"You know about these swamps?" McRandy, the general of their company, asked. "They say that the rebels hid some of their funds here to keep the Union from getting their hands on them."
"How much?" Eric asked. His friend Renault picked at fried chicken next to him.
They'd just gotten done re-creating the battle of white oak swamp at the very same. Their company would, the next day, move on to the next site of the seven day's battle, reliving the campaign in real time. Renault and Eric, dressed in rebel grays, sat with their group at a long picnic table. "Some say it was a good four hundred thousand, their dollars. You know how much that would be now?" McRandy, a veteran reenactor, nodded knowingly. "Almost ten million."
Eric's mouth popped open, and his head turned to Renault, who was currently wiping his hands on a large bundle of napkins. "We should go find it!"
"Stop. No." Renault said, not even deigning to look at Eric. "Do you know what's out in that swamp?" Renault shivered. "Probably a billion germs per square centimeter, that's what. McRandy's joking off again and you want us to go traipsing through one of the great petri dishes of the world? Think again."
"Not joking," McRandy said, who to his credit didn't seem hurt. "It's all true. My great-granduncle fought in this very war for the Confederates; my whole family knows the story. In fact, he was one of the men that Stonewall ordered to hide it. He told us all that it was hidden in the swamp, but he'd never let us know anything about where it is inside. He also said there was a Union soldier's ghost that hunts Confederates." He grinned. "You boys should go take a look for it. Can't hurt. Might make you rich!"
Eric nearly salivated. Renault scooted away, keeping his limbs free. "You have to be kidding me. A Great-granduncle? Stonewall Jackson?" Renault shook his head in McRandy's direction. "It's a trick."
"No trick; scout's honor."
"You weren't a scout."
"You don't know that!"
"Quit yer yammerin!" Eric said. "Renault! Get your kid gloves off and come on! The company isn't moving on for a few hours, we can at least take a look! It's not like they had a lot of time to hide it, there was a battle going on! It's probably a hundred feet in, covered by mud or some old tree."
"And you think that we-" Renault pointed from himself to Eric "-will be the ones to find it. You think that no one has found it yet, and that we will."
"Yes! Why is that so hard for you to understand?" Eric asked. He put his hand up before Renault could answer at length, with short pauses to stop him from interrupting. "You never want to do anything fun! You won't die by going out in the swamp! We both have gps on our phones, so we won't get lost, and even if we do we can call somebody!"
"And have them call us a couple of idiots because we went looking for gold in a swamp!"
"Not gold, just bills," McRandy put in.
"We'll be fine!" Eric said, trying to poke Renault, who shifted out of the way each time Eric's finger got too close. "Let's. Just. Go. For. Once!"
"You've got plenty of free time," McRandy mentioned. "All I've got planned is a stop in town for a beer and a movie; you fellas should take advantage of your young ages while you have the chance."
"Yeah!" Eric said.
"I bet you can find it," McRandy continued. "Just remember you old pal McRandy when you do, drop me off a mil or so." He shrugged. "For me to enjoy some of the finer things in my old age."
Eric's grin grew slowly, aware of Renault's affection for the old man. Clearly, McRandy had the same idea. "I suppose you could also not go lookin' and let me stay in my quiet, small life of workin' at the hardware store and re-creatin' these battles. Maybe the quiet life is better."
Renault grunted, standing with a pit in his stomach. "Two hours, that's all we're going to spend out there. And I get first shower when we get back to the motel."
"Fine, fine. I don't have a problem with that. It's good to get dirty anyway," Eric said, and Renault shivered. "'S good and manly."
"Okay, so we start here," Eric said, standing on the battlefield outside. Men still dressed in grays and blues chatted. "This is more or less where the command tent was for Stonewall. So this is where the money would have started. I bet they took the shortest path to the swamp proper," he said, pointing at the quagmire. He and Renault started walking, still dressed as rebel militiamen, up to the swamp. Eric went in first, heading in a straight line away from the clean, dry, non-bacteria-infested ground. Renault followed, trying to pick his way after Eric.
"You really think McRandy was telling the truth?" Renault asked. He yanked his boot out of the mud.
"I think he could be," Eric said.
"What about when he said he was related to Humphrey Bogart? Or that his dad had been the man to kill Adolf Hitler?"
"So he tells some tall tales," Eric said, "but this seems different. All the ones before were just to impress us. He's never said anything like this before; completely out of the blue. He told us about his dad when we were doing that Omaha Beach reenaction a few years ago, and we'd just watched a Bogart movie when he said he was related. This is different."
"I didn't think of that." Renault tested a fallen log's strength. "I guess it is different from many of the stories he tries to pass off." He checked their position on his phone. "Still not happy about this being in a swamp, though."
"Then again..." Eric stopped, and Renault ran into him, almost falling into a puddle. "Why would Stonewall's company have all that money in the first place?"
"What?"
"Why would those soldiers have that money?" Eric turned around and found Renault inspecting encroaching moss. "Commanders didn't normally have money like that just lying around...especially that much money! Four hundred thousand dollars! You heard how much money that is now; it'd be like somebody bringing ten million into Afghanistan!"
"Well, times were different back then, maybe," Renault said. He blinked. "Wait, of course you're right. It's silly. McRandy was lying; let's go back." He turned around, and paused. "You know."
"Yes?" Eric, who hadn't moved, asked.
"McRandy likes to tell tall tales...what if his great-granduncle was the same way? It could be genetic. It might not be entirely true, but it could very well have some truth in it."
"So, what are you trying to say here?"
"It might not be that much money, but there could still be some. A few thousand, maybe? That'd still be worth a nice amount."
"Yeah," Eric said, staring into the clouds. He grinned and regarded his friend. "Let's keep looking."
They forged deeper into the swamp. Renault stepped carefully while Eric plowed forward. They helped each other over rotten logs and around puddles, walking side-by-side in the gloom. Both men dreamed of what they could find, though Renault's expectations were a touch more realistic and he feared anything they did actually find would include spiders.
They enjoyed the journey despite themselves. They felt oddly in tune with their surroundings, wearing the gray coats and pants, and using their caps to try and keep the flies away from their faces. The swamp's puddles disappeared behind them.
They didn't talk for a while, until Eric brought something up. "Who do you think will get credit?"
Renault finished wiping the sweat from his eyes and looked at him quizzically. "What now?"
"Which one of us is going to get the credit for finding the money?"
"I don't know," Renault said. "Both of us, I guess. Unless we don't find anything, which is very possible, and in fact probable."
"Your fancy words won't stop me!" Eric said. "If you leave and I find it, I'm not letting you have any! I'm gonna give a chunk to McRandy and keep the rest for myself!"
"I'm not gonna leave, I'm just saying that we probably won't find anything! People have probably been all over this swamp before, the story McRandy told us might not be true, and even if it is, the money will be in a swamp, which isn't the best place to preserve stuff for a hundred and fifty years."
"Look! You're already proven wrong!" Eric pointed. Renault's heart caught in his throat until he realized what the subject of the point was.
"Oh, well, I guess you're right," Renault said. "A boot. Perfectly preserved. In the mud. You should bring that back to McRandy and tell him about our great treasure-hunting adventure in the swamp."
