and skin. When we explained our situation she excepted us and told us her name. "Maria Reynolds." She then lead us through a days walk, deep into the forest that covered the valley. A village had been constructed, dents built in the trees and low onto the land. Two tables were set with fruit picked from the trees and hunted meats. The largest building, called the "justice building" was where we met their leader.
"Thomas Jefferson," said the tall man with a curly afro surrounding his head. He shook hands with Washington when he told Jefferson our story. Still watching, I saw Jefferson lead Washington into a room, which was covered with books and scrolls. He pulled out some sort of map and started talking to Washington in a whispered tone. It wasn't until Alexander walked up beside Washington and joined in the conversation, when Jefferson really noticed the rest of us. "And who, are you?"
"Alexander Hamilton." Alex replied, returning the glare of Jefferson.
"This is a private conversation." Jefferson had reminded him.
"As Mr. Washington's right hand man, I have the privilege of aiding him in such conversations." Alex retorted. Washington put and end to the argument, and about five minutes later we were being lead to what was called the "community center" where we were easily bunked, with our small numbers.
"And so, we pray for our losses." the priest who's conducting the funeral says, finishing the ceremony and effectively, snapping me back into reality.

"Alex, are you okay?" I ask, catching up with him as he dashes away as soon as the funeral is over. He doesn't answer again, but heads inside the community center, and rushes up the slippery wooden stairs that lead up to the building and the porch, and then inside. The community center is a large space, with high ceilings and bunk beds lining the walls, and a small bathroom. Apparently, the rebels that work here built all the buildings and sleep houses by themselves, effectively taking them two years to finish it all, and clearing out a small clearing in the dense woods. When Alex's inside, he seems to relax. His muscles are still tense, but his face isn't twitching anymore. "Hey. Are you okay?" I question him again, rushing to his side.m
"I'm.. I'm fine." Alex answers without glancing at me. "I'm tired, I think I'm going to bed."

It's past midnight when I speak to Alex again. The pouring rain, which was somewhat drizzling during the funeral is now coming down in waves and splashing against the old building. A leak drips onto the floor in front of me. I assume it's this that woke me up. I turn on my side and see the bed to my right empty, and realize it's the bed Alex was sleeping in. Where is he? Thunder booms outside, and then lighten flashes across the small window next to the door. I realize I won't be able to go to sleep again for some time, so I hop out of bed, and avoiding the small puddle forming at my feet, I go to the restroom, thinking of getting myself some water. But that never happens. When approaching the bathroom, I can hear hiccups and choked sobs through the wooden door. I knock politely on the door, and I can hear the cries stop, then start up again. It must be Eliza, or Peggy. Or someone else who was affected by the deaths during the fight at the mines. Whoever it was, I should probably help this person. I knock again, more forcefully, but no one answers. I rattle the doorknob and find the door unlocked.
"Hello?" I whisper. "Are you okay? I'm coming in." I push open the door and receive a shock. It's not Eliza, or Peggy. It's Alexander.

"Alex?" I gasp in surprise. "What's wrong?" Alex's face is tear streaked and more are pouring down his face like the rain outside. His choked sobs are barely concealed by the hands he's been placing over his mouth. I rush over to him, and force his hands down, letting them fall to his sides. I then start rubbing his shoulders to try and loosen the tension in them. "Deep breathes Alex, okay?" I tell him. He hiccups again and chokes out:
"J-John? Wha-what are you doing up?"
"Rain woke me up. How about you?"
"No-nothing. Don't worry about me." he says, his eyes going downcast.
"Hey," I say, and I lift his chin with one of my hands. "Alex, you're my friend, you can tell me anything, I promise I won't laugh." He stares at me with watery eyes, and his mouth forms the ghost of a grin.
"I don't believe you." he starts hiccuping and sobbing again when another bolt of lighten strikes past us.
"Is it the storm? Are you afraid of lightening?" I question, starting to rub his hands which have clenched themselves into fists.
"N-no... I just-" but he doesn't finish because he's reached a land of hysteria I've never seen. He's starts choking and sobbing worse then ever. He pulls his hands from out of my grip to clutch his head, his eyes widening.
"Alex? Alexander are you alright?" I call out to him, which is pointless because of course he isn't alright. I can't think to do anything at this point, but pull him into a hug, wrapping my arms around him, and I pull him to sit with me on the floor, where I hold him, and support him, and mentally keeping telling him and myself, it's going to be okay. It's going to be okay.