Lazarus Freed

By Curtis Medlock

Lazarus a free man for many years crosses the line between free and slave to rescue His family from "being property" in the old south. Discover America's newest author... A stunning first offering from CT Medlock II. A brilliantly written fictional slave story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Medlock
• Release date: Feb 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465778710

Book preview

Chapter one

Twin dirt ruts, sunk almost a foot into the coarse weeds of the forgotten country trail, reveal the often heavy traffic of an otherwise lonesome landscape. Trees, ancient oak in vast stands covering miles, along with much smaller maples in pockets, crowd close to the uneven sides of the road. Here and there the undergrowth and infant trees thinned enough so Lazarus could see into the forest on either side of his wagon. An airy sameness had taken over the makeup of the forest a few miles back.

Earlier in his journey, the forests outside the little towns he’d been avoiding were a jumble of crowded undergrowth and darkness. A man or two, or more could hide at the side of the road in wait for some time without being seen. Being farther north into Illinois, Lazarus hadn’t been as afraid of foul play. Coming closer to the Missouri border though, he felt a weight settle onto his shoulders and back. Breathing took more effort and Lazarus found himself responding to any small noise in the trees with an instinctive hand to the pistol in his pocket; a hand that always ended up resting on a small piece of ribbon-wrapped parchment.

The forest was clear and the ground only lightly covered in growth—he could see a hundred feet on all sides. No one would be able to hide on either side of the road from here all the way to the river. It had been slow going for almost a week, but Cape Girardeau was less than a day away. He should arrive just after dark.

The most beautiful and frightening part of his journey lay ahead. This was land his soul knew intimately. He’d spent the first thirty-one of his thirty-eight years within a ten mile stretch of the Mississippi river valley, all on the Missouri side. Hearing the rumble of the river in the distance was going to set his mind alight, and he knew it, but Lazarus was already reminding himself that to get lost in the power of the father of waters would be dangerous.

The river was a monster. Passing through his mouth could mean death or worse. This small part of the indomitable Mississippi was the line drawn in the dirt by men who coveted not only their side of the line but who also hungered for everything on the other. The river separated Illinois from Missouri—free from slave.

Coming into the valley

The trees surrounding the road shaded most of the sun, but Lazarus felt the onset of the midday heat. Sweat ran into his eyes, reminding him that he’d not taken his jacket off after the cold night melted away.

Ho, boy! he said.

The dark gray gelding slowed to a halt and turned with a rolled eye and a snort in Lazarus’s direction.

Climbing down and taking off his jacket, he took the chance to stretch muscles in places that he hadn’t known had muscles that needed stretching. The whole backside of his body was a field of knots with flattened, numb places where curves had been resting on the wooden bench seat. With his hands pressed into the small of his back, Lazarus bent forward, twisted backwards, and rotated side to side until feeling came back to the dead places.

The first few nights on the way from Freemantle to Cape Girardeau he’d slept, but only fitfully. He’d felt exhausted when he woke and decided