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: I want to thank the kind, generous and understanding editor, aka KET, for effortlessly going through this with her red pen. Thanks Pard, you got no idea how relieved I am to have my 'assets' covered. I am very very grateful, KET, thanks a million.
A voice broke through the thick walls of muck that filled his mind. He blinked, coughed and squinted upward, seeing daylight entering the damp cave. He sat up, rubbed his throbbing temples and tried to quell the rolling in his stomach.
"Come on, Troy," Arlee tapped the filthy shirt. "We need to find something to eat..."
"Yeah..." Vin grunted, his eyes snaking around the damp enclosure. They honed in on the blond captive who was sitting up, still blindfolded and bound. He cried out as the image of this man taking a knife to his Chris appeared.He snarled and stood on shaky legs, trembling with rage.
"Easy, tiger!" Arlee winked at his amused father who was holding a gun on the prisoner. "You can play with him after we eat..."
They trudged across the river which was waist high in places and over to the other side. Vin forged ahead. The cold water invigorated him, heightened his senses. He scoured the terrain, carefully choosing particular berries and even managed to find some root plants. He shucked his outer shirt and used it as a carrier.He had Arlee making spears with the knife, hacking away at branches.They spent about an hour spearing fish with Vin catching most of them. He also climbed on the highest rock and used his keen gaze to find a trail through the dense forest.
They returned just as easily and Vin dropped the plants and berries in a pile while Arlee started a fire.He speared three fish and while they roasted, he moved over, flexing his fists.
"You hungry,Troy?" Arlee held out a piece of seared fish.
"Not fer that..." he hissed, fingers flexing. He couldn't contain himself. He needed to slay the beast inside. This prisoner had to suffer like Chris did; he wanted to inflict that pain. He needed to feel the bones break and hear the animal beg. He stood over the filthy man who moved and lifted his battered face.
"Vin, you okay?"
"Quit callin' me that!" he screamed, backhanding the man hard enough to draw blood and sending him sideways into the dirt. He forced himself to move away, needing to put some food into his weak body.
Chris didn't get up. He tasted blood mixed with dirt and sighed in frustration. He was weak from hunger and thirst and moreover, had no idea how to get Vin Tanner back. He was able to use the position of his face in the dirt to nudge the blindfold a bit. He could see the three men and heard Bull's obnoxious voice. His heart sank. He knew once they got close to a city of some kind, even a remote one, they'd kill Vin.Chris didn't have much time and thought again on the chances of rescue. If the plane wreckage was found, they might be searching.Maybe they knew about the escape from Diaz. The faces of his men appeared, one in particular as clear and sharp as if in person.
"...Buck..." he whispered, knowing the large-hearted man wouldn't give up.
Vin shoved a handful of berries into his mouth and swiped the excess. The pressure was rising and he needed to sate the beast. He stood, eyeing remnants of the thick vine nearby. He tapped Arlee and motioned to the unmoving blond.
"Git 'im up..."
"Party time!" Bull laughed, chomping on the extra fish.
"Get up, dog!" Arlee yanked him up by the hair and tugged the blindfold off.
Chris cried out as the light stabbed his eyes. He hunched over, trying to shield his tender corneas. He was still adjusting when his hands were loosened.
"Tie our left hands together," Vin ordered.
"Shit..." Chris swore, knowing what the other man was doing. He'd seen the Texan do this before and he was deadly accurate. His black belt training coupled with what he had learned from his adopted Cheyenne Indian grandfather took the odds down even further.
That done, Vin motioned for the knife. He tossed it hard, blade down in the dirt.
"Yer gettin' more of a chance than ya give m'Chris. I'm gonna use that t'carve his name in yer hide..." Vin snarled, sending his uninjured left leg into the abdomen of the blond.
Chris grunted and moved, trying to get Vin in front of him so that he could wrap his arm around his throat. It didn't work.Vin tread hard on his instep, elbowed his gut, then rammed his head backward into Chris's nose, spraying blood.
He had no time to react; he saw the glint of the blade that the deft sniper grabbed from the ground now arcing towards him. He rolled, grabbing a handful of dirt and tossing it into Vin's eyes.That deflected the knife's descent towards its target, but the blade still nipped his outer wrist.
They rolled over and over, grunting and hissing, coming dangerously close to the flames. Chris felt the blade jabbing at his leg. He moved his hand, catching Vin's wrist before the knife hit his gut.
"Shove his face in there!" Arlee hooted, watching in delight as his master plan came to life.Tanner's blue eyes were blazing in fury; he didn't seem to hear them.
Chris felt the heat of the fire on his face and felt his grip slipping. He grit hard, wincing in pain and tried to find Vin's eyes. They were lost in time, wide and painted in war blue. He had his 'back to the wall'... there was no other choice. The blade got closer, pressing against his collarbone. He saw Vin flinch and moved, using his legs and sending them both across the fire. He cried out as the flames hit his side and heard Vin cry out as well. The knife skittered away and he chuffed out a small breath of relief.
The touch of the flame to his back caused Vin's hand to slip. He bit his lip against the pain, moved his body deftly, twisting the blond around in front of him. Using his left forearm across the man's throat, cutting off his air, he used his right to punch the lower back several times.
