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.
Author's Note: This story was written for Julie's birthday. Happy Birthday Julie!
His blinked several times, clearing the mud from his head. Daylight, bright and assertive, struck his groggy eyes hard. He turned over and tossed the blanket off, the sweat running freely from his damp chest. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and scowled as a dark-skinned face came into view.
"Afternoon"
"Huh?" Vin croaked, sitting up and shaking his head again. He just couldn't wake up. Afternoon? How could that be? The last thing he remembered was waiting up for Nate to return. It was late and he was waiting in the small kitchen in Nate's quarters. Josiah came in and made coffee for himself and hot cocoa with cream on the top. Vin recalled how sweet it was and Josiah suggesting he finish the whole thing.
"I'm gonna skin that interferin' preacher alive..."
"Ya needed the sleep," Nate Jackson countered, "...and we needed the peace..." He was standing watch over Ezra while he gargled. "I heard old ladies do better than that..." he urged, getting a bleary green-eyed glare from the patient. Actually, he was worried, Ezra was getting weaker. The Major did track down some quinine, but it would be several days before the train would be able to get nearby. Ezra might be able to fight a little longer, but Callie Johnson couldn't. Sighing, the weary healer rubbed his eyes, trying to move the shadows away. He'd stayed all night, she got sicker by the hour. He rode in after Josiah relieved him a midday. He was getting a few hours sleep, more supplies and some more herbs from Ming. Then he was headed back out to Johnsons and saying a prayer. The little girl was alive with fever and not strong enough to dispell the thick mucus covering her throat. He felt the tap on his leg and blinked himself out of his stupor. "What?"
"Spikin' m'cocoa...that's what. I needed t'talk with ya...he knew I was waitin'..."
"I just got in Vin," Nate frowned at the lack of rally in Ezra. He shook his head, gave the weak man another mug of herbal tea and covered him up. He turned back to address Vin and saw a jar on the ledge next to the tracker's cot. He lifted the jar and eyed the object floating inside. "What's this? Where'd you get this?"
"How's Callie?" Vin ignored the ex-slaves question and stood up, getting right into his face. "Why didn't ya tell me she was sick? Is she bad off? Maybe I can help..."
"Ya can help by stayin' right here and takin' care of Ezra. Ya know the Major has us in lockdown, Vin, ya can't leave for another week." He pushed the jar between them. "Where did you get this?"
"What?" Vin exasperated, needing to know about his young, blond friend. "I plucked it from Ez's throat yesterday, damn near killed him...all his air got took away. What the hell is it anyhow? I was savin' it fer ya...put it in alchohol..."
"It's a plug..." Nate's voice drifted off, "How did it happen?"
"How's Callie?" Vin countered, not giving in. He followed the healer through the narrow lane and over to his desk.
Nate saw the determined blue-eyes on the Texan bulldog and sat down hard, his shoulders slumping. "She ain't good Vin...she's too little...she ain't got enough strength to fight this. The herbal tea and salt wash are helpin' but...without Quinine..."
"Qui...what?" Vin's face screwed up.
"Quinine...it's medicine, good medicine that would help. The Major wired over to New Mexico Territory and found some. The Army dispatched it by stage but they ran into a storm and now I'm not sure when it'll come. It's stuck just east of Badger Pass."
"I know them parts...hunted in 'em long enough. I can get the medicine. Ya give me a horse...I'll be..."
"Ye'll be shot on sight, the Major won't take any chances." Nate denied, still staring at the glass. "Vin, I need ya to tell me about this...from the beginning."
"Ya seen that before?"
"Yeah...but never saw anybody alive with one...we lost a few high ranking officers in the war, from diphtheria. I saw these during autopsies. It seemed that a gray colored coat grew up the windpipe, gettin' thicker and thicker, till no air could get through. These..." he tapped the glass..."were blocking the path...stranglin' 'em from the inside like..." He eyed the somber face before him. Vin turned away, walked a few steps and gazed down at the sleeping gambler.
"Can ya tell me about it, Vin?"
"Yeah..." he sighed, raking his fingers through his tangled, dirty hair. He took the cold cider offered and sat down on a chair by the window. With few words, chosen carefully and uttered slowly, he recounted Standish's narrow escape.
The sun bid adieu long ago and the air grew cold, whipping around his aching body with a vengeance. He was slumped over on the saddle, barely able to see. The harsh coughing had just about worn him out and the pounding in his head was merciless. He was beyond exhaustion and slid from horse, falling to his knees.
"Shit..." Chris Larabee grunted as the canyon flew around him. Finally the dizziness left and he managed to make a meager campsite. This small effort took all the strength from him. He curled up next to the fire, nibbled at the leftover rabbit he'd wrapped up and winced as it painfully got past his throat. He rubbed his neck, frowning at the swelling under his jaw. He'd left the diagnosis of a cold miles back and hours before. The constant coughing, raging headache and difficulty breathing spelled trouble. He'd rest a few hours then push on, with any luck, he'd be home by morning. The scolding words from Nathan's tongue would be welcomed like prose from Keats now. He shivered, drew himself up on his elbows and coughed up more crud. Dizzy, weak and overcome by a fever-induced fatigue, he collapsed. The mighty red stallion stood watch over his new master, tossing his head fitfully.
"Damn!" Josiah squinted, eyeing the sight from the buckboard he was driving. It was just past seven a.m. and he was on his way to Johnson's place, to bring supplies, clean linens and herbs from Ming to Nathan. He eyed the crossroads and felt his gut instinct directing him away from the homestead, toward Chris Larabee's place. The buzzards that circled overhead where right where the gunslinger's shack was and it gave the preacher a bad feeling.
The weary body stretched and rose, taking his long limbs to the door. He picked up the large basin and went to the well. He eyed the new sun and saw no promise in the newborn day. He carried the water inside and poured it in the large black kettle. His dark eyes went to the herbs carefully lined up on the counter. He needed more and he needed quinine...sighing, he measured sweet gum, myrtle and willow bark into mugs and filled them with water. He sat one by Ben Johnson's bed, tapping the ill man on the shoulder. The wet dark hair clung to the fevered man's face and his blue eyes seemed unnaturally bright. He sat up and shivered, coughing into the cloth Nathan held out.
"Callie?"
