Setting: ATF AU
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.
NOTE: Big thanks, no HUGE thanks to Julie, for her invaluable, generous and wonderful medical assistance.
"No!"
The high pitched scream jerked his dulled senses back to life. The shot came almost simultaneously, causing his body to tense up. His muscles braced for the inevitable tearing pain of a bullet. Not only was there no new pain, but the tension from his throat disappeared. Deprived of oxygen for too many precious minutes, his shocked body fell over. Gasping, he rolled on his back, choking in large, clumsy gulps of air. His eyes fought hard to stay open, until the squeaking started. Curious, he forced his gaze to widen and search the area.
"God..." he choked, his chest constricting. There a few feet away sat his terrified, pint-sized rescuer. The gun was trembling in her small hands and her body was wracked in shuddering tremors. Tears ran down the small, dirty face. Fearing Fowler's wrath, he moved quickly, rolling his body over to put himself in front of her.
The dark woods were silent and deep, too quiet. Danger lurker close by, he could smell it. His keen eyes raked the shadows, but he saw nothing. He cocked his head, listening for any signs of movement, but there was none. Had the bullet found it's mark? Was Cletus Fowler lying dead at he bottom of the steep hill behind him? What about Trent? Had he heard that shot? His first concern was the safety of this small child. Grunting in pain, he rose to his knees and crawled over to her.
"It's okay," he soothed, taking the shaking gun from her tiny hands. He flinched when the small body hit his chest. His grimace intensified, when the body convulsed in sobs. "Shhh... I know you're scared, Grace, but the bad man might be near here. We can't let him find us, okay? I've got you now, he can't hurt you." He spoke in a low tone, rubbing her small back. He heard the sobbing slow down and a series of wet hiccups follow. "Come on now, get a hold of yourself. You'll get sick."
"...s...s....s...orry..." She shuddered, trembling. "I... I... I... shotted... h...h...him... I... I... he... hurted... you... I... I..."
"I know, Honey, you did a very brave thing and I'm proud of you. You saved my life." He tapped the tiny upturned nose and smiled. She looked so much like Adam it hurt. "Are you okay?" He cupped the back of the unruly black curls. The small head bobbed and a thumb was making a wayward path to the trembling lips. He intercepted that mission, needing some answers. "Grace, is Vin with you?"
"The... the... b...b...oogeyman... has... has... has... him." She managed, eyeing the woods. She nestled closer to the strong body, welcoming the protective embrace. "I'm scared."
"I know, this is a scarey place, but I won't let anyone get you, okay?" He felt the head nodding and cupped the chin. "Vin? Where is he Grace?"
"In... in... the old house... not a real house..."
"A cabin?"
"Yeah..." She agreed, fighting to get her thumb free. "The other bad man hurted me and Vin got us free. We took a boat here. He's sick. He's sleeping a lot and awful hot. Then... then... the bad man... a b...b...big man... a dark man... with black cape and mean eyes... came. He tried... tried to... to... hurt me... Vin saved me. He told me to... r...r...r...un... to Mommy... Then... the man shotted him... he hurt Vin... he... he..."
"Alright," Chris winced, absorbing all the new information. "Shh... no crying, remember? Let's go find you Uncle Ryan, okay?" He rose on unsteady legs, holding her against him with his good arm and holding the gun loosly with his injured one. His first priority was to get this innocent child to safety. Fowler and Trent wouldn't murder another child, he'd see to that. He traced his path back , carefully listening to all sounds around him, ever wary of the enemy.
The moon was basking his lamb in a brilliant silver light. The candles flickered in excitement, as the hour drew near. Bitter herbs burned in several small urns, creating a fine curtain of smoke. The ceremonial oils were marked on his head, heart and hands. The priest's deep voice paused, when a shot rang out. He furrowed his brow, but no more sounds emerged. He quickened his tone, eager to conclude the ceremony. Next to the lamb's head, the knife waited, purified and ready to take the soul of the warrior. He smiled at the confused blue eyes that were slits, making an occasional appearance.