"Nice try. I'm not leaving you to find the money on your own."
"I told you, I don't-" Renault stopped suddenly, planting his foot and settling down a few inches in the mud. He stared to his right. "Look there."
Eric shaded his eyes. "Where? I don't see anything."
"I think...I don't believe it," Renault muttered, clambering to where he pointed.
"What? What is it? Do you see the money?"
"I think I actually might." Renault stopped at a tree. "Up there, in the crook there. See it?"
"Yeah. A boarded box." Eric lunged forward and started climbing.
"Be careful!" Renault said, watching the tree's entire form shake and deposit leaves and grime on the ground around him. "Okay, open it to make sure it's real! Oh, okay, well, be careful with that branch there, it doesn't look strong enough to support you and the box. Okay, you got lucky that time, but that part there looks slippery- I guess these boots are pretty solid. Don't drop it next to me."
"I could hear paper!" Eric said, dropping next to Renault, who was frantically trying to wipe mud off of his uniform. "It has to be the money!"
"It doesn't look big enough to have all of it," Renault said, who was surprised at his own excitement. "Let's have a look."
He bent down and pried open the hinged lid. Inside were bundles of notes bound in string, piled on top of each other. Eric and Renault sat stunned for a minute, and then Renault picked up a bundle.
"It doesn't look like as much money as McRandy told us," Eric said. "But it's still a lot."
"The bills are in tens," Renault said. "Looks like a hundred bills per bundle, and...seventeen bundles."
"Seventeen thousand. That has to be at least half a million nowadays. Think of the things we can buy with all that!"
"We can't buy anything with this," Renault said.
"No! You won't do that to me! I'm not going to leave any other 'natural treasures' for others to enjoy, like how you made me leave that arrowhead alone! This is ours!"
"Look," Renault said. "It's Confederate bills. It became worthless once the war ended. It's only worth the paper it's printed on."
"What are you trying to say?" Eric asked.
Renault hesitated, as he thought he had already explained it pretty clearly. "I'm saying this isn't even money anymore."
Eric's face scrunched up, and then down. "No rich?" Clearly, sentence structure had abandoned him.
"No rich, buddy. Sorry."
"We can still take it, right? A collector, or a museum maybe. They'll buy it from us!"
"Look at the lid," Renault said, and Eric groaned.
The lid was covered in names. Scratches in the wood, dirty pencil marks, and runny pen told them more than a dozen people had already found and replaced the treasure. A longer section of words ran across the bottom of the piece of wood. The two of them leaned closer.
"Congratulations," Eric read. "You've found Stonewall Jackson's lost treasure. Before you get too excited, the money held in this box has been worthless for almost a hundred and fifty years, and cannot be used to purchase anything. We ask that you take a few bills, write your name, and leave it in the swamp for others to find."
Renault pulled a few bills away from a bundle. "Five for you, five for me." He hesitated. "And five for McRandy." He handed the bills to Eric. "So, I guess we should hide this now, huh?"
"I'm not gonna climb up this tree carrying that thing!" Eric shouted, crossing his arms.
"You don't have to; we can just bury it somewhere and leave an edge sticking out, or under a tree or something."
Eric looked disgusted. "But...we found it! Let's just take it back! The boys will buy us a few drinks, we'll give McRandy a thousand fake dollars, and split the rest between us! It'll be a good story, and I can finally have a pillowcase stuffed full of bills without actually wasting money!"
"We have a story anyway," Renault pointed out, taking a picture with his phone. "We found General Stonewall Jackson's treasure! And, then, we hid it again! Besides, we'd have to carry it all that way, and if you really want a pillowcase full of money you can literally print these from the web. That's how much they're worth."
"But!"
"No!" Renault said. "No buts! You dragged me out here, we actually find the stupid thing, and it's worthless! You aren't making me haul this all the way back; we're going to hide it somewhere in this swamp and get back! The company is going to leave soon, and I don't want to miss tomorrow's battle because we missed the bus!"
Somewhere deeper in the swamp a man lived. Yes, it is rather unfortunate, but so life goes. He is Mr. Clancy Dormontan, and he believe the civil war rages still.
It's a bit more complicated. He suffers from an undiagnosed mental disorder; swamps are, you may know, woefully lacking in doctors. He is under the impression he is a union soldier, fighting under General Ulysses S. Grant, ready and willing to make the rebels throw down their arms.
The fact he has a shack doesn't seem to bother him, or he has a working truck under an eave. Not even the fact his brother comes over once a week to tidy up, leave some food, and try and convince Clancy to come into town, have a bath, and maybe stop at nice Dr. Horn's office for a checkup seems to bother him.
It isn't a widely-known fact Clancy lives in the swamp, so when the reenacting society asked to use the swamp to host their battle, nobody said no, and this is why, after hearing simulated cannon fire, and blanks fired from rifles, and shouted orders carrying over the low swampland, Mr. Clancy Dormontan was a bit wired.
"Dey comin'," he muttered to himself, struggling into the coat he believed was a union rifleman's jacket, and picking up the piece of wood Clancy's brother had lovingly shaped into a rifle, to keep him from going out and trying to find a real weapon. "'M gonna stop 'em," Clancy continued. "Gonna stop em reet good." He grinned, and if there had been a mirror in his home, he would have caught sight of the nearly-toothless grin inside his lips. It wouldn't have worried him; he knew the civil war era didn't have the best dentistry.
He stepped into the gloomy swamp sunlight, and turned in the direction he'd thought the war sounds had been coming from. A number of hours later he was spattered with mud, tired, thirsty, and rather lost, even inside the swamp he'd spent the better part of a decade living in. He was quite concerned about his gunpowder, which he thinks had gotten wet. It was actually a bag full of dirt, and it had gotten wet, later congealing into mud. The sounds of battle had stopped, and he wondered who had been victorious. Was the Union pushing into the south, or being driven back? He didn't remember; he just knew to shoot any body in gray.
He paused and took a practice shot at a tree. He didn't realize when he made a small "pshew!" noise out the side of his mouth. In his imagination it was a direct hit. Why, he should be a sharpshooter! Reloading, his valor regained, he struck out in a random direction, convinced it would lead him to the battle.
"I just thought of something," Eric said, working with Renault to haul the box of worthless bills a little deeper into the swamp. "McRandy's story about the money was right, even though it doesn't help us...what if he's right about the ghost, too? You know, the one about the old union soldier that got lost?"
"Ghosts aren't real, dimwit," Renault responded. "We aren't real confederate soldiers, just actors. If there really was a ghost, it would be able to tell the difference."
"You seem awfully confident for someone that doesn't think ghosts are real. What, didja take a class?"
"Just makes sense, is all," Renault said. They paused and set the box down. "It's logical, see? A ghost is driven by otherworldly forces to complete a task he wasn't able to finish in life. He'd know, trust me."
"That doesn't make any sense. If ghost was real, I feel like he'd be driven by lasting emotional urges, not some...some sort of detection. He'd be angry, and want to take out his anger on anything that passes the mental test for a target."
Renault panted, trying to muddle through the logic driving Eric's theory. "Though generally ghosts aren't just looking for any old person," Eric continued. "They usually want a specific person, even more specific than 'a person wearing gray clothes.'" Eric bent down. "Ready to keep going?"
