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I took another step, and the rubber sole of my running shoe slipped on the grass. I felt myself sliding into the sunken hole, which was much deeper than I had expected.
"Fire!"
I heard a terrible explosion, and suddenly I smelled bitter orange and felt mud and icy water sloshing over my feet as I flailed for balance at the bottom of the h
ole.
"Again!" The voice sounded louder, and hoarse from shouting.
The sunny day had gone overcast and cold, and I wasn't alone anymore. Then a terrific explosion went off just in front of me, and I saw a cannon rolling backward toward me. I fell away from it, jamming both hands over my ears....
In front of me, standing inside the earthworks that should have looked out on the parking lot, I could see a group of dirty men in worn brown or grey coats standing with muskets. One man rammed a long rod down the barrel of his musket, while another held his own higher, fiddling with something on the side of the gun, near the trigger. I couldn't see anything like a parking lot beyond the men, just a muddy space stretching away into smoky haze.
A younger soldier already had his long musket up to his shoulder, and I jumped as the popping whoosh went off when he fired. Another chuffing sound like a steam engine rushed past my head, and I turned and saw a man fall. I realized that chuffing was the sound of a minie ball shot into the fort! I crouched lower, hugging the ground in desperation, but I could still see the soldiers. Could I be shot by a ghost minie ball? There was no window protecting me from the past anymore - I was part of that time, and I wished I'd never stepped into the earthworks.
The boy beat his drum in that steady roll as the soldiers in front of him kept shooting. The young soldier reached down into a leather pouch, pulled out a paper cartridge, then tore it open with his teeth. He poured the powder down the muzzle, then pushed in the minie ball and used his ramrod to shove it down the barrel. He rested the ramrod against something shiny stuck in the ground, then he pulled back the hammer and jammed a little copper-colored metal cap in place and fired again....
Through a shooting gap, I saw the retreating men stumbling across the cornfield I'd crossed just a few moments ago in my own time, when it was a grassy plain. The soldiers pulled the wounded along through the broken stalks of corn toward safety, sometimes staggering themselves and using their muskets to keep on their feet. Every few seconds I could hear those popping sounds, softer in the distance. I pushed myself under the planks as far as I could go, terrified - freezing - helpless, and wanting to cry.
"Go on." A cold boot prodded me impatiently, and I could feel the chill cut through my shirt as if someone had dropped an ice cube down my back. "Get on back to the salient, before they come again."
I looked up, into a dirt-streaked face barely older than my own. Old men and young boys, Mrs. Hambrick had said. This was one of the boys. Apparently my jeans and the plaid shirt blended in well enough with the variety of uniforms, and he just thought I was another soldier.
I shook my head at him. I don't belong here, I wanted to tell him, but I couldn't find my voice.
The boy's eyes widened. "You're - not one of us," he said.
For a moment I thought the boy was going to swing his long musket around and point it at me. Then he reached out a grimy hand. "You're an out-of-timer! But you're in my time now, and you see me - thank God! I've been praying for someone, all these years. You must help me!"
Copyright ©2001 by Elaine Marie Alphin