"Soon, Vin Tanner, soon your blood will run free and I will claim that heart... soon..." He smiled as the lamb's brows furrowed over the fevered eyes. His laughter chased the blue slits back into wet head.
He was still on his back, trying to sew the tattered pieces of his brain back together. His head was split in two and his side was throbbing. The dirt beneath him and the dark woods around him held no clues. He moved his head sideways, wincing as the pain flared. A body was lying a few feet away. He rolled onto his knees, biting back the urge to vomit. The world spun at a dizzying pace and he closed his eyes, until the worst of it passed. Then he crawled over to the other man, recognizing the mustached face.
"Buck?" He rasped, still very nauseous. "Buck, wake up..." He found a good pulse and then began tapping he pale face. He turned his sideways, frowning at the handcuffs. "What the hell...." He shook him harder, watching the face begin to twitch. "Buck!" His hand was resting on the other's shoulder, when a scream split the night air. His heart froze and his guts were full of icy shards, ripping them into pieces. It wasn't just any scream, it was Grace. Then the shot came and his heart nearly stopped.
"No!" he hollered, rising and running towards the sound.
"Where's Uncle Wyun?" Grace plucked her thumb from her mouth, long enough to ask. Her large eyes roamed the landscape, seeking her beloved uncle.
"Uh..." Chris paused, spotting one body on the ground. "Buck?"
"Chris? Jesus, I thought that bastard killed you. I heard a shot..."
"I got Grace," He warned, settling the child on the ground. "Stay!" He ordered and saw the tiny head nod. "Keys?"
"Front pocket. You okay?" Buck asked, eyeing the small girl who nodded. "Thank God!" He sighed heavily. "Thanks," He rubbed his wrists, no freed. He sat up and rubbed the back of his head, wincing at the sticky knot. "Somebody clubbed me... after Ryan collapsed. I didn't see... who."
"Where's Uncle Wyun?"
"I don't know, Sweetheart," Buck stood up, immediately picking her up and holding her close. "But he's okay. He was talking to me and took off... he heard a shot..."
"That was Grace, she saved my life. Fowler jumped me and was strangling me." He saw Buck's eyes narrow and the head jerk. "No, I didn't get him... it's so damn dark out there, I can barely see my own hand. You get her back to the car and call Novelli, find out their ETA. I'm going to get Vin. She said Bates has him at the cabin. Buck, don't let her out of your sight!" he ordered.
"Hold on," Buck urged, flipping his cell phone out and handing it over. "Call the Kid... he'll be with Novelli, then you'll know."
It was a cold winter day, with a brilliant sun melting the dusting of snow. The icicles glistened, like crstalized pipes in an frozen, mountainous organ. Crisp, cold air kissed their faces, easing through the snow-laden branches of the tall pine trees. The sky was an incredible shade of deep blue and the air fresh and invigorating. He unleased a loud whooping war call, grinning as the echo came back and surrounded them. He heard a chuckle and turned, casting his animated sky eyes to his best friend.
"Life don't get any better'n this, Cowboy!" he hollered, atop his horse. The green eyes of Chris Larabee lite up in warmth, matching the shit-eating grin he wore. The others were skiing, but he and the blond decided to go riding instead. His face was red from the cold air and his energy level was shooting off the meter. He could spend all day up here and not get tired. That lazy smile on the man next to him was all the fuel he need. "Eat my dust, Old Man!" He hollered, easing his steed ahead on the path and letting his laughter sail on the wind.
Boudin eyed the smile on the unconscious man's face and felt a tremor in the force. Frowning, he eyed the dark yard and listened to the river rushing by. Someone was near, someone whose power filled the lamb with new confidence. His gaze grew stormy and he put one large hand over the lamb's eyes.
"So, you seek the blond one..." he saw the image, "Let him come, he will not stop Voodun. I will have your heart." He insisted, as much to reassure himself. He didn't like the tremor he felt, he had not encountered it since Jessenia died.