"Sorry, Ben...she's failin'..."
"Oh God..." his hand waivered as he brought the steaming mug to his lips. He sipped the bitter brew and watched the tall, dark-skinned man tenderly care for his eldest child. The sassy, fireball who ruled his heart was lying lifeless on a small cot by the fireplace. Her beautiful blond hair was reduced to limp, wet strings, her fiery eyes were dull, void slits. Lifeless...something so painful he couldn't feel it...no pain...just a numbing sensation all over his body. But the burning in his soul brought tears to his eyes.
"Pa..."
"Callie!" he set the mug down and staggered to his feet, only to fall on the floor.
"Hold on..." Nate left his tiny charge and got the weakened man off the floor. He pulled him to a sitting position and then got him back into the bed. "I'll bring her over..."
"Nate?" Ben's eyes found nothing but truth in the soulful brown ones. He saw the head shake negatively and clenched his eyes shut, unwilling to accept the inevitable. Death was a part of life out here...how many times had his wife commented on the stories in the paper. Families who lost all their children to fever. How blessed they'd been. Now, he was one of the those unfortunate souls he'd read about.
"Whoa!" Sanchez pulled the team to a halt and frowned, jumping down and quickly dropping by the dead man's side. He groaned and covered his nose and mouth with his kerchief, the stench was overpowering. Whoever the poor bastard was, he'd been dead a few days. Staggering to the wagon, he grabbed a blanket and rolled the dead man inside, then carried him well away from the Larabee house. After checking inside, he'd come back to bury the Mexican man. "Lord God..." he gasped, staggering away and gagging down the bile that rose. He eyed the Red Stallion in the coral and frowned. His quickened his steps and headed for porch.
"Chris! Chris Larabee!"
The air was still and silent and he opened the door. The main room was neat and very empty. His eyes found the spot on the mantle where he'd left the note. It was gone...along with the bottle. He strode through the room.
"Chris!" He poked his head into the bedroom and found that empty as well. He rested his hands on the distressed sheets, but they were cold. Nobody had slept in the bed for a few days. He was about to go back outside and scour the grounds, when he heard a familiar sound of coughing.
"Chris?" he poked his head out the bedroom window. "Chris!"
It took mere seconds to move the large body through the house, around the porch and out back. The leader lie in the yard, nearly unconscious and wet with fever. His flush faced and slick bare chest were covered in vomit and muck. He dropped to the ill man's side and rested his hand on the burning flesh. "Damn..." He tapped the face hard, watching as two green slits appeared. A weak fist was formed and attempted to strike out. "You'd be well advised to save your strength, Brother, you've got the devil to beat. Come on...let's get you inside." He easily lifted the semi-conscious man and took him back into the shack. In less than ten minutes, he'd stripped, bathed and placed the infirmed man in his bed. He lifted the damp, blond head in one large hand and eased the mug of cold water toward the open lips. "Just a little...your throat's swollen..."
"...Nate..."
"He's at Johnson's...Callie and Ben both got what you do...Ezra too..." He replaced the cold mug with another, full of warm salt water. "I need you to wash your throat out and spit, okay?" He saw the exhausted head nod once and the blond willingly complied. Then he got more cold water.
"Josiah?" Chris lifted his aching head, barely able to make out the features in front on him. "What..sick..."
"Diphtheria." He frowned, "Didn't you get the note I left, by your whiskey?"
"No...note..." the husky voice denied, "...just...whis...k..ey..."
"When did you get back?"
"Don't...know...days?" Chris coughed, expelling as much as he could into the cloth held near. "...damn...Mexicans followed...tried to..steal...horse...killed one...chased...other...to border..."
"Chris did you meet anybody...see anybody," Josiah paused, thinking of the towns or camps on the way. "I gotta know..."
"No," the blond head shook, "Nobody...buried the bastard...came back...alone..." He paused, recalling the preacher mentioning Ezra. "Vin?"
Josiah found a small smile at the worried edge on the voice that was mirrored in the glazed green eyes. "He's fine, he's at Nate's. Well...as good as you could be quarantined with Ezra for a week." He smiled again at the half grin the patient managed.
"Dead?" Chris asked, flinching only slightly when the preacher's words confirmed what he'd suspected. This sickness he had was a potential killer.
"Not yet...but Callie's in a bad way. She's so little..."
"Damn..." Chris jerked, his body convulsing, he tried to cough to get rid of the force trying to flee his pain-filled torso, but couldn't. His eyes grew wide and both hands went to his neck. "...can't..." was all he could get out, before his airway shut off. No air...no air...suffocation...his mind flashed. He felt Josiah flip him over as if he were a child. He was suspended upside down over the broad arm and his back was whacked mercilessly. He grimaced in pain, it felt like every rib was on the verge of breaking. Then a popping sound erupted, bringing watery vomit and thick wads of mucus onto the floor. He collapsed weakly, hearing Josiah's voice and feeling a cold cloth wiping his face, then he surrendered to the blackness.
"Pa..."
"I'm right here, Sunshine..." He held the frail, blanketed body close to his chest. Her wet head hit his shoulder.
"I'm sorry about bein' an itch..."
"You're my itch and I wouldn't trade one inch of you," he vowed, kissing her forehead.
"Ma...Ma?" Her head turned. "Ma...I can't find her, Pa...where's Ma?"
"She's at Grandma's...you just rest now."
"No, she's callin' me...Can't ya hear that? It's real pretty singin'...and music and...it's beautiful, Pa. They're callin' me..."
Her voice was weak and her eyes were barely open. But they stared past both men at something only she could see. Her face broke into a smile and her arms reached out.
"No!" Ben cried, pulling her back. The body flopped like a limp rag doll as he gathered her close. "Callie...I love you...I love you, Sunshine..."
"...love...you...too...Pa...I'm not...gonna...get...to...be ...a ...lady...am...I...Pa..."
"Sure you will, Sunshine..." he pleaded, trying to will the lifeforce back into the tiny body.
"Pa...tell...Vin...I...won't...drop...the...star..."
"Please, please..." he cast his eyes, now flooding with tears, heavenward. "God...not her..." Then the body jerked as a horrid rush of coughing caused her to convulse. "Nate!"
