War Dreams
It was a dark, hot southern night. There was no moon, a few clouds but no rain, at least not where Nick was standing. The only remarkable thing that was happening was the flash of lightning in the distance, followed after a bit by rumble after rumble of thunder. A big storm, down below the horizon, the lightning reflecting on the visible clouds. Heat lightning, his father used to call it. There usually wasn't any thunder along with heat lightning, but tonight there was.
The older man beside him was talking to another man, who hurried off. Another man came toward Nick and said something that Nick couldn't make out before he saluted and ran away. He had said something like "down – bad" but Nick didn't know what that meant. The older man beside him flashed a smile at him that turned into a sneer before the older man strode off. He was just a figure in the dark. Some other figures soon joined him and walked with him.
The heat lightning and the thunder continued. Suddenly, Nick was on a horse, riding toward the lightning. There were other figures in the dark, riding ahead of him, behind him, beside him. So many figures, no faces, voices mumbling things that didn't make any sense. Nick felt no inclination to ask any questions or to go anywhere except with these figures.
The lightning and thunder drew closer, but Nick realized it wasn't the storm moving toward him. He was moving toward the storm. Suddenly, all the dark figures were riding into the lightning, all except the older man who held back. Nick held back. He didn't want to ride into the lightning. The lightning would kill him!
The older man yelled something. Nick looked and saw him clearly now in the flash of the lightning that was now just about on top of them. The older man's sneer was gone, replaced by a blank staring toward the lightning. The older man said something like "Oh, my – " but that was a helluva thing to say when the lightning was about to engulf them.
The older man wore a dark suit, but then all of a sudden the suit turned lighter in color. It looked grey in the flashing light. It had a white collar. It was familiar. It was a uniform.
Nick bolted straight awake, out of breath, terrified by the lightning but suddenly the lightning was gone. Suddenly the thunder was gone, and the older man was gone. Nick wasn't sitting on a horse anymore. He was lying in a bed – his bed, in his home.
He ran a hand through his hair, confused, then remembering. He began to tremble. It had been a dream, but not just a dream. A memory began to crowd in, a real memory on top of the dream, a memory of the night that had just passed before he fell into bed, in his own bed, in his own home.
Nick groaned, sat up on the side of his bed, his head in his hands. It hadn't been just a dream. Dear God in heaven, part of it – a lot of it – had been real, years ago, and just last night. Just last night.
XXXXXXX
Heath felt dreadfully sick. He was feverish. There were men all around him, but none of them was paying attention to the fact that he was feverish. He tried to get up, but he was too weak, and he noticed for the first time that he was smaller than he should have been. Had he shrunk? Had the fever made him shrink?
The men around him were making all kinds of noises. Some were moaning. Some were laughing. Some were retching. Heath looked all around. Every one of the men was sitting or lying on the ground. He himself was lying on the ground.
A man tried to force feed him some kind of food, but Heath spit it out. It was vile, rancid. The man forced some down him again, but Heath vomited it and rolled over and groaned. Sick. He was dreadfully sick.
"Get up, boy," some man said. "We gotta march."
March where? Heath wanted to ask it but he couldn't make his mouth form the words.
"It's time to march," the man said and started to pull him up.
But Heath couldn't stand. The man was bigger than he was and held him upright, but Heath's legs wouldn't hold him.
"We gotta march," the man said.
March where? Heath still couldn't say the words. He looked around and saw bright, bright sunlight and men everywhere. Men in broken dark uniforms. Some men in cleaner, lighter colored uniforms. The men were laughing, and groaning, and retching.
There was an older man. The other men parted when the older man came walking among them. The older man was wearing a dark suit, a uniform, but the suit turned lighter in the bright sunlight. It looked grey. It had a white collar. It was familiar. It was a uniform.
Heath bolted awake. He realized he was in his own bed, in the home that had become his. He remembered the man in the uniform that turned from blue to gray and he remembered that man had been here, for real, just last night. That man had turned from blue to gray, just last night. It had been real.
Heath sat on the side of his bed, sweating, but reality was beginning to sink in. He wasn't sick. He wasn't feverish. There was no one else around.
Heath got up and went to the open window. He needed some cool air. He expected darkness out there, but suddenly he saw something. Below his room and many feet to the right there was the reflection of light against the bushes outside, light coming from the kitchen. Heath had seen it before. It was the middle of the night, but someone was up. When he had awakened before in the middle of the night and seen that light, it was because someone was awake in the kitchen.
There was no hint of morning coming, so it wouldn't be Silas yet. Someone was up, down in the kitchen.
Heath shivered. Was it someone who belonged here, or were they back?
Unsure, still a little disoriented by the dream, Heath found his holster hung over the post at the foot of his bed and removed the pistol. As he did, he realized he was still wearing his pants. He hadn't taken off his pants. He had been so exhausted when he fell into bed that he hadn't taken off his pants.
He didn't even put his shoes on as he left his room and headed for the back stairs that led down to the kitchen. He didn't care that Macklin and his buddies had turned out being federal agents bringing a traitor and murderer to justice. If they were back, he was the one with the gun now. He would get them out of here, if they were back.
XXXXXXXX
Nick whirled when he heard the creak on the back steps, and suddenly he was face to face with his younger brother holding a gun. Heath relaxed when he saw it was just Nick in the kitchen. Then he noticed Nick was holding a coffee cup, but he could see that what was in it was not coffee because it was white.
