Chapter 12: Friendship To The Last

Thomas felt himself returning to consciousness, his eyes fluttering in the brightness of sunlight, his face sticky with sweat and his hair damp and matted. He awoke to find himself laying sprawled out on his back on the ground. He was still laying wounded in the cornfield where he had fallen among his dead and dying comrades. As he blinked and adjusted his eyes to the surroundings, he was saddened to see so many of his fellow soldiers laying lifeless on the ground, many with missing limbs and shattered faces, some still clutching their muskets and others with their eyes still open but dead all the same. The bodies of the soldiers were frozen in death and strewn about in every conceivable position where they had died on the field of battle. The corn stalks had been shot to shreds by the thousands upon thousands of bullets that had been fired by the combatants on both sides. Pools and streams of blood covered the ground, resembling macabre lakes and streams of death. There was not a spot of the cornfield that was empty of dead soldiers, many clad in blue and others in gray. The stench in the air was awful, smelling like a mixture of rotten meat, feces, urine, vomit, and the stale coppery scent of blood. Flies swarmed over the corpses and no doubt soon the bodies would be the residences of fatty maggots enjoying their hearty meal of dead flesh. Thomas swallowed in his mouth and throat that was parched from lack of water and he felt blisters that caked his lips, a painful gift from the burning Maryland sun. He tried to move his legs but discovered that he had no movement or feeling below his waist. He propped himself up on his elbows and stared down to find an unpleasant sight- he had a large bullet wound above his left knee that had shattered the bone in his upper leg. The left leg of his sky blue trousers were now a deep brownish-red from his thigh to his ankle, and he could see that the flesh around the wound had already turned a sickly grayish color and was covered in squirming maggots. Thomas knew he had lost a lot of blood and he would die if he did not get to an army surgeon soon. He winced with the realization that his leg would certainly have to be amputated, and it made him wonder if it would be better to just die anyway. He thought back to his dream of remembering the events of his childhood, and he realized that he still needed to look for Franklin.

He looked around the corpse-strewn cornfield again, hoping with everything in him that he wouldn't see Franklin among the ranks of the dead. As he looked around, he sensed someone crawling behind him and turned to see that it was his friend, thankfully alive and well. Franklin had been lightly grazed in the foot by a spent bullet but was otherwise in good condition. Thomas could see the streaks of dried tears on his friend's cheeks and he asked how the battle had been after he had passed out. Franklin looked down at him with sadness in his eyes and said, "the battle is still in progress, but a bit farther down the road near a small church now. The fight here in this damn cornfield was a draw, but I think we gave the rebs a good lickin' with all things considered. But Thomas, our regiment suffered terribly from casualties- 296 of our men were killed and wounded out of the 416 we had this morning. I briefly saw you durin' the battle, and then I saw you get shot and fall. Our lines broke a few minutes after that when the rebs advanced on us. As we retreated we passed a fresh brigade of Massachusetts men going into the fight, and I think they pushed the rebs back for a bit. That's how the battle went Thomas, both sides pushin' each other back and forth again and again. A damn waste of good men if you ask me.. anyhow on my way back towards the rear with the what was left of our regiment, I passed several other regiments who were still fresh and waitin' for orders, and one of the regiments was the 20th Maine, led by some Colonel named Chamberlain. They was just standing there with their guns shouldered and waiting, and meanwhile our boys got slaughtered. And I told as I passed by that if they was just goin' to stand around and pretend to be soldiers that they could go give water to the 23rd boys that was dyin'. Well, I don't guess they liked that, but I honestly don't give a damn. They should have been fightin' like we was.." and with that, Franklin trailed off in thought until Thomas spoke again in a weakening voice...

"I had a dream Franklin, when I was passed out- or maybe a vision- from years ago when we were children growing up in Derry... and it was a dream of that time that all of the murders and disappearances of children was going on, and you and I found out it was that clown Pennywise. Do you remember that Franklin?" He looked at Franklin and saw the dawning realization cross his friend's face, as memories no doubt flooded back. Franklin nodded and said, "I remember, it was some kind of demon and a monster that tormented us, but lucky for us it didn't catch and kill us like it did the other kids...why are you bringin' all this back up Thomas? It's not something that I like to remember."

Thomas felt a tiredness slowly coming over himself and shrugged and said, "I don't know, maybe because you and I stuck together and stayed alive, just like we did when we joined up for this war that was supposed to be over quick. Maybe because we could have ended up like those dead children real easy, but we lived. As strong and powerful as Pennywise was and still is, and he didn't get us. I think we had some kind of guardian angel watching over us during that time. Maybe it's still protecting us now in this war." Franklin had a quizzical look on his face and asked, "what do you mean Pennywise still is strong and powerful? How do we really know for a fact that it will come back? And if it does, who knows how long that'll be from now?" Thomas thought about that for a moment, starting to feel weaker, and said, "well whatever happens, maybe it's our duty to not forget the terrible things we went through as children, to not forget that Pennywise is evil and that he preys on Derry, and maybe that if and when he does come back, we will have the chance to warn people about it. Make a promise to me Franklin, let's make a promise that if Pennywise does come back, we will do our part to warn people. And pass down to our loved ones about what Pennywise is and how evil its intentions are. Promise me that Franklin, that you won't forget, and I promise the same." As the two men who had been friends since they were boys clasped hands and stared at each other, both sitting on the ground, one who was weak and losing blood, the other who would not leave his side, Franklin affirmed his half of the promise to his dearest friend Thomas.

They continued their conversation, mostly small talk now, until Franklin noticed that Thomas was talking less and less. He looked down at his friend and felt his heart breaking at the sight of Thomas dying. Franklin felt fresh tears streaming down his cheeks as Thomas' breathing became more strained and his skin began to take on a whitish-gray tone that signaled that he was about to make his journey to Heaven. Franklin put his arm around Thomas and clutched his hand in his own, crying with his childhood friend. And it was then, the two friends sitting in that cornfield in Maryland on that sunny and hot September day far away from their home in Maine, the two friends who had been through so much together, it was then and there that Thomas Vineyard died. As Franklin broke down in sobs and closed his dear friend's eyes for the last time, his heart strengthened in the resolution and affirmation of his promise.