Chris's face grimaced in pain as his kidneys were assaulted. It caused him to slump a little which was what Vin wanted. His left arm moved back hard, connecting with the gut and taking all the air away. Chris gagged and brought his right hand up, desperate to free himself. Blood ran freely from his wounds, mixing with Vin's and hitting the flames, causing a hiss and a drift of smoke. He used what little consciousness that remained to feel where the irate attacker was. Then he moved his right arm, sending the hardest elbow he could into the underside of Tanner's ribs.
Over the roar of vengeance in his ears, just as victory was at hand, a pain in Vin's side caused him to slip. Already dizzy and nauseous, his head reeling, the new blow stunned him. He fell forward as a sharp black curtain covered him. His last thought was that he'd failed the one man he sought to revenge. He let his brother die in vain.
"...m'sorry... C...hrissss..."
Chris didn't hear Vin's agonized plea; he was already unconscious.
"Didn't I tell you this would be fun?" Arlee kicked both men, delighting in Tanner's pain.
"Tie up Larabee again and revive that bastard," Bull nodded to the mangy-headed Texan. "We need to put that river between us and Xaviar... and the army."
"Yeah," Arlee agreed, cutting the cord that bound the two men. "I don't think we're far... he seemed to think we're only a couple days from civilization."
"He'll never live to see it..." Bull predicted, shoving the now bound Larabee over his shoulder. He watched his son pouring cold water on the marred, bearded face of the other. As the brows twitched and the blue eyes started to open, he smiled down. "Could be we'll bury him alive... that might be fun..."
"Troy, you with me?"
"Yeah..." Vin gasped, crawled outside of the cave and vomited his breakfast. He used the river water to wash, rinse and drink. With Arlee's help, he crossed the river.Vin blazed the path ahead, not realizing he was forging the road to his own demise.
Seven hours after lifting off from Virginia, the General eased his lean frame from the helicopter and moved toward the clearing.The six men spilled out behind him, each clad from head to toe in green and black fatigues and well aware of their job.
"Captain, the map..."
"Sir," the man came forward, holding a palmcorder with the digital image on the screen.
"Three kilometers east..." He moved his finger."Larabee and Savage were taken by truck through this area..."
"Okay, let's move."
Buck was in the rear, the thrill of the hunt coursing through him.It had been so long since he'd been on a military mission, he'd forgotten about the feeling. The tightness in your gut, the tension in your body and the adrenaline rush you kept under wraps.He clutched his weapon and eyed the terrain, his blue eyes scanning the perimeter in a constant motion. He'd said a prayer when they took off just before five a.m. That when the helicopter returned, they'd be fuller by two more-Tanner and Larabee.
"Where are you, Chris?" he whispered to the wind.
"I thought I knew remote," J.D. mused, eyeing the dusty collection of shabby, outdated buildings.
"It's a poor area," Ezra commented, climbing out of their rental vehicle. It wasn't much of a Jeep but was the best they had at the tiny airport. He winced and flexed. "My back may never recover."
"I'll bet it will before my ears do..." Nathan shook his head recalling the southerner's nonstop complaints. He adjusted his glasses and scanned the half-dozen buildings. "Whaddya think?" he tossed to Josiah Sanchez who looked almost cartoonish getting his large frame out of the tiny car.
"Well..." the graying agent decided, wincing and stretching. "I think I lost six inches..."
The other three eyed the buildings, each other, and then zoned in on a single one.
"Saloon!" they chorused.
Jack was dozing, his face on his crossed arms on top of the sticky table. Behind him, the waitress was giving him a massage.
"Be a good lass and put some spit in it..." he advised, then felt the fingers rub harder and lower, slipping beneath his waistline. "Ah... that's a good girl, then..."
"We got company."
"Who?" He didn't move upon hearing Pete's words.
"Americans..." The dark-haired one narrowed his gaze.
"Yanks?" Jack's voice rose in disbelief. "Down here? It's getting to be a real tourist trap." He paused with a frown. "I hate when that happens."
"I know them..." DiTullio craned his neck trying to peer past the motley group assembled at the bar. He saw the tall man then with the short graying hair and it struck him. "They're Larabee's team..."
"Here?"
"No, in Denver..." Pete snapped, then shoved a coin down the open shirt of the well-endowed woman. "Beat it, sister, we got business..."
Jack's shaggy head came up and accepted a deep kiss and grope before the dark haired woman left. He shifted painfully trying to get comfortable.
"Christ, you're not a sixteen-year old!" DiTullio snapped at the irritated man next to him. "Get it under wraps."
"Easier said than done, mate," the blond hissed, squirming in the chair. "I got no time to bash the bishop now..."
Pete nodded to the bartender and saw the four men turn in his direction. They each got a bottle of beer and ambled over. He took the first hand offered from the dark-skinned agent.
"Nathan?" he guessed, trying to recall the photo from the internet research they'd done.
"Yeah," Jackson returned. "I've admired your work for years. I wish we were meeting under different circumstances."
"Thanks." He cast a suspicious eye at the handsome, green-eyed man who looked out of place.
"Standish," the southerner charmed. "Ezra P."
