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"We're here," one of the strange male voices shouted as he forcefully removed the rag covering Louis' eyes.
Although Louis did not know exactly where "here" was, the first thing he noticed about it was the smell, the omnipresent stench of rich tobacco, manure, fish, and wood fire smoke. It overwhelmed him, like a punch to the nose. Already before he could even open his eyes, Louis knew that whatever landscape greeted him was one he had never before met. Not even at the museum, a place that seemed to try and challenge his sense of smell every day he clocked in—Louis still hadn't gotten over the scent of rotten eggs since the tea cake incident the week prior.
With a groan, Louis furiously blinked his eyes, trying desperately to wake himself up and focus his eyes. But the clearer his vision got, the more disoriented he was. In the light of the moon, all Louis could see was a sea of white canvas tents, miles of them, set up side by side in neat, orderly rows like tiny little dunes in an Egyptian desert.
From where he stood, at what appeared to be the entrance of the camp, Louis could see smoke arise from the tents, as well as an exorbitant amount of chatter. Clearly, the tents before him were inhabited, but he was unsure of by whom. He would have guessed them to be reenactors, but from his knowledge, they were not scheduled to set up camp until the end of the month. And as far as Louis was aware, it had been July Fourth just yesterday.
"What's going on?"
Louis had not expected a reply, having whispered it to no one in particular, but to his surprise, he got one anyway. One of their captors formed a tight grip on his forearm and pulled him forward, towards the sea of tents. And, from what Louis saw in the corner of his eye, the other captor had followed suit, grabbing hold of Harry's ear and dragging him forward like a mother and her misbehaving child.
Having been blindfold since the moment of capture, Louis had not seen their captors until that very moment. They appeared to sport immaculate red coats, tan breeches, hard, dour expressions, and a black ribbon tying back their long plaited ponytails. Louis would have assumed them to be the actors who played the Redcoats at the museum, but the bruise forming on his forearm from his captor's tight grip diminished those ignorant thoughts quickly. But even yet, no matter how real it all felt, Louis could not conceive of another explanation for what was happening to him, none. All Louis was left to think was that everything was just a trick of the mind, a residual effect of some kind of drug he unknowingly consumed at the party. It had to have been. Harry had to have spiked his soda.
But despite it all, real or not real, Louis couldn't shake the feeling that he was in some sort of danger. He didn't know if it was the pain his captor inflicted that made him feel that way or what, but all of a sudden, Louis couldn't help but want to demonstrate what he had learned at the self-defense class his parents signed him up for before moving to Boston. But unfortunately, even with all the knowledge in his head, Louis knew he had no chance at an escape with force. With his arms bruised and suffering, the back of his neck constrained, and his legs sore after hours of walking, his knowledge was useless.
Great.
With all hope lost, Louis distracted himself by looking up at the millions of stars above him. It was like something Louis had read about in books or the National Geographic but had never personally seen himself. Having lived in Boston for the last couple of years, Louis was used to having no desire to look up, if only not to disappoint himself. In the city, there were hardly any stars, just the fluorescents of the skyscrapers and the occasional airplane. But here, there was no interference, only the sky as it was meant to be seen.
Louis could have looked at the sky all night if he had the option, but after many minutes of trekking through the muddy pathways of the camp, they finally reached their destination: a single large tent set away from all the rest.
YOU ARE READING
Drink to Remember, Smoke to Forget
ФанфикIf there were three things Louis Tomlinson loved most in the world, they would be (in this very exact order) his family, the subject of history, and his teaching job at the greatest "living history" museum in the Boston area. However, if there was o...