A tall, black-clad woman was sitting on a stool beside him with a raw, wooden box on her lap. She was dark haired and sad looking, probably about my a...e."This is Mrs. McAllen," the lieutenant said after I saluted, something we seldom did unless someone else was around."Ma'am," I said, nodding at her and holding her eyes for a moment. They were gray-green, her eyes, deep and clear like a pool with mossy banks."I don't guess you knew her husband. He was artillery, a good man. Got killed. Caisson. Before he could cross the creek, his feet became tangled in vines. He fell into some rotting tree trunks, and suffered multiple punctures and lacerations on his legs and mid section.David was bleeding and he hurt everywhere, and he was out of breath. He lay on the ground for five minutes and whimpered.He was wet and he was cold. He was bleeding. Should he run for home? Why was he running at all?He was running to get away from the crash scene. He did not want to be associated with the death of. More

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