"Give her up, Ben!" Nate pulled the slack body from the stricken father. The coughing ceased, the wheezing stopped, the limbs went limp and the eyes rolled shut.
"Noooooo!"
The raw, anguish that only a parent can feel ripped right through the soul of the healer. It bounced off the walls and echoed off the hills beyond the house. A swing moved in the breeze, the one she'd helped to build for her little brothers. The garden so carefully planted with rows of vegtables, sat waiting for her. A tiny row of nightshirts blew in the morning breeze. A single blue ribbon used to tie back her golden hair, fell from the window, sauntering down gracefully onto the earth. The air was still as the Angel of Death hovered over the porch.
Josiah was just jumping off the rig and headed for the porch, when the horrid gasp stopped him in his tracks. The choking cry was barely in the air, when he opened the door and saw Nathan's stricken face. He closed his eyes, dropped his head and said a silent prayer for the departed.
"She's gone," the dark eyes were full and the voice was shaken.
"I'm sorry, Ben..." he started, but realized the shocked father couldn't hear him. "I found Chris lyin' outside his cabin...he's bad, Nate."
"Damn!" the weary medic swore, shaking his head, "How'd he get it?"
"Near as I can tell, he rode in a few days ago, he never saw the note. Two bandits tried to steal his new horse. He killed one in the yard, took after the other. Chased him clear to the border. He's barely breathin'....I got him started after he choked up once but..."
"Yeah...yeah..." Nate realized Josiah was asking him to go to Larabee.
"I'm late already," the preacher eyed the road. "You know how jumpy them greenhorns are...We need those supplies, especially the herbs for the tea. It'll be three days before the next wagonload." He said of the supplies the Major was sending from the Fort. A pair of new sentries was delivering them to a crossroads several miles from town. They'd leave them once they saw Josiah. But the predestined time was arranged, if he wasn't there, they'd turn back. They had a schedule to keep. "I'll be right back...or I'll send Buck from town..."
"Yeah, go ahead, take my horse. I'll take your rig over to Chris's...as soon as..." Nate's face softened when he watched the anguished father, mutely rocking his child.
"Okay," Josiah replied, gripping both of Nate's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Nate." He moved past the tall man and stopped by the bed. He said another prayer, spoke quietly to Ben, but the young man never heard him. He left quickly, realizing how late he already was and rode hard towards the meeting point.
Nate shut the door and was about to gently pry the child from her father, who had broken into a coughing fit. He was lifting her back onto her cot, when he saw her pinkie move. "Callie?" Thinking of Vin's actions, he yanked her mouth open and reached far into the back of her throat. He didn't find the plug, but his actions caused her body to convulse.
"Leave...her...alone..." Ben screamed, trying to get to his daughter."Don't defile her now...she's with the Lord...What are you..."
"She ain't dead yet!" Nate hollered, dumping her chest over his arm, leaving her head dangling low and banging her back. "That's it...good girl..." he urged as the bile and mucus spilled forth, including a good-size plug. He took her outside to the well and washed her off, even managed to get her to drink a few sips of water from him. Then the eyes slowly opened, her tiny chest heaved with a supreme breathing effort. She trembled in his arms, shuddering and gasping. Two blue slits regarded him through a haze of confusion and fear.
"Easy now, Darlin'," he coaxed, lifting her up and walking back to the house. He eyed the sky and smugly grinned. "Ya come back for her in eighty years or so...okay?"
"Aw, hell..." she croaked, wiggling weakly in Nate's arms. "I pee'd myself...Pa's gonna be sore..."
"Oh no he won't," Nate laughed, walking his miracle back to her father.
"Callie...Oh Sweet Jesus..." Ben choked, rocking the squirming child. His trembling fingers touched her face, her damp hair and he didn't even try to stop the tears on his cheeks.
Nathan went back outside to clean himself off and give the father a moment of privacy. But he eyed the road to the nearby Larabee shack and sighed. Josiah was not one to exaggarate and the tone the preacher used told him Chris was in need of aid. He looked to the road to town and weighed his choices. If Josiah got to town in good time and updated Buck, the rogue should be back here inside a couple hours. He strode back to the cabin, where Callie was sleeping next to Ben, her head resting on his chest.
"I think she's breathin' better...a little bit...Nate..." the hopeful father spoke softly, stroking her wet head. "She's soaked..."
"Yeah, I'll get a clean nightshirt and a towel..." he paused, "Did ya hear Josiah earlier? Chris is real sick. He's just over the hill at his cabin."
"We'll be fine...go on..." Ben urged.
"Buck should be here anytime. I'll be back as soon as I can..."
Ten minutes later, he'd stripped the bed and placed clean linens on it. He coaxed a large mug of tea into Ben and left a smaller one for Callie. He deposited the clean and dry child and left for Chris's.
At twenty-one, Adam Upshaw had barely made his mark on the world, but his dark good looks gave him a cocky edge. He eyed Josiah's return to town and frowned at the dust cloud behind the flying wagon. He heard the preacher's deep voice gruffly addressing Buck Wilmington.
"Dammit, Dale," he complained to his older brother, who was detangling his long frame from a slumbering blonde. "I'm sick of this...being called like a dog...ordered around. We ought to bust outta here and head for the ranch," he noted of their large spread outside town.
"Yeah, Adam, that'd work," the other grunted, slapping the barebottom of the busty saloon girl and standing. "The army has orders to shoot...we lasted this long, it's only six more days."
"Might as well be sixty," Adam kicked the bedpost and grabbed his hat. "Something's up...Sanchez just came chargin' into town, he pulled Wilmington into the livery."
"Where's Jake?" the eldest asked of the youngest of the clan. The sixteen-old didn't see eye to eye with his brothers on most issues. His short temper led to more than one fight and he'd threatened to leave the ranch. Their father, Zebulon Upshaw, at sixty and four inches over six feet, was an imposing figure who ruled with an iron fist. But this wild child, the last seed of his loins, was the apple of his eye. This didn't always set well with the two older brothers.
"Hell if I know..."
"Dammit, Adam! You were supposed to keep an eye on him..."
"Hey, he's not in nappies!" the other fired back.
"No, but you will be if something happens to him...you know how Pa gets..."
"Yeah...yeah...okay..." He headed for the door.
"Hold up," Dale pulled his boots on and grabbed his gunbelt. "Let's slip around the side and see what that bible-thumper is so fired up about."