A few minutes later Renault indicated with a tilt of his head a downed tree resting over a rock. They slugged the chest to it and plopped it down into the mud. "Out of the sun, away from the elements, and in a relatively dry spot," Renault said. He pushed it farther under the tree. "A good place for hidden treasure."
Clancy wandered through the swamp. Despite the fact he didn't really know where he was, he was having a nice time. The swamp was cool this time of day, and he didn't usually get out to stretch his legs; a walk was doing him good.
At one point he heard voices, and sank into a crouch, both knees firing off like gunshots. He grabbed his hat with one hand and hit the mud, expecting bullets to go whizzing overhead.
Nothing happened, except for a few birds chirping. Clancy put his head up, now sporting a dirty brown beard. He got to his feet and slithered through the underbrush until he saw two figures.
And--by George--they were Rebels! He'd know their colors anywhere! They seemed to be messing around with a crate or box. He listened:
"Do you think other people will be able to find it?" one asked the other.
"It's not too well-hidden," the other said. "It's just the right amount of out-of-the-way. Stonewall Jackson's treasure is hidden once more."
Clancy's ears burned. Stonewall Jackson's treasure! They must be hiding it here to keep the Union from finding it if they lose! Well, Clancy was just the man to ruin their plan. He took aim.
"We'd better head back," one said. "The company's going to be moving on soon. Tomorrow we're doing the battle at Glendale. We don't want to miss the bus."
Glendale! Clancy knew the name. It was just up the road a ways! Clancy lowered his branch. It might be prudent to take these boys alive. They could tell him and his officers where the Confederate soldiers were headed next. Grinning, he attached a bayonet to the end of his rifle, though it escaped him he was only tying a leaf to the end of his branch. He rose, his gaunt figure just another shadow in the swamp's darkness.
"Which way's the fastest out of here?" Eric asked. They both turned the way they'd come. "Getting dark out."
Renault pointed, consulting his phone's gps. "This way."
Before either of them had taken a step they heard a furious rustle to their left. A figure wearing tattered blue clothes, a pillbox cap, and carrying what looked like a rifle rushed toward them, bellowing.
They both screamed and turned around, pumping their legs. Dirty water sloshed around their boots as they pushed forward.
They found a mound and jumped behind it, chests heaving in sync.
"The...it's the..."
"It's the...the..."
Eric gulped. "We'll explain things to it," he said. "Tell him we aren't really confederate soldiers, we're just pretending, and please don't kill us!"
The last words were shouted at the approaching ghost, waving his rifle around and bellowing though a curiously empty mouth. "Run!" Renault shouted. Both men floundered into deep water away from the ghost. "Maybe it can't swim!"
"Maybe the ghost can't swim?!" Eric replied. They heard a splash behind them. "You win this one; keep running!"
They climbed onto drier ground and sprinted away. Fifteen seconds later they found themselves behind a low confusion of tree limbs and mossy stones. "If we get out of this-" Renault gulped. "-I'm never doing anything that McRandy says we should do. Never. Not even if it's to order the chicken salad."
"When would McRandy say to order the salad anyway?" Eric said. He looked over the rock he sat against. "I don't see it. Maybe we lost it?" He sat back down. "This proves me right, right?"
"What?"
"About the ghost. It thinks we're Confederate soldiers. I told you."
"You..It...I..." Renault's brain ceased, and gently rebooted. "Yes...I suppose you were right. Now, can we get out of here?" He reached into his pocket. "Hopefully we--oh no."
"No. Don't tell me."
"I must have dropped it while we were running," Renault said, bringing up an empty hand.
"It's okay, I still have mine," Eric said. "We'll be out of here soon."
A dripping Clancy picked up the little square. It was like a small case, and he tried to open it. It refused to yield, and he turned it over. He was shocked to find the other side glowing like an electric lamp, but much brighter. He recognized a map. Was this how the rebels had found their way into his swamp?
He turned the way they had run, and took a few steps, still looking at the glowing item. To his shock, the map shifted, and a blue arrow in the center rotated. He took a number of steps, and the map shifted again. Spinning in a circle, he watched the arrow rotate. He was astounded the rebels had access to this sort of engineering. He wondered how it worked. Perhaps there was a map inside, scrolled on a motor? He shrugged and was about to pocket the device, but he noticed what looked a pin above the arrow, indicating a battleground nearby. Of course. They needed a way to get back to Stonewall. Well, Clancy would meet them there.
"Almost there," Eric said. "It's just a phone. We have proof that we found buried treasure. That's worth it, right?" Renault, walking with his arms crossed, didn't answer. "I mean, I know you had phone numbers and pictures and stuff like that on the phone, but you can get those back, right? They aren't gone forever, right?"
"Please stop talking."
Eric complied, leading them out of the swamp. In a few minutes they found their way to drier ground and saw the area they had experienced the mock battle. "The buses haven't left yet, that's good. Let's find McRandy and blow his mind."
They wandered toward the tables they had occupied before heading into the swamp. Behind them, a dirty figure emerged from the foliage.
Clancy squinted in the sun. What was all this? It didn't look like a battle. Well, the rebels never put up much of a fight anyway, he thought to himself, and chuckled. He looked at the square map. He'd gotten the hang of it while walking. He crouched low, expecting to see battalions of men in gray coats walk by.
He heard a noise over a hill. He climbed it, old legs burning. Only letting his eyes rise over it, he peeked at the other side, seeing a confusing sight. A long area looked smoothed flat and painted gray--no doubt for the rebels' use--and a dozen huge metal contraptions rumbled. They looked like large carriages, but he didn't see any horses.
He couldn't believe his eyes. There were soldiers and officers of the Confederates, mingling with those of the Union! Traitors, he thought grimly. They'll be the first to go.
He gripped his branch and slid his hand down and up its length, making a 'ch-chack!' sound out the side of his mouth.
"McRandy!" Renault yelled. He pulled the bills out of his coat. "You'll never guess what we found!" McRandy, sitting at the same table as two hours ago, leaned away when Renault slapped them in front of him. "Genuine Confederate States of America bills, just as worthless as the rotted wood we found them in."
"Glory be!" McRandy inspected the pieces of paper. "I don't believe it! I mean, I always thought that my great-granduncle was telling the truth, but I can't believe you found it! Is this all there was?"
"There was plenty more. We weren't the first to find it, but we didn't take it all since, as I've already said, they're worthless. Here." Renault pushed one of the bills at McRandy. "For you. The rest are ours as mementos."
"Tell him about the other thing we saw!" Eric said.
"We also saw the ghost of the Union soldier."
"Yew what?"
"We saw it. It chased us! It thought we were confederate soldiers!" Eric plucked the gray uniform he wore. "Renault lost his phone!"
"And I ain't happy about it!"
"I was just making that up though!" McRandy stood. "Just to goat you boys! What'd it look like?"
"Wearing tattered blue clothing, and it had a pillbox hat-" Renault started.
"It had a gun!" Eric cut in. "I think it tried to shoot us! It looked just like one of our fake rifles!"
"I don't remember it shooting us," Renault said.
"We managed to get away, though, thanks to my quick thinking." Eric beamed. "I seem to be a ghost expert."
