Chapter 13

It was freezing with cold outside the hospital, with a blistering wind and heaviness in the air that threatened more snow. Polk, Kid and the other men slipped out of the side door of the hospital and dodged among the wooden drays in the small yard that were used to transport the dead, before coming to the compound fence. A full moon afforded them a view of the fence line and the look-out towers that were peppered along the boundary. They saw no guards, the cold had seen to that. Polk was busy trying the different keys on the gate padlock that was preventing their escape, while the other men scoured the area for any sign of a Yankee uniform.

Kid did not join them in their surveillance. He crouched against the tall fence, breathing heavily, not daring to believe what had happened only minutes before. It didn't feel real. He looked down at his hands, his vision partly obscured by the thick white steam of his own breath. They were hands that had just taken the life of a man he considered a friend, a man who had saved his life more than once… a man who wasn't supposed to die so young and unfulfilled. Kid cradled his head, fingers pressing into his skull tightly as he tried to squeeze the image of Henry's dead face from his mind.

With a sudden click of metal Polk had unlocked the gate and was pulling Kid to his feet. He growled in his ear to run and the five men hunkered down and fled for the tree line a few yards away. Kid waited for the yell of the guards and the gunshots to ring out, but there was nothing. They were out, they had made it. Polk paused only briefly once they reached the woods and looked back towards to the camp.

"Say goodbye to hell, boys."

They ran for several hours, resting only when they could not go on. They were half frozen, unable to feel their feet, but Polk would not let them stop to make a fire. He insisted they get as far away from Chicago as possible while they still had the cover of night. When dawn finally arrived they found a small, cramped cave to hide in, too exhausted then to worry about heat. The men shivered together under the blankets all but Kid had remembered to bring with them, and slept like the dead for several hours.

Polk gave the impression he knew exactly where they were but in truth he was unsure which way they should head but south. He was unfamiliar with Illinois and did not want to risk approaching anyone they should happen across. Their mixed apparel of gray and homespun, though tattered, was still unmistakably Confederate.

For the next week they traveled by night, hiding out during the day. They ate little, only what they had managed to bring with them, which was minimal. They tried unsuccessfully to catch small animals with crude weapons, as Polk would not allow the pistol and scant ammunition to be used. The next day they awoke in the late afternoon to find two of the men had departed. Polk cursed them, fearing they would be caught and would give up the remaining escapees from the camp.

Jonah, the last of Polk's men, was obviously disgruntled that the other two had not included him, and was not pleased to be left with only Polk and the other strange man they just called Kid. He was silent, had barely said a word since their escape. He kept up with them, but Jonah knew he wasn't quite right. He refused to even look at the others, and barely ate or slept. If anyone was a liability, Jonah feared it was the Kid. He said as much to Polk, who just dismissed the thought.

"He won't say nothin'," Polk said. "'Sides, we wouldn't have gotten it out if it weren't for Kid."

"That's all well and good, but what the hell do we do now?" Jonah replied, shivering in the cold as they paused briefly during their night travels.

"We'll head west to Missouri, soon as we're far enough away from the camp," Polk reasoned, scratching at his chin. "We been lucky so far, missin' any Federal brigades. But they're out here… we just gotta keep avoidin' 'em 'til we can head home."

"And him?" Jonah motioned to Kid who sat a few feet away, panting heavily but not bothering to acknowledge either of them.

"He comes with us," Polk said firmly.

The decision to turn west was premature, Polk realized, when two days later they were discovered by Union scouts. They tried to flee but they were cornered, and Polk immediately called out that they surrendered. Jonah, not ready to be a prisoner again, bolted for the thick trees and was shot in the back for his trouble. Polk took hold of Kid in case he was thinking along the same lines, but there was no fight left in Kid, he could feel it in his slumped shoulders and shivering frame.

They were taken back to a Federal encampment at a farmyard a few hours' march from where they had been recaptured. There were two dozen Confederate soldiers already there, housed in a barn, under guard.

"Say nothin'," Polk whispered menacingly to Kid as they were pushed inside the dilapidated structure. The uneven boards that formed the barn walls did little to protect them from the freezing wind outside.

