AUTHOR'S NOTE
THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M FOR VIOLENCE
Sorry about the wait for this chapter, but it's summer now! YAY! More time to write and just generally be awesome. Enjoy this next chapter, but please heed the author's note. The next chapter or so will be rated M for violent content and possibly disturbing subject matter. If this could make you uncomfortable, please skip these chapters.
Samuel lay under the body of the enemy for soldier for what felt like an eternity. The weight of the blue uniform and the body it encased grew heavier with each passing second. It felt like a millstone was sitting on his chest and crushing his bones.
Breathe.
His racing heartbeat pounded in his ears mingled with the din of the battle that raged around him on every side. It was almost like some sort of sick joke. Here he lay, Samuel Lee Jones, the personification of the Confederate States of America, paralyzed by fear under the body of a man he had just killed. Oh the irony of it all.
Breathe.
His breathing was shallow, wet, and haggard. Blood dribbled out of the corner of his mouth and ran into his ear. He knew that his lung had collapsed and was filling with blood, but normally it would have already healed by now, but this was no normal circumstance. Nothing was normal any more. He almost couldn't think of what the word meant.
Breathe.
He could feel that the tide of the battle had turned against him. He could feel his strength seep out of his body with each beat of his heart.
A nation knows when he is being beaten, but accepting that fact is a whole different matter.
Yes, today would be the day that would be known as the turning point of this war.
But Samuel was not about to accept this. No, he would go down fighting even if it was the last thing that he did. He would fight until his last breath left his body.
That fight… My fight… It starts now.
Samuel squirmed under the weight of the dead body to get his hands on the man's chest until his arms were the right position. With a painfully deep breath and a loud cry that lit his lungs on fire, Samuel threw the body of the dead soldier off of himself and to the side. It hit the bloodsoaked ground with a thud. Free from the crushing weight on his chest, he thought that that would ease his breathing some, but he found no relief. Every sucking breath made him feel as if he were drowning in his own lungs. Maybe he was. Here he lay, an island in the middle of a sea of blood and gore, stranded without hope of rescue.
He was also incredibly exposed to the bloodthirsty sharks that hunted in that ocean.
The blue soldier appeared out of seemingly nowhere and towered over Samuel's shaking frame. His bayoneted rifle was raised and poised to strike at Samuel's heart, and his mouth was twisted into something between a grimace and a maddened grin. He opened his mouth to let loose a cry as he would drive his bayonet deep into Samuel's chest, but the sound was never able to leave his throat. A bullet from Samuel's pistol silenced him as it found its resting place deep in his brain. Stunned and wide-eyed, the soldier staggered backward one, two, three shaky steps before he crumpled to the ground, dead.
Samuel took a breath and lowered his smoking pistol. He was out of bullets and in no shape to fight, but the enemy was in no short supply. So… He would have to improvise.
He glanced at the empty pistol in his hand, raised an eyebrow, and flipped the pistol in the air so that he caught the barrel between his bloody fingers.
He may have been out of bullets, but he was in no way out of weapons.
He would fight the enemy with his bare hands if the need arose.
Samuel carefully rolled on his side and propped himself up on his elbow. Just a few feet away lay a stunned enemy soldier, exposed and blind to Samuel's position.
Samuel grinned to himself and even managed a raspy chuckle. He turned his head and spit a crimson stream out onto the ground, then lifted his fist to smear the blood on his chin away. He took a shaky breath and started to crawl. His fingers dug into the dirt and laced in between crushed blades of grass. He pulled his body across the ground slowly, painfully, with gritted teeth and with sweat constantly dripping into his eyes. His teeth bit into his lip hard enough to draw blood as he pushed himself up onto his knees, then shakily onto his feet. His legs were steadier now than they would have been a few minutes ago. That brought a smile to Samuel's chapped and split lips.
This battle was far from over.
Oh no, the fun was only just beginning.
-x-x-x-
Alfred could barely contain himself as he spurred his horse down the slope of the hill. The paper in his pocket that called for the capture of Samuel at any cost weighed heavy as a stone, but it made his head feel light with anticipation. The horse's thundering hooves kicked up clods of dirt and grass and flung them into the air. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the noonday sun beat down on his brow. The stench of the battle below wafted up and into his nose. He eagerly drank it in and relished in its taste. The horse snorted and threw its head, and its eyes widened in fear at the sudden onslaught of the smell of death in its nose, but Alfred only spurred it on harder.
