Chapter 7

Author's note: Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed – I really appreciate the feedback and it keeps me motivated to write more!

This section, Kid's story, is the result of research I have undertaken since this story was first conceptualized and more recently as later chapters have been written. Where necessary, I have taken some liberties (especially with timelines) for the sake of the narrative… so please forgive any historical inaccuracies. –Broedy

Kid drifted in and out of consciousness. It was the noises that first roused him – they were of men screaming in pain. Sometimes he tried to open his eyes to see where the noise was coming from, but he found he didn't have the strength to do so. Before long he would slip into darkness once more.

The next thing he remembered was movement at his neck, like someone was changing a dressing. Again he tried to open his eyes but the crushing pain in his head prevented it. He let out a groan but no sound emanated from his mouth. The Kid couldn't understand why.

Sometime afterward, he had no idea how long, he became aware of the familiar sound of rain on a rooftop. It was quieter now, apart from the heavy downpour. Time and place had lost all meaning, but at least he recognized the sound of rain. The soothing rhythm lulled him to sleep within moments.

"Can you hear me, Tommy? Open your eyes if you can hear me."

It was later again, and with great difficulty Kid tried to look at whoever was speaking. His eyelids felt as heavy as lead. After struggling for some time he was able to see the blurry image of a man staring at him. A finger suddenly pushed one of his eyelids up and the hot light of a candle was placed close to his face. The man stared intently then let go of his eyelid. The Kid, unable to hold a conscious thought after that, surrendered to oblivion.

The next time he awoke it was a little easier. The pain in his head had not subsided, and his neck was stiff. Any movement sent waves of pain radiating down his neck and into his shoulder and chest.

Kid's lips were chapped, his mouth dry and tongue swollen with thirst. He concentrated hard, trying to form a single word.

"Water," he finally managed to whisper, but he barely made a sound.

After what seemed like an interminable time, a small amount of liquid trickled into his mouth from a rag squeezed against his lips. Kid swallowed gratefully. After a few moments he was able to open his eyes and this time take in the same face he had seen before – a man in a white shirt, its sleeves rolled to his elbows. He had sandy blond hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, and he smiled kindly.

"That's better, Tommy. Not too much now."

He withdrew the rag from Kid's lips, despite the fact he was still dying of thirst.

"How are you feeling today?" the man asked pleasantly.

Kid opened his mouth to speak and accidentally moved his head. The pain that followed caused him to squeeze his eyes shut in agony, and he felt he might lose consciousness again.

"Try not to move now, your injuries are serious. You were shot in the neck – nicked your jugular vein. It's a miracle you didn't bleed to death."

Kid felt gentle fingers on the dressing around his neck.

"I'm afraid your head will hurt for a while too – you received a nasty concussion."

The Kid looked at the man, barely comprehending what he was saying. He wanted to ask questions, but the effort to speak was too much. Kid's brow furrowed.

"I'm Dr Wilkinson, Tommy," the man said, assuming the question. "I looked after you when they brought you here."

Kid didn't know where here was, but after everything that had happened and the discomfort he now felt, he knew he should be grateful to be alive. With difficulty he tried to remember what happened in the clearing near Bull Run Creek. It was with a chill that he recalled a gruff voice saying "This 'un's dead" and heard Katy's frightened whinny. Kid clamped his eyes shut again, trying to block out that sound. He didn't want to think about Katy being led away from him.

Within moments he fell asleep once more.

In the end it was more than a week before Kid was finally able to make sense of what had happened. He didn't remember being brought to wherever he was, but he figured it couldn't have been too far, given how close they had been to the Confederate army when he and Tommy were surprised by the Union soldiers. Had they pushed on and taken Washington? Was the war already over? The Kid realized that might be reality, which meant he could go home to Lou… That thought alone forced him to focus his energies.

The anguished cries of men he had first heard were replaced with the low moaning of the dying, but he saw only one man – the blond, friendly doctor who checked his bandages and, with great patience, got to him to eat some broth. The movement caused Kid much pain because of his neck, but the man was insistent.

"You have to try and eat a little, Tommy. You need your strength," he said.

Kid swallowed as gently as he could to avoid the agonizing stabbing sensation he felt each time he did so, and cleared his throat.

"Not Tommy," he mumbled, his voice scratched and barely audible from lack of use.

"Do you prefer Thomas, then?" the man said, seemingly pleased that Kid was actually talking after only silence. "I understand – my brothers always insisted on calling me Harry, but my name is Henry. Or worse, they called me Hank."

"I'm not Tommy," Kid said again, more insistently.

"You're not?" Henry was confused. "The letter we found in your pocket was signed Tommy. We just assumed…"

Kid shut his eyes, remembering the letter to Tommy's parents which he had been given the morning of the battle. In case something happened to him, Tommy had said. "This 'un's dead" echoed in his mind. It did not take long for Kid to think of his own letters which he carried everywhere, and the precious picture of Lou he kept tucked between them. They had been tossed carelessly aside as if they were nothing by the Yankee who had hit him.

"What is your name, soldier?" Henry said.

Kid opened his eyes again, noticing the sudden formality which had crept into the doctor's voice.

"Where am I?" Kid asked instead, frowning. "Are we still in Manassas?"

Henry set aside the bowl of broth he was still holding, shaking his head.

"You're in Washington. Campbell hospital," explained Henry kindly.

So we have taken Washington after all, thought Kid, feeling a flash of exhilarated pride. Despite their inferior numbers, despite the arrogance of the northern aggressors who had invaded Virginian soil, the Confederates were victorious.

"You're a Union prisoner now, soldier," came the doctor's voice, dashing Kid's spirits as quickly as they had risen.

Kid stared at him in disbelief. But they had won, the Federals were running back to their capital…

"You were brought in unconscious, barely alive, when the details went in to collect our wounded." Henry's voice softened further when he realized his patient had had no idea he was not with his own people. "What is your name? I need to report it."

Kid, still stunned by the news, answered out of habit and by rote.

"Folks call me The Kid," he whispered, then found himself unable to say any more.