Nick relaxed when he saw it was Heath on the stairs. He saw Heath staring at his coffee cup. "Warm milk," Nick said. "I couldn't sleep."
Heath came all the way into the kitchen and put his gun down on the table. Nick had been standing by the stove but he sat down at the table as Heath sat down. They were both tired and limp. Heath said, "I was asleep but I couldn't stay there."
"Yeah, me too," Nick said.
"Are you all right?" Heath asked.
"You're the one with the cut-up arm and head," Nick said.
"Ah, they're nothing," Heath said. "Just a little headache is all."
Nick rubbed his face.
Heath noticed. "I can't blame you if it's still after you. That was a hellish night."
"That's not the word for it," Nick said.
"Have you talked to Jarrod at all?"
"Not since I decked him," Nick growled. "I coulda killed him. I swear, I wanted to kill him, Heath."
"I'm not too happy with him either," Heath said, "but you got more right to be madder. I don't blame you."
"I couldn't sleep because I couldn't stop having nightmares," Nick said, a tough admission for a tough man like him, but he was with the younger brother he had come to love and trust – not with the older one he no longer trusted.
"Me too," Heath said.
Nick looked up at him. "About last night?"
"About the war," Heath said, "about the prison, but then all of a sudden Alderson was there in it, only he had on a confederate uniform."
Nick snorted a bitter snort. "He was in mine, too – in a confederate uniform."
"I guess it kinda figures we'd be dreaming that way after last night," Heath said.
Nick was quiet for a moment, then said, "Heath – I really thought they were gonna hang me."
"I know," Heath said. "You got every right to have nightmares. And you got every right to be as mad at Alderson as you are at Jarrod."
"No. I'm madder at Jarrod. I don't know if I can face him anymore. I don't know if I want to face him. I can't believe he did that to the family. I can't let him get away with it."
"He's not getting away with anything, Nick," Heath said. "He's up there having his own nightmares."
"We grew up together, Heath," Nick said. He almost choked on the words. "If ever there was a man I thought I could trust with my life, it was Jarrod. But now – "
"Yeah," Heath said. "I understand."
"I don't know if I'll ever trust him again. I swear, I don't know."
XXXXXXX
There was nothing but blood everywhere. There had been a whole field of corn, ready to be harvested, a huge field and now there was nothing but red, red blood there, like a lake of red, red blood. With bodies wearing blue and gray and butternut floating around in the red, red blood.
Jarrod slipped and fell on his hands and knees in the blood. He tried to push himself up, but his arm was on fire. He fell back down into the red, red blood and tried to push up again. His hand landed on something hard and lumpy. He looked. He saw a face. He saw a face with no body, a severed head lying there in the red, red blood, eyes wide and red and astonished.
Jarrod screamed and pushed himself up and found his arm was almost severed, dangling from his shoulder. He screamed and tried to hold it on but it was coming off. All around him men were dead, just dead, and the silence, bloody silence. All he could hear was his own screaming.
Then an older man appeared on a horse, slogging through the blood. He wore a blue suit and a smile, but as he reached down to Jarrod and said, "Let me help you, soldier," his blue suit turned to gray and his smile turned to an ugly sneer.
Jarrod woke up, trying to scream, but he couldn't do it. No sound would come out. He tried and tried but no sound came, and then he realized he was in his own bed, in his own home. The house was silent. There was no blood. There was no severed head and his arm was firmly attached to his shoulder, uninjured. There was no General Alderson reaching down to him.
He recognized the dream for the memory it was – the Cornfield at Antietam, where he'd been wounded in the arm and nearly lost it to amputation. Only now Alderson was there too – Alderson, in the blue uniform that turned gray.
Jarrod moaned as the horrible night before came back to him. The only thing that hurt now was the swollen lip Nick had given him, and God, he deserved it. He felt horrible for what he'd done. The family had gone gentle with him – except for Nick. Nick was still livid and Jarrod knew he had every reason to be. Jarrod knew he'd betrayed his family. Maybe he had help expose a traitor and a man who ordered the deaths of dozens and a man who had helped murder President Lincoln, but Jarrod had betrayed his family to do it. He let Nick believe he would hang to do it.
He sat up on the side of his bed, his gut and his heart both twisting in shame. How in the world was he ever going to regain the trust of his family? How was Nick ever going to laugh at him again, call for him out loud again, even look at him again?
Jarrod couldn't stay in that bed. He couldn't stay in this room. He had to get up and move and get out of here. He dressed fast, he went out, he headed for the back stairs. He didn't know where he was going to go. He was just going to get out.
But as soon as he started down the back stairs, he heard the voices.
"We grew up together, Heath. If ever there was a man I thought I could trust with my life, it was Jarrod. But now – "
"Yeah. I understand."
"I don't know if I'll ever trust him again. I swear, I don't know."
Jarrod stopped. He couldn't move. He couldn't go down there. He wanted to scream as loud as he had screamed in his dream, but he couldn't do that either. He couldn't run from this. He had to stay and face it.
Down in the kitchen, Nick and Heath both heard the creak at the top of the stairs. They heard the footsteps coming down. They looked at each other.
The End