His only thought was that of Samuel, and of how sweet the moment would be when Alfred would raise his pistol and put a bullet between his eyes.
With the battle growing closer by the second, Alfred put the reins in his left hand and brandished his sword with a flourish. The spotless razor-sharp silver blade shone blindingly in the sunlight. His fingers tightened on the hilt, and he held his breath.
When was the last time he had killed a man? It had been a few years, not since he had been first brought to fight the Navajo uprisings in the West. However, the time he had spent away from battle didn't mean that he had any second thoughts about running headlong into this bloodbath.
On the contrary. He was uncharacteristically ecstatic about getting his hands dirty once again. It was strange, he thought, how eager he was to take a life and snuff it out, to wade knee-deep in the bloodsoaked grass. He had never been this willing to kill, not even in his revolutionary days.
He almost started to question himself, but his thoughts fled his mind when his arm automatically swung out and his sword sliced through gray-clad rebel flesh. The red blood stood out starkly against the perfect silver of the blade. Tiny rivulets slid down and drip, drip, dripped off the point of the sword.
Alfred licked his lips and grinned, but his eyes were void of any semblance of himself.
The Alfred F. Jones that he truly was had been gutted and replaced with the Alfred F. Jones that the States of the Union wanted him to be. Who his people wanted him to be.
The new Alfred took a deep breath in through his nose, savoring the stench of blood, of filth, of bodies left to bloat and rot in the searing sun.
Oh, that's good.
-x-x-x-
Samuel pushed himself up onto his elbows from where he lay exhausted overtop of the body of his latest kill. His chest rose and fell laboriously, forcing his breath through parted lips. Loose hair that had come out of his ponytail stuck to the blood and the brain matter that was splattered across his face and neck. Something itched at his cheek so he absentmindedly brushed it away with a finger. White flecks of bone fell to the ground at his touch. He paid them no mind. His eyes were glued on a figure down the field.
"No way," Samuel whispered to himself. My eyes must be playing tricks on me, he thought. He shook his head and looked again. Sure enough, there he was, riding his horse and blindly slashing away at any soldier unfortunate enough to be within arms' reach.
Alfred F. Jones. And he was only fifty feet away.
The very last person he thought he would see here, but the very person he needed to see here. With Alfred being holed up in Washington for the entirety of the war so far, Samuel didn't know why he was here, nor did he really care. What mattered was that he was not the kind of man to pass up an opportunity like this.
Samuel quickly pulled his latest victim's rifle from beside the body and raised it to his shoulder. He leaned on the soldier's body to steady his aim as he lined the sight up so that it rested on his target. The blond and blue-clad nation was completely blind and unaware that a rifle's sights were lined up on his head.
Samuel rested his finger on the trigger and tightened his grip on the rifle.
Breathe.
The battle slowed, the screams of dying men and booms of cannons quieted, the world stopped turning as Samuel zeroed in on his target. He started to squeeze the trigger, then stopped.
He wasn't going to shoot Alfred.
No, he had a better idea.
The sight of the rifle shifted away from Alfred's head and found a new target.
Samuel chuckled to himself and shook his head. You're too smart for your own good, he thought.
He didn't hesitate this time.
He pulled the trigger and fired his rifle, and the bullet found its home only a short distance away. Samuel smirked. Yes, entirely too smart for your own good.
Alfred's horse was dead before its body slammed into the blood soaked earth. Alfred was thrown headlong through the air and into the ground with bone-crushing force.
Samuel pushed himself up onto his knees, then eased himself up onto his feet. He paused, thought, then chanced a deep breath. He smiled when his lungs slowly drank in the air.
He was healing. Slowly, yes, but healing nonetheless.
