Setting: Old West
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
As they crested the hill, they paused, letting the exhausted horses rest a minute. Wordlessly, they moved over, two sets of eyes stunned into silence. At first glance, it appeared maybe not so bad, the end cars were intact. They jogged across the top of the hill aways, until the road turned. Then they saw the carnage.
"Sweet Jesus!" Nathan choked, eyes narrowing in anguish.
Several coaches were driven into each other, spilling their human cargo haphazardly onto the ground. Two fires burned nearby, from the coal car, giving the accident scene an eerie glow. Jagged bursts of metal, flying glass and split beams of wood lie amidst the bodies, looking like a macbre broken child's toy. One poor soul was cut in half, only his lower body was visible. The choking scent of burning flesh was carried on the night air, along with the smoke from the charred wreck. Screams of the injured and dying were heard, along with moans, weeping and shouts for help. Nathan bowed his head in prayer, thinking of his missing friends. "Lord, keep 'em in the hollow of yuh hand ... " he paused a few more seconds, then returned to his horse. He mounted and turned back, but the man in black had yet to move or utter a sound. He grabbed the reins of Chris's black steed and rode forward. The profile was a caustic mixture of bitter anger, deep-seeded pain and genuine shock. The green ice were wide and hard, edged in danger. "Chris?"
He heard his partner, but didn't turn at first. He still couldn't believe it. The smell was real enough, bringing back memories he thought long dead on a battlefield far away. The cries for help were real too. Broken bodies, too many of them, lie scattered in pieces below. He knew what they would find. Headless torsos, mangled limbs and stunned, grieving relatives for which no words of comfort would be enough. But more than anything else, he feared for the three faces of his friends. He did a quick calcuation and hoped maybe, that they would have been in the dining car and spared. Vin would have been outside, if possible, not liking trains to begin with. Most likely, he'd be heading up the rescue effort. He saw bodies moving below and heard a deep voice giving orders. His head turned and he saw movement from the west, horses maybe? A town? He heard Nathan again and felt a hand on his back. "Yeah," he said simply, not ready for words, for there were none. He mounted in silence and rode into Hell.
By the time he reached the boat on the river, the battered soldier was spent. He collapsed on deck, feeling someone lift him. He made no sound, grabbing the canteen and chugging it greedily. He felt someone tugging the sticky cloth from his arm and finally opened his eyes. He saw Dixon approaching and he wasn't happy.
"What the the hell happened to you?"
"The big guy with the mustache ... tailed me ... jumped me." Brad coughed, wincing and hissing as whiskey was poured on the wound.
"Wilmington," Dixon recalled, "Where is he?"
"Dead." Garrett replied, "I shoved my knife in him, just as the train blew. He's downstream somewhere. "Where is it?" He eyed the spot on the boat where the silver should be stacked.
"Already in California," the senior officer stated simply. "I'd guess ... "
"What?" Garrett's head flew up. "What do you mean?"
"We were set up. I'm guessing the President and Kent dreamed this up. They didn't tell anyone, hoping they'd catch us. They still might, we have to move quickly. The bullet?"
"Went right through," Garrett replied, flexing his arm as a bandage was applied. "What now?"
"Now we go home," the other answered, "Remaining here is suicide. By now, Larabee, Travis and Reinhardt will be arriving at the train."
"Weren't they supposed to ride the other way? What about the signal?"
"There wasn't any ... no matter, we have plenty. These rifles are the very best, an unexpected surprise. I don't want to be here when that brooding gunslinger finds what's left of his friends in that wreck. Let's go, Manual, Diego ... " He signaled the men, who got the boat moving.
"He's dead then?" Garrett's eyes gleamed in the moonlight, thinking of the agony he'd seen on Vin Tanner's face.
"Who?" Dixon asked, lighting a cigar. He handed one to his partner and then led him below. A meal was set out, complete with brandy.
"Tanner," Garrett replied, spearing a piece of ham.
"He looked it, I didn't check that well. He was kept prisoner in the silver car, it was damaged in the blast. Don't let this get personal, Brad, we can't afford one mistake."
Garrett said nothing, but vowed to get his revenge. If Tanner was hurt badly, he'd be in Fullerton awhile. It wasn't that far from the border. He buttered a biscuit and took a long drink of brandy. He'd bide his time and take care of unfinished business later. Hooper came quickly, where the horses were waiting. The rifles were loaded into false-bottomed wagons, covered with books, supplies and mining tools. Then, they began the road to San Paulo.
"Who's in charge?" Larabee asked, riding into a cluster of soldiers and farmers. A bald soldier stepped forward, "I'd guess that's me, I'm Sargeant Dixon."
"What happened?" Nate slid off his horse, immediately assessing the large number of injured.
"Somebody blew up the track, just as the first two cars went over. They all died ... some not so easy. Poor bastards were burning alive ... " he took a steadying breath and continued, "The sheriff's been alerted, he's wiring the neighboring towns for help. We got word to Fort Carlisle, they're sending tents, blankets and cots. We're using the wagons, these farmers donated, to take the bodies that are able to be moved to the church. The undertaker is lining up boxes in the yard up there. Uh ... there's a large spread of ground near the river. We got some cots and blankets over there, with injured folks. These people have been wonderful," he nodded to the gathering of poor farmers, who'd already brought all they had. Wagons full of food, bandages, cider, coffee and many other supplies were waiting. Women were at tables, setting up for a long night and many hungry workers. We only got three doctors, two on the train and one from town. It's not enough ... "
"Yuh got more help now," Nate stepped forward, seeing men carrying bodies to the designated treating area. He started forward, then remembered their missing friends. "Our friends, Tanner, Standish and Wilmington?"
"I ain't seen that big fella, he was in a state of mind, madder than the devil with no fiddle." Miller related.