"Ezra?" Pete winced. "Your mother must have been pissed off but good at your old man..."
"Ezra don't have a father, he was sired by a snake." the preacher said solemnly, turning to a shaggy-haired blond man.
"Jack Lynch." The blond took the gray-haired man's hand. "You're a tall one, then..."
"Height challenged." Josiah grinned and saw the blond's brows furrow at the youth beside him. "J.D. Dunne."
"You out of nappies, lad?"
"I'm over twenty-one!"
"In dog years," Nathan teased, winking at the youth. "You heard about General Larabee?"
"Who hasn't?" DiTullio was very familiar with the legend. "I thought he was in China somewhere..."
"He's here," J.D. stated. "He came back to find Chris..."
"Helluva family tree," Lynch noted with admiration. "I met him once, the General that is, in Morocco. He was all that, he was..."
"Indeed," Standish agreed. "It would appear to run in the family. Where do you theorize Juan Xavier's last camp to be?"
"You're a handy chap to have about." Jack eyed the small computer the flashy-toothed man held.
"Yeah,," J.D. snorted in agreement. "That's why we keep him around. He can con us into great hotels, free meals at nifty restaurants and score concert tickets."
"You sentimental fool," Ezra responded humorously.
"Uh... north of there." Pete eyed the small rivers and towns on the digital map. "It's hard to call. He usually disappears into the dense, unpopulated areas and makes his own encampments. They found tracks... here..." he pointed out.
"What about the Jeep? The one Arlee stole?" Nate asked.
"No trace... yet," Jack said as Pete left to talk to some locals at the bar.
"But if Vin is with him," J.D sipped his beer and winced. "What the hell is this?"
Jack took the bottle and winked at Josiah but kept a straight face. "Ah, ye got the wrong bottle, lad. That's what the birds use to wash their naughty bits and pieces with..."
"What?" J.D.'s brows drew together then his face flushed Tanner-red, but then he saw the others smirking and wrinkled his nose. "That's disgusting..."
"You asked." Josiah ruffled his hair.
"...anyhow... if Arlee took him to the crash site..." The dark head moved following Ezra's map movement.
"...and our keen tracker is on the mark..." Ezra followed.
"...then we can follow their tracks..." Nate concluded.
"You may have something," Pete agreed, nodding to the men at the bar. "Julio just got back from north of Vincente. He says the area is crawling with both army and rebels. One of Xavier's men was found murdered and robbed. The army found a jeep nearby..."
"The padre's?"
"Yeah..."
"Let's go!"
It was a couple of hours past sunset. His empty and biting stomach added to the constant throb of his battered body. He now knew what bugs felt like after the windshield wipers squashed them. The tight vines that bound his wrists were limp and saturated with sweat and blood. He grit his teeth and began working on them.
Through green slits, he assessed the situation. They were camped by the river, in a dense thicket of trees. A small fire kept warmth on the chilly night air and he smelled meat of some kind. He eyed the trio and kept tugging on his left wrist that was now nearly free.
Bull was eating. Vin was curled up on his side, not moving. Chris eyed the reddened blistered area under the charred shirt where the tracker was burned. He flicked an eye to the flushed cheeks and realized his friend sported a fever. With a grimace, he yanked his wrist free but made no other move. He would have to time it right when one of the guards was sleeping. He knew Vin was waning and was no longer a threat.
Arlee. Chris frowned and scanned the other man hidden in the shadows. Like Tanner's, the young man's face was covered in sweat and his breathing was off. He saw the hand clutching the leg and heard a moan.
"You hold on, son." Bull moved to the stricken man's side. "By tomorrow we'll find a town... some help."
"...don't sweat it... prick..." Chris whispered, his internal storm raging for what had been done to his friend. "...you'll be dead long before... then..." he vowed, shutting his eyes and waiting to spring.
Bull yawned and fought the urge to sleep. His son and the pig were already under and he had to stay awake. He was tired and weak from hunger; the rat-like thing that Arlee caught had netted little meat. Twice his heavy eyes closed causing his chin to hit his chest. He jerked up, eyeing the others, all not moving.
"...third time's the charm..." Chris noted silently as the large man's head went down and didn't rise. He waited several minutes, eyes watching the gun slip from the brute's hand. He rolled onto his knees and stood, taking several breaths. Then he crept closer, eyes still on the gun, his whole purpose to gain control. He bent down, biting his lip as his back and chest screamed in pain. His fingers brushed the metal, then the beast rose.
"Arlee!" Bull screamed as the blond's fist hit his throat. He gurgled and felt intense pain, then the jarring blow of the gun to his head sent him to the ground.
Chris had no time to draw before Arlee plowed into him. They rolled and grunted, each in pain, weak and fevered. The gun skittered away and neither paid attention to the wobbly hand that picked it up.
"Git offa him..." Vin croaked, barely able to stand. He blinked hard as the blurry pair rolled and exchanged blows, not hearing his order.
"Even... if you... get... me..."Arlee huffed, trying to choke Chris Larabee. "...that dimwitted Texan will put a hole in you..."
"Shut up!" Chris lashed out, leveling a vicious backhand that sent the other man to his knees.
