Walks Alone by Sandi Rog

Author:Sandi Rog [Rog, Sandi]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: WhiteFire Publishing
Published: 2012-01-06T05:00:00+00:00

~*~

The baby’s body lay still on the cold earth. Blood colored the snow beneath him.

Jean-Marc fumbled to reset his bow and arrow, swallowing, but his throat became dry.

He’d never forgive himself.

He aimed at the man who killed the child. He let the arrow fly; it went through the man’s neck. The soldier drooped and fell.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jean-Marc spotted Running Cloud and Black Bear sneaking across the bank. Their war cries pierced his ears as they shot the other two soldiers.

Jean-Marc stumbled down the bank. He dared not look at the toddler’s body as he swiped away his tears.

He should have saved that baby’s life.

He had failed.

He grabbed the reins of the fallen soldier’s mount and climbed on. Cracks like thunder came from the other side of the village, but on this side no other soldiers could be seen.

He had to find his mother.

He charged into the village as Black Bear and Running Cloud’s war cries followed behind. Black Kettle’s American flag waved in the smoke. Below it hung the white flag that signified peace, a promise that the village would not be harmed. But at the base of the pole lay the dead bodies of women, elderly men, and children. Moans and cries carried through the air from those who still suffered from their wounds.

Jean-Marc urged his mount toward the fighters and readied his arrow. He spotted two braves kneeling in the distance, aiming their arrows at the soldiers, fighting to defend the village. Smoke burned his eyes as he galloped between smoldering lodges. Tears blurred his vision as he took aim at a blue coat. The arrow missed.

Running Cloud’s cry caught his attention. Jean-Marc swiveled around and saw him fall from his horse. Running Cloud rolled on the ground, his body curling in obvious pain. A soldier hurried to stand over him and fumbled with his rifle. Black Bear was nowhere to be seen.

Jean-Marc grabbed the tomahawk from his belt, wheeled his horse, and galloped toward the soldier. He swung his leg over the saddle, leaped from the beast and landed on the soldier’s back. He sliced the man’s throat, and the rifle fired.

They plummeted, twirling to the ground. The man’s weight slammed onto Jean-Marc, forcing the wind out of his lungs. He shoved the heavy, bleeding soldier off his body and gulped in air. The pressure in his chest made it almost impossible to breathe, but as he held his breath, he climbed to his feet.

Another soldier lunged at him with a saber.

Jean-Marc spun as pain sliced across his ribcage.

He cried out, but his lungs were like stone, and silence met the air. He dropped to his knees and grasped the wound, realizing that the sword only tore the surface of his flesh.

The man swung back his weapon for the final blow.

In one fluid movement, Jean-Marc threw his tomahawk at the man’s chest.

The soldier stepped back, dropping his saber, and collapsed to the ground.

Jean-Marc’s hands trembled, and his chest and lungs burned like fire.

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