"Why?" Chris finally spoke, his eyes going to Badger and Wallace, who were practically smirking. He moved in a flash, one steely arm gripping Badger's throat and slamming his hard against the side of the wagon. "That funny to you? People hurt and dead? Is it?"
"No!" Badger gasped, the irate eyes scalding him.
"Then you best open that hole of yours and talk to me!" Chris gritted through clenched teeth. "Why was Buck upset?"
" ... 'cause that hot-headed injun-lover tried to kill one of our men, we had to put him down."
"What?" Chris's face screwed up in contempt. The words 'put him down' skewered a hole inside. "You best make peace with your creator," he whispered in the cowering man's ear. "'cause if one hair on Vin Tanner's head is out of place and you were involved, that fat ass of yours will be taking a spot in the stone garden in town."
"He almost killed that boy."
Nathan stepped forward as a man with reddish hair and a cut on his face stepped forward. "I'm Doctor Miles Smith, I treated your friend."
"How bad?" Chris asked, without relinquishing his hold.
"Larabee, let him go," Miller suggested, an exercise in futility. "There were several witnesses. Tanner attacked a soldier unprovoked."
"That's not true," The doctor shook his head. "We have yet to get his side. I met that young man outside before he was brutally beaten. I was quite impressed with him. You have yet to produce this victim he attacked. He was unarmed, on his knees and already hurt when that animal used the rifle on his head. It was beyond unnecessary, it was brutality and bigotry at it's worst."
"Is that right?" the gunslinger's eyes turned to flint and Badger's bladder erupted. "You beat my friend in the head, when he was already on the ground?"
"He pulled a knife on that guy, he was going to kill him," Wallace interrupted. "We had to put him down."
"He's a man, not a dog and if you say that one more time, I'll put you the fuck down!" Chris snapped.
"Let him go, Chris, we gotta find Vin." Nate said quietly, his stomach turning, "Come on ... "
"Know this, you yellow-bellied son-of-a-bitch," Chris said quietly, leaning in close, "I keep my promises." With that he released the urine-tinted man and strode to where the doctor was standing.
"How bad was Vin hurt?" He asked, his eyes going to the bodies being carried out.
"He shouldn't have been moved. I told that officer ... uh ... Dixon ... to clear the dining car and leave him in there. I wanted to stay with him and tend to him. He turned me down and took that boy away, said he was a prisoner."
"Prisoner!" Nate turned to Miller, "Where is he? Where's Ezra?"
"With Tanner," he flinched, watching Larabee's icy eyes narrow. "he offered to stay, he didn't have to. The Colonel made it clear Tanner was the prisoner and needed to be locked up."
"He was severely injured, unconscious and bleeding badly. He was in no position to offer a threat." The doctor raged.
"Easy, Doc," Chris put his black gloved hand out on the other man's chest. He turned to the quivering commander. "Where's Vin and where's Dixon. I want to talk to him."
"I'll bet ... " Nate muttered, knowing the seething rage that boiled beneath the collection of black thread.
"The Colonel, he uh ... uh ... ordered Tanner to the silver car. I don't know where he went. The fancy talker went with him to look after him. It's got a number ten on the side."
"What about Buck?" Nate saw the color leave Larabee's face when he realized the car in question was not visible anymore. It was down the side of the overpass, where the smoke and carnage were at it's worst.
"I don't know," Miller shrugged.
"He was looking for the blond soldier, I heard him asking passengers about him," a young private offered.
"What blond soldier?" Chris turned to the nervous young man. "Relax, Kid, I'm not going to shoot you."
"Sorry, Sir, but you're awfully riled up." He swallowed and turned to his silent friend, "Dennis, ain't that the guy who took off ... "
"Yeah," the other one nodded. "We saw that blond guy come on the train after the water stop. He saw your friend from behind and smiled, like he knew him, you know?"
" ... and ... " Nate asked.
"That's all I saw. Later, Kenny seen him asking folks about that blond guy. He was really mad."
"Livid," The doctor replied, "and with good reason. He was shaken to the core, seeing that boy beaten. For a moment, we feared him dead."
"Come on Chris, we'll ask around, I want to find Vin." Nate urged, taking a lantern from the nearest wagon and lighting it.
"What are the figures?" General Reinhardt rode up, seeing the cluster of blue uniforms.
"Twelve dead," the Sargeant spoke, "that is, of the bodies we've located so far. There are close to fifty injured, about twenty of them badly. We need doctors, surgeons, medicine, bandages ... "
"Miller, come with me, I want a full report."
Chris and Nate moved quickly to the side of the road. A dozen men were using ropes attached to pulleys above to move the twisted metal and wood. They slipped by them, heading for the pile of smashed cars.
"There!" Nate called out, holding up a lantern. He skidded by his friend, seeing the gold number on the side. "VIN ... EZRA ... VIN!" He flew to the gaping hole in the side and stepped through holding up the light. He saw Ezra first, two dull green eyes stared at him, without blinking. "Ezra! How bad are you hurt? How's Vin?" He dropped to space between them, smiling in relief, when his shaking brown hand found a pulse on the silent tracker's neck. "He's alive Chris!" He let out a long breath, dropped his head and said a quick prayer.
Chris heard Nate, just as he stepped inside the car. Standish looked awful. He was a pale and not aware they were with him. He couldn't see Vin, a blanket covered most of him. Then he saw a slash of pink tinted black by soot. It was at his chest level. Frowning, he touched it and found skin. "What the fuck?" he hissed in horror, when he realized the pink thing in his hand was Vin's naked foot.
"Christ!" Nate jumped when the gun went off. "Why didn't yuh warn me!" He turned and saw the look of absolute horror and cold hatred in the green eyes, the black glove held the remnants of the manacle. Vin's leg hit the ground with a dull thump.