"Hello."
"Kid?"
"Chris!"
J.D.'s yell brought the others to where he stood on deck. The boat was splitting the water evenly, racing up the river.
"Where are you?" He nodded and grabbed Caitlin's hand, smiling. "He's got Grace, she's fine. She's with Buck... here..."
"Honey? Oh God," She choked, eyes shutting as she heard the tiny, frightened voice. She rocked backwards, feeling someone grab and steady her. "I know, you're scared. You listen to Chris and Buck and do what they say. I love you too..."
"Chris?"
"J.D. how far away are you? Put Novelli on..."
"Novelli."
"How far away are you? Fowler and Trent are in these woods somewhere and Bates has Vin at the cabin. Vin got shot getting Grace free. Make sure the cops in Baton Rouge get a medivac chopper here."
"Yeah, okay, I alerted them before we left. From where Mrs. McKenna says that cabin is, we're about a half hour away."
"Hurry!" Chris shot back, shutting the phone off. "Get moving, Buck!" He called out, checking the gun and heading for the cabin.
The Irishman's blue eyes did a wipe swoop of the area, but it held no answers. He didn't risk using his voice, in case the enemy was near. He kept low, using the trees as cover. He saw a cabin in the distance and recalled Cait's words. Was that where Grace was? He started forward, only to have his body slammed to the ground. He rolled, using his fists and feet, his eyes catching the glint of a silver hand.
"You fuckin' bastard, I'm gonna kill you!" He roared, his own injuries buried by his lust for revenge. A grisly image of Max's bleeding face as the car exploded, rose up and grabbed him. With renewed strength, he fought hard, his well honed body shot full of andrenalin.
"I don't think so, McKenna," Fowler spat back. "You're gonna so soft, like that brother of yours. Soft head... no brains... I got him good..."
"Ahhhhhh!" Ryan lunged, missing his mark and tumbling hard into a tree stump. He hissed as his wounded side opened. He flinched as the metal hand found the tender spot between his ear and shoulder. He felt a crushing force and fought back, jamming his elbow in the attacker's midsection. The hand wavered, but held firm. He twisted sideways, reaching for something, anything, he could grab. He found a tree branch and shot it backwards over his shoulder. He heard the grunt of pain as the body fell. Gasping for air, he turned and pounced, using his fists brutally.
Fowler felt the raging man's fury rising and his own wounded body failing. That brat hit his upper chest and he was weakening. Still, if he could get McKenna beneath him... he took a deep breath and turned, using his legs to take the other's out. They rolled and fought until at last he was straddling McKenna's back. He jerked the dark hair up and clamped his metal hand on the exposed throat.
"Give my regards to your brother, McKenna!"
Ryan struggled, but the blood loss, concussion and new bruises were too much. He felt himself fading away, until suddenly, the pressure was gone. He fell forward, rubbing his bruised neck, and saw a hint of blond hair. "Chris..." His voice was hoarse.
Chris came into the clearing and didn't waste any time. He didn't risk a shot in the dark, not wanting to hit Ryan. Plus, he wanted to feel Fowler beneath his hands. He needed to drive the monster into Hell with his fists. Like a well honed machine, he beat the enemy with a driving combination of brutal fists. A murderous growl escaped his tense lips with each blow. Fowler's face looked like hamburger, blood steaming from his broken nose and split lip.
Both predators were panting heavily, each injured and feeling the effects of their wounds. Chris swiped at the blood running down his face and grinned ferally. He saw Fowler hesitate and waved his hand.
"Bring it..." he snarled, as the other man leapt. Instead of dodging the body, he laid his right forearm over his left and shoved forward hard, like a human battering ram. He drove the animal back hard, the motion sending his own body to the ground. He rose again, staggered and nearly fell. He felt the warm flow of satisfaction coursing through his veins. The body was a few feet away. He last brutal move had driven the metal-handed felon into a twisted, wizened up arms of a fallen tree. He was dazed and trying to rise, the metal fingers gripping a heavy rock. Chris didn't give him the opportunity. He shot the wrist, sending the metal hand skittering away. He took his boot and placed it on the other's shoulder.