The shot caused them both to jump. Chris dove for cover, watching Vin blink and shake his delirious head.
Arlee took advantage of the wobbly man, slamming into his knees and sending the battered body to the ground. He watched the half-mast blue eyes close and then scanned the ground for the gun. He spotted the metal and scrambled, reaching and pulling it up, but not in time. His eyes widened in shock when the blade hit his throat.
"Rot in hell, you maggot-eatin' rat!" Chris growled, grabbing the knife and yanking it free. "Give my best to your brother..."
Tucking the knife in his pants, he eyed the two downed men. He flinched as rain began to fall. He was looking for the pile of vines that Savage used to bind his hands when he noticed Vin's chest wasn't moving.
"Shit!" He scrambled over, turning the half-twisted body. "Vin? Dammit, don't you die on me..." He slapped the face hard and got a gasp. A raspy breath hit his hand and he sighed in relief, tapping the bearded, bloodied face of the sharpshooter. "One down and one to go, buddy..."
"Well, if this isn't a Kodak moment."
Chris sneered and rose, turning to meet the full height of Bull Savage. He drew the knife out, bared his teeth and stared hard at his opponent. It was then that the older man noticed his son wasn't moving.
"Arlee? Arlee boy, get up..."
"You're gonna have to shout louder, it's a long way to Hell." Chris enjoyed the pained look on the other man's face. "He died yellow like the other demon seed of yours I put down."
"You won't get off this mountain alive!" Bull warned, fisting both hands.
"Let's do it!" Chris taunted, waving his left hand, wiggling every finger.
"Shame... I was hopin' to do you last, let you watch that pretty fella get skinned alive..."
"You won't even get the chance to breathe near him," Chris predicted, unconsciously moving his body in front of the prone ex-bounty hunter.
The rain fell, creating a strange arena for the two combatants. Bull charged and Chris slashed at him, getting a chunk of the massive right arm. The ex-con grabbed a thick piece of wood from the ground and swung hard, catching the knee of the blond. He smiled at the crack and the hiss of pain. So focused were they on their battle that neither one noticed the shaggy-haired man stirring.
Vin rolled onto his back and licked the rain. He was so hot and thirsty and it felt so damn good. He opened his lips, trying to catch the moisture. Then he heard a sound, flesh hitting flesh and a cry of pain. He turned his head and saw two blurry figures seemingly dancing in slow motion. With great effort, he got to his knees and watched the world spin at a crazy angle. Then he saw the gun.
Chris's injuries and weakened condition were making his reactions slow and off kilter. Although he nicked the larger man several times with the knife, he couldn't get the upper hand. The club that Savage swung had done damage to his knee and back. He saw it coming for his head and dodged, shoving the blade where he thought the belly should be. He missed and went to his knees. He felt the wood come around his throat and his air was cut off.
"I'll... break... it..." Bull promised.
Chris saw the spots dancing before his eyes and knew he had little time left. Then he saw Vin's wavering form and reached out.
"V..i...n..." he choked in a hoarse voice. "...sh...oot..."
"Well, here's your chance boy..." Bull grunted, hauling Chris Larabee up using the wood as a lever. He winced when the other man's sharp elbow found his groin. It caused the club to fall and he eyed the ground, searching for the knife. A shot caused both men to turn to the delirious soul across the camp.
"Vin, listen to me..." Larabee tried to reach the lost eyes.
"I thought you wanted to kill him," Bull panted. "He tortured your brother... he killed Chris!"
"He's lying, Vin... I'm Chris. You were hurt... they're using your memory loss to..."
"Shoot him, boy... shoot him now!" Bull shouted.
"Shut up!" Vin screamed, clutching his head with one hand and waving the gun with the other. If there was a worse pain than this one, he didn't know it. His back was on fire, his leg throbbed and his head felt like it had a jackhammer driving inside of it. He couldn't see too well and he felt his world caving in. Their voices mixed and he didn't know what was right. He had no sense of time or space, just pain. He didn't know what to do or who to believe. He just wanted the pain to stop.
Bull saw the blond's eyes flick sideways to where Tanner was staggering dangerously close to the edge of a cliff. He elbowed the blond hard and dove forward, seeking the gun.
"Vin, look out!" Chris screamed, vaulting hard and taking the back of Bull's legs out.
They wrestled again and Chris felt himself weakening. The rain caused the dirt to turn into muddy rivers giving them a slick, unbalanced surface. He grunted and used his legs to flip the other man off of him. Both were spent and slow... their lethargic movements doing little new damage.
"Shoot him!" Bull ordered, watching the Texan jump, his whole body startled. He saw confusion pouring from the blue eyes and doubt beginning to form. "Do it! He killed Arlee..."
"Who?" Vin rasped, then saw his cousin's body. "Aw, hell..." He raised the gun, the weapon wobbling badly in his shaking hands. He needed both to steady his aim.
"Vin, he's lying. That's Arlee Savage, this is his father, Bull..."
"Shoot him! Didn't that brother of yours mean anything to you?" Savage pleaded.
"...they kidnapped us... brought us down here on a plane..." Larabee continued.
