Chapter Six
~ South of Clinch Mountain, Tennessee.
“NO! NO! Stay back! Stay away!”
“Stay calm, it’s just me!”
“I mean it! Not another step closer or I reckon, I reckon I’ll kill you!”
“Just stay calm Tom.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I can see everything.”
“I mean it! One more step and I’ll shoot.”
“Try, just go ahead and try.”
“Fine, I will,” Tom said as he rose his pistol and shot the shadowy figure through the chest. The character fell to the ground, holding his wound but was quick to get back to his feet. He smiled at Tom, he appeared through the light, at this point his face was totally recognizable. Tom dropped his gun on the ground and stumbled back, falling to the ground and having his back hit the back of the cabinet behind him. He placed his hands over his head; he began to cry, “Bill!”
Tom awoke, he was breathing hard. He looked over to his left where the sun was beaming into the room, nothing. He quickly turned to his right; his hair drenched in sweat, and saw a man standing next to him.
“Another bad night have we?” the man asked Tom.
Tom opened his eyes wide; he cleaned out any possible sand from his eyes and was clearly looking at a man he seemingly didn’t know. “Where am I? How are you? Wait… you’re the doctor from that town. Mallott!”
“Calm down there son,” Doc Johnson said to Tom, “he’s dead. Don’t you remember killing him? That was six days ago.”
“Six days?”
“Indeed,” answered the doctor. “You’ve been under my care for the past six days; I think your leg will be fine now. I did my best. By the way, the town looks at you as a God and hero now. Thanks,” finished the doctor as he was messing with a glass on the counter.
“I think I should be thanking you,” Tom said as he lifted himself off the table, remarkably he was able to walk for a change.
“Oh my God!” said the doctor, “You’re fine? I wasn’t expecting you to get up and walk for at least another week.”
“Doctor… doctor… Johnson isn’t it?”
“At your service my good man,” the kind doctor replied.
“Not that I think I need to be leaving, but I think I must be getting back to my home.”
The doctor peered down at the hard wooden floor, “Some people want you, well, I guess we can’t hold you here. Are you sure?”
“Yes I reckon, I should be getting home; before winter sets in,” Tom said as he stretched out and cleared his vision.
The next hour was one of heartbreak, especially in the town. The doctor had graciously been given a horse by the tailor so Tom could make his way home. The butcher and other farmers gathered at the very least, a week or more worth of food and water for him. By noon, the town had lined the streets as Tom walked out of the saloon for the first time since killing George Mallott all those days ago. The men brought him the horse, as he was walking towards the beautiful black horse, the many lasses walked out to him, flowers in their hands and giving him a small kiss on the cheeks in gratitude for what he’d done for the town. The older men and women graciously nodded as he walked by. Tom turned around to look at the town.
“Thank you,” the town said to him as he was looking at each and everyone of the townsfolk.
“No, thank you,” he said. “I’m not one for speeches, so I’ll keep it short. I won’t forget this place, nor the people who live in it. I couldn’t thank you all enough for helping me out these past six days without me knowing,” he said as he mounted his horse. He looked at the doctor who was holding the reins of the horse. “Especially you doc.”
“Is there any chance you will ever return?”
“Maybe,” Tom said as he kicked the horse and started to ride off into the distance. He turned the horse around and went through the townsfolk who were clapping for him as he moved towards the ridge. At the ridge, he wheeled back and took his hat off to the town and just as quickly disappeared from sight. He rode down the ridge back to the very spot that his brother was buried.
After several hours, he paused in the woods and walked towards Bill’s makeshift grave in the middle of nowhere. He knelt beside the makeshift grave marker with his name written on it, he paused to say a prayer, knowing that the rest of his family will never know where he’s buried, nor receive any news of his death. After some time, some tears in his eyes, Tom popped back up and walked back to his horse whipping off his face of tears. He mounted his horse and looked back one last time at his brother’s grave, muttering a word and riding off soon afterward.
A few days had passed; Tom was once again in the thick, dense, mountainous terrain of Clinch Mountain, making his way north towards Kentucky; though he didn’t know the exact path back to Wilson’s Creek. The trees blocked the sunlight from overhead; he was nothing but a mere dark shadow in the woods that surrounded him. Thunder could be heard from a distance, Tom was quick to look up and see if he could if a storm was rolling in.
Unable to see through the still dense tree cover in mid November, Tom made his way across the forest floor to try and find an opening; just to make sure he didn’t need to pitch camp and wait out the oncoming storm. The thunder was rolling in ever closer, the noises got louder and ever more numerous. From the sounds of it, thousands of small crackles of lightning were filling the air; the oncoming storm would be just as bad or even worse than the one that had flooded the battlefield at Clinch Mountain. Tom could finally see the end of the tree-line just ahead of him, a small ravine through the cress of the trees.
Tom made his way through the thick brush; he appeared out under a bright blue sky and with a few white clouds hovering overhead. He made his way to the ravine, he peered over the edge and the sight that he saw shook him to his corps. Around twenty artillery pieces were shelling out fire at an advancing line. Suddenly, the noise of screaming men filled the air; a shell from an artillery piece landed only a few yards away from Tom, knocking him off his horse and sending him flying to the ground; his hat falling down the ravine in the process.
Tom picked himself up, only to be surrounded by several other explosions. He swiftly moved his arms over his eyes to shield himself from the fire. He squinted through the smoke and saw the shattered Confederate flag making its way towards him in great haste. Hundreds of Confederate soldiers were fleeing from the battleground directly at Tom, when they reached him; he was knocked to the ground. Across the spaces, thousands of charging Union soldiers with their bayonets reflecting in the sunlight and their tall and proud Stars and Stripes were quickly making their way towards Tom.
A Confederate soldier helped Tom up, believing he was a Reb by his outfit that could pass as a Confederate uniform. Tom was now surrounded by a sea of gray, with a wall of blue rushing towards him; to save himself, he did the only logical thing, he fled with the Confederates, as the Union lines pressed forward.