"No!" Cletus Fowler felt the sharp spike-like object pressing into his back. "Don't..."
"You're not a man," Larabee repelled, "You're not even a worm..." He shoved his foot hard, sending the wounded man through a rising, jagged-edged tree limb. "Rot in Hell you yellow, son-of-a-bitch!" He growled, driving the body backward. Fowler was offered up, like a twisted appetizer, skewered to the fallen tree. His slimy entrails were sliding through, the agony on the twisted face reflected the intensity of the pain.
Turning away as his digust rose like a molten flow of lava, the wounded leader dropped to his knees and vomited. All the rage and bile that had built up since his family's death, exploded. Flashing images of their charred remains caused his head to split in half. Vin. Vin needed him. He pushed his warring feelings aside, his mission wasn't over. He was on his knees, trying to rise, when a shout broke the stillness.
"Chris!"
He dove at the call and flattened himself, just as a bullet creased his leg. Without that warning, the shot might have killed him. Rolling and grabbing for his own weapon, he returned fire.
"Shit!" He felt the blood rushing from the meaty part of his thigh and raked his eyes across the night. Ryan was battling with Geoff Trent. Chris rose and hissed again, his leg nearly giving way. He fired again, but his gun was empty. He tucked in his waistband and staggered over to where he heard the grunts of blows hitting flesh. The silver moon was painting an alluring picture on the river. He saw Trent hit Ryan hard. The Irishman's head snapped back and he sagged, but not before grabbing his opponent. They both disappeared over the slippery edge of the raging river. "No!" He propelled himself forward, ignoring the burning pain in his leg , the throbbing head and the searing tenderness in his arm.
"Ryan!" He hollered, dropping down over the short, cluster of rocks. "Gimme your hand!"
He wanted to grab that hand. It was only a few feet above him. He tried to move, but he couldn't. He chest wounds had opened, the blows from the two fights had staggered him. He couldn't seem to open his eyes. The concussion was pulling them closed, luring him to sleep. It would be so easy to let go. Then her face appeared in the dark swirls of the cloak that pulled him down. A beautiful face, two amethyst eyes and a cap of curly black hair.
"Cait...lin..." he whispered, feeling his body fight back. "Cait..." he moved his leaden limbs. Inch by inch, following Larabee's voice. Over the slimy bank and rocky edges, he fought forward, until at last , he felt flesh beneath his hands.
"Come on, McKenna, haul ass. I can't pull up... fight dammit... I'm not letting that little girl lose another father." Chris ordered and felt the tension lessen. Finally, Ryan's shoulders appeared and with one tug, both went sprawling on the bank. For several seconds, they lay side by side, neither having the strength to move. Two battered, broken, bleeding and bashed warriors, gasping and fighting for air.
"I... think... I... owe... you... a... beer..." Ryan coughed, rolling and sitting up.
"I think... I owe... you a... lot... more... than that..." Chris returned, taking the hand offered and sitting up. "You McKenna's are pretty handy at saving Larabee hide. I'm grateful." He got to his feet, trying to shake off the terrible dizziness that plagued him. He staggered a bit, then brought his head up, as something grabbed his ankle. "Fuck!" He fell forward, as a strong hand yanked his injured leg.
"Down!" Ryan ordered, lifting a rock and slamming it on Geoff's Trent's wrist. It snapped like a twig. He pulled Chris free and got him to his feet.
Geoff Trent's first objective had been to kill McKenna and Larabee. But now his priorities changed. When he had fallen into the water with McKenna, he heard the distinct sound of a large tail slapping the water. He didn't have to turn around, he knew the beast was behind him. The harder he fought, the more he slipped. The water lapped at his chest and he groped again, seeking a firm hold.