The pair stole easily out the back exit, treading quietly behind the livery, until they heard the pair inside clearly. By the time the conversation ended, Dale's mind was spinning. He jerked his head back and the pair retreated. Padding around the back of the buildings, they eased onto the boardwalk. Adam spotted his brother with the three hands they came to town with over a week ago. They were in the saloon, playing cards. He caught the eye of Yancy Bates, the burly,foreman who shared Dale's eye for trouble.
"What's up?" Bates asked Dale.
"Not here..." Upshaw replied, eyeing the shopkeepers as well as Wilmington, who seemed to be his shadow. "Ten minutes, in the alley behind the billiard hall. Bring Max," he said of the hand who detested Vin Tanner and the other peacekeepers. "Leave Gabe with the Kid, he won't go for it..."
"Gotcha!" the balding man nodded, before crossing the street.
"They're up to something," Buck tensed, as the two elder Upshaw brothers leered at him openly from across the street. "I can smell them...dammit...."
"Can't arrest 'em for being orny..." Jessie Sinclair shook his head. The assay clerk gave a tug to Buck's shoulder. "You better get going, Buck..."
"Yeah..." he shoved his frame from the doorway, skin crawling as the pair disappeared into the hotel. "You keep your eyes peeled..."
"They don't scare me...Bill's covering the east end of town, Tom's got the west road. Go on now...I'll save some supper for you."
"Okay," Buck nodded, "But keep after that pack...I'll alert the soldiers on the way out." He nodded to Josiah, who was sending a wire to the Fort and to the Judge as well. He didn't envy Josiah's job. After updating the town, he had to tell Vin Tanner the bad news. The preacher's words still echoed in his head. Callie was dead and Chris was in bad shape. As he rode towards Johnson's, he thought of Chris and the rough three years he'd left behind. How many times had he escaped a deadly bullet? He never thought a fever would take down his oldest friend.
Vin pulled the blanket over Ezra's head and shoved it lower. He felt the southerner fighting back and smiled, Ez was holding his own. He was weak, fevered and still coughing, but he wasn't worse. "Quit fussin' and sniff up that steam like Nate said..." he argued of the steam tent the healer left instructions for. The herbs and roots produced an effect through the steam that loosened the muck inside, causing it to drain out and lessen the thickness in the throat. "Ya keep yer head over the pot...I'll be back."
"...speaking of sucking in air..." Ezra muffled from under the mini-tent Vin erected next to his bed. "...please leave me and seek out higher ground..." He felt a pat on his back as the slim body left his side. He was sitting up over the side, a small table between his knees. The heavy pot was full of boiling water, the vapors were trapped inside the small tent over his head and shoulders. He knew Vin was antsy, no relief came in today. Usually, Josiah or Nate was there in the morning and for part of the day. But not today and that spelled trouble. Neither mentioned it, but both knew that Callie was fading. Vin had beem exceptionally quiet and withdrawn all morning. He heard the window rise and the soft boots hit the frame. He inhaled the medicinal mixture, the heady scent filling him. He wondered how to help his suffering friend, if the child died...he shuddered, still seeing the light in Vin's eyes whenever the little girl was near. He carried his pain too deeply, he'd withdraw and pull away. Would they lose him? They? or himself? He'd let Vin get too close and broken his own rule.
Freedom...as short lived as it was, he embraced it fully. He inhaled the sweet air, filling his lungs and stretching his arms. He walked briskly around the perimeter of the connected buildings, letting his nerves get unwound. As soon as this mess was over, he was heading out of town. He needed open plains...lots of space...a ceiling of blue sky and white clouds and a carpet of soft earth and moss. He sank down at the other end of the row of buildings, resting his head on his knees. She'd been on his mind all day and the night before as well. Was she still alive? Would he feel that butterfly kiss again on his cheek? Would he hear that sweet laugh? He was still lost in thoughts of Callie, when voices caught his ear. Recognizing the troublemakers, he crawled over and lifted his head, listening attentively.
"I say we take that damn Indian lover out of town and teach him some manners..." Yancy spit a wad of tobacco in the alley. "Wilmington can't protect him forever...he's been squattin' on the clinic steps night and day, glaring us down and spewing threats. Well, he just rode out...that means that bastard is up there alone with Standish."
"Too risky...he's got guns watching out..." Dale denied, "Besides, I got a better plan. Once that murderin' half-breed finds out he's responsible for the little gal he's so found of dying and with Chris Larabee having one foot in the grave...he'll head out on his own."
"Yeah," Max agreed, "You heard what Sanchez said...that Tanner is a carrier. Spreadin' that disease from town to town...Devil's spawn's are like that...never take sick themselves, just pass it amongst Christian folk."
"Just like that fella in Kansas City Pa told us about, remember Dale?" Adam nudged his brother.
"Yeah...left a trail of small pox in what...five towns in the territory. Never took sick, just kept spreadin' it every where he went. Over a hundred folks died before they caught him and hung him."
"This town won't sit for it," Yancy spit again, "Too many folks here already don't like 'im...wait until the find out he's totin' this kind of plague...they'll string him up..."
"Not if the Army gets him first. You heard Wilmington, that Major said they got this sickness in San Carlos, where Tanner come from. Then he hit the Johnson's, killed that little girl...got her Pa sick...left his filth at Larabee's place and is gonna kill him too...the army wants him locked away...before he kills anybody else."
Vin didn't hear the rest of the words, the hammering heart in his chest and thundering hooves in his head deafened all thoughts. Callie was dead...Chris was dying...he was the killer. A carrier...spreading filth...killing folks...hundreds dead...string 'im up...Callie was dead and he killed her. That's why he wasn't sick...he was the cause...he was responsible. He took an innocent child's life.