McRandy looked at them, face sagging in disbelief. Then they heard a shattering sound. "What was that?"
"Sounded like a window breaking," Renault said.
"Somebody just threw a rock through one of the bus windows!" One of the reenactors said. "It just came outta nowhere!" Many of those present ran off to see the damage, leaving McRandy, Eric and Renault. And Clancy.
"Yew'll ner see t' sun agin!" Clancy roared, bringing the rifle up to his shoulder and pointing it in McRandy's face.
Eric hit McRandy, knocking him to the ground as Clancy rocked backwards with simulated gunfire. Only Renault noticed no sound came from the gun.
"Run!" Eric said, jumping to his feet and grabbing Renault's arm. "He's gonna kill us!"
"I think-" Renault was pulled away before he could finish the thought. The two of them, followed by McRandy, dashed to the nearest bus and hid around the corner. Eric peeked his eyes around, searching.
"I don't see him." Eric looked across McRandy's heaving stomach at Renault. "He disappeared!"
"I don't think he actually has a gun," Renault said. "I think it might just be a stick that looks like one."
"You dolt! It was a spectral gun! Geez, it's like I have to tell you everything about ghosts!"
"It wasn't covered in the guidebook!" Renault yelled, and they heard a scrape, and a few words sounding as if they had come from a toothless mouth and wrinkled lips. All three of them froze.
"Don't say a word," Eric whispered. "Their hearing is better than their eyesight." Renault stared at him and made a face.
They'd gotten away, but there was no stopping Clancy. He'd hunt them all down. He had them on their heels and without their weapons. He was glad the grenade he'd thrown into one of their carriages had worked so well as a distraction. The two from the swamp ran, but he would find them.
He sloshed mud over his gun, thinking he was reloading it. Yes, he'd find them.
"What do we do? What do we do?" McRandy stuttered. "We gotta get out of here!"
"Let's get into the buses and get out of here," Eric said, keeping his eyes peeled. "Let's just get as far away as possible. A ghost is trapped in a single area."
"You idiot!" Renault finally shouted. "He isn't a ghost! He's an old man! He's probably lost and confused, and doesn't know where he is or what's going on!"
"He tried to shoot McRandy!" Eric shot back.
"Yeah," McRandy said, wiping sweat from his red face.
"He didn't actually shoot anything though," Renault said. "It's getting too dark to see clearly, but I think he might just have a stick that he thinks is a gun. And don't you say anything about a 'spectral gun'; I haven't heard a stupider thing in my life!" He yelled, before Eric could speak. "I say we try to find this guy and explain what's happening! Even if it is a ghost, if we can explain that we aren't Confederate soldiers, he should stop chasing us. Got it?"
"I like Eric's first idea," McRandy said. Renault turned on him, eyes blazing.
"You got Eric and me to walk into a swamp--which, by the way, I might never get the smell of off me--so now you're going to come with the both of us and fix the issue that came from you telling us about that treasure!" Renault sucked in a quick breath of air. "Got it?"
"I got it," McRandy said meekly.
"Good." Renault looked around. "Anybody see him?"
They milled around the destroyed carriage, though they didn't seem too distressed about the damage. There must have been hundreds of them, Clancy saw as he peeked around a tree, Union and Confederates both. Something didn't seem right. He squeezed his gun's stock. Where were the commanders? What about the supply train? Their weapons? Horses? They even stood wrong.
Regardless, he knew it would be suicide to attack their entire group at once. He needed to pick them off one by one or he would have no chance at surviving.
Hello, what's this? A smaller version of the carriages was smoothly rolling up to the others. Lights blared from its front and the wheels spun unaided. It came to a halt and a section opened.
Clancy watched with shock as his brother, part of his own unit, stepped out and ran to the group of rebels. The fool; he was trying to attack them all on his own! Clancy nearly shouted a warning, but then watched his brother speak to them.
Even his brother had thrown in with the rebels. Clancy's eyes narrows; his tooth clenched. He asked himself if he could kill his own brother, even one standing against him. He turned and ambled away, as, unheard, his brother worryingly explained to the reenactors Clancy wasn't at his cabin in the swamp, and he was a bit addled in the head, and, most importantly, thought the civil war raged still.
"We just grab him?" Eric said. "That's you plan to fight a ghost?"
"He. Isn't. A. Ghost!" Renault said, for what felt like the hundredth time. "He's clearly an old man!"
The two argued, with McRandy somewhere in the middle. Unseen by the three of them, Clancy watched from around the corner of a bus. He began to hear shouts from behind him, most likely the other rebels searching for him. He thought he caught his name. He wouldn't go down without a fight. The dried mud on his chin led him around the corner, running with knees akimbo at Eric, Renault, and McRandy.
"Grab him!" Renault shouted. "I'll show you who's a ghost around here!"
He tripped into the bus a few feet away from Clancy, knocking his head and slumping to the ground. Clancy ran on.
"Renault, no!" Eric turned to McRandy. "Run! Save yourself!"
McRandy needed no more urging. Just as Clancy laid his hands on Eric from behind, McRandy sped away, toward the group of reenactors searching for poor old Clancy.
"Please don't hurt me! I'm not really a soldier!" Eric shouted when Clancy spun him around. Eric put out a hand, brushing away crumbling flakes of mud from Clancy's chin. Convinced he had just clawed off pieces of flesh, Eric backed away, growing pale. "I'm just an actor!"
Eric's coat came open, and the confederate bill from the treasure box floated out. Clancy snatched it out of the air. In the dim light, it only proved his assumption about Eric. "Stealin' from yer own commnder!" Clancy growled. "Not even loyal to yer own cause, dern rebel!" He thrust his rifle in Eric's face.
Renault leapt on him from behind, knocking the branch out of Clancy's hand as he fell to the asphalt. Renault grabbed the rifle.
"A branch. It's just a branch!" he said to Eric, whose color was returning. "It's just an old man; listen!"
Eric perked up his ears. He heard the other reenactors shouting for someone named Clancy. He crouched next to the old man. "Clancy?"
Clancy jerked. They knew his name!
"Clancy!" They heard from behind them. A man slightly younger than Clancy ran to them. "Clancy, thank the lord."
"Traitor!" Clancy said, trying to rise. "I'll get yew!"
"Clancy, these men aren't soldiers! They're just pretending!"
Through the haze of confusion, Clancy heard words pressing like cool iron against his hot head. What his brother said seemed right, but he wasn't sure why. He gazed at his brother, and around him at the men wearing gray and blue coats. None of them had weapons; most didn't even have proper sideburns. None of them gazed at him with hatred, just worry. He looked at his brother again.
Eric and Renault sat together in a bouncing bus' seat. McRandy took up the seat ahead of them. All three men were quiet. Clancy's brother, Michael, had explained Clancy's situation, and had resolved to get him to a safe place. Everything had been cleared up, with the exception of Clancy's enduring disillusion, which had turned mostly to stunned confusion. Renault gripped his phone tightly.
McRandy looked over his seat at Renault and Eric. "So who saw the treasure first?"
"I did," Eric said.
"I did," Renault followed.
McRandy looked at the two of them, opened his mouth, and found he didn't really want to continue the conversation. It was a thought echoed by the other two. After a day of treasure hunting and ghost fighting, most things coming after just didn't stack up.
