Free Shattered Lives (Flynn Family Saga Book 1) by Erica Graham Page A

hesitated.  “I’ll see what I can do.”  He
turned and walked away.
    Flynn sighed and went back to the Major.
    That night, Sam’s fever rose, and Ben couldn’t stop
vomiting.  Flynn paced.  “There has to be something we can do!”
    “You can pray.”
    Flynn turned.  Corporal O’Malley stood behind him. 
The little man pushed a small vial into Flynn’s hands.  Then, he turned and
disappeared into the night.
    Flynn bowed his head a moment, weak with relief. 
Then, he went back to Sam.  He poured a few drops into the Major’s mouth.  Sam
choked, but he swallowed the medicine.  Then, Flynn lifted Ben’s head and
dribbled a few drops into his mouth.  Ben made a face and tried to spit it out,
but he was too dehydrated.
    Sam began to mumble.  “Kate!”
    Flynn took Sam’s hand.  It was hot and dry.  “Hang
on, Major.  Hang on.”
    In the morning, Sam’s fever was down, and Ben had
stopped vomiting.
    Sam opened his eyes.  Slowly, they focused on
Flynn.  “Thank you, son.”
    “For what?”
    Sam drew a deep breath.  “I remember now.  You went
to one of the guards and brought something back.”  He grimaced.  “It tasted
awful, and I had terrible dreams.”
    Flynn smiled faintly.  “That was laudanum.  And you
can thank Corporal O’Malley for it, not me.”
    Sam smiled back.  He shut his eyes.  “I think I
could sleep a little.”
    Flynn nodded.  He pulled the blanket up to Sam’s
chin.
    “He’ll live?”
    Flynn turned.  Ben was sitting up, and his eyes were
clear.  Flynn nodded.
    Ben shut his eyes.  “Thank God.”
    Flynn looked away.
    Sam lived, but he was very weak.  Every week more
men entered the camp.  Every week, there was less food.  Summer came, and insects
plagued them, carrying even more diseases.  Sam got sick again.
    Flynn stared at the Dead Line, a stretch of bare
earth between the tents and the wall.  He watched as the new prisoners were
brought into the south gate. 
    He looked toward the north gate.
    All the guards had moved to the south gate.
    Slowly, he smiled.
    *  *  *
    On the last day of June, Flynn spoke quietly to Ben
and Sam.  “I’m going to create a diversion when the prisoners come in
tomorrow.  Be ready to run for it.”
    “Son, we aren’t going without you.”  Sam laid his
huge hand on Flynn’s shoulder.
    Flynn shook his head.  “I’m the youngest.  I have
the best chance of surviving this place.”  He forced a grin.  “I’ll meet up
with you in St. Jo in time to help you form that wagon train.”
    Sam nodded.  He drew a deep breath.  “Be careful,
son.”
    Flynn nodded solemnly.  “I will.”
    And so, eighteen days before his twentieth birthday,
Flynn edged as close to the south gate as he could get.  He waited until the
guards opened the gates.
    Then, he ran toward the opening.  He fully expected
to be shot.
    Instead, Brooks knocked him down and held him until
the guards came over to him.  They beat him, which he expected.  He clenched
his teeth and protected his belly.
    And then he heard the shout from the north gate.
    Despite the pain from the beating, Flynn smiled.
    Furious, the guards beat him harder.  Flynn held out
as long as he could, but he soon lost consciousness.
    For the first time since he was at Lewisburg, he
dreamed of the large white house that stood on a hill overlooking a green
valley.  He heard the sound of water and the laughter of children.  Someone
took his hand.  Her hand was strong and brown from the sun, and when she
touched him, he knew he was safe and loved.
    Flynn woke up in the Hole.  He was cold and hungry. 
His ribs ached, and rain dripped down the sides of the Hole, turning the floor
into a foul mixture of mud and excrement.
    But now, he had something to live for.  He wanted to
build that white house and find the woman with strong, brown hands.  He wanted
to have children and raise them beside that clear stream.
    He shut his eyes and slept.
    *  *  *
    At least once a week,