Ch. 2: Salvation

Alfred awoke to the crack of thunder. At least, that was what he thought it was, but when he glanced out the window of the dusty attic, there wasn't a cloud in the night sky.

"Mattie," Alfred whispered, shaking his 10-year-old identical twin. "Mattie, did you hear that?"

His brother swatted his hand and groaned, turning in his sleep to face the other direction.

"Mattie!" Alfred tried again, but his brother didn't stir. Sighing, Alfred threw aside his blanket and stood. He tiptoed down the stairs, eyeing the door to his uncle's room cautiously as he passed.

When he reached the shop below their rooms, he broke into a run and swung the door open. Leaning his head out, Alfred peered from side to side. At this hour, the town was typically quiet, save for a few adults wandering the street. But when he peered to the left, he noticed a crowd of people gathered down the road. Shutting the shop door behind him, Alfred stepped outside. When the cool dirt path chilled his feet, he wished he had thought to take shoes downstairs with him. Shrugging it off, Alfred walked towards the commotion.

As he neared the scene, Alfred could hear the adults speaking in hushed voices.

"Should we go after them?"

"What do we do with the body?"

"That blasted Evans is gonna have redcoats knocking down our doors when they hear what happened."

Redcoats? Alfred thought. He had heard of the battles that had taken place in Massachusetts just a few months prior, and he knew that they had set up camp no more than a few miles from their town. Alfred felt his face grow hot as he thought of redcoats invading his home. His uncle had talked about the redcoats and how they were the enemy—- how they were oppressors and murderers. Not that he believed a word his uncle said. However, the enemy part seemed to be the general consensus of the other townspeople.

Creeping closer, Alfred pushed past a few people to see what drew the crowd's attention. His blood ran cold. There, in the center of the small mass of people, was a redcoat, lying still on his back. He was blond and pale-faced. If there hadn't been blood covering his body, Alfred would have mistaken him for a passed out drunk. Shivering, Alfred pushed his way back through the crowd. His breath hitched as the image of the man's corpse etched into his mind. Nobody even glanced his way as he turned and ran into the forest, hoping to escape the terror he had just seen.

Before he had even reached the woods, another gunshot rang out.

No, not again! Alfred thought, rushing toward the sound of the gunshot. I won't let anyone else die. I'll be the hero! He let this thought drive him as he raced towards the sound.

After a few minutes of running, he realized he didn't know exactly how far away the gunshot had sounded from. He wasn't even entirely sure he was running in the right direction. But heroes don't quit, Alfred thought.

He tried not to think about what would await him when he reached the origin of the sound. The image of the redcoat's corpse was still fresh in his mind, and he didn't particularly want to see another. Alfred stumbled. I wish I brought a torch with me, he thought, barely managing to regain his footing.

Alfred amused himself with thoughts of being the hero as he continued running. He imagined coming back home to Mattie with a good story to tell that would make his brother smile. Alfred grinned at the thought of his brother's smiling face.

That grin turned into a yelp as Alfred's feet disappeared from under him. He flew forward and skidded across a muddy, shrub-filled ground, scraping his arms. Alfred rubbed the back of his neck as he turned around to see what he tripped over. He noticed a long shape crumpled on the ground, and cautiously crept closer for a better view.

Gasping, he stumbled back.

Another corpse.

This one he recognized as one of the townspeople: the son of the butcher, if he recalled correctly: Benjamin Evans. The man had never been nice to him, but Alfred felt tears sting his eyes as he stared into the man's unseeing ones.

From behind him, Alfred heard a groan. Turning around, he noticed another body leaning against the tree. It was a short, blond man—-about twenty, Alfred would guess—-with shocking green eyes. He sat staring at the heavens, but his eyes were unfocused. Thank goodness, Alfred thought, letting out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. He's still alive. Upon seeing the blood seeping from the man's leg, Alfred rushed to his side.

"Hey, can you hear me?" Alfred shouted in the man's face.

The man scrunched his unusually large eyebrows, but didn't respond. His eyelids fluttered.

Alfred felt his stomach drop. "Come on, stay with me! I'm going to get you out of here, okay?"

Just don't die. I don't want to see another person dead tonight.

But the man's eyes closed and his head sagged.

Alfred leaned against the front door of his uncle's shop, breathing heavily.

"You know, you're a lot heavier than you look," he wheezed, glaring at the collapsed man beside him. "Don't move, I'll be right back," Alfred said, feeling somewhat daft for talking to someone who was clearly unconscious.

Alfred raced up the steps toward his room, only slowing to silently slip passed his uncle's door, before returning to a run.