"Nathan?" Chris dropped to Vin's side, pulling off the blanket. Dark maroon stains covered the filthy bandage on his head. His skin was pale and he was cold to the touch. Chris pulled his glove off, needing to feel Vin to be sure. His hand jerked back, when it came in contact with the clammy skin. "He's cold."
"He's in shock, Ezra too. They need cleanin', tendin' and get warmed up." He turned to the southerner, whose hand was locked onto Vin's shirt. "Ez, give 'im up, I got him. Ez, let go ... shit ... " he sighed, snapping his fingers in front of the muddled, jade eyes.
"Move," Chris slid past the healer and and reached into the gambler's pocket, where his money belt was hidden. The arm moved and the derringer came up, at the same time the eyes blinked.
"Mis..tah ... Lara..bee?"
"You okay, Ezra?" Chris asked, seeing only one arm working. "Put away your peashooter!"
"I'm afraid our valiant tracker has been injured." The voice was faraway and the eyes still distant. "They beat him ... Mister ... Chris?"
"Yeah, Ezra, I'm still here." He reassured, the confused stare, "Can you stand?"
"I think not," Ezra spoke slowly, shaking his head. He reached out and felt the muscle under the black arm on the wall next to his head. "You are real ... ly ... here? I thought ... I ... didn't know ... "
"It's alright, Ezra," Nathan smiled, handing Chris a silver flask. "His coat was under Vin's head, that was inside."
"Here," Chris ordered, handing the flask to the injured man. He saw Ezra wince several times and noted how stiffly he was sitting. "How about we get you outside? Nate can check you out?"
"Vin is injured," Standish maintained.
"Yeah, we know. Yuh took real good care of 'im." The ex-union medic attested.
"What happened Ezra?" Chris asked, holding Vin upright and supporting him from behind, as Jackson checked his legs, arms and chest. The silent sharpshooter remained sleeping, resting against the strong chest.
"I'm sorry for not being coherent when you arrived," the recovered man blushed. "I was to remain alert ... "
"Christ, Ezra, it's us," Chris grimaced, "Who the hell are you sorry to?"
"Thank you," the southerner warmed, still overwhelmed to find them here. "There was a blond soldier with piercing blue eyes, a pretty boy, you would say. He was behind Vin, said something to him, for his ears only." He stopped, his eyes filled as he recalled Vin's painful testimony.
"He told yuh?" Nate guessed, seeing the other man swallow hard. "His ribs are broken, Chris, nuthin' else."
"Other than his head!" The blond snapped, only slightly comforted by the tracker's warm breath hitting his arm. "Vin had history with the blond guy?"
"He did, the vile creature's name is Garrett." Ezra paused again, killed the remainder of the bourbon and eyed his unconscious friend. "He was the animal ... in the village when Vin was a youth ... "
"Shit!" Chris hissed, still seeing Vin's painful recollection and how scarred he remained.
"I'm afraid it gets worse, the young lady in question, was Vin's adopted sister."
"Oh my God," Nathan's shoulders slumped as he held the limp Texan's hand. "I'm sorry, Vin," he added quietly, taking the pulse. "He's not good, Chris, I gotta get him warmed up."
"Buck?" Ezra said, head snapping up, "Is he with you, perchance?"
"No, do you know where he is?" Chris asked, easing Vin forward toward the tall healer, who supported him. He gently folded Vin over Nate's shoulder, then turned to Ezra.
"He took off after that beast. He was quite upset. He overheard Garrett in the depot at the water stop. He wired a 'red dog' in San Paulo, stating that a 'gray wolf and the pack' would be on time."
"Sounds like we found our rat," Chris shook his head in disgust, "Let's go Ezra, you're next."
"I am unable to move."
"You can't stay here!" Chris was impatient now, needing to find Buck. He bent down and tugged at Standish, not hearing Nate's cross voice, which was drowned out by Ezra's scream.
"Leave him!" Nate screamed, "His back's hurt, didn't yuh hear him? I'll get Vin settled. Yuh stay with him in here."
"Jesus, Ezra, I'm sorry," Chris dropped down, not sure how to help. The fine features of the handsome gambler were locked in pain. Sweat poured down his face. Chris pulled out his kerchief and offered it over.
"Here, you're sweating like a bull,"
"A gentlemen ... never ... sweats ... " Standish clenched over the roaring fire in his back.
"Like I said, " Chris grinned, sat down and pulled up a bottle of whiskey that was on the floor. "You're sweating," he took a swig and handed it over.
"After the explosion, Dixon arrived, looking for the silver."
"Dixon!" Chris sneered, "Wonder how many rats we're gonna catch?"
"There was no silver and he was quite upset. They took the rifles and left to meet a boat. From there they were journeying to Hooper to take the long road to Mexico."
"No silver?" Chris took and walked across the car, stepping over broken glass and rubble. He dropped down, picking up a handful of rocks. He crushed one in his glove, his green eyes glowing like coals. "Cannon fodder ... those fuckers used us like a cheap whore."
"Nicely stated," Ezra agreed, taking a piece of mint and examining it carefully, before eating it. He saw Chris studying him with a strange look. "Mister Tanner bequeathed these to me. His prized chocolates." He sighed again, carefully folding the tattered bag and staring at it. "It was all he had ... he gave them to me. He spent his last few bits of silver on these before we left. He said he was saving them ... "
"I'll bet he didn't fork over one stinkin' piece of silver," Larabee heard voices and two soldiers appeared in the opening, bearing a stretcher. He knelt next to the dazed, pained conman. "Two blushes, a shrug, that shit-eatin' grin and a couple Ma'ams, I'd say." He tried to take the paper sack, only to be repelled by an irate, indignant southern voice "He gave them to me!"
