Chapter 32
Neveah
When my eyes open, I panic for a moment because all I see is darkness. My head feels fuzzy, and the world seems to be spinning around, but I’m not even moving. It takes me a moment to blink a few times, and I’m relieved when I see the twinkling stars above. At least I can see now.
But wait. Why is it so dark?
Seconds ago, I’d been avoiding looking into the evening sun as Dad snapped the picture… or at least he was going to snap the picture before I tripped over my dress. But now, it’s pitch dark.
And where is Dad?
I want to shout for him, but my head is just pounding, and everything is so fuzzy, I can’t even seem to get any words out. My back is killing me, too, and I remember hitting it on the rocky ground right along with my head. I hear crying from every direction, along with occasional gunfire that sometimes halts the whimpering. I don’t remember the last reenactment being quite this detailed. And I just can’t understand why my dad would leave me lying here until it was dark out.
Regardless, I need to get up and get out of here. Now that I see the rock overhead, It’s apparent that I’ve fallen from a couple of huge boulders about six feet high. Despite my aching head and back, I fight the pain so I’m at least in an upright seated position.
“That is not a good idea.”
I jump at the sound of the deep voice next to me. It’s definitely not Dad. Who is this guy?
I turn to see a shadow of a man in what I make out to be a Union soldier’s uniform. God, does he smell like a battlefield. I wonder what they used to recreate the scent of blood. I really don’t think the reenactment needs that much authenticity.
“Are you one of the reenactors?” I ask.
“Shh, keep your voice down,” he says. “The Rebs have sharpshooters on both sides ready to pick you off when they get wind of you.”
“What?” The reenactors shouldn’t mistake me for one of them in this dress.
“Not just them, miss,” he continues, his voice in a frantic whisper. “Even with the Rebs having a bad angle at a shot where we’re lying, the whole lot of them out here will shoot anything that moves, so you might get hit by friendly fire.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I don’t know why he’s so insistent on keeping up his role-playing, but I’m not about to lie here when I need to get my head looked at, not to mention that he really does smell of blood, and I need to get away from him. Reenactments are done with fake ammunition anyway.
I think this guy has done a few too many of these things.
I manage to prop myself up on my elbows and push up. As my head clears a bit, I hear a gun fire, and the strange man wraps his arm around me and pulls me down just as something whizzes by… within inches of my head. It hits the rock behind me, and even in the dark, I see the mark it left on the boulder.
Oh, my God… that was a real bullet!
Terror fills my veins as I sink back down and lay as still as I can. I suddenly don’t care what this guy smells like because I’m too scared to focus on more than one sense right now, and I’m trying to hear what’s going on. Why are they shooting at me? And why are these bullets real?
“Stay down,” he says firmly.
This time, I just nod, listening to the sound of young men crying. Most are just boys from the sound of it, their voices not as low-pitched and masculine as the man beside me.
“I need water!” I hear someone shout over the crying, and another round of gunfire explodes nearby.
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. The reenactor hasn’t taken his arm off me, and until I know what’s going on, that’s not really necessary since I have no intention of sitting up like that again. The man keeps looking around and staying low.
All I can think of is those shootings at malls and things. Is that what’s going on? I suppose someone could be unstable enough to take advantage of the crowd at the reenactment and start shooting for real. “Is this a mass shooting or something?” I ask.
Now that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness a little, I can see the expression on his face, with one brow up and the other crinkled in confusion. “Er… that’s one thing you could call it. How hard did you hit your head?”
“Hard.” I rub the back of it and feel a little moisture. Damn. I’m bleeding, but not much. Must be just a scratch, which is probably lucky considering the height of my fall and the rocky ground I landed on.
“What in the blazes are you doing out here?” he asks.
“I’m sorry?” I have to speak above a whisper now because there’s more gunfire. But if it’s a mass shooting, why are there so many guns? “We meant to make it to the bleachers on time, but I slipped when my father was taking a picture of me on the rocks.”
“What in the bloody—” He lowers his voice again as the gunfire slows. “What the hell are bleachers, and why is your father bringing you onto a field of battle?”
This guy really doesn’t know when to drop the act. “Well, it’s not like we expected live gunfire at a reenactment. I’ll get out of your way as soon as the gunman leaves or the police get here or whatever.”
He stares at me, his face still wrinkled in confusion. It’s like I might as well be speaking a foreign language. “Perhaps you live around here?” he asks. “We can find your father later, but now you’ve got to stay low.”
“No, I’m from Philadelphia.”
“Then you have no idea what we’ve been through here in Gettysburg and how dangerous it is for you to be here.” He leans in close, and I can smell the blood on him again. Maybe I’m getting used to it because it’s not so repulsive now. I guess I don’t have much choice but to breathe him in since I’m stuck here until whoever is shooting real bullets out there gets arrested.