They each rose a foot at the same time, slamming them down on the fingers. The body slid and they watched with vengence in their eyes, as a fifteen foot Alligator clamped the screaming killer in it's power jaws. Blood gurgled from his open mouth, as the beast went back under the water, taking it's still breathing, prize meal to murky grave.
"It's over." Ryan said, strangely enough, feeling cold inside.
"Not yet, Bates has Vin... I'm going after him."
"Chris..." Ryan offered, his voice full of the pain of loss, "It doesn't feel like I imagined. I thought..."
"Yeah," the other replied, gripping the downcast shoulder, "I know," he appraised of the icy fingers stroking his own insides. "But they got what they deserved... to rot in Hell." Later there would be time to mourn and bury the final pieces of the tragic events that joined them. But now, he had to heed the call.
"Be a shame to break up this team now," Ryan eyed his new friend and saw the damp blond head nod. "Let's go partner..." He clapped the ATF man's back and followed him up the path.
Finally, the hour had come, and not a minute too soon. He felt the blond one growing closer and wasted no time. He crushed the sacred herbs, bones, feathers and oil and set it aflame. He ran the blade of the knife through the rising orange heat. He felt the hair on his neck stand up and knew the other was nearby.
"You will not stop me, Larabee!" he warned, marking Tanner's chest with goat's blood and watching the lamb's blue eyes open.
"...ris..." Vin whispered, hearing the name called out. Through the raging fever, ravishing his body and the smothering pain in his chest, he saw the blurry form above him. "...the hell... goin'... on..." Then he saw the knife and heard the chanting. His heart began to pound and he tried to move, but his body was too weak. Just beyond his captor's shoulder was the face that he sought. Was it a dream? He clenched his eyes shut and opened them again. No, he was real. He drew his waning strength up and moved his hand, sending the flaming bowl of cermonial offerings to the ground
"No!" Boudin hollered, taking his concentration off the lamb for a scant few seconds. He bent over to pick up the bowl, needing the ashes for the final part, to mark the lamb's chest.
"Now!" Chris whispered to Ryan, and they moved in unison, "I'll go high..."
Ryan nodded and went low, taking out the large man's knees. Chris drove hard into his midsection. The effort sent all three to the ground. Chris broke free, jumping up to check if his best friend was still alive.
Ryan couldn't move, the dark hand swept across the plain in front of his eyes and he was paralyzed. A bitter and foul smelling dust setting over his face. He could breathe and see, but couldn't move. He heard the evil laughter, as the other man rose. He couldn't even warn Chris, he could utter no sounds. Sweat and blood ran down his face, as he fought the invisible bonds.
"Vin?" Chris lifted the dangerously ill Texan, who was fighting for every breath. "Jesus, Tanner, you got another hole in that sorry hide of yours," he eyed the messy wound.
"S...s...orry..." Vin managed, his thick tongue sticking to his mouth. He let his head drop on Chris's shoulder, sighing heavily as his chest seem to have a crushing weight.
Chris felt a strange pain between his shoulder blades. It was as if an invisible hand was entering his back and running icy fingers along his internal organs. His eyes widened in panic, he never experienced a sensation like this. Then he remembered the pouch and with a Herculean forced move, he slide sideways, letting the long cord of the pouch fall over both of them. He gripped hard, letting their blood mix and run into the open pouch. A hissing sound was followed by a heat building up. He could feel the pouch growing hotter, as it nestled against both of them. He heard Bates cry out and shield his eyes. It was working. Then he saw the knife and tried to move, but stumbled, his wounded leg was numb and unable to support him. He fell over Vin's upper body, trying to protect that which the evil man sought. His tense muscles prepared for a blow that never came. His body jerked on instinct, as a half dozen shots rang out.
"Chris! You okay?"
"Nathan?" He wheezed, suddenly feeling all his injuries screaming in unison. He felt a set of strong arms pull him up and eyed his team, every set of eyes gleaming with a strange mix of euphoria and fear. The moan from the man still in a death grip in his fingers, drew him back, "Vin, Vin..."