"Mattie!" Alfred whisper shouted, jumping on his brother.

"Ow, Al! What are you doing it's not even sunrise," Matthew said, yawning.

"There's no time. I need you to help me bring someone up the stairs; I think he was shot."

Matthew bolted upright. "What?" he hissed.

"Hurry!"

Matthew followed his brother down the stairs and just outside the shop.

"Open the door so I can bring him in," Alfred ordered.

Matthew nodded solemnly and watched as Alfred struggled with the body. Together, they dragged him across the shop and began hauling him up the stairs.

"Be more careful Alfred. We don't want to make his condition worse," Matthew whispered from where he held the man's legs.

"He's bleeding out. How much worse can it get?" Alfred whispered back, but he knew how it could get worse. The man could end up like the other two Alfred had seen.

The two fell silent as they finished making their way up the stairs. With one final heave they dropped him unceremoniously on the attic floor, both cringing as his head hit the ground.

"I'll get the medical supplies," Matthew whispered, walking to a worn chest on the far side of the attic. "You put pressure on his wound. It doesn't look like that tourniquet was tied properly."

Alfred nodded mutely.

Matthew sat down over the man's leg, pulling out some water to clean the wound. Lifting the leg, Matthew felt beneath the thigh. "It looks like the bullet went clean through, which is good. I don't really know how to get one out," he said. "Go grab some alcohol from Uncle's stash."

Alfred hesitated, but did as he was told, bringing in some of the heavier alcohol their uncle consumed. Mattie took it from his hands and dabbed some on the wound to disinfect it.

"Remind me why we aren't taking him to the town doctor?" Matthew asked as he began wrapping the wound.

"Look, I'll explain everything just finish up first."

Matthew sighed. "Fine, but you owe me one."

Matthew had been training as the doctor's apprentice for almost a year now. Alfred had never given it much thought, but he was grateful for it now. Who knew his brother's drive to help others in a less combative way than Alfred's style would prove to be so useful?

"I hope I did this right," Matthew muttered, motioning for Alfred to help him move the man to their bed. If one could call it that, as the the twins' bed was a pile of blankets on the attic floor.

"Are you going to explain?" Matthew asked once they had been assured that the man was taken care of.

Alfred nodded and launched into a full explanation of all he had seen that night—-from the townspeople's gossip and the dead bodies to the man's injury. Matthew listened silently, nodding for Alfred to continue when appropriate.

When Alfred finished, Matthew glanced at the man beside them. "Al, it sounds like the men you found in the woods were fighting."

Alfred grinned. "I know, isn't it great?"

"Great? Al he probably killed Benjamin! We're housing a murderer!"

Al frowned. "I don't know, Mattie. We can't jump to conclusions until we know what happened. I mean, since we haven't seen him before we can assume he's either a traveler or a redcoat, like the one by the bar. The redcoat was killed first, so maybe it wasn't their fault?"

Matthew looked at the man again, biting his lip. "I don't know. What if he hurts us?"

Alfred laughed. "I'd like to see him try, in that state. Besides, helping people is what heroes do."

Matthew sighed and shook his head. "I hope you're right, but what about Uncle? He'd kill us if he knew this guy might be a redcoat."

"We'll just have to be on the lookout. He hardly ever comes up here, anyway. As long as we do well in the shop, he'll have no reason to think we're up to anything."

Against Alfred's hopes, Matthew kept frowning. "I- I don't know, Al. Maybe we should get a real doctor to look out for him."

"Do you really think the doctor would want to treat a redcoat? He'd probably poison him! We treat him, then we bring him back to wherever he came from. Simple. It'll be fine, Mattie. And if it's not, I'll take full responsibility. I won't let anything happen to you. "

"It's not me I'm worried about."

"Please?"

Alfred playfully poked Matthew in the side. Finally, Matthew cracked a small smile. "Fine, just be careful."

The next morning, Alfred walked through town, enjoying the warmth of the sun. Matthew had convinced him that they needed to discover more about last night's situation before they decided exactly what to do about the man.

Alfred arrived at the spot where the redcoat had died the previous night. The body was gone, and people walked by as if nothing had occurred. The only evidence of the man's death was a stain of blood in the dirt where he lay.

As Alfred stared at the ground, all he could see was the blood. He saw the stillness of the man's chest as people crowded around him, nobody going near the body.

"Hey, keep moving, boy!"

And the body was gone.

Alfred found himself stumbling forward as a burly man shoved him from behind. He muttered an apology and kept walking, trying to get the images out of his head. 'You didn't even know him, why are you so worked up over his death?' He scolded himself.

