AN- Hello readers! :) Happy Thanksgiving! :D I got another chapter done, and since the last one was really sad and really short, I decided to get it posted. I hope it makes up for what I did last chapter, or at least it helps. It's not much happier…
On another note, I've come to the point in this story in which it can go anywhere. There are many ways as to which I can take this story. As I try to figure this plot out, I might not write very much. You can see from the length of these last few chapters, I've had a difficult time writing. I will do my best to get these chapters written and posted as fast as I can.
Until then, happy reading! :)
Later that morning
"Enjolras, the enemy is overtaking the barricade! We must go!" called Enjolras's voice of reason, Combeferre, but Enjolras was too prideful to run away. Knowing this, Combeferre tried something that he knew would work. "Enjolras, think of Eponine. If we don't go now, she'll have no chance of survival." Combeferre could tell that it was working, but Enjolras was still hesitant. Combeferre knew that he would pay for it, but he had to do it. "Enjolras, if you truly love her, let's go!" Enjolras stopped dead and turned to look at his friend. He wanted to walk over and punch Combeferre in the face, but he knew that it wouldn't help him. After staring for a second, Enjolras gave up his pride and agreed.
"Alright, let's go." Together, Enjolras and Combeferre turned around and walked away from the barricade, heading toward the wine shop. Dead bodies littered the ground, and Enjolras saw the faces of his friends, pale and lifeless. Bahorel, Bossuet, and Feuilly's bodies were lying on the cold, stone street. Enjolras then recalled when he had realized that Jean Prouvaire had gone missing. His last words, coming from the wrong side of the barricade, still rung in his ears.
Vive la France! Long live France! Long live the future!
Everything was finally sinking in for the young revolutionary. He had caused this. He had caused his friend's deaths. He alone was responsible.
"Joly, are you still here?" called Combeferre.
Joly poked his head out from behind a wall. "Yes?" His face was grim. He had treated so many men that night, and he had seen even more men die.
"Joly, help Enjolras and me carry Eponine. We're getting out of here before it's too late. We need to hurry! We can't move her for the sake of her injuries, so we need to lay her on a flat surface that will be easy for us to carry."
Joly disappeared. After a few seconds, he reappeared with a thin board, not much taller than Eponine. "Will this work?" he asked. It looked rather thin, but Eponine was still quite skinny, even after being fed well for the last few months.
"It just might," replied Combeferre. Together, the three men carefully lifted Eponine on to the board without disturbing her wounds. Enjolras noticed, as he was lifting Eponine, that there was a sharp pain shooting up us left leg and one growing in his right shoulder. He also felt a dull ache coming from his chest where he was cut by a saber.
Setting Eponine down and lifting the board, the boys quickly escaped the barricade before any of the National Guardsmen saw them. Enjolras felt the guilt set in more and more as he got further and further from his fallen friends. He had only been certain of four of his friend's deaths: Bahorel, Bossuet, Feuilly, and Jean Prouvaire. He wondered as to what had become of Courfeyrac, Grantaire, and Pontmercy. Were they dead too, had they been captured by the enemy, or had they somehow gotten away? While the men carried Eponine and themselves to safety, Enjolras prayed that they had somehow survived and hoped that they were somewhere, alive and well.
AN- How did you like the chapter? I'll try to make the next one a bit longer. Please let me know what you think because I love hearing your guy's feedback! And, as always, please follow and favorite my story. It's a big confidence boost, and helps me write more. Thanks for reading! :)