Freedom Fire, page 5
On top of that, they were being cared for by black surgeons! “I didn’t know …” she started.
“That the Union Army had black surgeons? Ha!” The doctor shook his head. “Nobody does, it seems. Technically, they only let us operate on the Negro soldiers and the dinos …”
“Technically,” the other three doctors echoed, rolling their eyes.
“Right,” Dr. Pennbroker amended. “When push comes to shove and the broken bodies are pouring in faster than anyone can work on them, all those rules go out the window, of course. You want to see your friend here?”
Magdalys stepped forward and peered around the sheet. The injured dactyl lurched his big head around and locked eyes with her, letting out a long, heavy breath. He was alive and awake. Dizz, Magdalys thought. I’ll call him Dizz. “He’s going to make it?” she asked.
“Oh he’ll be up and ready to go in no time,” Dr. Pennbroker said. “Took quite a scrapping though — pulled two slugs out of him and a third went right through his left wing. But you know, as Dr. Sloan always says: The dactyl is a ptero of unimpeachable character.”
“Whatever that means,” another surgeon scoffed.
“Yeah, I’ve never figured that one out either, to be honest.”
“You know Dr. Sloan?” Magdalys asked. “I … I’ve read his book so many times.”
“Heh, you could say he’s a good friend,” Dr. Pennbroker said. “Though we do have our disputes on anatomy and physiology. He’s serving with the Army of the Potomac now, over in the eastern theater.”
“I didn’t know he’d enlisted. I didn’t even know he was still alive!”
“Oh, lord, very much alive,” Dr. Pennbroker said. “Alive and stubborn as ever, I’m afraid.”
“Thanks for taking care of our dactyl,” Magdalys said, waving at the squad and surgeons alike as she joined Amaya and Sabeen at the far end of the tent.
“I gotta say,” Amaya whispered, “I’m reevaluating my dislike of giant reptiles based on this experience alone.”
“I’ve been trying to tell you,” Magdalys said.
“And Stella, of course.”
Magdalys nodded. “Stella the top dog.”
“The best ptero in the whole world,” Sabeen said.
“Stella the indomitable,” Magdalys added.
“Stella who puts up with Two Step and Mapper’s singing all night,” Amaya said.
“We can’t all be Sabeen.”
“Aw,” Sabeen said, blinking. “I don’t really … I just …”
“You have a beautiful voice,” Magdalys said.
Knack peered over at the girls. “What’s that now?”
“We were saying we’re pleased to see our loyal mounts are in such good hands, sir!” Magdalys yelled. A few of the dactyls cast what may have been incredulous gazes at her, which she ignored, smiling inwardly. “We’ll be returning to our sleeping quarters now, sir!” She and Amaya saluted. The surgeons, their hands busy, nodded their goodbyes, and Knack opened the tent flap for them to leave through.
AN OFF-KEY SYMPHONY of crickets took over the night, rising even over Sabeen’s enthusiastic snoring and broken only by occasional grunts and hoots from the dino quad. Magdalys rolled over and blinked at the tent drooping over her head.
The whole victory or defeat of the Army of the Cumberland, Sheridan’s voice said over and over, perhaps the Union itself, could rest on such tiny shoulders.
She clenched her teeth, a blurry flash of anger rising in her chest. Who was Sheridan to put so much pressure on her? He knew exactly what he was doing, being at the head of an army that executed its own soldiers for deserting. He knew the power he wielded. Didn’t even have to say it. The implicit threat was there, and even if he couldn’t do as much to her as long as she was a civilian, he’d made sure to let the weight of that burden sit as heavily as possible on her. Suddenly, Magdalys couldn’t breathe, like the war itself was sitting on her chest, laughing in her face. She sat up, pulling in as much of the thick Tennessee night air as she could.
She stood, trying to keep her panting as quiet as possible.
For a few moments, she kept perfectly still, let her breath return to normal, her pulse simmer back down. The crickets screamed their song on and on; the snores around her rose and fell.