"Oh God..." he rasped, staggering across the rooftops. He was trembling so badly he nearly toppled from the building. He shook violently all over, his breath was shallow and shuddering. The horrific vision of his blond angel's lifeless body was burned into his heart. The searing pain burst through his chestwall, causing him to fall to his knees. He vomited violently, nearly passing out from the force. He had to escape...to run...get away. Unable to rise, he crawled to steps at the roof's edge then froze. He couldn't escape. He had no where to go. Noone would ever be safe with him near. He was a silent killer living in a prison without walls. The air grew thin and he couldn't breath. Swirling images appeared, led by Callie's ghost. The pale image floated over another body, the dead, unseeing green eyes of his best friend bore into him. He moved without purpose, finding the window ledge. The words came back, hitting him like the bullets of a gattling gun. They shattered his soul, sending him into a cold dark place, without feeling or need. His body turned icy and his heart closed. Killer...spreadin' filth...hundreds dead...Devil's spawn never get sick...totin' the plague...Larabee's got one foot in the grave...string him up...
The voice in his head screamed at him so loudly, it caused him to fall through the open window, hitting the floor on all fours. He covered his ears, trying to make the accusor's mocking tone from piercing his brain. Callie was dead, Chris was dying...then another face appeared, one he couldn't remember. A feeling of uinparalled intensity filled him.
"Good Lord!" Ezra shoved his head from the tent as the loud thud announced Vin's return. One look at the pale body on the floor, covered in vomit and trembling violently, shook him to the core. Vin's eyes were wide and unseeing, dulled by pain and something far worse. Guilt and remorse hung heavily on the slim frame. "You're ill..." he moved down the cot, attempting to move the shocked Texan from the floor. "Vin, can you hear me?" He called, then coughed, wiping his sweating face with the large towel wrapped around his neck. "Vin...Vin..." he waved a hand in front of the unblinking gaze and flinched. "Get off that floor this instant!" He barked in a loud, sharp voice. Still the body remained in place, huddled on the floor, quaking and whiter than the sheets on the cot. Sighing, he managed to stand and move behind Vin, then attempted to lift him up.
The ghosts lurked, invading his darkness, they green-gray faces curled in disgust. The tiny child who he cared for so much, now despised him. Where those cornflower eyes should be, were dark sockets. One small hand pointed to him and screamed at him. The other came after, unclear in image but strong in feeling.
"Mama..." he reached out, trying to see her.
"What?" Ezra grunted, frozen by the child's voice coming from the adult's mouth. One trembling hand rose, reaching into the past. "Come on Vin...let me help you..." With all the strength he had left, he managed to get the shaken man onto the cot. "Here..." he poured water into the 'V' mug and thrust it at Vin. "Better yet..." he staggered to the shelf nearby and pulled down a dusty bottle of whiskey. He paused, eyeing the mug slide to the floor, through slack fingers. "What the hell happened out there?" His frustration at the unknown hand that struck his friend down made him angry. Then the limp, blue eyes lifted to meet his briefly, full of a sadness the likes and depths of which he'd never seen.
"I killed her...she's dead...Oh God...I'm sorry, Callie...Chris is dyin'..." he swallowed and reached for the blurry image who danced away, shrieking at him. The other lingered, still cloudy and formless, yet it filled him with longing. Snatches of cinnamon and lavender, a soft calico bunny, a rocking chair...that was all he knew of her. A small boy's rememberances that misted over time. "I'm sorry...Mama...s'm'fault yer dead...Grandpa said...I was lucky...I didn't get sick like ya done...ya suffered...on accounta me...I done it...Devil's spawn don't get sick, just give's it t'the innocent folks...Oh God..."
"Vin!" Ezra moved, dropping the bottle as the tracker's eyes rolled in his head and he fell forward. He managed to catch him, but not before the edge of the bedpost met the unconscious man's forehead. "Vin? My God..." he barely managed to get the slim man onto the cot. The lost soul was shaking all over, pale and clammy and icy cold. Ezra scanned the room, spotting the lone clean blanket, left by Nate the day before. He covered Vin as best he could, then spotted the buckskin coat. He eased it over the blanket, tucking it carefully. "I'm sorry..." he offered, not knowing what horrendous pain caused his friend to shatter. "I'll watch you're back, you rest...my friend." He sank onto his own bed, pulled the blanket up and waited.
Nate jumped off the wagon and moved quickly inside the cabin. A burst of coughing led him to the stuperous patient, who was lying on the floor, trying to crawl. The gunslinger's body was slick with sweat and his handsome face flushed with fever. His biceps were stretched taut as he tried to support his weakened body as the horrid coughing continued.
"Chris!" He dropped to the stricken man's side as the damp blond head lifted. The green eyes were were screaming relief silently, and he felt the body sliding sideways. "Where ya goin'?"
"...gun..."
"Well," Nate grunted, lifting Chris's arm over his broad back and hauling him upright. "Since I'm kinda fond of the body I got, I don't aim to lose a hunk of it to them shakin' hands of yours, how about we get you some tea and breakfast instead?" He sat Chris on the bed and grabbed the empty wash basin. "I'll get the water boilin' and then give ya an alchohol bath. After breakfast, ya go under a steam tent..."
"Gun..." Chris interrupted, bleary eyes trying glare.
"Cut that out," the dark eyes warned, "Ya ain't got enough spark in them eyes to shoot down a fly." He turned away with a final warning, "Ya set as much as a toe from that bed and so help me, Chris Larabee, I'll tie ya down...My nerves are frazzled now..."
Withing minutes, the efficent medic had a kettle boiling on the stove, a mug full of salt water and an alchohol bath in the basin. He hung Larabee's gunbelt next to the bed, where the infirmed man could see it. Chris was lying on his side, gasping audibly, the green eyes tinged with fear. Nathan winced at the harsh, labored breathing. Josiah was right, Chris was failing fast.
"Here," He pulled the shivering man upright and held the mug out. "It's a salt wash for your throat. I got some tea...Can ya handle this?"
"Yeah..."
"Okay," Nate waited, watching the trembling hands lift the mug. A small bowl sat in Chris's lap, waiting to catch the rinse. He returned with a tray, setting it down next to Chris's bed.
"Vin..."
"He's okay," Nate replied, taking the empty mug.
"Ez...ra..."
"Had a close call, he's holdin' his own..." Nate sighed and cupped the fevered man's chin, "Open up, Chris, let me have a look..." He eyed the back of the infected throat and paled. The thick coating was worse the Ezra's had been. The herbs Josiah was picking up would help, but unless he got some Quinine for Chris and the Johnson's...he pushed that thought away and continued his examination.
"How...long..." Chris rasped, sipping the tea as Nathan wrung out a cotton towel.
