Read Online Shattered Lives (Flynn Family Saga Book 1) by Erica Graham - Free Book Online Page B

infusion.
    Flynn stood up.
    Sam regarded him questioningly.  “Where did you
learn about willow bark tea?”
    “I was a scout out west before the war.”
    “Spent time with the Indians?”
    Flynn looked away.  He nodded.
    “Good.”
    Startled, Flynn looked back at Sam.
    Sam grinned at him.  “When the war’s over, I’m going
to start up a wagon train out of St. Joseph, Missouri.  I’m going to need a
good scout.”
    Flynn smiled faintly.  “I’d like that.”
    Sam nodded once.  “Then it’s settled.”
    Flynn hesitated.  “Major, before the war...”  His
voice faded into silence.  He wasn’t ready to trust the Major with that
particular secret, not yet.
    “It’s all right, son.  If you had a squaw, I wouldn’t
hold it against you.”
    Flynn winced at Sam’s gentle touch.
    Sam sighed and walked away, muttering.  “Just like
gentling a horse.”
    For the first time since his arrest, Flynn laughed
softly.
    Hank’s fever went down, and in a few days, he
stopped coughing.
    Sam smiled at Flynn.  “Thank you.  Hank means a lot
to me.”  He sobered.  “That bullet was meant for me.  Hank threw me to the
ground, and the bullet hit him instead.”
    Flynn nodded without speaking.  He knew all about
guilt.
    Together, Flynn and Ben began to build the raft. 
They hid it under the shack where Sam and his men slept.  Flynn knew they
should caulk it with pitch, but he couldn’t figure out a way to make pitch
without being caught.
    But as the days lengthened, he began to hope in
earnest.
    Then, one night, the guards came.  They took the
raft and burned it while Sam, Ben, Hank and Flynn watched.
    Brooks stood grinning, just outside the firelight.
    Flynn stared at him until his grin faded, and he
backed away into the shadows.  Flynn looked back at the raft, burning into ash,
like all his hopes and dreams.  He turned and walked away.  He stood at the
edge of the island and stared at the lights in Richmond.  Then, he turned and
went back to the camp.  The raft had burned itself out.  Hank sat staring at
the ashes.
    Flynn forced himself to smile.  He knelt beside the
older man.  “It’s all right, Hank.  We’ll get out of here someday.”
    Hope lit up Hank’s grizzled face.  “Honest?”
    Flynn nodded.  “Honest.  Now, get some sleep.”
    Hank nodded.  He went into the shed and lay down
next to the Major.
    Sam smiled at Flynn.  “Thank you.”
    Flynn turned and looked at the ashes of the raft. 
He sighed and entered the shack.  He lay down on the other side of Hank.  He
slept, but his dreams were filled with the screams of the wounded and dying.
    *  *  *
    In February, the order came to leave Belle Isle. 
The guards marched them onto boats, which took them to Richmond.  There, they
were herded into boxcars, which headed south.
    Four days later, they arrived in Atlanta.
    Of the eighty men who had entered the boxcar, only
fifty-nine survived.
    Flynn, Ben and Sam were among them.
    Hank was not.
    Sam wept openly as he closed Hank’s eyes.  He bowed
his head.  Ben did the same.  When he spoke, Sam’s voice was hoarse with
emotion.  “Lord, you saw fit to take Hank from us.  Please take better care of
him than I could.  Thank you.  Amen.”
    Ben raised his head.  “Amen.”  He put on his hat.
    Flynn waited until he was alone with Hank.  Then, he
chanted the Lakota prayer for the dead.  When he finished, he put on his hat
and followed Sam and Ben out of the boxcar.
    They marched wearily to a stockade.  A hastily
painted sign named the place Camp Sumter.  When they entered the camp, it
smelled even worse than Belle Isle.  For a moment, Sam’s shoulders sagged. 
Then, he pulled himself upright and walked through the gate.
    Flynn followed him.
    As soon as he passed through the gate, two men
grabbed him.  Brooks pummeled him with his fists.  Flynn endured it until he
lost consciousness.  He came to with Sam bending over him.  “Are you all right,
son?”
    Flynn