by: Marty Chrisman

            The Dukes and Cooter sat there waiting for news on Bo and on Luke. They sat there for hours with people rushing in and out around and medical personal rushing by as they went about their daily routines. But for them there was nothing to do but to wait and to worry. Finally Doctor Anderson came back into the waiting room and walked over to where they were sitting. He looked tired and there were dark circles under his eyes.

“How’s Bo?” Jesse asked before the doctor had time to speak

“He’s out surgery but his condition is not very good. He has what we Flail Chest. Basically that means that he hit the steering when he wreaked and that impact caved in his chest, breaking several ribs. He also had a collapsed lung, a severe laceration on his left shoulder, and he was bleeding internally. His condition is still listed as critical and his prognosis is poor.”

“Did you find out anything about Luke?” Jesse asked nervously.

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by: Kristy Duke

Emotions rage wildly within me as I silently watch my young niece struggling for her life on the old hospital bed while listening to her weak monitors that stand across her bed from me. My mind struggles through the past couple of months, the events that had landed me where I am today: alone in the small hospital room with my comatose niece with both my boys seeming forever lost. Anger resides deeply within me, anger so strong to me that it feels like a foreign substance within me; anger towards the criminals that have tore my family apart and at myself, for allowing all this to happen. If only I had believed Luke instead of doubting him with each set of evidence they directed towards Luke and believed Bo’s blind faith in Luke, perhaps. . .

Tears quietly wield their way through my tight stubborn shield to erupt down my cold aging face, soaking into my thick gray beard and mustache. Surrendering to the salty tears that sting my eyes, I am suddenly lost in deep thought, deep in prayer for my niece to awaken to be all right; deep in prayer for the return of my family. Finishing my long thoughtful prayer, my thoughts quickly entangle with the deep emotions that erupt within me. My heart aches in harsh sadness, worry, and fear as my mind quickly shifts from the past couple of months that had led to today’s events to Cooter’s horrid phone call I had received hours ago. Glancing up at the small circular wall clock that hangs across the room from Daisy’s bed, above the small TV, to force my heart to come to an abrupt halt in fear. It’d now have been over four hours since Cooter had first called in for an ambulance and for a fire truck and yet no word on any findings of either Bo or LB.

Fear-filled thoughts thickly corse my trembling body as I stare blankly at Daisy and her monitors while my mind remains fixated on Bo; on losing him to such a horrible death. My imagination plays vividly within me, picturing Bo and LB within the vehicle, trapped, while they slowly burnt to death within the withering flames. Once again tears explode down my cheeks as I slowly tuck my head down into the palm of my trembling hands while my mind remains stuck on Bo’s last few minutes of life captured in harsh pain, sitting waiting his slow death. And LB’s horrid death. My heart tightens in great sadness as my mind continues to picture Bo’s slow death while fear and regret rushes through me at the thought of what the future will hold, of having to go on with my own life without Bo, perhaps Daisy and Luke. All due to the same group of people, the same group of people that continues to walk free to do more harm while Luke remains imprisoned by the law, Daisy remains in her coma, and while Bo suffered to death due to them.

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by: Marty Chrisman

Jesse Duke was in the barn feeding the animals when he saw the sheriff’s car pull into the driveway behind the house. Sitting down his bucket of feed, he walked out of the barn and into the barnyard to see what Roscoe wanted this time. Jesse was in his early sixties but still had a spring in his step and a twinkle in his eye. He had shaggy white hair, a full white beard and a deeply lined weather-beaten face.

His niece, Daisy, was hanging up laundry on the line. She stopped when she saw Roscoe’s car and joined Jesse to find out what the sheriff wanted. He better not be looking for the boys to try and pin one of his trumped up charges on ‘em againshe thought to herself as she watched Roscoe climbing out of his car.

“What do you want this time, Roscoe?” Jesse growled, not in much of mood to be sociable.

“Jesse…I…” Roscoe stammered, taking off his hat and holding it in his hands.

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by: Kristy Duke

“So, that’s it?” I slowly speak up to break the silence that had began to build up in the small muggy room. Anger quickly washes through me as I glare across the room at the muscular sandy brown haired man whose creamy blue eyes throw daggers through me. “You think Luke is your killer, so you won’t even consider looking for another suspect?”

Sergeant FBI Agent Frank Mills lets out a long audible sigh of frustration as he glares down at the wooden flooring of the small room, of where they have been located at for the past few weeks. “I don’t know what else you expect us to do, Bo,” he slowly speaks up before glancing back up at me, his hardened eyes seem to soften a bit, “we got your statement, Luke’s knife in my agent’s chest, his wallet in his car he had been runnin’ shine in, and his pocket watch. Whether you want to admit it or not, Luke is a trained killer and has killed several times before at war. Once you killed someone, it becomes easier to kill, especially when anger has the better part of you.”

Silence slowly rebuilds in the small room as he slowly turns around to glare out the small window that displays the towns square a block away as well as a few neighboring buildings. “Bo,” a thickly southern accented voice slices through the thick silence to avert my attention to the head of the room, where Atlanta’s district attorney stands, “of all the information we have gathered around here, we understand how close you were. . .I mean are with Luke, how you look up to him. But this is murder we are talking about, cold blooded murder. Murder of an FBI agent…a damn good agent and a damn good man.”

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by: Marty Chrisman

            It was a bright summer day in Hazzard County. The birds were singing, the sun was shining and the Duke boys were tooling around in their modified stock car, The General Lee. The General was as well known in Hazzard County as the boys were. You definitely couldn’t miss it. With its bright orange paint job, the big black 01 trimmed in white on both doors and the colorful rebel flag painted on the roof with the name The General Lee painted above each door. It was the fastest car in three counties and some folks even claimed that it was half human. And the Duke boys were the best drivers around. Put either one of them behind the wheel and you didn’t have a prayer of catching them or the General Lee.

Bo had just hit Old Mountain Trail when a Hazzard County Police Cruiser pulled out from behind some trees with the siren blaring and the lights flashing.

“Dang it. There’s Roscoe.” Bo Duke said in an annoyed voice, glancing in his rear view mirror “Where the heck did he come from?” Bo was the youngest of three cousins who lived on a farm in Hazzard County with their Uncle Jessie. With his blonde hair and baby blue eyes, he had more girlfriends than he could shake a stick at. And he was having the time of his life being young and single in Hazzard County.

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