"Shut up!" Vin screamed, staggering again, not sure of what to do or who to believe. "Make it stop..." he pleaded, cradling his head and stumbling badly. "...Jesus, make it stop..."
Bull used his large hand to scoop up a hefty fistful of mud and heaved it at the unsuspecting gunman. He dove at him, ramming his head into the slender body.
Vin felt the air leave his lungs, after the mud hitting his face and terrific force hit his chest. He looked up as a beefy hand picked up the knife. His foggy brain saw a blond man... not the one on the ground dazed, but another one. He was smiling in a barn, near a black horse. The split second flash was gone, but it made a mark. Vin didn't have time to make any connection; his reflexes took over. He raised his arm and made his decision.
The gun went off and the body reacted, sending a beefy forearm back hard. Vin's head snapped back and the force of the mighty blow took a lethal turn.
"Vin! Nooooo!" Chris screamed, watching in horror as Tanner's body flew backwards over the cliff.
The whole episode seemed to happen in slow motion. For a few seconds, from where he was lying, he'd seen the light of reason in the sky eyes. Vin Tanner saved his life, but at what cost?
For a few seconds, he couldn't move, then Chris forced himself to get up. He winced as the torrents of rain stung his eyes. He saw the broken body below, lying at an odd angle. He stared hard and saw no chest movement. It was dark and the rain clouded his view, but his heart sank.
Vin Tanner was dead.
Chris clenched his eyes shut and turned his face to the sky. He felt every needle-like shard of the teeming rain pierce him, seeming to shred his soul. His eyes raked over a flicker of silver in the mud. He bent and picked the knife up. Then, a new strength coursed through him and he turned slowly, walking over to where the wounded man lay bleeding.
"Get up."
Bull blinked into the rain and paled beneath the stubble he wore. He was lying against a tree, having crawled over after the bullet hit his gut. He'd seen this man in a variety of moods, positions and conditions. Never, not once, had he been afraid of Chris Larabee.
Until now.
"Get up, you bastard, or I'll carve your heart out..."
"Go to Hell."
"Enjoy the family reunion..."
Bull screamed when Larabee's foot ground hard into the large bleeding wound in his side. He saw the knife and then made the mistake of looking at those lethal eyes. Through the dirt and beard and swollen, bruised flesh, were killer's eyes, color flint and rimmed with deadly intent.
"Please..." he begged, "...don't..."
The cry was short lived. It died when that knife was shoved in his open mouth. It rammed hard to the back of his throat. He twisted sideways, bloody froth pouring from him. The wrist holding the blade never lost its grip.
"...hate a beggin' coward..." Larabee grunted, jerking the knife, twisting hard until the Grim Reaper tapped his shoulder.
He kicked the body over and paused, taking huge mouthfuls of air. He jogged over to the cliff then, eyeing several paths downward. Twenty feet to the left was a steep, rocky decline, but the rocks made a ladder of sorts. It was a painful descent, the sharp edges tearing the flesh on his hands, but Chris didn't feel it. The only pain he felt was the piercing pain where his soul once resided. He dropped exhausted by the body of his best friend. He eyed the odd angle, wincing painfully as the rain beat down on the battered, grimey face. Even with the new beard, Tanner looked too young. Chris rested his hand against that fever flushed cheek and felt his eyes burning.
"I'm sorry, cowboy."
The whispered plea fell on deaf ears. He sighed hard, eyeing the unnatural position of the other man's body. Still on his knees, Chris leaned over the motionless form, yanking out a large rock that Tanner's back was wrapped around.
"Dammit!" His hand twitched; he wished he had a gun to shoot the damn thing to pieces. Vin was now lying flat, every inch marked. Burns, cuts, scrapes, insect bites and other wounds marred the areas now already black and blue. He eyed the rocky road he took down and scowled. It would be a long way back up. Sighing, he lifted the battered hero, wincing as the head flopped against his chest. He raised his hand, cupping the back of the matted rat's nest in the guise of Tanner hair.
"You and your fuckin' nobility..." he whispered painfully, his numb body not able to comprehend the vast loss. There was no word for the pain he felt. It didn't exist in any language. He shivered in the cold rain and realized he'd never be warm again.
Then it happened.
He held his breath and froze. Did he imagine it? Chris pulled back and supported Tanner's upper body with his leg. He cupped the slack jaw and it fell open. He lowered his face, placing his cheek close to the open cavity.
"God... Jesus... God..." His voice cracked and he pulled the Texan close again, shielding him from the cold and rain.
It wasn't his imagination.
Vin was still alive!
Buck Wilmington shifted restlessly on the ground. Dawn would come soon enough and another eighteen hour day with it. He was exhausted. Any other man would be sleeping now, taking advantage of the few hours allotted him to rest.
But he wasn't any man.
He was driven by inner demons. Insatiable, heartless creatures that drove pitchforks in his gut, twisting them until he wanted to cry out at the pain. He needed to voice his anger and frustration. Somewhere in these mountains, two of his closest friends were dying.He knew that. He felt it in his bones. But Buck wouldn't let the beast win. He'd find Chris Larabee and Vin Tanner. . . or die trying.