"How much?" Eric asked. His friend Renault picked at fried chicken next to him.
They'd just gotten done re-creating the battle of white oak swamp at the very same. Their company would, the next day, move on to the next site of the seven day's battle, reliving the campaign in real time. Renault and Eric, dressed in rebel grays, sat with their group at a long picnic table. "Some say it was a good four hundred thousand, their dollars. You know how much that would be now?" McRandy, a veteran reenactor, nodded knowingly. "Almost ten million."
Eric's mouth popped open, and his head turned to Renault, who was currently wiping his hands on a large bundle of napkins. "We should go find it!"
"Stop. No." Renault said, not even deigning to look at Eric. "Do you know what's out in that swamp?" Renault shivered. "Probably a billion germs per square centimeter, that's what. McRandy's joking off again and you want us to go traipsing through one of the great petri dishes of the world? Think again."
"Not joking," McRandy said, who to his credit didn't seem hurt. "It's all true. My great-granduncle fought in this very war for the Confederates; my whole family knows the story. In fact, he was one of the men that Stonewall ordered to hide it. He told us all that it was hidden in the swamp, but he'd never let us know anything about where it is inside. He also said there was a Union soldier's ghost that hunts Confederates." He grinned. "You boys should go take a look for it. Can't hurt. Might make you rich!"
Eric nearly salivated. Renault scooted away, keeping his limbs free. "You have to be kidding me. A Great-granduncle? Stonewall Jackson?" Renault shook his head in McRandy's direction. "It's a trick."
"No trick; scout's honor."
"You weren't a scout."
"You don't know that!"
"Quit yer yammerin!" Eric said. "Renault! Get your kid gloves off and come on! The company isn't moving on for a few hours, we can at least take a look! It's not like they had a lot of time to hide it, there was a battle going on! It's probably a hundred feet in, covered by mud or some old tree."
"And you think that we-" Renault pointed from himself to Eric "-will be the ones to find it. You think that no one has found it yet, and that we will."
"Yes! Why is that so hard for you to understand?" Eric asked. He put his hand up before Renault could answer at length, with short pauses to stop him from interrupting. "You never want to do anything fun! You won't die by going out in the swamp! We both have gps on our phones, so we won't get lost, and even if we do we can call somebody!"
"And have them call us a couple of idiots because we went looking for gold in a swamp!"
"Not gold, just bills," McRandy put in.
"We'll be fine!" Eric said, trying to poke Renault, who shifted out of the way each time Eric's finger got too close. "Let's. Just. Go. For. Once!"
"You've got plenty of free time," McRandy mentioned. "All I've got planned is a stop in town for a beer and a movie; you fellas should take advantage of your young ages while you have the chance."
"Yeah!" Eric said.
"I bet you can find it," McRandy continued. "Just remember you old pal McRandy when you do, drop me off a mil or so." He shrugged. "For me to enjoy some of the finer things in my old age."
Eric's grin grew slowly, aware of Renault's affection for the old man. Clearly, McRandy had the same idea. "I suppose you could also not go lookin' and let me stay in my quiet, small life of workin' at the hardware store and re-creatin' these battles. Maybe the quiet life is better."
Renault grunted, standing with a pit in his stomach. "Two hours, that's all we're going to spend out there. And I get first shower when we get back to the motel."
"Fine, fine. I don't have a problem with that. It's good to get dirty anyway," Eric said, and Renault shivered. "'S good and manly."
"Okay, so we start here," Eric said, standing on the battlefield outside. Men still dressed in grays and blues chatted. "This is more or less where the command tent was for Stonewall. So this is where the money would have started. I bet they took the shortest path to the swamp proper," he said, pointing at the quagmire. He and Renault started walking, still dressed as rebel militiamen, up to the swamp. Eric went in first, heading in a straight line away from the clean, dry, non-bacteria-infested ground. Renault followed, trying to pick his way after Eric.
"You really think McRandy was telling the truth?" Renault asked. He yanked his boot out of the mud.
"I think he could be," Eric said.
"What about when he said he was related to Humphrey Bogart? Or that his dad had been the man to kill Adolf Hitler?"
"So he tells some tall tales," Eric said, "but this seems different. All the ones before were just to impress us. He's never said anything like this before; completely out of the blue. He told us about his dad when we were doing that Omaha Beach reenaction a few years ago, and we'd just watched a Bogart movie when he said he was related. This is different."
"I didn't think of that." Renault tested a fallen log's strength. "I guess it is different from many of the stories he tries to pass off." He checked their position on his phone. "Still not happy about this being in a swamp, though."
"Then again..." Eric stopped, and Renault ran into him, almost falling into a puddle. "Why would Stonewall's company have all that money in the first place?"
"What?"
"Why would those soldiers have that money?" Eric turned around and found Renault inspecting encroaching moss. "Commanders didn't normally have money like that just lying around...especially that much money! Four hundred thousand dollars! You heard how much money that is now; it'd be like somebody bringing ten million into Afghanistan!"
"Well, times were different back then, maybe," Renault said. He blinked. "Wait, of course you're right. It's silly. McRandy was lying; let's go back." He turned around, and paused. "You know."
"Yes?" Eric, who hadn't moved, asked.
"McRandy likes to tell tall tales...what if his great-granduncle was the same way? It could be genetic. It might not be entirely true, but it could very well have some truth in it."
"So, what are you trying to say here?"
"It might not be that much money, but there could still be some. A few thousand, maybe? That'd still be worth a nice amount."
"Yeah," Eric said, staring into the clouds. He grinned and regarded his friend. "Let's keep looking."
They forged deeper into the swamp. Renault stepped carefully while Eric plowed forward. They helped each other over rotten logs and around puddles, walking side-by-side in the gloom. Both men dreamed of what they could find, though Renault's expectations were a touch more realistic and he feared anything they did actually find would include spiders.
They enjoyed the journey despite themselves. They felt oddly in tune with their surroundings, wearing the gray coats and pants, and using their caps to try and keep the flies away from their faces. The swamp's puddles disappeared behind them.
They didn't talk for a while, until Eric brought something up. "Who do you think will get credit?"
Renault finished wiping the sweat from his eyes and looked at him quizzically. "What now?"
"Which one of us is going to get the credit for finding the money?"
"I don't know," Renault said. "Both of us, I guess. Unless we don't find anything, which is very possible, and in fact probable."
"Your fancy words won't stop me!" Eric said. "If you leave and I find it, I'm not letting you have any! I'm gonna give a chunk to McRandy and keep the rest for myself!"
"I'm not gonna leave, I'm just saying that we probably won't find anything! People have probably been all over this swamp before, the story McRandy told us might not be true, and even if it is, the money will be in a swamp, which isn't the best place to preserve stuff for a hundred and fifty years."
"Look! You're already proven wrong!" Eric pointed. Renault's heart caught in his throat until he realized what the subject of the point was.
"Oh, well, I guess you're right," Renault said. "A boot. Perfectly preserved. In the mud. You should bring that back to McRandy and tell him about our great treasure-hunting adventure in the swamp."
"Nice try. I'm not leaving you to find the money on your own."