Cymbeline had lied; Sheridan wanted to coerce her into fighting a war she barely understood, and he would never let her go, that much was clear. Somewhere far away, her mom and dad had gone on with their lives, and her sisters too. Maybe they’d already forgotten about her. She’d never felt so tiny: just a dot amidst all these sleeping soldiers and dinos, the world and its battlefronts spinning endless circles around her. She needed someone to tell her what was right, someone who knew her deep down, but the only person she could think of was wounded and en route to New Orleans.
Hopefully.
Or maybe Montez was dead.
She blinked away tears, her breath coming fast again; the air seemed to escape her lungs before she could catch it. She’d been telling herself this whole journey was to keep him safe, but really it was Magdalys that needed him. Who was she kidding?
Without thinking about it, she slung her satchel over her shoulder and hurried as quietly as possible out of the tent, where she found herself staring directly into Amaya’s face.
The older girl shook her head. “You can’t stop running away, huh?”
“I …” Magdalys started. All her silly lies just floated away into the night before she could pick one that might work.
“Don’t bother,” Amaya said. “I get it.”
“You do?”
“I get the impulse. If you keep going though, we have a problem.”
Magdalys stuck the toe of her boot into the dirt and looked away. The torches around them crackled in the night. Soldiers and dinos snored and crickets droned on and on.
“They put a lot of pressure on you,” Amaya said. “And that’s not fair. And I would want to run away too.”
Magdalys nodded, still looking away. “I’m scared.”
“Me too. Thing is, and I know this doesn’t make it any easier: We need you too. And you don’t necessarily owe them anything, but we came here with you. For you.”
Magdalys met Amaya’s eyes. “I know and —”
“Let me finish. More than that: I need you. Right now.”
“Huh?”
She held an envelope out to Magdalys.
“What do you want me to do with that?”
“Read it.”
Magdalys took the gram, shoved her finger into the opening, and pulled along the top, tearing the envelope open. “Out loud?”
“No, just to yourself. Of course out loud, Mags. Why else would I — never mind. Yes, out loud. Please.”
“Sheesh, I was just asking.”
They stopped beneath one of the perimeter torches and Magdalys squinted at the ornate handwriting.
Dearest Daughter Amaya,
I write you with incredible news, more incredible than I can even share within the confines of this letter, in fact, so I suppose what I mean to say is, I write to tell you that there is incredible news, but sadly, I must see you in person to let you know. I can say that all of my hard work and dedication to this noble country has finally come to fruition, and Dr. Lassiter has provided me with the technology I need to complete my life’s work.
You must come at once. I have instructed the matrons to provide you with train fare to Galveston. Your destiny awaits, my daughter, as does that of your two sisters —
“Sisters?” Magdalys said, cocking an eyebrow. “You never —”
“Half sisters,” Amaya corrected. “They’re …” She shook her head with distaste.
“Ah, say no more.”
— Iphigenia and Mary Claire —
“Iphigenia?” Magdalys said. “Does she live in a tower and only wear ballroom gowns?”
“Keep reading please.”
“I’m just saying.”
— who will also be arriving shortly. All three of you will soon find out the true extent of our family’s fortune and important role in the future of this great nation.
Come quickly, daughter! Greatness awaits! All that you have worked toward, all that I have worked toward, all that is yet to come awaits! And this Union rests its tired hopes upon us, my daughter, but such is the burden of greatness.
Your father,
Major General Cuthbert Trent
Magdalys lowered the gram. “Wow.”
Amaya just shook her head.
“I guess we both bear the burden of greatness now, huh?”
“I don’t even know what to say.”
“Neither would I. Are you … what are you …”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, wait, there’s more.” Magdalys turned the paper over, where a few more lines were scrawled.
PS Perhaps you already have heard, but I am unwell, dear daughter. The doctors are at a loss and have hooked me up to various infernal devices without much success. You must come quickly, I’m afraid, in order to inherit your destiny.
