Someone was running. With me in their arms and wet branches slapped against us as he pushed his way through dense brush. I must have mumbled something because he stopped, squatted as he turned my head so that I was looking into electric blue eyes. Like a gas flame, they burned incandescent bright. Matt’s eyes but not.
“Poppa?” It came out of my mouth before I had a chance to think about what I was saying. Someone else squatted near us and pulled him down onto his knees so that we were hidden in a dense thicket of bay laurel bushes. The smell was sweet and reminded me of mom’s stew. Mom, Violet, not Crispin’s Mom. He had never known his Mom, she had died protecting him from a raid by Native Americans when he was just a baby.
“Hush, Annwyl,” he murmured into the top of my head. “There are bad men hunting us. They will hear us if we talk.”
“Do they have dogs?” I was terrified that I would be tracked by hunting dogs and torn to pieces until I realized that wasn’t one of my memories but an earlier life recollection.
“How are you holding up, Crispin me lad?” Mr. Fitz asked, grinning that wide, easy smile that Crispin remembered, so I did, too.
“I hurt everywhere,” I complained. “But I can walk, Matt. You don’t have to carry me.”
“You have a broken leg, Crispin,” he said gently. “And Fitz says you have other injuries so I’m afraid I’ll just have to carry you.” He teased me lightly, his lips brushing my forehead. “Ah, my brave lad. It’s a good thing that you’ve not grown into a giant, yet. Think what I’d have to carry if you weren’t a wee lad.”
I looked at his six-foot three height even as I knew that the real Captain Lacey was no taller than 5’10” which was quite tall for his time. Mr. Fitzsimmons topped out at 5’6”. In my time that was short but average for when Crispin was alive.
I shook my head. I could still see them superimposed over Jake and Matt, but the images of the modern men were not as solid as the ghostly people.
“Jake? Matt?” I asked. Both stared at me yet said nothing. That’s when I heard the voices of men who were hunting us.
They were on foot, had radios by which they kept in touch, coordinating with each other as they drove us in the direction they wanted. Their voices were rough, accented not with the soft Creole or Cajun dialect but more of a southern drawl.
The loudest voice belonged to the one in charge, but what I did not hear was my father commanding these men. I heard one of the others deferring to Clovis, he named another ‘Twin’. I had heard my father talk about the Beilbys twins and knew them for dangerous thieves, poachers and trackers. There were six altogether in this group, three brothers, assorted cousins and nephews, a clan that was linked to the devil. We heard them calling others on the radio.
“Any sign, Twin?” Clovis drawled from what seemed like only a stone’s throw from our hiding spot. I could see his shoelaces, we were that close. I could even smell him. A mix of sweat, men’s cologne and fish bait. He stunk.
“Nothing. I thought Temper said these dudes were city cops and one was crippled. They move like ghosts – bloody Injuns in the wood,” he complained. “I ain’t seen one footprint, broken branch, or scuff mark since we saw where they took off by the wreck. And how did they get out of that crumpled mess of a Denali? Wasn’t enough of it left whole after it wrapped around that tree trunk to keep a mouse alive inside.”
“Yeah. There’s something weird about this kid, no way he could have done all the things his paw said he did. I mean, come on. Ride a stolen horse all the way to Maryland from New York and not get spotted once? Ain’t natural. Even his daddy says so. Says he’s reincarnated from some kid back in the French and Indian war,” the other twin returned. I could just see them through the thick stand of bay leaves.
They looked odd. With witchy eyes a pale washed out green and distorted figures like they were part spider. But not like Peter Parker was, more like that scary one in The Lord of the Rings Trilogy, Return of the King.
Matt’s…Captain Lacey looked around the small copse we were in. He pressed his finger to his lips as he pondered the thickly wooded group of bushes that enclosed us. It was so thick that you could barely see each other and only about two feet in any direction. I could just catch glimpses of the males' clothing, in small patches. They could not see us unless we stood up and neither of us were dumb enough to do that.
“Which way are we heading, Rudy?” Clovis asked, looking at his GPS.
“The only thing out this way is the old Pogey Fish Factory on the Delta. About five miles of woods, then marshland before it turns to open flats scattered with bayous. They get out that far, we’ll catch them easy. Can’t walk through the mud, it’s waist deep. Can’t swim cause of the snakes and gators. Besides, cousin Hiller and Reuven are shrimping out that way in the channel. If they see anyone, they’ll call us on the shortwave and pick ‘em up. Three million buys a lot of eyes out here, Clovis.”