"I told you, I don't-" Renault stopped suddenly, planting his foot and settling down a few inches in the mud. He stared to his right. "Look there."
Eric shaded his eyes. "Where? I don't see anything."
"I think...I don't believe it," Renault muttered, clambering to where he pointed.
"What? What is it? Do you see the money?"
"I think I actually might." Renault stopped at a tree. "Up there, in the crook there. See it?"
"Yeah. A boarded box." Eric lunged forward and started climbing.
"Be careful!" Renault said, watching the tree's entire form shake and deposit leaves and grime on the ground around him. "Okay, open it to make sure it's real! Oh, okay, well, be careful with that branch there, it doesn't look strong enough to support you and the box. Okay, you got lucky that time, but that part there looks slippery- I guess these boots are pretty solid. Don't drop it next to me."
"I could hear paper!" Eric said, dropping next to Renault, who was frantically trying to wipe mud off of his uniform. "It has to be the money!"
"It doesn't look big enough to have all of it," Renault said, who was surprised at his own excitement. "Let's have a look."
He bent down and pried open the hinged lid. Inside were bundles of notes bound in string, piled on top of each other. Eric and Renault sat stunned for a minute, and then Renault picked up a bundle.
"It doesn't look like as much money as McRandy told us," Eric said. "But it's still a lot."
"The bills are in tens," Renault said. "Looks like a hundred bills per bundle, and...seventeen bundles."
"Seventeen thousand. That has to be at least half a million nowadays. Think of the things we can buy with all that!"
"We can't buy anything with this," Renault said.
"No! You won't do that to me! I'm not going to leave any other 'natural treasures' for others to enjoy, like how you made me leave that arrowhead alone! This is ours!"
"Look," Renault said. "It's Confederate bills. It became worthless once the war ended. It's only worth the paper it's printed on."
"What are you trying to say?" Eric asked.
Renault hesitated, as he thought he had already explained it pretty clearly. "I'm saying this isn't even money anymore."
Eric's face scrunched up, and then down. "No rich?" Clearly, sentence structure had abandoned him.
"No rich, buddy. Sorry."
"We can still take it, right? A collector, or a museum maybe. They'll buy it from us!"
"Look at the lid," Renault said, and Eric groaned.
The lid was covered in names. Scratches in the wood, dirty pencil marks, and runny pen told them more than a dozen people had already found and replaced the treasure. A longer section of words ran across the bottom of the piece of wood. The two of them leaned closer.
"Congratulations," Eric read. "You've found Stonewall Jackson's lost treasure. Before you get too excited, the money held in this box has been worthless for almost a hundred and fifty years, and cannot be used to purchase anything. We ask that you take a few bills, write your name, and leave it in the swamp for others to find."
Renault pulled a few bills away from a bundle. "Five for you, five for me." He hesitated. "And five for McRandy." He handed the bills to Eric. "So, I guess we should hide this now, huh?"
"I'm not gonna climb up this tree carrying that thing!" Eric shouted, crossing his arms.
"You don't have to; we can just bury it somewhere and leave an edge sticking out, or under a tree or something."
Eric looked disgusted. "But...we found it! Let's just take it back! The boys will buy us a few drinks, we'll give McRandy a thousand fake dollars, and split the rest between us! It'll be a good story, and I can finally have a pillowcase stuffed full of bills without actually wasting money!"
"We have a story anyway," Renault pointed out, taking a picture with his phone. "We found General Stonewall Jackson's treasure! And, then, we hid it again! Besides, we'd have to carry it all that way, and if you really want a pillowcase full of money you can literally print these from the web. That's how much they're worth."
"But!"
"No!" Renault said. "No buts! You dragged me out here, we actually find the stupid thing, and it's worthless! You aren't making me haul this all the way back; we're going to hide it somewhere in this swamp and get back! The company is going to leave soon, and I don't want to miss tomorrow's battle because we missed the bus!"
Somewhere deeper in the swamp a man lived. Yes, it is rather unfortunate, but so life goes. He is Mr. Clancy Dormontan, and he believe the civil war rages still.
It's a bit more complicated. He suffers from an undiagnosed mental disorder; swamps are, you may know, woefully lacking in doctors. He is under the impression he is a union soldier, fighting under General Ulysses S. Grant, ready and willing to make the rebels throw down their arms.
The fact he has a shack doesn't seem to bother him, or he has a working truck under an eave. Not even the fact his brother comes over once a week to tidy up, leave some food, and try and convince Clancy to come into town, have a bath, and maybe stop at nice Dr. Horn's office for a checkup seems to bother him.
It isn't a widely-known fact Clancy lives in the swamp, so when the reenacting society asked to use the swamp to host their battle, nobody said no, and this is why, after hearing simulated cannon fire, and blanks fired from rifles, and shouted orders carrying over the low swampland, Mr. Clancy Dormontan was a bit wired.
"Dey comin'," he muttered to himself, struggling into the coat he believed was a union rifleman's jacket, and picking up the piece of wood Clancy's brother had lovingly shaped into a rifle, to keep him from going out and trying to find a real weapon. "'M gonna stop 'em," Clancy continued. "Gonna stop em reet good." He grinned, and if there had been a mirror in his home, he would have caught sight of the nearly-toothless grin inside his lips. It wouldn't have worried him; he knew the civil war era didn't have the best dentistry.
He stepped into the gloomy swamp sunlight, and turned in the direction he'd thought the war sounds had been coming from. A number of hours later he was spattered with mud, tired, thirsty, and rather lost, even inside the swamp he'd spent the better part of a decade living in. He was quite concerned about his gunpowder, which he thinks had gotten wet. It was actually a bag full of dirt, and it had gotten wet, later congealing into mud. The sounds of battle had stopped, and he wondered who had been victorious. Was the Union pushing into the south, or being driven back? He didn't remember; he just knew to shoot any body in gray.
He paused and took a practice shot at a tree. He didn't realize when he made a small "pshew!" noise out the side of his mouth. In his imagination it was a direct hit. Why, he should be a sharpshooter! Reloading, his valor regained, he struck out in a random direction, convinced it would lead him to the battle.
"I just thought of something," Eric said, working with Renault to haul the box of worthless bills a little deeper into the swamp. "McRandy's story about the money was right, even though it doesn't help us...what if he's right about the ghost, too? You know, the one about the old union soldier that got lost?"
"Ghosts aren't real, dimwit," Renault responded. "We aren't real confederate soldiers, just actors. If there really was a ghost, it would be able to tell the difference."
"You seem awfully confident for someone that doesn't think ghosts are real. What, didja take a class?"
"Just makes sense, is all," Renault said. They paused and set the box down. "It's logical, see? A ghost is driven by otherworldly forces to complete a task he wasn't able to finish in life. He'd know, trust me."
"That doesn't make any sense. If ghost was real, I feel like he'd be driven by lasting emotional urges, not some...some sort of detection. He'd be angry, and want to take out his anger on anything that passes the mental test for a target."
Renault panted, trying to muddle through the logic driving Eric's theory. "Though generally ghosts aren't just looking for any old person," Eric continued. "They usually want a specific person, even more specific than 'a person wearing gray clothes.'" Eric bent down. "Ready to keep going?"
