Rebel in Time

The shot blasted out. Shaw pressed both hands to the suddenly bloody mask of his face and dropped forward, unmoving.

Troy pulled at the revolver in his belt, turning about, stopping at the sound of the voice above him on the bank.

'If you try to draw that gun you will be just as dead as your nigger-loving friend there.'

Troy lifted his hands slowly into the air, turned, looked up at the man who stood on the bank above him. With his pistol levelled at Troy's head. It was Colonel McCulloch. He spoke with cold anger.

'He has received just what he deserved. Robbie Shaw accepted the hospitality of my home. Then he betrayed me, brought you here to work against me. He deserved killing ten times over.'

'You didn't have to murder him,' Troy shouted, just as angrily. 'There was no need. You're too late to stop us. Do you see the flames? That's Hall's Rifle Works burning. All your guns and ammunition, everything, all gone up in flames.'

'Yes, I can see the flames. I saw them from the road. Saw you outlined against them as well. That's the reason why I am here. Here to kill you, black boy.'

'The name is Harmon. Sergeant Troy Harmon. I want you to remember that, colonel. Remember the name of the black man who followed you here, followed you a hundred and twenty years back through time to destroy your insane plan.'

'It isn't so insane, Harmon.' McCulloch had his anger coldly under control now. 'I still have the blueprints. The factory here, and the one in Richmond, they'll both be rebuilt. The men who helped me will aid me again. We'll find another site to manufacture the guns. This is only a temporary setback. There still is time…'

'Only until April of sixty-one — then your time runs out.'

'I wouldn't bother about that if I were you. Your time has run out right now. You've caused me a lot of trouble, but that trouble is going to end the moment I pull this trigger. So you have just enough time for a quick prayer to your nigger-baptist God. Let's hear you pray, boy.'

Troy drew himself up, letting his arms drop slowly to his sides, coldly angry. When he spoke his voice was rich with contempt.

'You are a sick, mad, contemptible racist, McCulloch. A disgrace to your country and the uniform you wore. You think that the colour of a man's skin — or his religion — makes him different from you. Makes you superior. I would love to spit in your face, but it isn't worth the effort.'

'Big talk, nigger. If you beg for mercy I might not kill you…'

Troy burst out laughing. 'You don't know anything, you ignorant redneck bastard! Shoot and be damned!'

McCulloch pointed the gun square in Troy's face, his thumb drawing slowly back on the hammer. In the coldness of certain death Troy was numb, beyond fear.

'Beg!' McCulloch said. 'Beg for your life.'

'I wouldn't give you the satisfaction. But I'll ask you to do me a favour.'

'No favours.'

'Just a small one. Tell me why you used the rifle works here at Harper's Ferry to manufacture the ammunition. After all, you knew about John Brown…'

His words were drowned out by the bark of the gun, the sound harshly loud in the stillness of the dawn.

Chapter 34

Troy could only stare, unbelievingly, as the bullets tore into McCulloch's body. The colonel folded forward, the revolver dropping from his fingers, tumbling and rolling down the slope to stop at Troy's feet. His eyes were open but unseeing. When he drew a last, shuddering breath there was the wet bubbling sound of air passing through the wounds in his chest.

'Who… is John Brown…' he said. And died.

'Give me — a hand, Troy,' Shaw said, slumped back in the boat. His face was a red smear of blood. He held the Sten-gun limply against his body, too weak to lift it again.

The numbness left Troy and he was galvanized to life, jumping into the boat and seizing Shaw under the arms, dragging him ashore and placing him gently on the grass beside McCulloch's corpse. When he turned he saw that the boat was drifting away; he splashed into the water after it, seized the bow and pulled it up onto the sand. Then he climbed into it again to find the saddlebags, rooted into them for his medical supplies.