He sighed, turned over and eyed the black sky. Some nights the stars seemed close enough to touch. Tonight they seemed to mock him. They winked and then hid behind the clouds. It seemed to parallel their mission.
They'd found tracks, followed leads that led to deadends and skirted the river. They stayed in the shadows, moving deftly through the mountains and avoiding the soldiers. Americans were not eyed favorably in these parts and that coldness just added to the plight.
But they were close; he felt it. He rubbed the tension behind his eyes and listened to the river rushing by. When the morning came, they'd head north again, to the place where the locals rumored Juan Xavier to be hiding out. The sun would rise in about five hours, but they'd be on the road again by then. As sleep overtook him, the faces of his missing brothers plagued his dreams causing an uneasy rest.
Endurance.
It was a word that was used frequently but seldom applied in its truest sense. By definition, it was the ability to withstand prolonged pain or strain. Other words filled his pain-logged head. With every uneven, staggered step, they fell into place. They became his mantra in this truest test for survival: staying power, stamina, perseverance, persistence, resolution, fortitude and tenacity. That was perhaps the one he kept firmly in his jaw. Like a pit bill, he had his prey in his teeth and he was not about to let go. He was going to survive this hell hole and keep Vin Tanner alive too.
He leaned back against the tree, closed his throbbing eyes and sucked in air over his burning ribcage. There was not a spot on his body that wasn't screaming in pain. Cuts, bruises, burns and other assorted injuries scored flesh and bone. Added to the dehydration and lack of food, the fever that was steadily rising and the throbbing knee that he could barely put weight on, Chris Larabee slumped, nearly defeated.
"Get your head up, you're not a dog. I've taught you better!"
"...tryin'..." He snarled at the phantom in his head. "...s'hard... I can't..."
"Not good enough!"
The voice screamed at him, causing him to curl up and fist both hands to his temples. He groaned and hissed, but the strong tone persisted. It bounced off every corner of his aching skull and drove him into a furied state.
"Can't! That's not a word in your vocabulary and you know better! You're in charge... he's depending on you. You know the drill... get your ass up and get moving!
"Shut up!" Chris Larabee screamed to the howling wind in the dark night. "Don't fuckin' tell me what to do! I'll show you..." He sucked in a long breath and shoved his aching body from the ground.
He was alone, but the spirit of 'the General' was everywhere. It pushed him far beyond where his body could go. His father's high standards and discipline were as much a part of him as breathing. The very essence of what made him tick, he owed to his father. Under the older Larabee's guiding hands, molded carefully with love and pride, he was formed. At the very core of the engine inside him that fueled his thoughts and moves, was the framework built by Adam J. Larabee. There was not a man he loved and respected more than his father.
As he scavenged the upper campsite where the bodies of the Savages were now stripped, he felt the older man's presence even stronger than ever. As he tied another bundle containing berries, roots and plants, he saw a boy in his mind's eye. Chris staggered badly, nearly falling and dropped the bundle over the cliff where it joined the others he'd tossed ahead of it. His eyes went to Vin Tanner's still form and then back to the blond boy.
As he lifted the canteen to his parched lips and took a drink, he saw the ten-year old, alone in a place not too unlike this one. Survival training was something he'd been raised on from as far back as he could remember. His father drilled it into him from the time he could walk. When he was ten, he was left in the middle of a large area near the base. It was part of the land used to train the men his father commanded. Unknown to the boy, he was never out of his father's sight.The General was in the woods, waiting and watching, ready to step in. But that never happened. He'd proven his mettle that weekend. He swallowed hard and still felt that enormous tide of emotion when he met his father's embrace at the end of the trial. The words scored his soul and he held them still.
"You're a Larabee..."
"Damn straight!" he whispered to the black, barren campsite.
Chris blinked and capped the canteen, watching the ten-year old blond boy with new eyes. Now that he'd been a father, he felt a different kind of pride. He saw himself through his father's eyes and recognized that swell of pride. He hadn't let rain, cold and mud stop him that weekend, and he wouldn't be defeated now. He'd survived then, passed the General's test with flying colors and he'd do it yet again.
"You lose again... old man..." He grunted with a weary smile, thinking of the competitive spirit he inherited from the older man.
He pushed onward, zoned everything out but each goal that must be met. His mental checklist was prepared and his dogged determination kicked in. Shoving the phantom aside with a burst of green fire, he pushed forward, leaving his father's guiding spirit to chase him.
J.D. shivered in the early morning breeze and finished up. He was just zipping his pants when he felt a blade against his throat. His audible gasp and inward shock nearly caused his bladder to erupt again.
"It'd be just that easy for one of the rebels or the soldiers to slit your green throat!" Pete DiTullio hissed and released the startled young man.
"What the hell kind of prank is that?" Dunne snapped, raking his long dark hair with a trembling hand.
"Prank?" the dark-eyed reporter growled, using his index finger to pin the young man to a tree. "You think this is some kind of joke? This ain't Kansas, Toto, and you need to understand that. You gotta take a piss, you do it in the dirt, not on a pile of dried leaves," he snarled. "I heard you clear across the camp. We all did... get my drift?"
"I... didn't... realize..." the embarrassed youth stammered.