A few minutes later Renault indicated with a tilt of his head a downed tree resting over a rock. They slugged the chest to it and plopped it down into the mud. "Out of the sun, away from the elements, and in a relatively dry spot," Renault said. He pushed it farther under the tree. "A good place for hidden treasure."
Clancy wandered through the swamp. Despite the fact he didn't really know where he was, he was having a nice time. The swamp was cool this time of day, and he didn't usually get out to stretch his legs; a walk was doing him good.
At one point he heard voices, and sank into a crouch, both knees firing off like gunshots. He grabbed his hat with one hand and hit the mud, expecting bullets to go whizzing overhead.
Nothing happened, except for a few birds chirping. Clancy put his head up, now sporting a dirty brown beard. He got to his feet and slithered through the underbrush until he saw two figures.
And--by George--they were Rebels! He'd know their colors anywhere! They seemed to be messing around with a crate or box. He listened:
"Do you think other people will be able to find it?" one asked the other.
"It's not too well-hidden," the other said. "It's just the right amount of out-of-the-way. Stonewall Jackson's treasure is hidden once more."
Clancy's ears burned. Stonewall Jackson's treasure! They must be hiding it here to keep the Union from finding it if they lose! Well, Clancy was just the man to ruin their plan. He took aim.
"We'd better head back," one said. "The company's going to be moving on soon. Tomorrow we're doing the battle at Glendale. We don't want to miss the bus."
Glendale! Clancy knew the name. It was just up the road a ways! Clancy lowered his branch. It might be prudent to take these boys alive. They could tell him and his officers where the Confederate soldiers were headed next. Grinning, he attached a bayonet to the end of his rifle, though it escaped him he was only tying a leaf to the end of his branch. He rose, his gaunt figure just another shadow in the swamp's darkness.
"Which way's the fastest out of here?" Eric asked. They both turned the way they'd come. "Getting dark out."
Renault pointed, consulting his phone's gps. "This way."
Before either of them had taken a step they heard a furious rustle to their left. A figure wearing tattered blue clothes, a pillbox cap, and carrying what looked like a rifle rushed toward them, bellowing.
They both screamed and turned around, pumping their legs. Dirty water sloshed around their boots as they pushed forward.
They found a mound and jumped behind it, chests heaving in sync.
"The...it's the..."
"It's the...the..."
Eric gulped. "We'll explain things to it," he said. "Tell him we aren't really confederate soldiers, we're just pretending, and please don't kill us!"
The last words were shouted at the approaching ghost, waving his rifle around and bellowing though a curiously empty mouth. "Run!" Renault shouted. Both men floundered into deep water away from the ghost. "Maybe it can't swim!"
"Maybe the ghost can't swim?!" Eric replied. They heard a splash behind them. "You win this one; keep running!"
They climbed onto drier ground and sprinted away. Fifteen seconds later they found themselves behind a low confusion of tree limbs and mossy stones. "If we get out of this-" Renault gulped. "-I'm never doing anything that McRandy says we should do. Never. Not even if it's to order the chicken salad."
"When would McRandy say to order the salad anyway?" Eric said. He looked over the rock he sat against. "I don't see it. Maybe we lost it?" He sat back down. "This proves me right, right?"
"What?"
"About the ghost. It thinks we're Confederate soldiers. I told you."
"You..It...I..." Renault's brain ceased, and gently rebooted. "Yes...I suppose you were right. Now, can we get out of here?" He reached into his pocket. "Hopefully we--oh no."
"No. Don't tell me."
"I must have dropped it while we were running," Renault said, bringing up an empty hand.
"It's okay, I still have mine," Eric said. "We'll be out of here soon."
A dripping Clancy picked up the little square. It was like a small case, and he tried to open it. It refused to yield, and he turned it over. He was shocked to find the other side glowing like an electric lamp, but much brighter. He recognized a map. Was this how the rebels had found their way into his swamp?
He turned the way they had run, and took a few steps, still looking at the glowing item. To his shock, the map shifted, and a blue arrow in the center rotated. He took a number of steps, and the map shifted again. Spinning in a circle, he watched the arrow rotate. He was astounded the rebels had access to this sort of engineering. He wondered how it worked. Perhaps there was a map inside, scrolled on a motor? He shrugged and was about to pocket the device, but he noticed what looked a pin above the arrow, indicating a battleground nearby. Of course. They needed a way to get back to Stonewall. Well, Clancy would meet them there.
"Almost there," Eric said. "It's just a phone. We have proof that we found buried treasure. That's worth it, right?" Renault, walking with his arms crossed, didn't answer. "I mean, I know you had phone numbers and pictures and stuff like that on the phone, but you can get those back, right? They aren't gone forever, right?"
"Please stop talking."
Eric complied, leading them out of the swamp. In a few minutes they found their way to drier ground and saw the area they had experienced the mock battle. "The buses haven't left yet, that's good. Let's find McRandy and blow his mind."
They wandered toward the tables they had occupied before heading into the swamp. Behind them, a dirty figure emerged from the foliage.
Clancy squinted in the sun. What was all this? It didn't look like a battle. Well, the rebels never put up much of a fight anyway, he thought to himself, and chuckled. He looked at the square map. He'd gotten the hang of it while walking. He crouched low, expecting to see battalions of men in gray coats walk by.
He heard a noise over a hill. He climbed it, old legs burning. Only letting his eyes rise over it, he peeked at the other side, seeing a confusing sight. A long area looked smoothed flat and painted gray--no doubt for the rebels' use--and a dozen huge metal contraptions rumbled. They looked like large carriages, but he didn't see any horses.
He couldn't believe his eyes. There were soldiers and officers of the Confederates, mingling with those of the Union! Traitors, he thought grimly. They'll be the first to go.
He gripped his branch and slid his hand down and up its length, making a 'ch-chack!' sound out the side of his mouth.
"McRandy!" Renault yelled. He pulled the bills out of his coat. "You'll never guess what we found!" McRandy, sitting at the same table as two hours ago, leaned away when Renault slapped them in front of him. "Genuine Confederate States of America bills, just as worthless as the rotted wood we found them in."
"Glory be!" McRandy inspected the pieces of paper. "I don't believe it! I mean, I always thought that my great-granduncle was telling the truth, but I can't believe you found it! Is this all there was?"
"There was plenty more. We weren't the first to find it, but we didn't take it all since, as I've already said, they're worthless. Here." Renault pushed one of the bills at McRandy. "For you. The rest are ours as mementos."
"Tell him about the other thing we saw!" Eric said.
"We also saw the ghost of the Union soldier."
"Yew what?"
"We saw it. It chased us! It thought we were confederate soldiers!" Eric plucked the gray uniform he wore. "Renault lost his phone!"
"And I ain't happy about it!"
"I was just making that up though!" McRandy stood. "Just to goat you boys! What'd it look like?"
"Wearing tattered blue clothing, and it had a pillbox hat-" Renault started.
"It had a gun!" Eric cut in. "I think it tried to shoot us! It looked just like one of our fake rifles!"
"I don't remember it shooting us," Renault said.
"We managed to get away, though, thanks to my quick thinking." Eric beamed. "I seem to be a ghost expert."
McRandy looked at them, face sagging in disbelief. Then they heard a shattering sound. "What was that?"
