This is set 100 years after the Red Flu struck, with many of the descendants of the Nathan James crew. Just a one-shot for Memorial Day
Memorial Day
The government had all the original Nathan James crew buried on a five-acre plot in Arlington National Cemetery. Officers were buried next to enlisted crew and had the same, simple limestone marker indicating who was buried underneath; or in some cases, empty caskets where their remains should have been. There was a special organization that decorated the graves every holiday and especially on Veteran's and Memorial Days. But this Memorial Day, a group of ten men and women, with a few children were placing the wreaths.
"Who is this, Dad?" A young man, in his early twenties asked. Another man, in his early fifties; looked at the grave and smiled. The older man, stood about six-foot, three and still had a bright smile and twinkling blue eyes. The younger man, a sailor was had followed his father, grandfather and several greats into the Navy looked at the grave.
"Admiral Mike Slattery. He was my grandfather. He died of old age. Lived to be in his nineties. Giant of a man. You remind me of him a lot. He was a cop in Chicago before he joined up. Was second-in-command. XO. He disagreed with Tom Chandler a lot, but when push came to shove, he fought next to him. He also lost everything in the Red Flu. His first wife, Christine, daughters; Kaitlyn and Hannah and son, Lucas. He remarried a younger woman, the woman who became my grandmother after he retired. They had six more children, but I still remember him talking about those three and his first wife. He was madly in love with your great-grandma, Libby; but I remember him saying, he was a lucky man because he had gotten to have three great loves in his life. His first wife, Andrea Garnett and Grandma Libby. He and Andrea had something special too." The older man, Michael Slattery Sr. explained.
"I remember Grandma Libby some. I wish I had known him." The younger man said as he placed the wreath and brushed some grass away.
A few yards away, at another grave, an older couple and their young grandson were doing the same thing. The young boy was about ten and was reading the marker.
"My…great-great grandfather?" The young man, Thomas asked. The grave they were standing over belonged to Tom Chandler.
"Something like that. It really doesn't matter how distant of a relative he was, this is important. Someday, in fifty years, you will be doing this same thing, with your grandson." The woman explained. Her husband, a direct descendant of Tom Chandler nodded.
"That is very true and for every grave here. You never knew them, but you owe them everything. My great granddad started this and it continues. And it will continue." The man said.
"Your great-granddad?" The boy asked as he carefully placed the wreath.
"Yes, Sam Chandler. But you won't just place a wreath on Tom Chandler's grave, but all these others that don't have descendants. Russ Jeter and Andrea Garner? Their children died. His before the Red Flu in a car accident and her daughter died from the Red Flu. There are countless others. You never knew them, but their stories are your stories and you will honor them, and your children will honor them; as long as this cemetery still allows visitors, you will be coming here to do this." The older man explained.
"What about this grave, Papa?" Thomas asked, pointing at one that was not like the others. It was more elaborate and stood away from the others.
"That belongs to Rachel Scott. Notice how these others surround hers? Its because in life, they protected her, and in death, they still protect her. She gets two wreaths." The older man explained as he glanced around the cemetery. There weren't many descendants but the volunteers were always welcome. Unfortunately, even they were dwindling. It had taken a lot of work for Sam Chandler to create this, having bodies exhumed from across the country but it was his life's work. It had to be honored.