From the corner of his eye, Brandon could see Gregory standing at attention with the other prisoners. He was struggling to hold back the tears and Brandon couldn’t help but wonder now that the country was wide open whether their parents in Oneida would be next.
The column of American POWs stretched for as far as the eye could see. Every hundred feet or so was a Chinese soldier in fatigues, yelling at anyone who stopped to rest or go to the bathroom.
Before they’d left, each prisoner had been searched and stripped of weapons and valuables. Trudging along next to Brandon was Dixon. They’d stolen his cigarettes and a touch of his pride as well. A swollen left eye marked the place where that sergeant’s boot had met his face. There hadn’t been much bleeding, although he’d complained of a headache. Just ahead of them Brandon could make out the thin figure of Gregory. Once the opportunity allowed, he would move up to check on his younger friend.
As they crossed the newly finished pontoon bridge, Brandon gave one final glance backwards, wondering what had become of all the troops in the rear. Had they escaped or were they not far behind?
Hours passed as they marched through the night, south down Interstate 55 toward a destination none of them knew. Without any food or water, soldiers began to stumble. In some cases, they collapsed on the side of the road. They were given five seconds to get back up by the Chinese, who stood over them poking at them with their rifles. After the first Marine, a wiry soldier with thick blond hair, was shot for failing to comply, the Americans began scooping up their exhausted brothers in arms and carrying them along.
With the first hints of dawn, Brandon began working his way up through the column until he reached Gregory, who looked dispirited and low on energy.
“When’s the last time you ate?” Brandon whispered, suddenly worried.
Gregory didn’t respond.
Brandon nudged him and asked again.
“Hey, whatcha doing?” Gregory snapped, noticing Brandon for the first time.
Lack of food, water and extreme exhaustion meant Gregory’s system was starting to shut down. To their right was the side of the highway and Brandon slowly maneuvered in that direction, removing the t-shirt he wore under his uniform. The cool, early morning air bit at his bare chest. Soldiers around him looked on quizzically wondering what he was about to do. Up ahead was a patch of wild dandelions. Once they drew even with it, Brandon sprang off the road, dragging his shirt through the dew which had formed overnight and snatching up as many young dandelions as he could. An angry voice behind him shouted in a language Brandon didn’t understand. But he didn’t need to speak Chinese to know what the guard was ordering him to do. Glancing back, Brandon saw the enemy soldier advancing toward him, rifle drawn. Quickly, Brandon rejoined the line of POWs and shuffled back over to Gregory.
“Here, eat these,” he told him.
Gregory looked down at the dandelions in Brandon’s hand with confusion.
“Your body’s starting to give up on you, so eat them, will ya?”
“All right, fine.” Gregory took the weeds and ate them.
“Now wash them down with this.” Brandon held his wet t-shirt over Gregory’s mouth and wrung it out, providing several precious drops of water. Brandon took the last little bit for himself.
Within thirty minutes, the changes in Gregory were noticeable. His eyes were more alert and no longer looked dark and sunken.
“Feeling better?”
Gregory nodded. “Where did you learn that?”
“It’s a little trick your dad taught me,” Brandon replied. “Dandelions are best when they’re young. The older ones taste bitter. Usually it’s a good idea to boil them to remove the bad taste, but we didn’t exactly have that option. You can also drink the broth after as tea.”
“Sometimes I wish I knew that stuff myself,” Gregory lamented.
“Well, maybe I can teach you some as we go.”
A smile grew on Gregory’s face. “Really?”
“Sure thing.”
Brandon reached into his pocket and pulled out two mullein leaves and handed them to Gregory. It was the same species of plant John had taught him made great toilet paper in the wild.
Gregory brought them to his lips to eat them. Brandon pulled his hand away, laughing.
“Those aren’t for breakfast,” Brandon told him. “It’s nature’s toilet paper. I had a few extra I found on our way to Dyersburg and I have a feeling where we’re going these may come in handy.”
After they headed east on State Route 18 for close to ten minutes, the edges of a camp slowly came into view. A sprawling open field was surrounded by a twenty-foot-high barbed wire fence encircling rows and rows of wooden barracks. Even from a distance, Brandon could see thousands of other prisoners behind the enclosure, busy building more of the structures. They hadn’t arrived at a place for POWs. This was a concentration camp, one which many of them would not survive.
Chapter 31
John was on Bank Street heading toward Oneida High School when the skeleton of the greenhouse came into view. They were building it on the football field and the impressive structure stretched from one goalpost to the other.
He spotted Diane over by a stack of lumber they’d reclaimed from some of the vacant houses on the edge of town and the lumber store on Alberta Street. She looked busy as ever, directing the dozens of workers buzzing around her. Close by were hundreds of yards of plastic tubing they would use for the hydroponics inside.
“You amaze me more and more every day,” John exclaimed, not entirely able to wipe the smile off his face.
Diane stopped what she was doing and put a hand on her hip. “She’s coming along nicely, I must admit.” Her face settled into a frown. “Any word on Gregory?”
John shook his head. “I’ve got Reese on it. I also sent a message up to the front for them to be on the lookout. If I don’t hear back, I’ll probably just head down myself on the train scheduled to pass through tomorrow. I’m sure they’re fine, honey.”
Diane didn’t answer, but he knew empty reassurances would do little to ease her worry.
“When do you expect to have this place up and running?” John asked, trying to divert her attention.
“Soon, except we’re still waiting on Ray Gruber and the windmills he promised to build us.”
“Don’t forget those windmills are for the whole town, Diane, not just for your greenhouse.”
“I know that, John,” she shot back, clearly annoyed. “The food we’re getting ready to grow here is for everyone.”
This conversation was heading in the wrong direction. His eyes fell to the necklace hanging outside of her shirt. It was the wedding anniversary gift he’d fished out of the cabin fire. “I see you haven’t thrown that old thing away yet.”
“This?” she said, touching it with the tips of her fingers. “You keep misbehaving and I may just do that.”
He pulled her close and kissed her lips. They were cold in the early morning air. “Have faith, honey, because right now, we don’t have much else.”
“I’m trying, John,” she replied, holding on tight.
“Tell me how everything went at the pot farm.”
“Better than expected. Half of the plants were still viable and we found quite a bit of this tubing.”
“I left a small cache of weapons out there by the old hut when I discovered the place,” he told her. “Just a few shotguns and rifles, nothing fancy. But I wanted you to know in case your team runs into trouble out there.”