What Is A Legacy?

Chapter Eighteen

 Someone prodded Thomas awake. His eyes cracked open, headache striking suddenly and painfully. He slowly looked around him, eyes bleary. They were on a bank of a small pond, the ground under him wet with the morning dew. The sun was just now creeping over the trees, and in the distance, he saw smoke and flames. The Bastille. Then he remembered the events of last night.

Byron.

Isabelle.

Movement from Andre caught his attention, where he was standing on the banks, arms crossed across his chest. As he turned around, Thomas could see in the man's eyes that he was thinking of them, too.

"How do you feel, ami?" Andre asked him.

"Like hell," Thomas groaned, letting his head fall back onto the ground. "How long...have we been here?"

Andre glanced up at the sky. "We came here last night. Maybe even early this morning. But I didn't want to move you until you woke."

"Please tell me you got some sleep, too." Thomas winced.

Andre swallowed. "After last night? Not a chance, ami." He walked over to him, crouching down. "We're lucky it wasn't worse."

Thomas scoffed. "What's worse than watching our friends get killed?" He felt a pang of guilt as he saw Andre's eyes flashed. "I'm sorry. I-"

"Non, don't apologize. You're right." He gestured to Thomas' shoulder. "I'm no doctor, but let me check your shoulder. If you'll let me."

Thomas nodded shortly, closing his eyes, as Andre gently loosened the shirt sleeve wrapped around his wound. "Shit," he hissed as the pressure lessened and caused his wound to groan in pain. "How's it look?"

"You need a doctor," Andre said. "Obviously. But I see some shrapnel, and that's never a good sign." His head shot up at the sound of grass rustling, and Thomas twisted his head to look, groaning at how the movement pulled at his shoulder. "Just a deer," Andre told him. "But soldiers will know we've escaped. So we must move. Your friend Lafayette's estate isn't far from here, I know. Come on, up, up."

Easier said than done.

The pain of the bullet wound in his shoulder was now back with a vengeance, and it brought tears to Thomas's eyes to even try and move. "Andre," Thomas whispered, pained, "I don't think I can."

"Then I am sorry for this, but you will thank me later."

It was the worst pain Thomas had ever felt, the one that came from Andre lifting him to his feet. He screamed as he was moved, tears springing out of his eyes. He wasn't able to form words, it was just pained screaming.

"I know, Thomas, I know," he heard Andre say. Now Thomas was on his feet, and before he could protest, Andre slung his good arm over his shoulder. "A little while longer, and then you can rest."

Fingernails desperately gripped his friend's shoulder, and his cries of pain dwindled to sharp groans and hisses as he forced himself to not call attention to the two escapades. True to Andre's word, they covered ground quickly and soon Thomas, through bleary eyes, recognized the roof of Lafayette's house.

They reached the front porch, the three steps up to the door the most painful steps Thomas ever thought he'd taken. His headache resurfaced as Andre pounded against the door, and it opened almost immediately, a shocked maid taking in their state. "Please. Get Monsieur Lafayette this instant. And a doctor."

As he was pulled inside, Thomas was once again floating in and out of consciousness, all the voices bleeding together into one very painful mosaic. He was able to distinguish Lafayette's exclamations of horror, and the sensation of being carried up some stairs.

Then pain overtook him again, and the darkness welcomed him with open arms.