"Well then put them away before the roll all over the damn floor!" Chris growled, rose and shook his head. "Goddamn, sorry-assed, blue-eyed devil." He picked up Vin's coat and held onto it, before climbing outside. He heard Ezra cry out in pain and almost charged back inside. Then he saw them talking to the injured man, before easing him onto the canvas stetcher. As Ezra was carried past him, the wind kicked up, sending the sickening sweet smell passed him. His mind formed a picture of Buck, laughing and grinning a beer in one hand and a woman in the other. A pain formed in his chest as another image came. Of Buck's body severed in the wreckage, impaled to a piece of iron, burned alive in the first car or blown to pieces. He dropped his head, took his hat off and wiped the sweat clinging to his hair and face.
"Where are you, Buck?" he whispered, crushed his hat to his chest and took a deep breath, before following the stretcher.
The nearly deserted infirmary got smaller with every step the dusty boots took. The motion was the same. Front, side, back side ... covering the room in a precise pattern. At the end of the square, he'd pause, twirl his bowler hat on his hand, blow out an air of frustration and begin to pace again. As he covered the room, the short words in the wire danced in his head. Train blown up and robbed near Fullerton. Send help to the river. It had been hours without an update. Was Buck alive? What about Ezra and Vin? If one of them were guarding the silver ... they could have been hurt or worse. He reverie was cut short by an irate, unsteady and weary voice.
"You ponder any 'quieter' and I'm gonna have to shoot you, Boy."
"Josiah!" he blurted, a guilty wash on his face. He'd been waiting for hours for the preacher to rouse. He moved across the room and poured a mug of water for the injured man. "You should be resting."
" ... was trying to do just that. Some fool let the whole calvary march around the room ... over and over again."
"Sorry," J.D. flushed, sat down and eyed the strain on the older man's face. "You hungry?"
"It the Pope a Catholic?" He eased his large frame upright, resting against the back of the small bed. He rested his eyes, winced against the pain raging in his shoulder and jerked again as the door slammed.
"Sorry!" J.D. repeated, setting a tray down in front of the eldest. "It's chicken stew and apple pie and some kind of herbal tea." He paused, as the smokey gray eyes rose to study his face. The free hand came up, fingers wiggling. "I feel the need for a libation."
"You sound like Ezra," J.D. shook his head, "Sorry, I don't have any." He watched the hand make several trips from the bowl to the mouth. "Speaking of Ezra ... this wire came a few hours ago." He propped it up against the tea mug and waited.
"Nothing since?" Josiah asked, having witnessed a wreck and all too familiar with the gory results.
"No ... " He jumped up, pacing the room again, while raking a hand through his dark hair.
" ... that why you're wearing a rut in that floor?" he asked, resuming his meal.
"How can you be so calm!" Dunne accused, "That's Vin, Buck and Ezra..they could be dead!"
" ... and getting hysterical won't bring them back. It's too dark to leave now. All them miles you put on your boots must have you worn down by now. You get to sleep, we'll leave at first light."
"We!" J.D. shook his head. "You can't go ... Nathan will kill me. I promised him I'd take care of you. You're older and wiser. What kind of advice is that?"
"Divine Intervention," Sanchez grinned wearily, sliding the pie over "Go get some milk and finish this. I only got one arm working and if you keel off a horse in the middle of the desert, I'm gonna have to leave you behind."
"This is just great!" Dunne muttered, walking over to the mess area, where the food was kept. "Either way I lose." He poured a large mug of milk and returned to the infirmary. He settled down, put a fork into the pie and shook his head. "Sometimes, Josiah, it stinks being the youngest."
"I wouldn't know, Son," the graying man laughed, ruffled the boy's dark locks and eased his aching body back down. "I don't have any working parts that are young. Turn that lamp down when you're done. It'll help me get to sleep faster, before you start snoring."
"I don't snore!" the embarrased youth blurted, eyes flaming when the other man raised on eyebrow and grinned rakishly. "Well, I don't ... just ask ... ask ... " he thrust his chest out bravely, his voice was as smug as the chin jutting out. "You just ask Camille, she'll tell you."
"Camille?" Josiah's somber deep voice matched his stoic face.
"She's a friend," J.D. returned.
"Must be a good one, if she can't hear you snoring." He saw the boy's face flood with color and nodded wisely. "Oh ... .she's that kind of friend." He waited, eased his body down and let his eyes shut. "You must be the 'Boston Bullet' she mentioned."
"Bullet?" J.D. frowned, realizing what the straight-faced teaser meant. "Very funny, Preacher. Ha ha ... " He sat on the cot next to Josiah, took his boots and coat off and turned the lamp down. Then he laid back, arms folded behind his head. "Just for the record, I did okay. She even said so ... "
"Not to worry, Son," Sanchez goaded, "Your secret is safe with me." He closed his eyes and tried to fall back to sleep. The tea was strong and he felt himself falling off. Just as the sandman dusted his face, the troubled voice interrupted.
"What if they're dead?"
"What if they are?" The wise man replied.
"I can't think of what it would be like without them. I don't know if I could stay in town ... I'd keep seeing the spots where they should be. Vin sipping coffee at sunrise in the rocker by the Clarion, Ezra tipping his hat every morning and seeing that stupid gold tooth ... Buck ... " he choked off the rest. Life without Buck?
"That's the chance we take every day out here J.D." He added, yawning as the drugged tea took hold. "These western territories are wild. Every time you step into the saloon, or ride out with a posse ... might be your last."
"Yeah, but ... somehow this feels different. It wouldn't be the same without Buck, Ezra or Vin. Vin owes me ten dollars ... " He heard Josiah chuckle and cursed quietly, " I didn't mean that ... it slipped out."