But now that he’s closer, there’s something familiar about his face. I can’t place it, but I think it’s his eyes.
“The ball opened when the calvary got surprised by Lee’s men,” he begins. I realize that sentence wouldn’t make any sense if I hadn’t been reading all Dad’s Civil War books. Back in the day, a ‘ball opening’ meant a battle began. “My regiment arrived early this morning. They’d had a rough go of it all day and night with their flank in the air, and General Howard had ordered a retreat to the Hill. Still, they fought with impetuosity. They’re holding the fishhook formation up there, and we’re ordered to hold this ground. Looks like we’ve lost it though, with all those Rebs in front of us.”
I don’t know why he’s giving me a history lesson in the middle of whatever’s going on here. My eyes are adjusting better to the starlight, and to the right and the left I see bodies strewn everywhere.
Is this the reenactment? But what about that bullet?
Are all these people really dead?
Whatever is going on, I need to get out of here. I’m just about to try to sit up again when gunfire erupts all around us, and the man by me ducks again. I don’t know what’s taking the police so long to get here and stop this, but I know better than to walk out in front of a live shooter. I need to find another way out of here.
Looking over at the man, I notice for the first time that there’s something off about his movement. “What’s your name?”
“Sam. Lieutenant Sam Walker of the 4th Maine regiment.”
“Okay, Sam. I’m Neveah.”
“Neveah? What kind of a name is that?” He gives me a frown.
I’ve heard that reaction before. “It’s heaven spelled backward.” I can’t help but roll my eyes. He says nothing. “Anyway, are you hurt?”
He puts his hand on his calf the second I ask. “Got shot in the leg. But it’s nothing major. I’ll be able to fight again–if we can get out of here.”
Now it’s my turn to look at him with a furrowed brow. “Fight? You don’t even have real bullets.”
“What do you—”
“Look, I can help you with that. I’m a doctor.”
A strange laugh escapes his lips. “A doctor? Well, huzzah for you.”
I sense his tone, dripping with sarcasm, but I don’t get it. “I’m a little young, yes, but I’m an attending physician now at Philadelphia Memorial. I don’t have my credentials here with me, but your leg needs attention, so you’re going to have to trust me.”
“Miss, you’ve really hit your head hard.” At least he stops laughing now, but I don’t understand why he doesn’t believe me. “Maybe you can nurse it up, but that will need to wait because we’re pinned down.”
He’s not lying, but if his leg really is shot, it needs immediate attention. I look around and listen, trying to get a handle on where we are and which direction the shooting is coming from. At first, it seemed like it was all around me, but my head is clearer now, and it’s definitely coming from in front of us.
I’ve spent enough time reading Dad’s books full of maps and photos to get a handle on Gettysburg well enough, and with this reenactment coming up, he’s been obsessed with Devil’s Den. I’m suddenly glad I’ve had the time lately to pay attention.
Looking around, I realize where I’m at in relation to a place Dad had pointed out—a cave formed by a natural spring beneath several boulders at Devil’s Den. If I can get Sam in there, at least we’d be free of the shooter enough that I can try to patch up his leg, or at least get the worst of the bleeding under control.
“Follow me,” I tell him.
But he doesn’t budge. “I won’t leave my regiment. I’m no shirker. Besides, if I don’t hold this position, I’m a dead man with those Rebs both in front and behind us.”
“If we keep low, no one can shoot at us.” I still don’t get why he’s sticking to the playacting when there’s real danger out here. Maybe the injury to his leg is somehow affecting his mental state. If that’s the case, it’s even more critical that I treat him. I just hope I have enough supplies in my medical kit to take care of it until an ambulance gets here.
He looks around like he’s trying to choose between me and the stupid rock he’s supposed to stay by.
“Sam, this is a reenactment,” I say firmly. Maybe he just needs to hear that several times. “But if that is a real bullet in your leg, and if you don’t let me look at it, you’re going to be in trouble. Just follow me. I know this area well. There’s a cave just over this way.”
His gaze follows my finger as I point left. “All right. But just keep down to the ground.”
I have no intention of letting the shooter take off my head. “Of course.”
Finally, I start crawling in that direction, though I wince at the pain in my back the whole way. Careful to keep my head low, it’s a slow process. Occasionally, I check the back of my head, and I’m glad I don’t feel any more wetness. Hopefully, my bleeding has stopped.
Sam drags himself after me, also keeping low and pulling his bad leg behind. It feels like ages before we finally make it to where we can see the cave in the dim starlight. I turn to him, and his eyes are wide in surprise. “See? There’s a cave. We can duck in there and take a look at your leg.”
He nods and follows me inside.