"Don't fuck up out here, kid, there is no second chance!" Pete ordered, his eyes hot. "Maybe Jack's right, you need diapers!"
"Look, I made a mistake, it won't happen again!" J.D. shirked the hand off his shoulder and eased from the intense glare. It made him shiver; it was nearly as lethal as Larabee's.
"See that it doesn't or your sorry ass will be headed back to town!"
Dunne's eyes flashed in anger to the older man who sheathed his knife and then walked off, barking orders about eating fast and breaking camp. He turned away, walked a few yards to the river and squatted down, splashing cold water on his face.He felt a tap on his shoulder and a cloth appeared.
"Thanks," he muttered, recognizing the worn wrist watch at his eye level.
"He's right, J.D.," Josiah said quietly. "You know we passed rebel camps last night..."
"Don't you start too!"he flashed, dried his face and balled up the towel. "I'm not a fuckin' kid... I carry the same badge as you!"
"Then act like it!" Sanchez leveled sternly."You're a little big for temper tantrums, J.D."
"I'm not having a tant..." He paused when one gray eyebrow shot up. He sighed, kicked the dirt and his shoulders slumped. "Yeah, okay... sorry..." He eyed the dark-haired reporter who was still giving orders. "He's as bad as Chris..."
"You best be thankful that he is, it might have kept you alive." Josiah nodded across the river where in the semi-darkness of the fading night light, several figures were crossing upstream.
"Shit!" Dunne hissed, paled and rocked back on his heels. He felt the tug on his shoulder and shook his head clear. He could practically feel Buck's boot kicking his ass. He squared his shoulders, tucked his shirt in and followed the preacher back to the waiting vehicles.
Warmth.
He sighed and moaned, reluctantly prying his eyes open. The heat of the new day was tapping to get inside. He was exhausted, his injured body pushed far beyond the boundaries of endurance. His first glance went to the stilled body next to him. His hand shot out automatically, covering Vin Tanner's nose and mouth. Warm air danced on his dirty fingers. Sighing in relief, he eyed their new home, more than satisfied with his efforts.
Above them, tied by vines to two trees gracing a ten foot by ten foot area, were large fan-shaped leaves. He'd used sap from the trees as glue, overlapped them and tied them together. The thick leaves not only made a fine respite from the intense sun, it would protect them from rain as well.
Next to him, skirting the walls of the humble abode, were piles of fruits, plants, roots and all he could scavenge from the bodies up above them. He'd taken two canteens, the clothes, knife, gun, ammo, a crude spear and shoelaces.
Next to the tall plants that housed the fan-shaped leaves in abundance was another strange plant. It was in clumps, like thick grass with blades over three feet long. He'd yanked on and found them very sturdy and flexible. He'd taken some, tied them together and tossed them down from above.
The texture of the odd grass lent itself to crudely shaped baskets, a trio of which he'd managed to fashion. One held water, thanks to the glue-like sap that held together the large leaves on it, the others housed the fruit, including the only one he'd recognized, the prickly pear. Once Vin woke up, he'd have the expert eyeball his collection and find what was edible and what wasn't. . Most of this vegetation was unknown to him and Tanner's background and prior travels in this area would give him the expert's eye.
Although his body cried out for sleep, his short nap would have to suffice. He edged closer to his partner and laid a hand on the slack cheek.
"Shit..." he croaked of the rising fever.
He stood on wavering legs, munched on a pear and wobbled badly to the small arm of the river that flowed nearby. Laid out on rocks to dry in the sun were the garments he'd cut from the corpses above. He'd scrubbed them in the icy water at dawn before gathering the fruit and plants. He selected a two foot by three foot section of shirt and carried it back to the hut. He eyed the marred body of the tracker and frowned before dropping carefully by his side.
"Let's see what we got..." he sighed, cutting Vin's ragged pants along the side seam, exposing the badly mottled and discolored flesh.
New bruises from their fight and colored blue and purple meshed with the older, healing ones in green. Chris flinched then gently touched the swollen, reddened area on Vin's right thigh near a deep wound. The heat that met his fingers told him the leg was infected. The minor wound in his gut, caused by Arlee Savage's knife the day they were taken, was healing okay. He eyed the scattered bug bites and cuts, too numerous to count, and hoped that none were venomous. He knew this part of the country was littered with spiders and other dangerous predators that could be aiding in the fever now encompassing his fallen comrade.
Chris temporarily pulled the pants back up, realizing that he'd have to open the infected leg soon. Next, his eyes went to the cuts, abrasions and other damage on Tanner's upper body. Most of his chest was blue and purple and the gentle touch of his hand to the rib area caused the unconscious man to cry out.
"Sorry..." he murmured, hissing in anger when his eyes saw the healing burns on Vin's chest and his mind replayed the two Savage brothers torturing his friend.
Leaning forward, he gently turned the restless man's head, exposing the ragged scalp wound. Through the matted hair, it was difficult to follow the track, but his fingers felt heat under the skin and the slightest touch brought a sharp cry as the weak body protested.
"Easy, Vin," he whispered, pressing the shoulders down. He knew the sniper's back was injured and didn't want him moving around. His breath caught when two muddled blue eyes looked up at him. "You hurt your back, I need you to lie still, okay?"