"How long what?" Nate turned Chris slightly, wiping his back, shoulders and neck.
"...no cure..."
The cloth froze in his hand in the basin and his eyes met the others. He sighed and lifted the rag, wringing out the excess. "When this broke out, we contacted Major Garrison, he's got the town in lockdown. San Carlos got hit hard...they got a couple dozen folks sick and ten dead. So they sent the Quinine over there. Now he got more and it was on it's way here, but it stuck just east of Badger Pass. They got a bad storm and the road's shot..." He paused, feeling the glazed green eyes bearing in on him. The mug was empty and the wavering hand nearly dropped it. Nate took it from the slack fingers.
"How long?"
"I look like God to you?" Nate got angry, feeling rage at the helpless situation. The image of Callie's body still fresh in his mind and Ben's failing health.
Chris flinched as the healer's hands bathed his chest, neck and face. He shifted, lifting his aching body to allow the tray to be placed over the blanket on his body. Steam rose from a bowl of hot soup, next to a mug of cider. He gripped the wrist as it turned away.
"I'm sorry...didn't mean to...bite..."
"No, I'm sorry, Chris," Nate sighed and picked up the basin. "It's been a long week and my nerves are fried. Callie Johnson died in my arms this morning and..."
"Dammit!" Chris threw the empty mug of cider across the room. Like Vin, the fiesty, blond with a salty tongue had enchanted him. He envied Vin's ease at talking to children, the natural way he was able to reach them. They waited for him in the morning outside his wagon and following him up the boardwalk. How many times had he found himself smiling at the patience the Texan had. The easy drawl that rolled off his tongue, answering every question patiently, while the pint-sized posse herded him around town. The almost musical quality of Vin's laughter when they jumped him at the fishing hole. A pack of tiny arms tickling him, led by Callie...she was special...she had a fire inside. "Vin's gonna be busted up..."
"Not if I can help it," Nate answered from the other room pouring boiling water into the basin, already lined with herbs and roots. He grabbed a clean sheet and returned, setting up for the steam tent. "I don't gotta tell ya how devasted Ben was..."
"No..." the anguished father hissed, eyes lost in the past, to another child's body.
"He's so sick himself, started chokin'...so I had to take her from him...and her finger moved..."
"What!" Chris's head jerked and he listened, wheezing heavily, as Nate told him of Vin's motions with Ezra and how that led to him saving Callie. "Now she's still in a bad way and I need that Quinine, but...she's alive. Come on, let's get ya under this tent. The steam will loosen up that mess in ya. I can't answer that question, Chris. Some folks go quick like, others rally. I beat this once, hell Buck's beat it twice, I just don't know...Ya fight hard until the army gets us that medicine...ya got a chance..." He saw the coughing blond head nod once as he eased him upright. He put the steaming bowl on a table between Chris' legs and covered him with a sheet. As he heard the harsh coughing, and his trained eye assessed his newest patient, he wondered if he'd have enough time to save him.
Josiah's mind was going faster than his long legs, as he mentally made a list of what needed to be done. The wires were sent and the supplies were being unloaded. He stopped by the hotel and got a large tin of hot soup for Ezra. Once he checked on the southerner, he would update the rest of the town. He eased his large frame in the clinic and placed the hot tin on the table. He wrinkled his nose as a sour smell greeted him. He went straight for Ezra, laying a hand on the wet brow. To his relief, it seemed a little cooler. He poured a mug of cold water and was about to lift the wet head, when he noticed Vin curled up in his bunk. The only thing visible was the very top of the shaggy head.
"Vin?" he questioned aloud, noting that the tracker never stopped pacing or moving in his prison. Sleeping was barely something he fit into the evening hours.
"...Jo...siah..." Ezra croaked, tugging on the blurry sleeve near his eye.
"Hey, Brother, you're lookin'a little better," he greeted, lifting the weak man up and guiding the mug to his parched lips. He frowned when Ezra pushed his arm away, nearly spilling the water. "What's wrong?"
"...he's ill...collapsed...something...dreadfully...wrong...I tried...to..." Ezra's brief update was interrupted by a serious round of coughing.
"Easy now," the elder man coached, handing the red-faced cougher a clean rag. He saw the green eyes firing up and the wavering arm shoving him towards the other bunk. "You're a persistant devil...alright..." He moved and bent over the tracker, pulling down the blanket. "Vin...Vin..." he called gently, resting a hand on the trembling shoulder. He eyed the vomit on the scruffy chin and covering the shirt and frowned. The young man was nearly as white as the sheet beneath him and trembling all over. He took the limp hand and winced at the icy touch.
"He's freezing..."
"Traumatized..." Ezra noted, sitting up weakly. "He was fine...he left me under the steam tent...he was only gone a short time...collapsed from the window...he..."
"Window!" Josiah growled, holding Vin's unconscious frame upright in one large hand and unbuttoning the soiled shirt. "He knew better than to leave..." He picked up a wet cloth and washed the mess off the pale face and chest, before settling him back down.
"...didn't use the door...only the roof..."
"How long?" The preacher demanded, then sighed, "Nevermind...Vin, can you hear me?" He eased the shivering body down onto a clump of pillows and tapped the pale face. There was no response. "I don't like it..." he piled another blanket on the Texan and turned towards the other patient. "What happened?"
"I wasn't able to...determine...that...only that he blames himself for that poor child's death and our esteemed leader's failing health..." Ezra coughed violently, expelling more mucus.
"What!" Sanchez roared, causing the slim body on the cot to flinch without waking. "How the hell did he find out! The only person I told was Buck, and he left town."
"Apparently...he...heard...something...on the...roof. Perhaps someone overheard...your conversation..." Ezra then leveled a cold, hard stare at the other man. "When did you appoint yourself judge and jury? You had no right labeling him the cause of this horrid malady. You have no proof he is a carrier..." He saw Josiah flinch and drop his head. "So he was right...you did discuss that with Buck?"
"Look, Ezra, I don't like it any better than you. But the fact is, everyone Vin came in contact with, has come down with this. They didn't have the sickness in San Carlos until after Vin arrived. He was the last stranger in town that night. Callie was climbing all over him...and he was the one running all over Chris's. I'm no man's judge Ezra...God's the only one wearing that robe. The Army has orders to pick him up as soon as the quarantine's lifted. "
"Hah," Ezra spat in disgust, "Pick him up indeed! I'd wager he doesn't make it to the Fort alive."