Samuel smirked, spat a stream of red at his feet, and slung the rifle over his shoulder. Shaking his head, he slowly crossed the distance between himself and Alfred's groaning figure. As the seconds passed, the tension in the air multiplied by tenfold. Alfred was oblivious to Samuel's slow and casual approach. His back was to Samuel, and his attention was focused on a steadily bleeding cut on his face and his bleeding nose. Obscenities streamed out of his mouth by the dozens, and Samuel took a moment to watch. So this is what power is, he thought. Holding a man's life in your hands, and they are none the wiser.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Alfred," he mocked, crossing his arms as he stopped just behind Alfred's hunched form. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
Alfred froze. He knew that voice. That voice, smooth as silk and sweeter than honey. That unmistakable Southern drawl. It had been months since he had last heard that voice. Images of a lonely balcony, an overcrowded party, and cigarette smoke flooded his mind.
He knew who was standing ever so smugly behind him.
Samuel.
Alfred didn't move. He needed to stall, to think, to plan, but his first thought jumped out of his mouth before he could stop it. "You sly bas–"
"Ah, ah, ah," Samuel lightly scolded. He was just within arms' reach of Alfred. "Save your breath. You're going to need it."
He kicked Alfred in the rear with his boot as hard as he could.
"Get up!"
Alfred stumbled forward and tried to crawl out of Samuel's reach on his hands and knees, but Samuel would have none of it.
"I said get up!"
He kicked Alfred again, this time in the side, and the force of it threw Alfred to the side and onto his back. Cautious, Alfred stood to his feet, one hand holding his side. He knew he had to be careful now. From this moment on, he would be playing with fire, and he had to watch himself carefully to keep from getting burned.
Alfred swallowed, licked his lips. He opened his mouth, but his voice quivered in the smoky air around them. "What do you want?"
The warm and golden laugh that rolled over Samuel's lips took Alfred off guard. For a split second, the smile that spread over the golden haired youth's barely-freckled and sunburned features reminded him of a vague feeling of a summer breeze over a Southern pine forest, of warm red clay, of a cane fishing pole resting on the bank of a creek. In that one fraction of a moment, Alfred could see a lost part of himself. A part that had been taken from him a long time ago and desperately wanted to regain.
The moment fled nearly as soon as Alfred recognized it.
The vision was chased away by the twisted and empty gleam in Samuel's eyes. The stunning azure was cold as ice, glazed over, and dead.
"You've put a price on my head, have you not?" Samuel said once he reigned in his laughter. He didn't wait for any sort of response, but started to gesture with his bloody hands and slowly circle Alfred's stock still body as he spoke. The hair on the back of Alfred's neck bristled.
"I'm just curious," Samuel drawled. "Just how much have you and your Washington goons put on my head? Five hundred dollars? A thousand? More?" He raised an eyebrow and nibbled on his lip as he traced his index finger across Alfred's rigid shoulders. "Well now you've got me. The great Alfred F. Jones of the Union has finally caught me. Aren't you proud?"
Samuel leaned over Alfred's shoulder so that his face was inches away from Alfred's cheek. His whisper was a purr that could barely be heard over the din of the battle around them. Everything seemed to slow down so that everything surrounding the two was a blur of blue and gray.
"Come on Alfred, I'm begging you. Be the hero you always fancied yourself to be. Or are you too much of a coward?"
Alfred's breath was caught in his throat. He wanted to scream and strangle the life out of the man that stood beside him now, breathing against his neck. He wanted to run, he wanted to kill something, he wanted all of these things all at once. All he could do was hold himself together, to try and think semi-logically in each passing moment and not lose his head.
Samuel chuckled low in his throat at Alfred's slowly reddening face. This whole deal was turning into the most fun that he had had in days. He didn't even try to hide his pleasure when he reached over and shoved Alfred's head with a hand. Alfred nearly lost himself, but Samuel was having the time of his life.
Samuel now stood just in front of Alfred and sneered. "Come on," he screamed. "Be the hero!" Veins bulged in his neck and face, and spittle flew from his lips with each annunciation.
"Be the hero!"
Then, as suddenly as he had began to scream, he returned to his cool and collected self. Samuel plastered the fakest of smiles onto his blood-splattered face, bent over at the waist, and spread his arms wide with a mocking flourish.
"Forgive me," he cooed, "Be the hero sir."