The instruction to remain quiet was hardly necessary. Kid looked dully around their new enclosure and felt no urge to say a single word. What else was there to say? All he could do was accept whatever was coming, there was nothing else to be done. And whatever was coming was no less than what he deserved, he reasoned.

Polk found out from the other Confederate soldiers that they had been captured while fleeing from a skirmish that occurred a few days before. They were being held as prisoners but did not know what was going to happen to them. Polk discovered enough about their regiment to convince the Federals that he and Kid had been part of the same fight. Omitting any mention of Camp Douglas for fear they would be returned there, he also gave false names for them both when asked. Unlike Kid, he cared nothing for the death of the doctor, but Polk knew what would happen to Kid if they were sent back.

February 1864

They were kept at the farm for nearly two months, the Union army encamped in the surrounding area to see out the coldest weather. Despite the snowdrifts still present, the Confederate prisoners, now numbering 50 as others were captured during the interim, were given the orders to pack up and move out.

Polk, or Smith as now he went by, had been busy during the weeks they were stuck in the barn, formulating plans with anyone who'd listen about the best way to escape. There was little point in attempting anything while they were still encamped – they were surrounded by hundreds of Federals. But Polk knew they would be on the move soon, and that would be the perfect time to slip away once more. He reasoned they should all try and escape at the same time, providing the greatest number of targets for the Yankees to hit, which would ensure some of them would gain their freedom.

Polk, though earnest in his planning, still managed to convince few of the other prisoners that it was a wise idea. So far they had been treated well by their captors who shared their rations and blankets with them, and provided medical treatment for the those who needed it. It was true they had not been advised of their fate, but for the Confederate soldiers who had seen much fighting over the past few years, the respite from the war was not unappreciated. Only Kid and Polk, who had already been prisoners of war, were reluctant to be returned to that state.

"Looks like it's just you and me, brother," Polk said to Kid, keeping up the pretense of their sibling bond which he had told their captors, despite the 15 year age difference between them.

They began their march the next morning, bound for Columbus, Ohio, according to the captain of the brigade that guarded them. They would go on foot as far as Indianapolis and then be transported by rail. Any more detail than that was denied them, but Polk and Kid both knew it meant another prison camp, or else they would have already been set free or exchanged.

Polk only waited three days before he decided to escape. Any longer just meant he would be further from Missouri. He woke Kid in the middle of the night, motioning him stay silent as they gathered up a blanket each. A few other men who were nearby heard the movement, and decided to join them on the spur of the moment. Polk's incessant talk of home and freedom was too much to resist when the opportunity was offered to them. The Confederates were corralled together, separated from the Federal soldiers who were sleeping, sheltered in canvas tents nearby. Afforded no such luxury, the prisoners were huddled together in the open air, guarded by the unlucky few Yankees who had been assigned night duty.

Polk, Kid and the four other men slipped quietly over their compatriots who awoke but said nothing. One man pressed a crust of bread into Kid's hand as he crouched and passed over him, for which he received a grim smile of thanks. Polk had purposely kept to the outer part of the prisoner grouping and could see the woods ahead which would afford them some cover. He focused only on his goal and did not see the two Federal soldiers rise quickly from their post and called out for them to stop.

"Run, boys!" Polk yelled, and all six of them broke cover and sprinted for the trees.

Kid did not look back as the whoops of the other prisoners filled the night air, cheering them on. He thought of nothing but reaching the woods and running as fast and as far as he could. It was his last chance, he believed, the only way he would see Lou again. If he was caught and taken to prison they might find out what he had done at Camp Douglas, what had happened to Henry. And that would be it, Kid knew, they would execute him. He would never be with Lou again.

Polk ran ahead of him, never looking back, so Kid did not see his face when the bullet hit him square in the back and Polk fell to the ground. Kid didn't stop but only increased his speed as he heard he whizzing of the bullets that went past him, one nicking his jacket. He could see the trees not ten feet away and allowed himself a brief grin of relief when he felt the searing pain in his leg, not once but twice. In an instant he hit the ground, dirt in his mouth as his lips parted in surprise. Kid breathed heavily, dazed as he tried to take stock of what had happened. He heard heavy footsteps behind him and the cock of a pistol.

"Don't move," came the deadly instruction from the Union solider.

Kid's head slumped to the cold ground as he raised his hands a few inches from the dirt. He was lost once more.