"I know, J.D." He closed his eyes. "It wouldn't be the same without you either. This band of brothers we've come to embrace strengthens us each individually and together creates a rather formidible force. I've learned a lot from each one of you. That growth, those daily lessons, the laughter and the tears, is what sets us apart. You can't live your life wrapped in cotton tucked in a box, safe and sound."
"I couldn't go back East, now," Dunne admitted, "It's in my blood, the taste of it ... smell of it ... " he exuded of his new life in the wild frontier town. "I couldn't live without it ... "
"You talkin' about us or Miss Camille?"
"Shup up, Josiah!" he laughed, rolling onto his side. "Goodnight, Preacher ... and thanks."
"Goodnight Young Master Bullet," he chided, "and your welcome."
A few minutes of silence settled into the room, before J.D.'s voice rose in the dark.
"Josiah, you were just kidding, right?" He asked, "She didn't really say that ... did she. God what if she tells Buck ... " he worried, eyeing the bulky figure in the dark. "Josah? Josiah?" Although he couldn't swear to it and it was possible the injured man was asleep, somewhere in the darkness he envisioned the large man grinning evilly.
Raking his cool green eyes across the rubble, the leader felt his chest clench. Unconsciously, he scutinzined every severed limb littered on the ground. He wondered about the corpses already headed to the churchyard. He shook his head, trying to get Buck's warm, contagious laugh out of his ears.
"Damn you, Wilmington!" He whispered on the wind, eyeing the starfield above. He walked ahead, saw Nathan speaking to a weary man with a Bible and strode over.
"I'm Reverend Jacob Foster," he shook the offered hand.
"What's the setup?" Nate asked, "I'm Nathan Jackson, I can help."
"Are you a doctor?" The other man said in surprise.
"No, Sir," he shook his head, "I was assigned to one during the war, I learned a lot then and afterwards. I can set bones, dig out bullets and stuff, tend to fevers, draw out infections, do stitchin' ... "
"Can you treat burns?"
"Yes, Sir, I sure can,"
"Praise God!" The older man sighed, "I'm afraid it will be hours before more help arrives. That group over there, poor souls, are dying. They are injured too grievously to be helped. We gave them what little morphine Doctor Wesley from town had on hand. He's the tall man, with the gray hair," he pointed to a man doing surgery on a wooden table. "The young man with the dark hair was on the train, he's a doctor from St. Louis, Charles London. There is a surgeon ... red hair ... "
"Miles Smith," Chris recalled, "we met him ... "
"He's a skilled man, and has the unfortunate task of cutting several men free. Their limbs are crushed and in order to remove them from the wreckage, amputation is necessary."
"Sweet Jesus!" Nate shuddered, "What can I do?"
"As I said, those poor souls are in God's hands, I'm tending to them with my wife. The two doctors have tables set up from the dining car. Unfortunately, there are too many waiting for surgery. That area," he held out his hand, "are those not requiring operations. They need stitches, bones set, some are unconscious, most have burns and are in alot of pain." He paused to take a breath, "Once they are treated and stable, we have wagons to take them to town. As luck would have it, we had a hotel shut down a few weeks back. It's being readied for their arrival."
"Chris," Nate was torn, he wanted to find Buck but felt he was needed here as well.
"Go on, Nate, they need you. I'll find Buck."
"Where do you want him, Doc?" a young man bearing the end of Standish's stretcher asked Nate. He pointed to the empty cot next to Vin. A large, crude tent, made of sheets and linens tied together was strung over a cluster of trees. Several cots were lined up beneath. One pale Texan was sleeping on the end. "I'll be right over, Mister Foster," Nate nodded, "I need to check on my friends first."
"It's Jacob and Thank You, Nathan!"
Chris followed Nate to the cot, immediately hovering over Vin. "How is he?"
"Unconscious." The other replied, cleaning Ezra's face. A small cut on the top of his forehead was cleaned. It wouldn't require any stitches. The shoulder was dislocated and he shoved it back in place. "Gimme a hand here ... Chris!" he called out, snapping the green eyes from their daze. "Hold Ezra up, I want to get his shirt off." He waited until the body was on the other side of the cot, supporting the now unconscious man. His gifted fingers ran alone the other man's spine, from the neck to the tail. "Don't feel like it's broke ... let's give a ... "
"Nate?" Chris shifted Ezra, elicting a small moan, when the other man fell silent. "What is it?"
"Take a look!" Nate said quietly, easing Ezra onto his belly.
"Damn!" the blond's lip curled up, spotting a mass of purple, black and red bruising that covered the entire mass of the other's back. He watched Nate's fingers moving carefully along every inch of the marred flesh. "Can I help?"
"See if yuh can find some hot water ... and towels ... that'll take the pain away. I got some laudenum t'give 'im when he rouses. He's all twisted up under here, feels likes he pulled his muscles but good. He's gonna be sore as hell. Won't be walkin' much. I think he might have a concussion too." He tossed the shirt, vest and jacket to the side, the paper sack fell out.
"Christ, whatever you do, don't lose his damn chocolate." He stuffed the bag in the scarlett jacket. The lantern that Nate had was on a tree stump next to Vin's cot. He returned carefully carrying a bucket of hot water, with a long piece of linen cloth inside. Ezra was on his belly, covered to the neck with a blanket. Chris saw Nate over further, treating a child covered in burns. For a moment, the tiny cries in the night brought back memories of his own child suffering. He flinched, released a shuddering breath and sat the bucket down. Gingerly, he peeled the blanket back and set the hot, wet cloth on the injured man's back. The green eyes shot open and a moan of pleasure escaped.