Alfred came unhinged. His right fist flew up on its own accord and tried to make contact with Samuel's jaw, but Samuel nimbly dodged Alfred's attack with his trademark lopsided grin. Alfred followed up his first punch with a left hook to the ribs, but Samuel deflected his fist with ease. Samuel's body slipped through the air to the left, right, up, down, and to the side with every sloppy punch Alfred tried to throw. In his rage, Alfred's wits fled him, and he threw fists, knees, elbows, anything to try and make contact with Samuel, but everything he tried amounted to nothing. Samuel was just too quick, which made no sense. He was covered in blood and God only knows what else, and Alfred could see bloody wounds, but they seemed to not even phase him. The man was untouchable, impenetrable, an unassailable fortress. No matter what he did, he could make no headway against him. Samuel would always slip just out of his reach at the very last second, and all the while he smiled. The grin that was constantly spread on Samuel's face made Alfred's blood boil. He was toying with him, having fun, playing with him as a cat plays with a dying fledgling just before the death blow is dealt. As the minutes passed, Alfred was slowly getting winded, but Samuel hadn't even broken a sweat yet. Also, Alfred noticed that Samuel kept looking to the side and behind him, almost as if he were looking for someone.
"Come on!" Alfred shrieked. His frustration had finally become too much for him to contain, and his rage poured out of him with every syllable that he spat from his lips. "Come on, you coward! Fight me like a man!"
Samuel raised an eyebrow at Alfred's outpouring of frustration. He knew that Alfred was aware that he was outmatched, but his stubbornness was proving to be interesting. Samuel could tell that Alfred wasn't used to someone outmaneuvering him or showing him to be lacking in strength, but it made sense that Alfred wasn't in top shape.
Half of himself was what made Samuel, after all.
It was true that Samuel was itching to throw a punch and draw first blood, but he had to be patient. Also, he needed help. Standing in front of him was a gold mine of information, quite possibly every iota of the Union's battle and political plans, and if he was going to benefit from Alfred's brain, he needed a few more sets of hands to help him with his plan.
If it went off without a hitch, then Samuel would be hailed as a hero.
Samuel's eyes flicked to the side and his gaze locked with another soldier's. The soldier, a gruff man in his late thirties, nodded quickly and got the attention of two other gray-clad soldiers. All three of them quietly picked up their rifles and slowly approached Alfred from behind. Alfred was too wrapped up in his rage to notice any of these proceedings.
Alfred threw his arms out to the side. He was completely done fooling with Samuel. "What are you waiting for?" he screamed.
Samuel drilled Alfred with a hard stare, then nodded ever so slightly. The gruff soldier slammed his rifle into Alfred's skull from behind, and Alfred dropped to the dirt like a stone.
Samuel slowly stepped up to Alfred's crumpled body and eyed him closely. He couldn't hide his smug grin.
Didn't see that one coming did you?
Alfred groaned and shut his eyes tightly. What in the world… He gingerly reached his fingers to the back of his head and felt the warm stickiness of blood. Slowly, he opened his eyes. His stomach turned when he saw Samuel standing over him, his ever-present grin plastered on his mouth.
Samuel looked down on Alfred's helpless state with a strange blend of feeling both pride and power. A beautiful combination, he thought to himself. It's time to get things moving though.
Samuel held up a hand and waved down at Alfred, then chuckled when Alfred frowned up at him.
What in the world is he doing? Alfred thought.
Samuel grinned widely, then winked. It was boyish. It was malicious.
"Sweet dreams, Al."
He raised his boot and slammed it down on Alfred's temple with enough force to break his skull. Alfred's world went black and his body went limp. He hardly realized what had happened before he lost consciousness.
Samuel quickly bent down and threw Alfred's arm over his shoulders and lifted his limp body to his feet. "Let's get him out of here," he said to the soldiers who stood behind Alfred, "I've got special plans for him."
AHHHH WE ARE SO EXCITED FOR THIS NEXT CHAPTER AND WE HOPE YOU ARE TOO
*inhales* Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Feel free to drop a review if you would like, they are much appreciated/squealed over.
Again, for the next chapter or so please heed the content warning. If you are unsure about the content or if it makes you feel uncomfortable, please skip it.
Love always,
Harley and Amanda