Amaya scoffed and sniffled at the same time. “Just like the old man,” she said quietly. “Everything is amazing, come blah blah blah destiny, oh yeah by the way I’m dying, okay bye.” She closed her eyes for a few seconds then blinked them open, shaking her head.
“That was a whole lot,” Magdalys said.
Amaya took the gram and, without so much as a glance, held it up to a nearby torch. The parchment turned brown as fire snarled and snapped away at its edges, then it crinkled and was whisked away in sparkling ashes into the Tennessee night.
DINOS SCATTERED ACROSS an open plain as the whole world trembled. There were brachys and diplos; a flock of microdactyls skittered between the stomping legs of an allosaurus, as a whole rumbling trike herd thundered past. The ground shook and shivered, maybe from the dinos themselves or maybe that’s what was making them run. Some had sprouted feathers from strange places; others had one limb or another covered in thick, matted fur.
In the distance, boulders tumbled down the side of a huge mountain.
Magdalys watched it all, her mouth hanging open, and wondered why she didn’t get trampled in the mad stampede. Something shoved her from behind and she thought, There it is, my death has come and then she opened her eyes and Two Step was smiling down at her, wearing his pajamas, his fro pointing every which way but down.
Magdalys blinked. “You’re not Death.”
Two Step looked himself over. “Doesn’t seem like it, no. You coming?”
A great hubbub filled the air outside their tent. Metal clanged and hammers pounded over the rustle of many bodies moving at once. Somewhere further away, the hoots and growls of dinos mingled with various sternly given commands. “Where we going?”
“We’re rolling out!” Mapper called from across the tent in his best drill-sergeant baritone.
Two Step broke into a smooth shoulder dip and then spun, landing back facing Magdalys with two finger guns pointed her way. “Rollllllling out!”
“Why are you two so hype?” Magdalys grumbled, pulling the covers off and stretching.
“US Army coffee!” Mapper said, taking a sip from a tin cup. “America’s finest!”
“Is it really?” Magdalys asked.
“Absolutely not,” Two Step said. “But it’s strong. We got up early and some guys in the next tent gave us theirs. Said they drank tea! Can you imagine?”
“Gimme some,” Magdalys said.
Mapper dutifully passed the cup to Two Step, who handed it down to Magdalys. It was still hot and sure, not that great, but definitely packed just the right punch. Magdalys closed her eyes.
“The cats from last night said we can roll with them today,” Mapper said. “They’re so cool!”
“And they’re an artillery unit,” Two Step said, “so their trikes and stegos have howitzers mounted on ’em.”
The Louisiana Native Guard, Magdalys thought. She’d ask them about Montez. She hopped up. “Well, what are we waiting for, boys? Let’s roll out!”
The dark green forest-covered mountains rose to either side as the Louisiana Native Guard Mounted Artillery Unit rumbled along a well-worn path with the rest of General Sheridan’s division. Fanners — soldiers who carried fans at the ends of long sticks — marched at regular intervals on either side of the caravan, swooshing away the billowing clouds of dust so they wouldn’t leave an obvious imprint of where they were going across the Tennessee sky. The mid-morning sun blazed down at them from a near cloudless sky and the strains of a single trumpet reached Magdalys over the stomps and clinking metal and grunts of armored triceratops.
She looked up from the trike saddle she shared with Mapper, the young soldier named Hannibal, and the big muscled one, Jack Jackson. The blue-clad, mud-covered army and their ironclad dinos stretched all through the valley and disappeared around a bend up ahead. Behind them, another armored unit, the Tennessee 7th, picked up the rear along with a few battalions of foot soldiers and a single squad of raptor riders. Magdalys could see those sharp, birdlike snouts bobbing along over the heads of the men at the very end of the procession.
The trumpet’s song, at first just howling a series of sad, rasping notes into the blue sky, suddenly resolved into a melody: “John Brown’s Body,” and the whole regiment immediately began singing along. The lyrics were different though.
“… where the flag is waving bright!” everyone sang together.
A glint of sunlight caught Magdalys’s eye and then she spotted the trumpet player.