"There is a God in heaven ... " Ezra oozed, soaking up the warmth. The hot liquid embraced his tender flesh like a lusty lover. The great roar in his left arm was much duller now, no doubt the healer's quick wrist fixed that. He tested his legs, grateful that they moved, despite the pain in his back. He glanced past the black clothed leg by his face, to see a hint of Texan's profile. Beneath the bulky, clean head bandage, the fine features were very pale and much to still. "Vin?" he whispered, trying to see a sign of something written in the leader's tense face.
"Nothing yet," Chris said, holding up a cup of water. "Here," he held up the damp, chesnut head and supported it, so the injured southerner could drink.
"It's water," Ezra's face crinkled a moment, after he drank.
Chris laughed and took the towel, quickly dunking it in the hot water again, wringing it out and placing it on bruised back. "Nate don't think you broke anything, just twisted up muscles. Careful of the arm, he shoved it back in place. You banged your head, so you stay put."
"What is that smell?" Ezra's nose turned up.
"Death," Chris whispered in the acrid breeze, eyeing the horror beyond the hill.
"That's funny, I would have wagered it was vomit."
"Huh?" The leader blinked and heard gagging. "Shit, Vin!" He moved quickly, turning the choking man over his arm and over the cot in one fluid motion. "Easy Vin ... you're okay."
Somewhere above the axe in his skull and the pain in his stomach was a voice. Between the spasms and praying for God to take him, he tried to hear the voice. Throwing up was bad enough, but the fire from the broken ribs and the slamming of the axe in his brain, made it unbearable. Following the agony of dry heaves, he panted for what seemed like forever. He was hot, hurting like hell and nearly upside down. He struggled weakly, as a hand with a cloth covered his face, givings orders. He complied and continued to wiggle weakly. The nightmare came back, full of blue soldiers.
" ... get m'gun ... warnin' ya ... devils ... let ... me ... up ... "
Chris's small laugh was born out of need. The need to hear that crusty voice. The need to know Vin was going to live. The need to feel the old wound inside remain healed. He eased the angry Texan upright, catching a wavering fist as it went airborne.
"Cut that out!" he warned, gripping Vin across the chest from behind and offering a canteen with his free hand. "Rinse and then drink."
"I ain't no child t'be ordered 'round." Vin hissed in a daze. "Get offa me ... where the hell am I? Where's m'gun ... "
"Don't make me shoot you, Tanner, I've had a bitch of a day!"
Vin opened his mouth to protest and was about to shut it, when the canteen was shoved between his lips. He took a drink, half swallowed it and realized who was speaking to him. The canteen shot out his mouth too fast, causing the axe in his skull to jump up and down. He pushed backward, trying to escape the pain and hit a wall of muscle. He felt the hand on his chest ease up and the other clamp on his shoulder. The voice came back, but this time he welcomed it. He snaked a hand up covering the arm on his chest. It wasn't his best grip, but he gave it all he had. He gasped for several minutes, until the worst wave subsided. The swirling ground stopped flying past him and his stomach quit twisting around.
"Better?" Chris asked, feeling the stiffening body begin to relax. The mangled head dipped once, but the hand remained locked on his arm. "You scared the shit outta me, Vin. I figure that's good for at least one bottle."
Vin managed half a smile at the tightness in the voice and found his own. "Ya figgered wrong ... ya cheap bastard ... " Through the blurry copse of trees, he saw cots, bodies and heard cries of pain. He frowned, trying to place where he was. "What's goin' on?"
"We're by the river, several miles outside Fullerton," Chris said, easing his arm from Vin's grasp and moving to replace the cold towel on Ezra's back. "Dixon and Garrett and maybe some others, we don't know yet, blew up the train. There was no silver, the safe was empty."
Vin didn't hear anything after the word Garrett. The blond's leering face retuned, grinning at him in animalistic delight as he tortured his sister. His whole body trembled in fury, his fists curled up and he tried to stand, only to land on his hands and knees. A string of furious curses was followed by a set of arms hauling him back on the cot.
" ... let me ... go ... git outta m'way ... I'm gonna find that bastard ... send him t'hell ... ya ain't stoppin' me and ... and ... neither is them fuckin' bluebellies ... I'm goin' ... "
"No, you're not!" Chris said in a voice so slow, low and precise, it halted every word on the tracker's irate tongue. He turned his face up, meeting the clear, intense green stare of the man kneeling in front of him. "You're gonna keep your ungrateful ass on this cot until Nathan or one of the other doctor's releases you. You're gonna take every order, every drop of medicine and eat whatever they give you. You give Nathan as much as one wrong look, I'll make you pay."
"Chris, ya can't tell me what t'do ... " Vin started to whisper, only to be cut off.
"Shut up and listen!" Larabee hissed, grinding all the fingers of both hands into Vin's bare shoulders. "Let me tell you about my night. I heard an explosion and raced the wind to get here, thinking I'd find bits and pieces of you three hanging from every tree. Then, we stopped on the top of hill and I hope to God you never have to see a sight like that. Heads with no bodies, legs lying loose, an arm with a hand still on the door handle ... " he paused, swallowed and took a breath. "Oh, lucky us, the wind shifted and the smell came ... of burning bodies. See those poor bastards," he jerked his head and made Vin look, "Look at them, Vin, they got no hope. They're in God's hands now. That preacher is giving them some peace before they die. Those men," he turned his head again, "have two pairs of hands and need twenty, to fix all the mangled bodies on those blankets. Then there's Doctor Smith, remember him, he spoke with you outside" he saw the head nod once, the eyes drowning in guilt "Right now, that man is inside that wreck, hacking the legs off some poor bastard whose trapped. That's what he'll be doing tonight. Then, there's Nathan Jackson, he's that tall man, over there ... "
"I know that!" Vin snapped, easily seeing the dark head over a cot.
