Prisoner in Time (Time travel) by Christopher David Petersen

this time of the Civil War, the military pretty much does whatever they feel they need to do to further their cause and they do it without much interference from the law. If you refuse to fight, you’ll simply be shot as a traitor. No trial, no jury… just an execution.”
     
    “Wow, that sucks,” Geoff said in disgust.
     
    “Trust me. If you don’t know what you’re doing here, it can get a lot worse,” he assured.
     
    “Worse than being shot?” Geoff mocked.
     
    “Yeah… a lot worse than being shot. You could be sent to one of the infamous prisoner-of-war camps and die a slow painful death from disease and starvation, not to mention the abuse suffered at the hands of prisoners that would prey on young guys like you.”
     
    Geoff stared solemnly at David, the harshness of his last statement not fully registering in his mind.
     
    “But what about the warden? Couldn’t you just file a complaint against those guys?
     
    “You’re joking right?” David asked, incredulously. “This is the Civil War time period we’re talking about here. Men died by the tens of thousands and neither side had extra resources to guard the prisons. Only a handful of men were tasked with guarding them and as a result, the only law that existed was survival of the fittest,” David answered.
     
    “That’s stupid,” Geoff spat.
     
    “What’s stupid?”
     
    “This time period.”
     
    David thought about Geoff’s irrational response and accepted it as the logic of a teenager. Not willing to debate the sense of his statement, he simply replied, “It’s just the reality of life in the eighteen hundreds.”
     
    With a simple nod, both turned and walked side by side along the worn path.
     
    One Hour later:
     
    As the two walked in near silence, they listened to the sounds of the birds and wind. Devoid of sounds of humanity, Geoff slowly began to become aware of his new reality.
     
    “Man, we’ve been walking for hours now. We must have walked about a hundred miles. I’m so thirsty,” he complained.
     
    “It’s only been about an hour and we’ve probably only walked three or four miles at most,” David replied matter-of-factly. “We should see signs of Chattanooga shortly. We can find water once we’re in the area.”
     
    “I’m hungry too. What can we get to eat there?”
     
    “I hate to say this Geoff, but we don’t have any money and they’ll shoot us if they catch us stealing food, so it might be a day or so before we find anything to eat,” David responded flatly.
     
    “A DAY?” he shouted back in surprise. “I can’t last a day without food. Can’t we beg someone for it?”
     
    “We can’t draw attention to ourselves. Look at our clothes. They’re modern. The minute we step into a town, we’ll be viewed with suspicion and the military will be called to investigate,” he paused a moment, then continued. “No, even before food, we need to find some clothes to change into so we don’t call attention to ourselves.”
     
    “What about trash? I know hobos go through people’s trash looking for food all the time. Can’t we wait ‘till nighttime and do that?”
     
    “People don’t have trashcans in this time period, Geoff. Very little went to waste. What was thrown out, were bones and broken or worn items, but not in any sense of order. They were simply carted to the edge of the woods and tossed,” he explained.
     
    “So what are we going to do?” Geoff responded, his tone growing desperate.
     
    “We can only wait for an opportunity to present itself. That’s it.”
     
    “That sucks,” Geoff spat in disgust.
     
    As the two continued quietly along, Geoff watched the worn road and kicked small pebbles out of his path. David ignored the actions of the teen and concentrated on his surroundings. With each sign of movement in the trees, he used his peripheral vision to scan for danger while keeping focused on the field of vision far out in front of him.
     
    It started as a