Page 31 of The Girl Out of Time
Chapter 8
Theo was swimming in the sea of jumbled, confused memories.
His shoulder hurt. Burned. A voice cut through the pain—light and melodic, like an angel’s, telling him to hold on, even though he didn’t remember the exact words of encouragement. He wanted to hold on. If that voice could stay, everything would be fine.
Then the pain abated, letting the memories seep through.
Jean-Baptiste sat across the campfire from him, the pitiful flames fighting against the rain.
“Damn weather,” his cousin muttered. “If the rain doesn’t let up in a day, I’m turning back and going home.”
“Then I’ll have to come with you,” Theo said, even if they both knew leaving wasn’t an option.
“And that would be the first smart decision you’ve made,” Jean-Baptiste replied with a teasing smile and tone of a sibling’s barb.
Uncle hadn’t wanted Theo to follow Jean-Baptiste either, but he had to come. Brothers did such things together, even if brothers, in this case,were only cousins. Blood was still blood, and debt still debt. Unfortunately for them, so far, Jean-Baptiste’s touted adventures in the army had boiled down to walking, camping, and more walking.
For two months.
“Ah, never mind.” Jean-Baptiste plucked at the broken, sad feather on his cap. “We stay. Think of how the ladies will swoon when we come back in our uniforms.”
“These?” It was Theo’s time to tease now as he pulled at his dirtied blue coat. “You’ll have to get all the mud out first.”
Jean-Baptiste chuckled, but the last note of his laughter grew distorted, as if the memory was fading. Theo brought out his silver locket and tilted it toward the fire so the light caught the engraved initials. Peace wasn’t going to last forever—especially in war. He clutched the locket in his fist and closed his eyes.
Protect us.
Shouting, steps, more shouting. Something whizzed over his head. A horse neighed, rearing above him—wait, why would the horse be attacking him? All the horses at the farm loved him—and then pain, the pain again—
“Theo. Theo!” Something slapped him on the cheek. He opened his eyes. Jean-Baptiste’s face, dirty and scratched as it unblurred, hovered above him. “Good. You stay awake.”
All right, I will,Theo thought, even as he closed his eyes again. He could be awake without looking.
“Lost the battle … found a fellow … get us to a ship … go home easier that way …”
Home?They were going home already? It didn’t make sense, but he couldn’t focus anymore…
His bed swayed beneath him, then tossed him onto the hard, cold floor. But why was it so cold? And why was it spraying his face?
He gulped, desperate for air—and instead got only water. It woke him up, at least, and he sat, spitting out more water, then gasping. The curved wooden walls around him creaked as the wind wailed outside.
He was on a ship.
And it was flooding.
He stood up and shook the wet hair off his face.
“Theo!” Jean-Baptiste descended the ladder, landing in a few inches of water.
“What’s going on?” Why were they on a ship? No, wait, he remembered his cousin telling him …
“Let’s just say”—Jean-Baptiste waded through the water to him—“we should’ve gone home before the rain got biblical.”
“Are we evacuating?”
“No use in these winds. We’ll be worse off in the lifeboats than on the ship.”
“Then I have to help. What can I do?”
