trio of young boys hurled rotted peaches and cabbages at the soldiers. The soldiers broke their line to chase them down.
Annie marched past a little girl, hair like dirty sunshine, standing in the roadside mud clinging to a headless doll. She had moon-round eyes, and little ringlets about her face. She wore no shoes or stockings, the lace of her dress was ripped, and the dress hung loose. She reminded Annie of her little sister, and she almost smiled at the thought.
âMurderer!â A woman rushed up to the little girl, wrapping her arms about her. The woman looked as wretched and starved as the little girl.
Annie turned away.
Marching through the town, they bivouacked next to the railroad tracks.
âSons of Virginia,â Gideon called out, âwe got chores to do!â
Dylan howled, leading a charge against the railroad ties, swinging a pickax high and wide. Others joined in, and the howling became a mighty roar that bounced off the clouds. The soldiers danced in a strange cotillion, hacking and tearing, burning what they couldnât hack and tear.
Annie was used to doing hard chores. But she wasnât used to doing such reckless, feckless destruction.
âCanât see much sense in this.â Annie stood sentry, barely able to breathe with the smoke curling about their heads. âNot after what we seen back home.â
âCanât understand why the Lord put curl in a pigâs tail,â Dylan hooted in reply. âWe got our orders. I suppose thereâs reason enough.â
Her stomach squeezed so hard, she heaved. And it all came up at once, her morning fixings and the cherries she had stolen. She heaved again, a rush of bile. And then she heaved again, falling to her knees, until it seemed not a speck of life was left in her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
âNew orders, sons of Virginia!â Gideon hailed his troops. âSweep the town and surrounding fields for supplies!â
âYouâre with me, strawfoot,â Dylan chuckled, âifân you can stand up straight now.â He pointed down the road.
Annie knew that grin well enough by now: like some stubborn bear, he meant to continue his sparring. As swampy as she felt, Annie grinned back, holding her Enfield at the ready.
Working in groups of two and three, the Ninth Virginia joined the other regiments, sweeping down the street, through the gardens and kitchen houses and stables, gathering chickens and pigs and whatever food they could find.
The three of themâDylan in the lead, with Jasper and Annie at his heelsâcame to a brown brick house. Surrounded by a wooden fence, its front yard was a once-tidy garden now overrun with weeds and chickens. Chickens!
Dylan hooted and gave chase. Jasper, too, and each soon caught a chicken.
âDonât need to take everything,â Annie told them. âLeave something so they can eat, too.â
Dylan and Jasper looked at her, then at each other, confused.
âJiggers,â Jasper snorted. âAinât you hungry for some of the sergeantâs special fried chicken?â
âEveryoneâs hungry,â Annie insisted, remembering the little girl by the road.
âStrawfootâs right.â Dylan let loose his chicken.
But no sooner did the chicken flit away than another soldier swooped in to catch it.
âAinât that some pitiable sight,â someone chuckled from the walkway. Two soldiers stood next to them. One, wearing a loose-fitting lieutenantâs uniform, was a rakish sort, not much older than Dylan and not much taller, wearing a smile that was more sword-like than friendly. âThe famous Dylan Good-Shot canât catch a stupid cluck?â
âWell, timeâs been good to you, Gabriel. Looks like your pap bought you a new uniform.â Dylan returned the same sword-sharp smile. âMight need to have your mama sew it up proper to get a better fit.â
âWatch your tongue.â The soldier behind
Learning to Kill: Stories