"Our shoes were worn out and our feet were torn and bleeding . . . the snow was on the ground and there was no food." Anonymous Confederate soldier referencing the march to Nashville.

Chapter 21: Matt's Story

His story finished, Floyd sniffled and wiped the tears from his eyes, glared at Matt defying him to deny what he'd said. Despite knowing, it wasn't true, Matt was dismayed by Floyd's version of the events of that day. Matt knew that somewhere in the depths of his addled brain Floyd must know the truth, but he was at a loss as to how he could connect Floyd to reality. He turned to Kitty, looking for assurance that she hadn't believed Floyd, hoping he wouldn't see disgust in her eyes because of what Floyd said. She turned to face him, and he was relieved to see only love reflected back in her eyes.

"That isn't what happened is it, Matt?"

He slowly shook his head.

"Can you tell what happened?"

Matt was still upright, but was collapsed against the rock outcropping on the cave wall, letting it support most of his weight. The memories coupled with his fever, pain, and the overwhelming nausea had him in a daze. He nodded, squinted at the pain the movement caused. "It was almost like he said, but I never shot anyone… leastwise not then. And there were five of us to start with. Floyd, and the men with him, killed two of us right off from ambush, and that just left Carl Breck, some new recruit whose name I just don't remember, and me. Breck and me weren't exactly friends. I didn't remember the names of any of the Confederates, except Shug, if I ever even heard them. I never even knew Floyd and Harold were brothers, and Floyd looked a lot different. He was younger, of course, a lot thinner, and he didn't have a beard."

Matt paused and took a breath, determined to get the truth said. "The war ruined Breck, like it did a lot of men. Breck came to love the killing, and he hated the Confederates. Right after the Confederates killed the first two of us, they ran out of ammunition. They surrendered, came out with their hands up, but Breck wanted payback. He killed the one Floyd called Jimmy right off. He killed Shug too, when Shug ran, right after that cannonball killed the one they called Snick. Like Floyd said, I knew Shug before the war. I was just a kid when I worked on the Three Bar. Shug was older and he was one of the men who kind of looked out for me back then. I wouldn't have killed Shug, and I sure wouldn't have shot him in the back. It was Breck that shot him. I would have stopped him, but it happened too fast. I already told him I was turning him in to the Captain after he shot the one Floyd called Jimmy. Breck didn't care."

Matt stopped and used his sleeve to wipe away the blood that still oozed from the cut above his eye. He sighed as he remember how it had been between him and Breck. "Breck gave me a disgusted look and said, 'You just go ahead and do that, Dillon. That's kind of a joke, ain't it, reporting me for killing gray-backed scum? I guess it's hard for you to remember who the enemy is.' He laughed at me. 'Maybe you been a good little soldier, but I ain't forgot where you come from.'"

A cynical smile crossed Matt's countenance. "I heard that sort of thing a lot, being a Texan. Then the artillery started; we were all scared. Floyd was right. It was terrifying. Shells just falling from the sky un-nerves a man. Breck wanted to shoot the last two Confederates, Harold and Floyd, and get back to our lines. But I said, no, I was taking them back with us. They were prisoners, and I was ready to back it up. I couldn't stop him from killing that unarmed soldier or Shug. But Shug had been a friend, and I just wasn't letting Breck do any more murdering on that day. He damned me to hell as a Johnny Reb lover, and he and the new recruit took off running back towards our lines. Like Floyd said, I tried to stop them, told them to get down, take cover till there was a break in the fire. But they just kept running until that canister killed them."

Matt winced in pain and leaned a little heavier against the cave wall. He didn't think he was going to be able to stay upright much longer. Truth was, the only thing keeping him off the cave floor was the outcropping he'd settled against and his stubbornness, and he just didn't know for how much longer that would be enough. He shifted a little trying to gain more support from the outcropping. "I was trying to get Floyd, Harold, and me to shelter in some abandoned rifle pits, but we never got there. Like Floyd said, that tree came down and pinned Harold. I'm not sure there was anything we could do to save him, but I would have never just left him if I could help him. He was hurting bad and begging for help, screaming. I crouched down to check on him, but I wasn't sure what to do, being caught out in the middle of all that artillery fire. He was real young looking, like Caleb's age. Then the artillery stopped as sudden as it started, so I was feeling a little safer. One of those pine branches had impaled him. It was a horrible thing to see."

