Part 9…
Shots rang out. Some missed, most hit. The smoke swirled around Thomas, thick and noisome.
The last thing he remember was the ringing in his ears and the pain in his body when it hit the ground. He tried to bring everything into focus, but his eyes burned mercilessly, blurring his vision. Thomas’s knees were shaky underneath him and it took most of the energy left in his body only to stand up. Around him, like rag dolls, men and horses lay in piles, tossed carelessly across the field. Those who were still standing ignored the carnage and recharged their guns.
He put one step in front of the other, making his way back to his regiment. Another explosion, another cloud of smoke, in a desperate attempt to keep the enemy that pushed ever closer. The ground shook underneath him, the sound of hooves and the air around him compressed and expanded with the sound of artillery, making his ears buzz in response. Thomas collapsed near a munition-filled cart, fighting for breath, his face covered in muddy sweat beads.
All he knew was that they were coming for him. Most accurate, for his father. They were outnumbered. They didn’t stand a chance. He pulled a letter from his right pocket and traced the faded letters with bloody fingers. Through gritted teeth, he made a silly wish.
The sound of a horn cleared the valley, making Thomas jump out of his skin. Everything fell into silence. A terrible, empty stillness, sinister against the muted fighting farther across the plain. Then an unmistakable shrieking sound filled the air, a lingering dread washing over him.
Thomas jerked awake.
His heart stopped for a split second. He remained motionless, staring at the ceiling for a gut-wrenching moment before he remembered where he was. In the quiet of the morning, he could hear the servants busying around the house. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, wondering if it was too late to make things right.
Thomas groaned and flung his arm over his eyes. A dull throbbing had started in his head, and his stomach growled with hunger. He would have to leave his study sooner or later, either way.
Skimming the papers in front of him, a deep crease set itself stubborn around his mouth. He made little if any progress in mapping the course of that dreaded letter that he needed to exonerate his father. All trace was lost after the letter arrived in England. It annoyed him to recognize that maybe it was time to ask for help.
But first, he needed to find Eve.
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