"Shut up, I'm not done yet!" Chris raged, tired and angry and worried; all his nerves long fried. "He hasn't had any rest all day. The stage they were on got robbed, Josiah got shot ... he's fine," he answered the blue riddle in the eyes before it was airborne, "He rode through the desert to warn us then we rode here. There won't be any sleep for him tonight, he's got dozens of bodies to patch up. Stitches to sew, bones to set and burns to tend. You ever see someone burned badly Vin? Really bad, when their skin in falling off ... and they're screaming in agony? I have, it's no picnic! So, you're gonna keep your ass on this cot and not say a fuckin' word. You're gonna respect him that much. You're gonna rest and take whatever ditchwater he makes you drink. Because it's gonna be long in the day tomorrow before he gets to rest." He paused, the admiration in his voice rising as he watched the gentle healer comforting a small child. " ... and a helluva lot longer than that before he can sleep without remembering ... reliving ... " He sighed again, rubbed his damp hair and turned back to the quiet tracker. "What he doesn't need is to be sewing you back together, because you got some fool idea of riding hurt in the desert. You understand now?" Vin said nothing, just swallowed hard and nodded. Chris released him then, flinching as he saw the red marks his fingers left in the tracker's flesh. He took a swig from the canteen and offered to Vin, who took a small sip. " ... and because I can't worry about you riding off and breaking your fool neck ... when I gotta find ... find ... B ... Buck ... "
Vin's head shot up as the word quivered, wavered and nearly died on the tense Larabee lips. "Buck!" he blurted, "Aw, hell ... I'm sorry ... I didn't think ... aw, shit, not Bucklin ... "
"He's not dead!" Chris jerked back, annoyed at the inference. " ... he's ... missing. I'm going to find him. I ... Vin?" He moved, just as the slim body tilted, nearly falling off the cot. He tried to ease him back, but the tangled head shook.
"Wait ... " Vin panted, watching the gunslinger's black legs fly past several times. "I don't know ... where t'go ... head feels better down but hurts m'ribs ... wait ... gimme a minute ... "
"Okay," Chris eyed a roll of blankets nearby and left Vin long enough to get them. He placed the high roll behind the injured man, turned him gently and laid him back. This angle left him three-quarters upright and a comfortable place to rest his head. The small groan and deep breath told him he succeeded. He gave Vin's shoulder a pat and turned to go, but a hand snagged his forearm. "Ya tell Buck ... ya tell that rowdy skirt chaser ... ya tell 'im ... " Vin's voice wavered, not willing to see what Chris may find. Buck's body charred in the wreckage ... or worse ... a piece of Buck on the road.
"Yeah," Chris said roughly, seeing the agony in the Texan's features. He knew how much Vin cared for Buck Wilmington. "I'll tell him, you look after Ezra, okay? Don't let him cheat the bible off of that preacher."
"Watch yer back!" Vin said, fighting hard to stay awake. "Chris ... I'm ... sor ... "
"I already know you're a sorry-assed Texan," the other teased, as the eyes shut and the mouth fell open, letting the raspy breath out. He pulled two blankets high on Vin, covering him to the neck. He covered Ezra and let him a full canteen. Then he caught Nate's eye and jerked his head, making his intentions known. For two hours, he went through the wreck, pulling out bodies, helping move the wounded and dead, before he realized Buck wasn't there. He thought of the bodies crushed in the first two cars, already incinerated. He felt a pain in his chest, not believing that his kind-hearted friend was slowly roasted to death. He took a break and headed for the food table. He spotted a jug of cider on the nearest table and headed for it. Sitting down might have been a mistake, as fatigue gripped him hard. He leaned back against a tree, drew both knees up and rested his head against the bark. He was breathing heavy from overexertion, his muscles sore and hands raw from scrapping against torn wood, iron and glass. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as the breeze kicked up. He sensed a female presense near, the scent of cinnamon and lavender wafted by. Then a cold cloth wiped his face and it felt great. He opened his eyes, spotting a middle-aged woman with kind brown eyes.
"Thanks ... "
"You're welcome. Can I get you anything?"
"Uh ... any cider left?"
"Sure, hold on." She returned and handed him a cold mug, along with a sandwich.
"Thanks, you didn't have to go to any trouble."
"You've been working for hours, and you need your strength. It's not fancy, just some jam on poppy seed bread."
"It tastes like steak to me!" Chris grinned, "Thanks, Miss ... "
"Mrs. James Coates ... .Hannah."
"Are you from Fullerton?" He guessed, recalling the preacher speaking of the locals who arrived to help.
"No, my husband and I were on the train. Our youngest son just started college in San Francisco. We visited him, then our married son in San Diego ... they had a baby last year. " She paused, her eyes filling. "We were headed back home to Missouri ... "
"Is he helping with rescue," Chris swallowed the last half of the sandwich and took a large gulp of cider.
"No, he's dead, he was crushed." She blurted, then realized her mistake. The young man before her choked on his food. He coughed for several minutes, before jumping to his feet. "I'm sorry ... I'm sorry ... I don't know why it came out that way. I've been trying to keep busy ... pushing it away. I think ... I'm afraid to go to sleep. We married when I was seventeen. I've never awakened alone ... Oh dear ... " She finally broke, having fought the tears all night. "I'm sorry ... " She shook all over, finally surrendering into the young man's embrace. "I don't know what to do ... how to go on ... he was my life."
Chirs took a deep breath, steadied himself and finally pulled her back. He handed her the clean cloth the sandwich was wrapped in, to dry her tears. "You take it one day at a time. You keep the best of him in here," he tapped his own chest. " ... and you hug that new grandchild for all it's worth ... .and those boys of yours. He'll live on in them."
"Thank you, Mister ... " She composed herself, eyeing the handsome blond man. Something in those green eyes told her he had been down this road before.
"It's Chris, and I'm so sorry about your loss."