Matt paused a sick look crossing his face as he remembered. "I cut that branch free from the tree. I could tell it hurt him fierce when I did that, but I cut it fast as I could. At least that way, he wasn't hanging off the tree. Once it was done, it eased his pain considerable, and he stopped screaming, was breathing real hard, trying to be brave. I didn't want to take a chance on pulling it out."

Matt started to shift his eyes towards Floyd, but he quickly arrested the movement, not wanting to antagonize the unstable man. "I looked over to ask Floyd for help, but I could see something was wrong with him. He was just standing there with this dazed look. I saw a lot of men with that look during the war, like they were there, but they weren't. I told him that I would lift, and he should pull Harold free. He didn't really seem to know where he was, but he nodded his head. I don't know what I was thinking, but I leaned my rifle against the tree. I turned my back on Floyd, so I could raise the limb that was pinning Harold just enough so Floyd could pull him free. I think, for a moment, I forgot there was blue and gray, and I was just thinking of us as men, instead of enemies, and thinking Harold needed help. I guess I was just too tired to think straight, tired from all the fighting, tired from trying to survive. When I leaned over to shift the tree, Floyd hit me in the head from behind."

Matt looked over at Kitty, let his eyes slide past Floyd. He saw that Floyd looked a lot like he looked that day back in the war, like his body was there, but he wasn't. Matt's lip curled in an involuntary humorless smile. It was strange. Floyd looking vacant, just like he looked that day on the battlefield and him feeling nauseous and dizzy, just like he felt after Floyd had hit him in the head that day. It was like they had come full circle right back to where they'd been, except Harold was dead, and the war was long over.

Matt rested his head against the cool rock face. "When I came to, my rifle and Floyd were gone. I crawled over to Harold. He was mostly quiet, just moaning a little. There was nothing I could do. I was hurt and, even if I wasn't, there was no way to get him out from under that tree without help, and we were all alone. It was like the war had gone on and left us behind. I think it was too late by then anyway. I gave him some water from my canteen, talked to him some. He was asking for someone, maybe Floyd, asked him to please not leave him alone. I pretended like I was him, and I held onto his hand, so he knew he wasn't dying alone."

Matt sighed. He hadn't been responsible for Harold dying, and he hadn't murdered anyone. It was a considerable relief to him. It was perhaps the one time in the entire war where there was no blood on his hands, although plenty of blood had been shed. "I remember noticing Harold didn't even have any shoes, just some bloody rags tied around his feet."

Kitty wiped the tears from her eyes, shifted her eyes between the two men, both temporarily lost to the present.

Then Floyd seemed to abruptly snap back to awareness, and he pulled his gun and started screaming, "You're a lying Yankee bastard. It was your fault there was a war, Dillon. All you Yankees made it so we would have a war, and you was a Texan and should have been helpin us, not killin us. They shoulda hung you as a traitor. But, I'm gonna kill you now." Floyd glared at him. "I hate you so much."

Floyd's eyes shifted around the small chamber, skittered past Kitty, settled back on Matt. "I was supposed to take care of Harold. He was my little brother. I promised. I can't let you tell Pa. He can't know I ran out on Harold. I…I couldn't stand Harold screaming like that, that tree stuck in him and him screaming and calling my name. He was dyin, and I didn't know what to do."

For just a moment, Floyd got real calm. "They're all dead, except you, Dillon, and I'm gonna kill you, now. You deserve to die. It was all your fault."

Matt felt his pulse speed up. Kitty still stood between him and Floyd's gun.

Killing, the only thing on his mind, Floyd switched his focus to Kitty. "You get out the way, woman. I'm gonna kill him now, and you too if you don't move."

Matt watched helplessly as Kitty ignored Floyd's threats, spread her arms defensively and stood firm in front of him like some sort of she-bear guarding her cub. She tried to calm Floyd, spoke soft and gentle. "Floyd, it's all over. It's past. Matt tried to help, but nobody could help Harold. Nobody. You don't want to hurt anyone."

Matt clenched his teeth and stepped away from the wall, was assailed by a fresh wave of dizziness as he let go of the rocky outcropping that he had been clinging to, but somehow he remained standing and took the step he needed. Kitty was in reach of his long arm now, and he grabbed her shoulder and roughly shoved her to the side, watched and felt a moment of pain for the hurt he caused her as she tumbled to the hard rock floor.

Then he switched his focus to Floyd, searched his eyes for some spark of reason, but saw only madness. Hate and guilt had destroyed any vestiges of reason or humanity left in the man. Matt took a deep breath, determined to stay on his feet, as he looked down the gun barrel at certain death, saw Floyd's finger start to tighten on the trigger.

To be continued…