“Not enough. We been looking for over five hours now. You think it was gonna take this long to find a sick kid and two city boys? You got to hand it to them cops. One or both must have some survival training.”
“Is the detective a former Special Ops or something?” Twin asked his older brother.
“Tempe didn’t say. Not old enough, I think, to do that and be a Detective First Class. I had China look him up on WHOIS. He’s just turned 32, born in Boston to one of those old-time rich founding families. He was chasing down a murder suspect when the accomplice driving the murder van struck him. He spent six months in the hospital with major injuries. Broken legs, pelvis, ribs, back. Fractured skull, ruptured spleen. Was in a coma for three months, they didn’t think he’d even survive the ambulance ride so they air-lifted him in a helicopter to the top trauma center in the city. The doctors said he would never wake up. Then, they said he would not walk again or be able to work as a cop. That he would have severe brain, nerve and skeletal damage. Yet, here he is, kicking our butts in our backyard.”
“So, he’s a tough S-O-B,” they agreed.
I squeezed Matt’s hand in acknowledgment for what he had gone through and was ashamed at the little bit I had to endure since I had woken up.
“I think we should get Tempe out here with us. He might be able to think like his kid,” Clovis said and the others agreed. “He should be here to see the light fade from the boy’s eyes even if he don’t put it out himself.”
Twin’s stare was ferocious. “We gonna kill this kid? I thought we were just gonna find him for Temper?”
“He’s worth millions to us, Twin. The deal was to bring him back. What Tempe does is not our concern.”
“But you said he won’t put him down himself? I ain’t spilling no little boy’s blood. Killing a cop is bad enough, even if we let the swamp do it but two of ‘em? And a little boy? Find someone else, Clovis. I ain’t doing this. Not for a million or three.” He turned and backed his way from his brother and if his weapon was pointed in that direction, none of the others made any comment as he disappeared into the brush.
Clovis sighed. Twin’s brother looked up at his older brother and shrugged. “He was always softer in the head than me. I ain’t got no problems with killing. Or money. That means we split the three mil one less way.”
“Three million? It’s a million apiece for whomsoever in this posse. Ain’t no splitting up nothing. Tempe is paying a million per. Hell, the boy’s worth 150 million plus the interest,” Clovis scoffed. “The swamp is dark and deep. It’ll hide a few more bodies, even if they are cops. Let’s go find Deputy Neige, invite him to this party and pick his brains.”
Rudy said, “what about the cops? They got to be here somewhere. We gonna just leave ‘em be?”
“They aren’t going anywhere. No vehicle, no cell phones and we all know there ain’t no coverage out here unless you got a shortwave. The nearest help is the prison camp and they won’t be welcome there. Except the kid. I hear he likes little boys. Twin, come in by the river, bring Blue and Roscoe with you. Maybe their noses will be better than your tracking skills.”
“I ain’t never lost a trail like this, Bro. Not since I was twelve. No way could three hurt bodies hide their sign from me. Not unless they are ghosts,” he protested and crossed himself. Clovis laughed at him.
“You telling me you’re superstitious, Henry? Cuz you live in the most haunted swamp in the country and you ain’t never seen a ghost.”
I looked out and made a small gasp that went unnoticed as a mass of people stood around the group of men. That they did not hear me was because they saw them. Faces of women who had drowned, been beaten to death. Men who carried their arms and legs, even some held their heads in their hands. Murder victims who had died in horrible ways and the looks on their faces did not bode well for the live men that huddled together in the small clearing.
Twin screamed; a fearful wail and I saw his mind snap. He sank down to his knees and buried his face in the dirt before he slowly fell over. Clovis kicked him and from the limp way his younger brother moved, I did not think he was still alive.
One of the ghosts looked directly at me and pointed back the way we had come. He wore buckskins and carried a war ax, a bow and a quiver of arrows. He was not the only figure that was armed, I saw guns, rifles, bats and muskets. Even some of those knives known as a Bowie.
Both Mr. Fitz and Captain Lacey rose silently to their feet and slipped out of the brush to be met by a tall man who had skin the color of burnished copper, long hair pulled back into a ponytail that was blacker than a crow’s wing. He carried a rifle and a huge knife sat at his side in a beaded sheath. He smiled at me and nodded his head in the same direction as the ghost man had. Both looked Native American. We moved off and once we were out of sight, the man asked me a question.