"Sounded like a window breaking," Renault said.
"Somebody just threw a rock through one of the bus windows!" One of the reenactors said. "It just came outta nowhere!" Many of those present ran off to see the damage, leaving McRandy, Eric and Renault. And Clancy.
"Yew'll ner see t' sun agin!" Clancy roared, bringing the rifle up to his shoulder and pointing it in McRandy's face.
Eric hit McRandy, knocking him to the ground as Clancy rocked backwards with simulated gunfire. Only Renault noticed no sound came from the gun.
"Run!" Eric said, jumping to his feet and grabbing Renault's arm. "He's gonna kill us!"
"I think-" Renault was pulled away before he could finish the thought. The two of them, followed by McRandy, dashed to the nearest bus and hid around the corner. Eric peeked his eyes around, searching.
"I don't see him." Eric looked across McRandy's heaving stomach at Renault. "He disappeared!"
"I don't think he actually has a gun," Renault said. "I think it might just be a stick that looks like one."
"You dolt! It was a spectral gun! Geez, it's like I have to tell you everything about ghosts!"
"It wasn't covered in the guidebook!" Renault yelled, and they heard a scrape, and a few words sounding as if they had come from a toothless mouth and wrinkled lips. All three of them froze.
"Don't say a word," Eric whispered. "Their hearing is better than their eyesight." Renault stared at him and made a face.
They'd gotten away, but there was no stopping Clancy. He'd hunt them all down. He had them on their heels and without their weapons. He was glad the grenade he'd thrown into one of their carriages had worked so well as a distraction. The two from the swamp ran, but he would find them.
He sloshed mud over his gun, thinking he was reloading it. Yes, he'd find them.
"What do we do? What do we do?" McRandy stuttered. "We gotta get out of here!"
"Let's get into the buses and get out of here," Eric said, keeping his eyes peeled. "Let's just get as far away as possible. A ghost is trapped in a single area."
"You idiot!" Renault finally shouted. "He isn't a ghost! He's an old man! He's probably lost and confused, and doesn't know where he is or what's going on!"
"He tried to shoot McRandy!" Eric shot back.
"Yeah," McRandy said, wiping sweat from his red face.
"He didn't actually shoot anything though," Renault said. "It's getting too dark to see clearly, but I think he might just have a stick that he thinks is a gun. And don't you say anything about a 'spectral gun'; I haven't heard a stupider thing in my life!" He yelled, before Eric could speak. "I say we try to find this guy and explain what's happening! Even if it is a ghost, if we can explain that we aren't Confederate soldiers, he should stop chasing us. Got it?"
"I like Eric's first idea," McRandy said. Renault turned on him, eyes blazing.
"You got Eric and me to walk into a swamp--which, by the way, I might never get the smell of off me--so now you're going to come with the both of us and fix the issue that came from you telling us about that treasure!" Renault sucked in a quick breath of air. "Got it?"
"I got it," McRandy said meekly.
"Good." Renault looked around. "Anybody see him?"
They milled around the destroyed carriage, though they didn't seem too distressed about the damage. There must have been hundreds of them, Clancy saw as he peeked around a tree, Union and Confederates both. Something didn't seem right. He squeezed his gun's stock. Where were the commanders? What about the supply train? Their weapons? Horses? They even stood wrong.
Regardless, he knew it would be suicide to attack their entire group at once. He needed to pick them off one by one or he would have no chance at surviving.
Hello, what's this? A smaller version of the carriages was smoothly rolling up to the others. Lights blared from its front and the wheels spun unaided. It came to a halt and a section opened.
Clancy watched with shock as his brother, part of his own unit, stepped out and ran to the group of rebels. The fool; he was trying to attack them all on his own! Clancy nearly shouted a warning, but then watched his brother speak to them.
Even his brother had thrown in with the rebels. Clancy's eyes narrows; his tooth clenched. He asked himself if he could kill his own brother, even one standing against him. He turned and ambled away, as, unheard, his brother worryingly explained to the reenactors Clancy wasn't at his cabin in the swamp, and he was a bit addled in the head, and, most importantly, thought the civil war raged still.
"We just grab him?" Eric said. "That's you plan to fight a ghost?"
"He. Isn't. A. Ghost!" Renault said, for what felt like the hundredth time. "He's clearly an old man!"
The two argued, with McRandy somewhere in the middle. Unseen by the three of them, Clancy watched from around the corner of a bus. He began to hear shouts from behind him, most likely the other rebels searching for him. He thought he caught his name. He wouldn't go down without a fight. The dried mud on his chin led him around the corner, running with knees akimbo at Eric, Renault, and McRandy.
"Grab him!" Renault shouted. "I'll show you who's a ghost around here!"
He tripped into the bus a few feet away from Clancy, knocking his head and slumping to the ground. Clancy ran on.
"Renault, no!" Eric turned to McRandy. "Run! Save yourself!"
McRandy needed no more urging. Just as Clancy laid his hands on Eric from behind, McRandy sped away, toward the group of reenactors searching for poor old Clancy.
"Please don't hurt me! I'm not really a soldier!" Eric shouted when Clancy spun him around. Eric put out a hand, brushing away crumbling flakes of mud from Clancy's chin. Convinced he had just clawed off pieces of flesh, Eric backed away, growing pale. "I'm just an actor!"
Eric's coat came open, and the confederate bill from the treasure box floated out. Clancy snatched it out of the air. In the dim light, it only proved his assumption about Eric. "Stealin' from yer own commnder!" Clancy growled. "Not even loyal to yer own cause, dern rebel!" He thrust his rifle in Eric's face.
Renault leapt on him from behind, knocking the branch out of Clancy's hand as he fell to the asphalt. Renault grabbed the rifle.
"A branch. It's just a branch!" he said to Eric, whose color was returning. "It's just an old man; listen!"
Eric perked up his ears. He heard the other reenactors shouting for someone named Clancy. He crouched next to the old man. "Clancy?"
Clancy jerked. They knew his name!
"Clancy!" They heard from behind them. A man slightly younger than Clancy ran to them. "Clancy, thank the lord."
"Traitor!" Clancy said, trying to rise. "I'll get yew!"
"Clancy, these men aren't soldiers! They're just pretending!"
Through the haze of confusion, Clancy heard words pressing like cool iron against his hot head. What his brother said seemed right, but he wasn't sure why. He gazed at his brother, and around him at the men wearing gray and blue coats. None of them had weapons; most didn't even have proper sideburns. None of them gazed at him with hatred, just worry. He looked at his brother again.
Eric and Renault sat together in a bouncing bus' seat. McRandy took up the seat ahead of them. All three men were quiet. Clancy's brother, Michael, had explained Clancy's situation, and had resolved to get him to a safe place. Everything had been cleared up, with the exception of Clancy's enduring disillusion, which had turned mostly to stunned confusion. Renault gripped his phone tightly.
McRandy looked over his seat at Renault and Eric. "So who saw the treasure first?"
"I did," Eric said.
"I did," Renault followed.
McRandy looked at the two of them, opened his mouth, and found he didn't really want to continue the conversation. It was a thought echoed by the other two. After a day of treasure hunting and ghost fighting, most things coming after just didn't stack up.