“We are going out of slavery, we are bound for freedom’s light!”
Octave Rey — the one whose trike impression Hannibal had called garbage (not without cause, Magdalys had to admit).
“We mean to show Jeff Davis how the Africans can fight!”
He stood up on the saddle he was riding on as cheers and raucous laughter rose around him, and led the soldiers into the final bar of the verse.
“As we go marching on!” they sang, and then fell into an even louder rendition of the chorus: “Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah!”
When they finished, Octave sat back down and sent the song into more spiraling, melancholy melodies, like he was having a conversation with the sparkling sun and mountain paths around him.
“Hey,” Magdalys said, making her way to the front of the trike saddle where Hannibal and Jack were sitting.
“Hey yourself,” Hannibal said with a mischievous smile.
“Did you guys ever serve with the Louisiana 9th?”
Jack Jackson perked up. “The 9th? Mounted Trike Division right?”
“Yes!” Magdalys nearly yelped, trying to quell the thrill of possibility rising inside her. “My —”
“Weren’t they with us at Milliken’s Bend?” Hannibal said.
“Yes!” Magdalys yelled again. “That’s right!”
Jack nodded. “Gave them Rebels a beatin’.” A moment passed. “Took a beating too.” He craned his neck to one side, showing a long, barely healed scar running from his jaw and around down one shoulder. “That’s where I got this. And a few others too. Barely made it outta there alive.”
“Won the day though,” Hannibal put in.
“And helped Grant sack Vicksburg soon after,” Jack added proudly.
“Did you meet a soldier named Montez? Montez Roca.”
Jack and Hannibal looked at each other. “Don’t recall one with that name,” Jack said.
Hannibal shook his head. “I’d remember a name like Montez.”
Magdalys felt her whole heart sag. Had he not really been there? Maybe Private Summers’s letter had been wrong about which battle they’d been in. But that didn’t seem right — Summers had been there too. “Oh,” she said in a voice so far away it made both men turn and look her over carefully.
“What’s he look like?” Jack asked.
“He looks like her but with glasses and a shade lighter and even skinnier,” Mapper offered. “Real bookish.” He shook his head. “Always in a book.”
Jack and Hannibal studied Magdalys for another few seconds, then looked at each other and yelled, “RAZORCLAW JONES!”
Magdalys’s jaw dropped open. From behind her, Mapper made an incredulous gurgling noise.
“Come again?” Magdalys said.
“That’s your brother?” Hannibal gaped.
Jack punched his shoulder, possibly shattering it. “Of course it is, man! Look at her! They’re practically the same person, but what the little map dude said: glasses, lighter skinned, a little skinnier. I knew Magda Lee looked familiar!”
Hannibal shook his head and rubbed his injured shoulder. “I just … wow.”
“Wait, slow down,” Magdalys said. “What did you call him?”
“Razorclaw Jones,” Jack and Hannibal said again, both chuckling and turning back to the front.
“But … why?”
“Razorclaw is army talk for a sharpshooter,” Jack explained. “A sniper.”
“Your brother could write his name in bullet holes on a tin can from fifty feet away,” Hannibal bragged.
Jack tipped his head. “Well, I dunno about that, but —”
“Plus, y’all from New York, right?” Hannibal asked.
Magdalys nodded, still trying to take in the revelation that her brother could actually shoot, let alone well. “Yeah, but —”
“And the famous Raptor Claw neighborhood’s there, so I guess someone just put two and two together.”
“And threw in a Jones for good measure,” Jack said.
Hannibal shrugged. “As we do.”
“We’re not even from that part of New York!” Magdalys yelled, overwhelmed with all the many impossible things happening at once. “And Montez is named Montez, not Razorclaw Whatever!”
“Jones,” Mapper said helpfully.
“And he can’t shoot guns! He hates guns!”
Jack and Hannibal traded a wry glance. “Oh, guess it was someone else then,” Jack said.
“Yeah, it totally had to be a different kid from New York who looks just like you but with glasses. Got it.”