"I won't let that happen," Josiah vowed, "I'll ease his pain...stand by him..."
"I'm afraid you're too late, he's soul is shattered." Ezra turned his eyes towards the sleeping body and sighed heavily. "He...blames...himself..." he paused to contain a cough, "..unjustly for his mother's demise...she died of this too..."
"He was only five, he can't remember that," Josiah looked down on Tanner's slack features with concern.
"He mentioned a grandfather...that he was told how lucky he was not to have gotten sick. Now he in under the impression he gave this to her as well...that is...what caused him to collapse." Ezra coughed hard and dropped the rag into the bucket next to his feet. He pulled the blanket tighter, his eyes briefly leaving Vin and staring hard at the older man. "A sight which I won't revisit. Furthermore, I insist you find out what villianous cretins caused this trauma, as I require a short audience with them."
"First things first, you eat your lunch," he stood and moved towards the kitchen. "...and stay in that bed!" he ordered, hearing Ezra trying to stand. He returned with a tray of soup and tea, all of which Ezra consumed. Soon the green eyes faded into a fitful rest. He eyed the clock and made his way to the grainery, where the townspeople were gathered.
The rabble of voices started as soon as he entered the door. He saw Jessie Sinclair move from the shadows, his rifle cocked. The young man made his way to his side quickly.
"How long these folks been in here?"
"Started arriving as soon as you rode in..."
"Everybody, any strays?"
"Uh," he shifted the rifle, eyeing the crowd, his features darkening at the smirking sextet by the door. "The Upshaws were the last to arrive...come to think of it, Dale looked like the cat that swallowed a canary..."
"You see where they came from?"
"Uh...no...well...they didn't cross in front of the windows...so I guess from the east...Why?"
"Enough small talk, Sanchez," an irate voice hollered, "We want some answers! How long you gonna keep that murderin' bastard hid in that darkie's clinic..."
"Now look Clive," Josiah warned, rising to his full height and not hiding his disgust. "You watch that filthy mouth of yours. We got no proof that Vin Tanner..."
"The hell we don't..." another issued loudly. "He rode into San Carlos and the dead are stacked like kindling. Ben Johnson was warned about lettin' that filthy half-breed paw his little girl. Now she's dead on accounta Tanner."
"Yeah," Adam Upshaw snorted, shoving his lean body from the doorway. "..and he spread that disease all over Larabee's cabin and now he's got one boot in the grave...We ought to save the Army some time and labor and string him up right here."
"You say one more word, Upshaw and I'll lock you up!" Jessie's eyes flared, his gun rose and snapped to his shoulder.
"It is true, Josiah?" A woman from the front row asked, "Did Vin bring this fever to town?"
"I don't know Ida...the Army is still investigating..."
"Bullshit!" Dale Upshaw moved up the main aisle, wagging a finger at the preacher. "He's guilty alright and you won't be able to protect him this time. I'll hang that animal myself...I'll get justice for her...the Judge is blind."
"That's done, Dale and you know it," Josiah moved forward, his smokey eyes turning to ice, "Vin had nothing to do with that attack on Virginia Smith."
"He brung her in...no witnesses...and she ain't never spoke a word since...ain't that convenient!" Upshaw spat back. The young lady in question was being courted by him, but was found outside town, raped and beaten. She recovered physically, but mentally she blocked out the world.
"Vin was with Ezra and J.D. when that girl was attacked. They split up on the way to town..." Josiah eyed the crowd and saw the tide turning. The rumors would start again...just what Vin needed. "ENOUGH!"
"Is she dead?" Ida Watkins asked, "Callie I mean..."
"How did you hear that?" the preacher pressed, and saw the answer when she shifted her eyes to Dale Upshaw.
"I should have guessed, eavesdropping is right up your alley."
"Don't matter known how I heard, that half-breed killed an innocent child. Well, I say we don't let him kill again!"
"Yeah...yeah..."
"Let's get him!"
A gunshot stopped the small mob in their tracks. Josiah nodded to Jessie, who moved to guard the exit.
"Hold it!" Sanchez hollered, "First of all, show some respect for the loss of that innocent child. She was known to all and loved by all. Bow your heads..." He commanded and said a prayer, which helped to cool the fires building. "Chris Larabee has the fever as well. The new supplies came in and you can pick up what you need at Potter's. If there's any new news, I'll ring the bell," he noted of the firebell at the edge of town.
"What about Tanner? Adam Upshaw asked.
"Vin Tanner is in quarantine. The army has given me and my deputized men orders to shoot anybody who breaks that rule. Any of you fools who try to set a foot near that clinic, will be shot down. The Army is still conducting their investigation. They will determine what happens to Vin."
"You can't watch him forever..."
"He ought to hang..."
Josiah's anger grew at the small minds who now converged in clandestined pairings, shuffling like rats in the street. He left Jessie guarding the foot of the stairs, and angrily took them two at a time.
He awakened slowly, taking several minutes to reassemble his scattered thoughts. His pulse was racing, his mouth was dry and he was cold. He sat up, wincing as his nausea battled anxiety for control of his insides. He stood on shaking legs and nearly fell again, before taking several deep breaths and righting himself. He managed to pour three mugs of water, before his thrist was sated. He washed his face and shivered, knowing he'd never be able to feel warm again. All that kept his fire going, his heart, his truths, his soul...were shattered and strewn all over the roof above. He trudged to the kitchen and poured coffee into his 'V' mug. The bitter taste seemed right at home in his empty stomach, and caused a churning pain inside. Callie was dead, just like his mother. Chris...he dropped his eyes, thinking of the gaping hole inside. He swallowed hard, struggling to come to terms with the enormity of what he'd done. He'd signed the death warrant to the best friend that God ever graced him with. He tossed the rest of the coffee down the sink and devised a plan. He wasn't going to let Chris or Ezra die, and Ben Johnson had a wife and two more little ones that need him. He squared his shoulders and pulled himself together. He buried his grief and shame deep down, he'd deal with it later. Right now, he had a hard trip ahead. He heard the door slam and looked up, meeting the flashing eyes of the preacher.