"Easy Brother," Josiah helped Ryan McKenna sit up. The confused eyes weren't fully focused and his face was battered. One eye was swollen, a cut over the other one was bleeding freely and his shirt was soaked. "There's help on the way."
"ETA?" Standish inquired, moving to offer the fallen hero a drink from his flask.
"Three minutes," Novelli called back, "Larabee, talk to me, where's Trent?" He frowned when Ryan McKenna snorted and shook his dark head.
"Playin' the devil's fiddle," the Irishman spat back, echoing an old expression of his grandfather's. "Fowler's back in the woods, you can't miss him... Trent feedin' a fifteen foot 'gator."
"I'll wait for the chopper," the detective said, "Hollywood, what Crackerjack box did that fall out of?" He eyed the small gun in the other's hand.
"It's not the size that counts," The gambler returned.
"That's not what Buck says," J.D. spouted, flipping out his phone. "and he is the expert on women."
"I was referring to my weapon," Standish spat back.
"Yeah, so was I!" Dunne teased, updating his best friend.
"Vin, can you hear me?" Chris tapped the fevered man's face. The long hair was soaked in sweat, clinging to the wet face like a cap. He saw the brows furrow and the pale lips moving. "Come on, Tanner, get your eyes open!"
"Chris, let me at him!" Nathan eased the anxious man back. "You get shot again?" He eyed the bloodied thigh. "Sit down, I'll..."
"Chris... there...." Vin licked his bloodied lips, drawing his good eye open. A hand fumbled and flopped, seeking and searching.
"Right here, Vin," he replied, grapping the weak hand.
"Need t'tell ya... need... rrrisss?...can't see... ya... there?" He blinked, seeing blurry images and hearing buzzing sounds.
"I'm not leaving you, Cowboy," Chris pressed his mouth close to the fallen man's ear. He saw the tongue snake out again, as the mouth worked, trying to talk. "Don't, Vin. Save your strength. We got 'em Vin, sent both them bastards screaming into Hell... Bates too. You just hold on, there's a chopper coming."
"...listen... gotta tell... tell... ya..."
"You can tell me later," he lifted his head, "Where's that fuckin' helicopter?"
"...quit... barkin'... " Vin scowled, leting his weakening attention settle on his best friend's face. He couldn't feel Chris's hand, but he knew the other held it. "...listen... me... now..."
"No," Larabee interrupted, his body draped in a cloak of denial. Not after all they'd gone through; Vin Tanner wouldn't die in his arms. No fucking way.
"Let him talk, Chris," Ezra advised gently, seeing the unnatural sight of fear in the green eyes of the stricken leader.
"Ezra's right," Nathan urged, putting pressure on the bleeding wound in Vin's side. "Leave him have his peace Chris. You ain't got the right to take that away from him."
"...ya give me... more'n... I can... give back... want... ya... know... Ch...ris... Lar...a...bee..." He was fighting now, his bright eye wide with fear. Every breath was like fighting through a brick wall. "...helluva ride... weren't long..'nuf... ya took me away... Cowboy... high above the eagle's call... I touched the stars... felt the sun... thank..."
"Vin?" Chris blanched when the rattling sigh-like breath eased through the parted, pale lips.
Vin fought hard, feeling a scary coldness settle into his heavy body. "...m'cold... Chris... s'cold..."
"No, it's not cold... dammit Vin... don't you fuckin' die on me!"
"Oh God!" He screamed as the air died, his panicked body began to heave. His face turned, seeking one set of blurry green eyes. "Chris..."
The name spilled out along with a stream of blood, pouring over the lips, down onto his chin and his best friend's hand.
"Vin?" Chris whispered, as the head lolled and the body sagged, "Aw, Christ... not like this..." He shook the slim man, then pulled him into an embrace, trying to quell the cripping pain in his own chest. "Noooooo!"
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