I eye the clothes line. It's in front of the bright red barn, but only a few feet away from the farmhouse. Overalls and other men's clothing hang from the wooden pins.

"Do you see anybody inside the house?" I ask Zeke. The back-porch door is made by screen mesh, but I don't see any movement behind it.

"No," Zeke answers quietly. He scans the area around the clothes line. "We probably shouldn't do this. We could get caught."

"We could get caught with everything we're doing." I steady myself then dart towards the laundry line. When I reach it, I duck behind a long white sheet that blocks me from immediate view from the house. Zeke comes up behind me a moment later. Judging from the size and types of clothing a man and a young boy live here. Zeke grabs a shirt and pair of pants off the line. The man who they belong to seems to be about his size.

There doesn't appear to be a woman of the house. There's nothing else on the line but light, dingy colored sheets.

The son's clothes hang on the next line. A pair of dark brown pants and a tan shirt blows listlessly in the breeze. Judging from the length he probably isn't any taller than me.

Zeke notices me eyeing the clothes. "You wouldn't wear boy's clothes?" He almost sounds scandalized.

"Does it matter?" I ask, raising my eyebrow. "Think about it, if we're going to keep running through the woods, then it would make more sense not to wear a dress." I point to my tattered dress that exposes the scratches on the bottom half of my leg.

Still looking a little shocked, he nods. "But that line is right in front of the house. Don't risk it."

"Should I take the sheet then?" I roll my eyes, before turning towards the line a yard from where we're standing.

It's in direct sight of the back door. I can do it. Just run up, snatch the clothes off and run back. It would be over in a few seconds. Steeling my resolve, I prepare myself to move when a sharp neigh startles me enough to jump. When I swivel my head towards the door there's a tall, chestnut colored mare hanging his head over the bottom barn door, watching us.

A shiver runs down my spine as I look at him and memories of a childhood encounter with a horse flashes through my mind. Harden had ridden his horse hard and fast through the field, unconcerned with the probable dirt holes and rows of upturned earth. He rode it straight at a group of us gathering wheat. I was standing near the front and before I knew it the animal was practically on top of me; whining and stomping the ground at my feet. I was knocked to the dirt, narrowly avoiding a steel horseshoe crushing my hand. Ever since then I've had a distinct dislike for the beasts. Even hearing one neigh or watch it prance by gave me a stomach pain.

"Lyric. You alright?"

I snap out of my trance and turn away from the horse's large dry eyes. I refocus on the task of stealing the boy's clothes. "Fine." Dropping the bag from my shoulder to the ground, I take a deep breath, and run to the line.

My hands fumble with the wooden pins. I grab the shirt, but the pants fall to the dirt. Bending, I scoop them up. When I stand, a hanging, brown jacket catches my eye. It would be useful, especially at night. Balancing the other articles of clothing in my other arm, I wrap my fingers around the sleeve and give it a hard yank. To my surprise, it easily snaps loose.

"Lyric!" Zeke's whisper is loud enough to be a yell and he sounds frantic. "There's a group of men coming to the front of the house on horseback. Get out of there."

The sound of clomping horseshoes, whinnies, men laughing, and dogs barking reaches my ears. Just as I turn around to go, the back-porch door of the house swings open.

"What are you doing back there?" a voice shouts. It's young and high pitched, probably belonging to the boy I'm stealing from.

Naturally I don't stick around to give him an answer. I sprint back towards Zeke, clutching the fabric to my chest. As soon as I close the distance between us he turns and leads the way behind the barn into a clump of bushes. But it traps us, the only thing beyond the dense shrubbery is the river, which would leave us totally exposed to the men coming up on their horses.

We crouch down, both of our breathing patterns quickened from fear and adrenaline. From here we can see the barn and house clearly. The men on horseback trot up around the house to the barn.

A few seconds later the back-door bursts open, and a white boy, probably the age of twelve, comes running out, clutching a shotgun in his hand. "Pa! Pa!" He runs directly into the path of the horses without fear.

The man on the horse in front pulls back on the reigns. He scowls down at the boy. "What is it, boy?"

The child points back at the clothes line. "I saw some people back there, Pa. They were stealing clothes from Ma's lines."

At that moment, the horse gets skittish and rears up on its back legs, before stomping back down on the ground. "Whoa, Charlie," the boy's father commands. He starts to dismount from the horse, not paying much attention to what his son had been saying. The other men behind him also swing down from their saddles.

The father turns around to face his party. "Bring them up to the front."

A tall man steps forward, the end of a thick rope in his hand. He gives it a harsh tug and a moment later two black men stumble out of the pack of men and horses into view. Around their necks the ropes are knotted loose enough to allow them to breathe, but tight enough to probably leave marks. The tall man yanks on the rope again and forces the black men to their knees.

"These are the nigger dogs that tried to steal from me and some of you." He walks in front of the men, folding his arms against his chest. His boots crunch across the leaves, reminding me of the sound of the breaking bones of slaves.

"They thought they could escape from justice, but we brought them back to face it. Now, it'll take some time to replenish what these slaves have stolen, but we can. But we'll never be able to get back our sense of security, or the days of fear these Negros have caused our wives and daughters. For that, there is no forgiveness."

The men in his group yell out their agreements.

A loud cough from the slave man on the right signals everyone's attention. He pushes himself to his full height on his knees, raising his head to look the boy's father in the eyes.

"We didn't steal because we wanted to, we did it because we had to," his voice is raspy and deep, commanding to be heard. "We were starving. And you all know why we were starving? Because even your dogs are treated better than us, human beings. Why? The color of our skin is different. Is that really reason enough for you to condemn us to torture and death? Is that all your conscious requires?"

The tall man leans back, pulling the rope with his weight. Both black men gag as the rope around their necks tighten and their throats are thrown into the dirt.

"Keep your mouth shut," the tall man snarls.

The boy's father, who is apparently their leader, watches them choking for a moment, before speaking again.

"And now they will pay restitution for their transgressions There's only one thing to do with slaves you can't trust to serve as they were intended to by God. Kill em."

His group of men cheer, then his son pipes up. "How are you gonna do it, Pa?"

"Well. Don't have a hangman's noose around here, and it be a shame to waste a bullet."

"How about we burn em tonight, Hank?" This comes from the tall man. "It be what they deserve."

"You want to burn them, Hershel?" Hank asks. Even he sounds taken aback by the idea.

"Like they used to do in Salem with those witch trials," Hershel answers. "It'll be like a bonfire. Cept we won't be burning witches, we'll be burning coons."

Hank turns to the other men. "Ya'll good with that?"

My stomach churns at the underlying excitement in their replies. Maybe it's a trick of the light or my mind wanting to explode from stress and lack of sleep, but for a moment those two men on the ground disappear and in their place on the dirt lies Mari.

It's happening again. And I'm watching it again.

"We have to save them," my voice comes out in barely just a whisper. Zeke probably didn't even hear it. But I meant it. Every word.

~
Sorry for the boring chapter *cringe* but hopefully next one will be better. Don't forget to vote and comment! Thanks for reading :)