"I'm headin' out," he warned.
"Don't talk nonsense, Vin," Josiah replied, glad for the color that returned to the younger man's face. He noted the trembling hands and watched them curl into fists, as if to thwart him. "You can't leave leave until the two weeks are up. You might as well know, the Army's plannin' on taking you to the Fort until..."
"Won't be here..." Vin replied icily, "Ya best hear me out, 'siah, I'm headin' north t'Badger Pass t'get that medicine. I'll leave it in that burnt out tree," he noted of the large tree struck by lightning the year before. "Ya wire that Major and let 'im know. I'm headin' out after dark, It'll take me a couple days t'get there..."
"Vin...you can't make it that far in two days. Hell, the Army can't even get up that trail. The storm ruined the roads."
"Them bluebellies couldn't find their asses with both hands!" Vin spat tersly, "I know them parts, I spent near on ten years chasin' buffalos and bounties in them canyons. I'll be back in four days, ya see t'it that them soldiers ain't anywheres near that tree. I'll drop it before daybreak. The Army won't do a damn thing...they need this thing ended. The longer that quinine is stuck, the worse off they look. Hell, they're real good at lettin' folks do their work...reckon they'll twist this all around...make it look like their idea...take real pretty bows too, I'll bet..."
"Where will you go?"
"What ya don't won't kill ya..." Vin answered, thinking of the Army's interogation. He then dropped his voice considerably; a quiet wistful rasp filled the air. "I know a place...high above the Eagle's call and far from the livin' souls. A prison without walls...but at least I won't kill nobody..."
"Never figured you'd go yellow, Vin Tanner," Josiah tried, but the quiet man never even blinked. He moved to pass the larger man and stopped, leveling a cool gaze.
"Ya don't know me, Preacher," he paused, "Ya don't know a damn thing about me. I ain't gonna let no fuckin' bluebelly string me up...or anybody else fer that matter."
"I can handle the Upshaws...and I'm sorry you had to find out like that Vin."
"Don't matter known how I found out...Callie's still dead and Chris is..." he bit his lip and headed for his bunk.
Josiah knew that any further words would be an exercise in futility. He eyed the clock and realized he had to get back to Johnson's. If he timed it right, he could be back by dark.
"Alright Vin," he said to the curled up form on the bunk, "I'll be back at six. I won't wire the Major until ten tomorrow morning. That should give you plenty of time to get a good start. There is a Captain Pearson heading up the division digging out at Badger Pass. I'll have Major Garrison wire him, tell him to expect you. They'll put a stinger on your tail, you know that..."
"Ya can't harness the wind," Vin predicted, already mapping out his trip mentally. "I'll lose 'em afore I hit the river. I been outrunnin' them jackasses fer years, they ain't caught me yet...four days, just before dawn. Ya look in that tree..."
"I'll leave a mount out by the turnoff, just shy of Rebel Run," he noted of the trail a few miles from town. It was a little known area and far beyond the eyes of the army scouts. He paused and extended his hand, gripping Vin's tightly. "God keep you Vin Tanner..." he studied the young man's eyes, "Just for the record, Son, I don't think you're responsible for this. There's something we missed. Folks get crazy when a fever comes to town, you know that..."
"Facts is facts," Vin said flatly, "But thanks..." He waited until the large body was nearly by the door. "Bye...'siah..." he swallowed hard, gaining some comfort from the wise man's stance in his corner.
Vin busied himself by making several trips to empty the cartons Josiah stacked inside the door. He restocked the shelves with herbs, roots and tea. He placed clean linens, returned by Ming, on the bed in Nate's room. He eyed the clock on wall as darkness descended. He heated up soup for himself and Erza and ate the fried chicken Josiah left as well.
He left the mug of soup by Ezra's bed and returned to get the tea. He heard the harsh coughing and tapped the spoon against the mug. Ezra was sitting up, legs swung over to the floor, as he approached.
"Hell, I almost recognize ya," he greeted, setting the tea down. "Ya best drink it hot, it tastes like piss iffen ya let it chill..."
"Hot piss...cold piss...lovely choice..." Erzr sipped the tea and then picked up the mug of soup. He eyed the jacket folded neatly, the change of clothes and more importantly, the gunbelt snapped onto the slim hips. "I should like to join you..."
"Not with that cough...they'd hear ya clear inta the next county..." he grinned, easily reading between the lines and knowing that the older man was giving him his full support. "...'preciate it though..."
"Where will you go?"
"Badger Pass...t'get the medicine..."
"You can't!" Ezra denied, "The rodents in blue uniforms will apprehend you."
"Ya can't hang what ya can't catch," Vin predicted cockily, shoving a mug of salt water at the wheezing southerner. "Here, last call..."
"Ever the gentlemen," Standish grinned, saluting Vin with the cup. "Safe harbor, my friend..." He knew the odds were stacked against his ever seeing Vin Tanner after tonight. He had no doubt Vin would find that medicine and that the Army would never catch him. "There is sufficient funds in my boot..enough to last you for many months."
"Don't need any silver, not where I'm headed," Vin noted, but gave the concerned green eyes his best smile, "But thanks...just offerin' is enough, Ez...I won't ferget it...standin' by me like this...even after what I done..."
"You've done nothing wrong and if you continue in this ridiculous stance..."
"Ya got eyes, ya seen what I done...hell, I damn near killed ya..." Vin's voice choked. His guard dropped briefly, exposing his broken heart through the large, luminous blue eyes. "Callie...Chris...My Ma..."
"Furthermore, you are not responsible for the untimely death of that child or your Mother." With heaving effort, he pulled a was of bills from his boot, shoving them at the denying Texan. He watched Vin peel off a few bills and hand the rest back."
"Twenty dollars," he noted, "I see t'it ya get it back...I'm grateful..."
"There is no need for repayment and I'm so sorry Vin, about Callie." He watched the demeanor change, the warmth left the room and the chill invaded him. Vin shut him out, shut everything out, not able to face something so painful. He watched the buckskin coat go on and then Vin took his empty mugs. He returned and offered his hand, the lips parted briefly but no words came. Ezra didn't need them, Vin spoke more eloquently with his eyes than any words could.
"You're welcome, and I'll miss you too..." he smiled and felt the hand grip his, then the body disappeared out the window.
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