“Crispin, how are you? Hurt? Do you need medical attention? Any of you?” His eyes ran over both Matt and Jake’s bodies. Saw the blood and torn clothes, my cast and the blood that had dried all over my body.
“Who are you?” I wailed.
“That spirit you saw was my ancestor, Tall Man. He helped your father find your trail back in the time when you were first born, Crispin. He told me that you were in danger and I called all the spirits that had connections to you, and the poor souls that the Beilby boys had sent here. They are vengeful spirits and will exact a heavy price. The least being that they will slow them down from hunting you. But we must hurry, or they will find us, regardless of the spirits’ help. They can only cause fear and what fear will make the mind do, not actually harm the living.”
He took off at a jog and both followed. How they had the energy to keep going was a miracle that I took for granted along with the others that I had seen that day. I leaned my head on my father and closed my eyes. I did not open them until we were where the First Native had taken us.
It was a small village deep in the forest, not in the swamp. The river was on one side and it was lined with boats of every kind from the local pirogues, canoes, John-boats and even those high-speed cigarette boats favored by smugglers. Matt’s cop eyes questioned it, but he did not comment on seeing a half-dozen of the expensive toys. There were even a few of those water skidoos, bobbing on lines tied to a long dock that ran the edge of the river and out into the channel. Storks and pelicans waded gracefully in the shallows.
The houses were made of cypress and the roofs were sheet metal. Every cabin had a front porch and were built on six-foot-high pylons. None of them were in disrepair or untended, some even had flower boxes on the porch railings filled with impatiens and geraniums.
Women came out of two of the houses, shaded their eyes and called down to our guide in a language that I understood. It was the language of Falling Rain and I answered her with the respect that was due an elder and a sage.
Her face blinked in surprise. “Is it you?” she asked, and I didn’t know what to say. Did she ask if I was me, or if I was Crispin?
I answered, “yes.” Which I figured was the safest bet if not the wisest.
“Mother, they are injured. Especially the boy. The Beilby boys are being detained but they will be after us after the spirits weaken. We can keep them hidden here or take them on. What is your wish?” he said.
“Bring them to me,” she said and turned back into the cabin. We walked up the tight stairwell onto the porch and into the open space of the cabin. It was light and airy, with beautifully made wicker and willow furniture, prime deer pelts, and handwoven rugs in stunning colors and design. I felt as if I were home.
Matt laid me on the simple bed, and I complained feebly that I was too dirty for the thin wool blanket. She shushed me as she told her son to see to the others. First, she gave me a drink of cool tea that made me limp, took away the pain that had been lingering in the background, that adrenaline and fear had kept at bay. She took a pair of scissors from a basket on the floor and cut off the filthy rags that were all that were left of the clothes I wore.
Her hands were gentle as she explored my entire body, tightening her lips when she found a spot that I objected to, even through the mask of the drug. The cast on my leg was nearly destroyed, it had been wet for so long that it was no longer hard. In fact, she was able to cut it off in pieces. When my leg was laid carefully on the bed, she called in her son and ordered him to bring someone named Gahay. That was what it sounded like, but I knew that it was spelled Gaagé and meant Raven. I tried to ask their names, but the words did not want to leave my mouth.
I closed my eyes and drifted off. Woke when someone’s heavy tread on the plank floors shook the house. A huge man stood there, next to the woman, making her seem tiny and frail. He bent over and took hold of my ankle, yet his hands were as gentle as if he were picking delicate flowers. At her command, he pulled my leg out and to the side.
The pain made me scream. Brought my friends into the room in alarm with guns drawn. They stopped when she told them curtly that my leg was not set straight and needed to be aligned. My scream died to a whimper as the bones clicked into place and she wrapped me with cotton and then coated cast material, finishing with lime-green vet-wrap. She smiled at me as I panted with relief.
“You are very brave, Cris. Strong. Grown men have passed out when I have done this. I will give you a shot, so you can sleep, the bone is not happy to be woken from its rest.” She asked the big man to hand her the First Aid Kit, stocked as if she were a Paramedic, complete with vials of drugs, saline, IVs and anything a Rescue Unit might have on hand.
Efficiently, she cleaned my arm off with alcohol wipes, inserted a catheter and hooked me up to a plastic bag of fluids. She told me what she was doing as she did it. Right down to the shot of morphine into the port that made my head swim and knocked me out without a second’s notice.