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The images wouldn’t stop as he crawled forward, knees scraping on the sharp grass and pebbles. He slid forward even as his stomach turned. David gripped a rock and retched and gagged as tears streamed down his cheeks.
Spots danced before his eyes. Before he could fall into the darkness, over the boulder and down the hill, arms encircled his shoulders and Amalia’s voice was in his ear, yanking him back into the present. “Easy, David. Easy. It’ll be all right. Whatever it is, it’ll be all right. I’ll make it all right.”
Shaking and shuddering in her arms, his body struggling to split itself from his mind and run. Run away from all the memories, from the story that wasn’t supposed to be his.
He bucked and Amalia whimpered as the back of his head collided with her chin. Yet, she didn’t let go. Didn’t speak, but didn’t let go and held until the shadows of the trees loomed high and far, edging down the hill, and his breaths no longer came in pants and he could sit.
With her next to him.
The blue of the sky began to tinge pink, but neither spoke. Finally, she turned to him, her brow lined with concern. “You don’t have to talk about it.” She threaded her fingers, her bare, glove-less fingers, of her good hand, through his.
He could sit with her forever and pretend it all never happened and pretend he could forget. Except he couldn’t. Not with the ghosts watching.
“I need to.” He sighed. “I owe you an explanation. That’s not like me. That’s not who I am. I’m strong. I’m a survivor. I move forward, not backward. Like you.”
“Being all that doesn’t mean you need to talk about anything you don’t want to.” She squeezed his hand and he took his first deep breath
since he left the woods.
“No, I need to tell you, not anyone, just you.” He did. Amalia deserved the full story, the real story. He gritted his teeth and attempted a smile. “There is good news though.”
“Oh?” She cocked her head.
With his free hand he swept a lock of long brown hair from her forehead, glided all the way down to the end. “I know where we are.”
“Hmm?” Eyes closed, she’d leaned into him.
If only he didn’t have to say it out loud because the words would cut her too.
The air thickened in his lungs. “We’re outside the town of Gettysburg.”
“Oh god.” Her eyes popped open.
David rubbed the back of his neck. “You can say that again.”
Her swallow was visible. “So are we...?”
“We’re sitting about five yards from where he died.” Everything inside him hurt.
Amalia didn’t say anything for a few minutes, but didn’t drop his hand, didn’t run. Still as a statute, she stared straight ahead over the hillside, dotted with rocks and bushes the snipers from both sides clung to—rendering the cannons ineffective. A waste. “How do you know?”
Because it could’ve been me. It should’ve been me. Or neither of us. We should’ve done it better. I should’ve done it better. All of us should’ve done it better.
He pinched the top of his spine with his free hand and glanced at his lap. “I was next to him. It was my first battle and we were manning a cannon together because we were both green. Though you know that. Simon was much more skilled. Thad made sure of it. But Thad was Thad Truitt, a volunteer yet the best sharpshooter in all of V Corps, not just company D, not just the 91st.”
And the voices were back.
Simon. My god, Simon. Simon, I’m coming.
Thad from behind his rock, over the blast.
You stay, Truitt. Hold your position. That’s an order.
Hazlett—who didn’t listen to his own advice, and received a bullet in the head for his troubles just hours later.
And his own voice.
I’ll keep him covered.
