Lucas laid still for a moment and listened, hoping to hear either Johnny or Paul around. He looked to the sides examining the field he was in, and saw nothing but reeds and grass kissing the roots of trees. He wrestled around, writhing in anguish, until his right wrist broke within its bind, causing his hand to go limp. He pulled his useless hand from its confine underneath himself, and tried his left hand at the heavy wheel. Once he freed himself from the weight, he began to crawl through the clearing. His legs were useless, still bound by chains—a neat iron padlock holding the links tightly together. As he crawled over the gravel and dirt, the reeds and weeds, he came upon Paul—his face squashed between grey boulders, his limbs contorted in an aberrant fashion. Lucas fell over on his side in tears, and coughed up what little food and liquid remained in his stomach from breakfast.
“No!”
Lucas turned over on the vomit beside him as he heard Johnny’s echoing scream suddenly come to a soggy stop. Lucas attempted to slither through the reeds, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible, but footsteps rustled the reeds quickly and fingers gripped Lucas’ hair, craning his neck backwards as he was held down on his stomach by a knee in his back. A familiar, tar-covered face lowered to his eye level. The bitter smell of tobacco and blood swirled from between the hairs around the man’s mouth. Lucas cried as a cold pistol was pressed against his temple.
“Uncle Sam?”
“That’s Smokehouse Sam, son,” the man snarled as he spat thick brown juice. “You boys shouldn’t be so far from home. Why don’t we get you back to the farm, eh?. I ain’t had a home cooked meal in weeks. I reckon your mama’d like to hear the news I got about yer daddy from the war.” Smokehouse looked around with a savage smile. “And about her boys now, too.”
Another man hoisted Lucas over his shoulder. From the new height, Lucas could see his brothers’ bodies being drug among the herd of scowling, bloody faces in ragged Confederate uniforms as he was carried out of the clearing.
The prompts for the Mutant 750 Challenge #58 are the word "echo" (v.; "(of a sound) be repeated or reverberate after the original sound has stopped") and the following visual prompt:
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Until next time, share the geekdom!
-Tony