Chapter 29 #2
Mr. Ashby didn’t reply as he took my hand and pulled me toward the house.
We made it, but Patrice was nowhere to be found.
The house had been torn apart. Furniture, lamps, and dishes were broken and strewn around each room.
We spread out to look and, after meeting up again, shook our heads.
“What if she was taken?” I voiced my fears.
He put hands on my shoulders. “Patrice is resourceful. It’s likely that she and the staff hid before the pirates entered the house.”
I nodded, breathing deeply to calm myself. “You’re right. She is more capable than I am. She could have easily escaped. What do we do now?”
“I’ll follow your lead.” His expression was resolute as he waited for my answer.
I looked around at the broken house, and out the window to see people rushing by. “Let’s keep looking. But first, we need weapons.”
He nodded once and let me go as we both scoured the house for anything we could use.
I went into the kitchen and found knives, but I questioned whether I would be able to wield one.
I wanted to put more distance between me and my opponent.
I only found a broom. Good enough. I snapped off the brush using my leg and then went to meet Mr. Ashby in the dining room. He had found a rifle.
“That’s much better than a broom handle,” I commented.
Despite everything happening around us, Mr. Ashby cracked a smile. “Only for a shot or two. Let’s go.”
I followed him outside and we cautiously rounded the corner, sticking close together.
Our path was clear of fighting men for some time, but as we neared the sugar mill, we came upon a large pirate who must have seen us as easy targets.
He rushed at us, but Mr. Ashby picked up his rifle and fired it before the man even got close.
He fell to the dirt and didn’t move. We didn’t check whether he was dead, but ran past him to get to the sugar mill.
I suggested that if she had gone somewhere, it would be where more people were gathered.
We opened the doors and were thrown back by people escaping the building. Flames were licking the roof, and it seemed all the coppers and metal trays were overturned, the sticky sugar spilling everywhere.
Amidst the chaos, I thought I saw a glimpse of red hair.
“Patrice!” I called out before following the people running from the mill.
“Patrice!” As the crowd dispersed, I saw her with Lottie, carrying an injured worker between them, blood trickling from his leg.
I followed where they went, looking back once to make sure Mr. Ashby was still behind me.
People were running every which way, making it pure chaos. Pirates chased the young and old, fighting with them or simply cutting them down. I was horrified, but I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t help.
Finally, Patrice and Lottie set the man down next to other injured men and women.
It was a makeshift hospital strategically built next to a fence, so the wounded were protected somewhat from the surrounding violence.
How had they done it so quickly? Mr. Ward came to check on the newly arrived man.
I surmised he must have had sufficient warning from Whisper.
“Patrice!” I yelled once more, this time capturing her attention. I reached her at last.
After putting the man down, she threw herself into me and hugged me tightly.
“Oh Miss, ye were safe at the mission. Why did ye come here?” Her red eyebrows were pinched together so tightly, I worried it would cause a headache; which truthfully should be the least worrisome thing in such a situation.
My breathing remained heavy and I shook my head at her words.
“A mob of planters came to the mission looking for a fight. We had to get all the women and children out. Once they were safe, Mr. Ashby and I left to find you.” I touched her familiar, freckled face.
“I’m so glad you’re alive!” I threw my arms around her again.
We didn’t have time to cry. The wounded needed help.
I didn’t know much about healing but was instructed by Lottie to cut bandages and clean wounds.
Arthur helped, too, while keeping an eye on the battles around us.
People ran by us, pirates and workers yelling and clashing.
I must have seen five or six men killed just by glancing up between tasks.
The terror seemed never-ending. I tried to calm my mind enough to think straight, but it seemed surreal. What would we do? Was this a losing battle? It didn’t warrant thinking about; all we could do was survive and help the next person.
Once the wounded were stable, we began finding others to help. Mr. Ashby handed me the empty rifle, confiscating my broomstick. “This will hit harder,” he said. I gripped the rifle firmly. The weight of it made me feel more secure.
As I ran alongside Patrice, we came across a pirate beating a helpless elderly man. I let out a battle cry and swung my rifle at the pirate, who turned just in time to take a blow to the face. He clapped a hand over the place of impact and fell on his backside. Patrice helped the elderly man stand.
“Take him back. We’ve got this,” I called to her. My voice was that of a stranger, sure and strong. I certainly didn’t feel that way. Mr. Ashby stood beside me, our weapons at the ready.
The man I’d hit growled obscenities, holding onto his face. When he let his hands fall, I saw blood spewing from his nose. It was an awful sight. Then his eyes glazed over and he collapsed into a heap at my feet.
“Nicely done,” Mr. Ashby said to me.
“I don’t know my own strength.” The rifle was much harder than I thought. A worthy weapon, indeed.
“Elsie!” I heard a familiar voice cry from somewhere in the distance. I looked around to see Graham sprinting toward us. Then I noticed a pirate with a gun pointed directly at me, closer than Graham was. I barely processed what that meant before Mr. Ashby pushed me to the side.
But the shot had already fired and I felt a blinding pain in my abdomen.
It was too sudden for me to even scream.
On the ground, I blearily looked into Mr. Ashby’s face.
It seemed out of focus. He was holding on to me, pressing a hand into the wound.
I wanted to tell him to stop, that it hurt too much, but I couldn’t form words through the white-hot agony.
His eyes were wide and filled with terror; I had never seen him look so completely uncertain before, as if his mind had gone blank from fear.
That didn’t bode well. If Arthur Ashby seemed uncertain about something…
Graham was above me, his face blanched. He nearly pushed Mr. Ashby aside. “Elsie, no. Don’t close your eyes. Elsie!” he yelled, shaking me. Stop, I wanted to say. I just want to sleep. I felt my eyes close.
I heard fabric ripping, and then Mr. Ashby pressed on my wound again, causing my body to spasm from the pain.
I moaned and opened my eyes again to look at him.
He seemed to have returned to his usual confident self.
He was looking at my gunshot wound, though, instead of my face.
“It’s not as deep as I thought. I think we can get the bullet out,” he said to Graham.
He sounded slightly less panicked. I counted that as a good sign. Perhaps I wouldn’t die.