Alfred entered the bar closest to where he had seen the body. Not many people were inside, as most worked during these morning hours, but Alfred hoped the bartender would have some explanation as to what became of the redcoat and Benjamin.

"Aren't you a little young to be in here?" A woman's voice asked, but the tone was friendly.

"Good Morning, Mrs. Chernenko." Alfred said moving towards the bar and seating himself on a stool.

"Did you hear of the news last night?" Mrs. Chernenko asked, sitting next to him with a glass in her hand that she had been cleaning. Alfred smiled. He knew he had come to the right place. Mrs. Chernenko always knew the gossip of the town, and she had a strange habit of knowing things that she shouldn't know about.

"No," Alfred lied. "What happened?"

"Maybe it's best that you don't know, dear."

"Please?" Alfred gave her his best puppy-dog eyes.

"Alright, just don't tell your brother. He's a bit more sensitive to these things than you are," Mrs. Chernenko chuckled. "Though I can't imagine why seeing how he's the one working in the apothecary."

"What happened?" Alfred prodded.

"Well, two redcoats entered the bar last night. I was surprised to see them, but they didn't look like they meant any harm, so I treated them as I would any guest," she hummed, still cleaning the glass. "When they left we heard a gunshot outside. I rushed out to see the big one had been shot right through the heart, poor dear. And the other one was bent over him."

Alfred nodded. I know at least this much, he thought. Can't you give me anything else?

As if reading his mind, Mrs. Chernenko continued, "Well all the racket attracted quite the crowd. The smaller soldier was crying for help, but… well with your uncle I suppose you know how redcoats are viewed in our Madison."

"Did the smaller soldier have blond hair and green eyes?" Alfred asked. "And eyebrows that look like he stuck caterpillars to his forehead?" He added as an afterthought.

"Why yes, he did. I thought you hadn't heard what happened?"

Alfred widened his eyes, realizing his mistake. "Uh. I heard there was a man that looked like that, is all," he lied.

Mrs. Chernenko raised an eyebrow but continued with her story. "Well, when we looked a bit down the street, we saw Benjamin with a gun. The other soldier raced after him. None of us bothered to check on him. We were too unsure of what to do, I'm afraid. Benjamin needed help, but he attacked first and we feared repercussions from the reds," she sighed. "We found Benjamin's body this morning, but no trace of the other soldier."

"Was he wrong?" Alfred asked.

Mrs. Chernenko looked taken aback. "Sorry?"

"Was the redcoat wrong for killing Benjamin when he killed his friend first?" Alfred asked.

Mrs. Chernenko closed her eyes. "These are trying times, Alfred. A time of war, I'm afraid, and it has only just begun. Who was right really doesn't matter in the long-run. Two people are dead and this war will cause many more. I believe that killing is always wrong, Alfred, no matter the circumstances. But even if he was wrong, he was still a victim. All three were victims of this war." The woman sighed and her eyes grew blurry.

Alfred thought of the other British soldiers, whose camp was just miles away. "Will the redcoats come after us?" He asked.

"Of course not, dear. They were here earlier this morning to take the body. We told them of the events and they've decided since the perpetrator is dead, they really have no other business here, though I would guess the reason they didn't take action was because those soldiers weren't meant to be in town in the first place—-looks bad on their side. They mentioned that they were packing up their camp and leaving sooner than they planned because of the incident, so you have nothing to worry yourself over."

"But what about the other redcoat? The one that's missing?"

"I'm not sure, but if he's not back with his regiment, they'll probably declare him a deserter and go searching for him."

Alfred widened his eyes. "What happens to deserters?"

"I heard that in the British army they brand them with a 'D' the first time it's done."

Alfred tried to recall whether or not he had seen a 'D' on the redcoat's skin. He shook his head. He'd have to check when he got back home. "What if it's not the first time?"

"Then he'll most likely be executed."

Alfred's blood ran cold. Had he 'saved' someone's life just so they would be executed when they were found out? The boy rushed out of the bar, leaving a bewildered bartender staring after him.

Alfred charged into his room, the words of the bartender still echoing in his mind.

He dived at the British man who still lay in a pile of blankets. Alfred began pulling on the man's bloodied clothes, searching.

"Alfred! Stop!" He heard Matthew yelp, but paid him no heed.

Please don't be a deserter. Please don't be a deserter.

"Help me, Mattie. We need to check for—"

"He's awake, Al!"

Alfred froze.

"G' off of me you barmpot!"