"I know, Son," She used the cloth to wipe away a lingering smudge of soot on his cheek. "It's written in every line of sweat on your face. We're you on the train? Did you lose someone too?"
"Three of my friends were on board," he said huskily, thinking on Buck's broad smile. "Two were hurt ... I'm still looking for the other. "
"You'll find him," she squeezed his hand and urged him to sit down. "I'll pray for his safe return. Rest now ... "
He sipped the remainder of the cider slowly, resting his eyes and wondering were to look next. But a conversation nearby caused him to wak up fast. He turned, hearing a small boy mention a familiar name.
"What did you say, Son?" he asked the tall boy, about ten.
"I wanted to know about Mister Standish, I found him." He paused, "I been askin' all the workers if they seen him. He talks funny and has a bright red coat. He was in one of the cars that went over the side."
"I'm his friend, Chris Larabee," he shook the boy's hand, "Found him when?"
"Right after the accident. Me and Matt saw it happen. We saw them bad soldiers stealing the boxes. They sure were mad when rocks fell out. They loaded stuff onto a wagon and headed out to the river. That's when I ran down the hill and peeked inside. I saw him then, Mister Standish. I saw that guy with no head. That got my stomach to jumpin'"
"I'm sure it did," the blond sympathsized. "Did you tell anybody you saw this?" Chris asked, leading the boy away from the nearby bluecoats. He was worried for the lad's safety.
"Just my Pa and the sheriff. They said not to tell nobody, until we figure it out."
"You do just that. Do you talk to Ezra?"
"Not for long, he said it wasn't safe, for me to go get my Pa and get help. I gave him the lantern, some food and water. He was awful worried about his friend. Them bad soldiers hurt him."
"I know," Chris nodded, "Ezra is going to be fine, he's over by the river, where the doctor's are. So is Vin."
"I'm glad," the boy nodded. "My and my brother watch the train come by every day. After today, I ain't so sure I want to see it come by again. It was awful hard on my eyes."
"Yeah," Chris ruffled the boy's hair, "It'll get better."
"I hope so, we thought seein' the fight was excitin' ... then to have the train blow up ... "
"Fight?" Chris paused, furrowing his sandy brows, "What fight?"
"On top of the train!" the boy gushed, eyes lit up, "You should have seen it, Mister. It sure was somethin'. First a soldier with yellow hair ran on the top of the car. Then a big guy with black hair and a long tan coat followed. They shot at each other and then wrestled and then the train blew up and they shot clear into the sky!"
"Where!" Chris said loudly, gripping the boy's shoulders.
"Near Queen's Cut ... over the river."
The river! Chris gripped the boy's shoulders and gave a solid tug. "Thanks, Son. Can you do me a favor? If you find Mister Standish, you tell him I think I know where Buck is. Okay?"
"Sure," the boy replied, washing the anxious man run to a large, black horse.
Vaulting onto the steed in one fluid motion, he took off, his defeated hopes rising again. It was a flicker, but fighting to burst into light. Maybe, just maybe, Buck Wilmington wasn't dead! He rode to the edge of the dark river and got off the horse. He peered into the night, his keen eyes adjusting to the smothering darkness. Then he saw a bulk on the otherwise flat surface. Faith shot a flame through him, urging his leaden legs to run. A part of him didn't want to recognize the coat, body and then the mustache. The body was too still ... his eyes couldn't detect the chest rising. He dropped down, laying his raw, cut and sore hand on the other man's neck.
"God ... " he jerked back, is stiff numb fingers not working. He knew every line in the stilled face. Hell, he was there when half of them were earned! But this body was cold ... too cold ... He gripped the limp hand, which was like ice.
"B ... b ... u ... c ... k ... " he whispered, almost reverently, gripping the side of the icy flesh on the rogue's neck. He drew him up, holding the body against him, clenching his eyes shut and feeling a shudder of pain rip into him. Then he got mad. "Goddammit to hell, Buck ... You and your fuckin' stories about dying nobly ... being a good looking corpse." His voice broke and his painful fingers raked through the dark head nestled on his shoulder.
" ... bet ... ter ... look..in' ... than ... y ... y..ou ... S..s ... t ... ud ... "
"Buck!" he pulled the body back and saw two slits were eyes should be. "Jesus ... " he gasped, embracing him again and sighing hard. "Christ between you and Vin, I am going be the good looking corpse."
"Vin ... " Buck fretted, recalling the bloody body he left. " ... dead ... bastards ... hurt ... im ... I ... I ... "
"No, he's alive, Ezra too." Chris laid him down and Took his duster off, covering the damp body. Buck was shivering uncontrollably now, the effects of the river, the injury and something else. Then he brushed against a bulky object in the rogue's thigh and the other man screamed in pain. "What!" he spun his eyes downward. "Oh fuck," he spotted the hilt of the knife. "I can't take that out, you'll bleed like a pig."
" ... Nate ... here ... "
"Yeah, back at the camp. They got some doctor's too and a surgeon." He eyed the horse down the road. "I have to leave you for a moment and get the horse. Okay?"
"C ... r ... is ... " Buck whispered painfully, not able to open his eyes. He wasn't dead but damn close. He knew the cold in his bones was not just from the river. "Vin ... I ... pro ... mis..ed ... him ... watch ... back ... protect ... I fucked..up. I'm sor ... ry ... " he groaned, reeling and dizzy. " ... you ... tell ... him ... "
"Like hell I will!" Chris snapped, jerking the damp collar hard. "Don't you get any ideas about checking out," he clearly heard the intent and felt the fear. He also knew death was still a very real possibility. "You tell Vin yourself." He left the wounded man only long enough to get his horse. With great difficulty and a little help from Buck, they managed to get on the horse. He held Buck's limp body against his own, feeling the life seeping away. Then he turned, kneed the sides of the great animal and rode for help.
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