Vin eyed the stranger above him and nodded, hearing the warning but not understanding anything else. His eyes moved sideways, spotted the nearby piles of fruit, plants and roots. He felt heat around him but not directly on him. His pained gaze took in the green ceiling and his fingers felt a woven mat beneath his body.
Shelter and food.
Despite the world of confusion and pain he was lost in, that much he knew. Those two words added up to another that escaped his dry, cracked and bleeding lips.
"...safe..."
"I got your back..." Chris replied quietly. "Here, you need to drink..." He gently lifted the matted head and tipped the canteen. "Slow... and easy..." he coached, then the head fell back.
"...anks..."
"You're welcome." He tried to ease the reign of confusion in the pain-ridden gaze. "We're somewhere in Mexico, on the coast, up in the mountains. You got hurt... Vin... Vin...?" He tapped the face when the eyes slid shut. "Sorry..." he answered the angry furrow. "Vin, you..."
"...call me that... name..."
"I didn't give it to you, your Ma did. You're Vin Tanner, I'm Chris Larabee and..."
"Chris!" Vin cried out, an unbearable pain lancing through his entire body. His beloved brother was dead. "No... he's dead... aw, God... he's dead... Chris... Chr...!"
"Vin, I'm not... Vin?" He tapped the slack face. "Dammit!" He balled up both fists and felt his anger swell like a tidal wave. If he wasn't so ridden with injuries himself, he'd haul his ass up that slope and beat the tar out of Arlee's corpse for tormenting his friend. That Vin was suffering such grief over his apparent demise both touched him deeply and worried him. How would he reach the lost soul?
He used the water in the bowl to wipe down Vin's face, neck and chest with cold water. Then he rested and drank more water. Partially satisfied at the water he'd gotten into the fevered man, Chris decided to address his own injuries. Stripping his torn clothing, he eased his aching, battered body into the water. He eyed his swollen knee with concern. It was grossly misshapen and he suspected possible ligament or tendon damage. He used the scrap of cloth to wash the dirt from the cuts that covered him. The recent ones, inflicted by Vin, were red and swollen. He pressed those areas, near his left collarbone and across his navel, carefully. His side wound, from the bullet in the diner, seemed to be healing okay. No sign of infection was apparent.
The only other two pressing concerns were the burns on his lower right side where he went over the fire in the fight with Tanner and the throbbing ache in his buttocks. He remembered the doctor's warning in the clinic the day his rat bite was treated. The words 'serious infection without full completion of the antibiotics' were stamped in his brain. He'd only taken them for a couple days before they were kidnapped.
What injuries, cuts and bruises, concussion notwithstanding, didn't do to his body, lack of food and fever was quickly devouring. Chris knew he had to stay alert for Vin's sake. He stood up, staggered to a rock and lowered his throbbing body down, letting the sun warm and dry him. He was dozing when a weak voice called out.
The murky dark waters were churning beneath his failing body. The vivid nightmare left the battered man wet and thrashing weakly. He saw the bubbling hot pool and felt its fiery touch. He gasped in pain as the acid in the water rose up and invaded his nose and mouth. He couldn't breathe... he couldn't move... he needed help.
He was dying.
He felt his head sink beneath the flames dancing on the water and cried out, his burning brain going far beyond where reason and logic ended. With his dying breath, he reached out to the only one he could.
"Chris!"
"Vin!"
He sat up too quickly and put weight on his bad leg. "Shit! Dammit to hell... fuck..." he swore as the pain shot through his knee and up his thigh. Hobbling badly, Chris sank to his good knee inside the hut next to the gap-mouthed Texan. Vin's eyes were wide open as was his mouth, but there was no movement of air. "Snap out of it!" he ordered, slapping the face as hard as he could. A huge sucking sound led to the marred chest heaving and the eyes blinking in stupor. "Jesus, Vin!" He sat back, rubbed his throbbing leg. "You scared the shit out of me. You okay?"
"...thought... I was... dead..."
"Not on my shift."
Vin turned slowly, startled by a trio of strong emotive elements: the words, the deep conviction behind them and the slight pat on his leg. He stared hard at the other man whose pale hair was dingy and matted. A sandy beard covered his jaw and the face was riddled with pain. Then he saw the head turn and the eyes looked right at him.
"...green..."
"Huh?" Chris leaned closer, not understanding the almost wonder-like tone. "I got some food. I need your help to ID 'em..." He scooted over, holding up two different berries.
"...yellow's good... red ain't..." Vin rasped painfully, his chest on fire. Every breath was hard fought and he was struggling. But he couldn't take his eyes off that face. Something stirred deep within him. Every time he saw those eyes, his gut shredded. This man was his enemy. He killed Chris... didn't he? He eyed the shelter again and the words came back. Shelter, food and safe harbor. Why would this man help him? The voice drew him back and he stared hard at those eyes. He didn't hear the voice calling to him, rather he was listening to the one within.
"...trust him..."
"Okay..." he sighed, deciding to follow his heart, hoping it didn't steer him wrong.
"Okay what?" Chris frowned, holding up several roots. "Vin, what about these?"
"Uh..." He blinked and squinted at the three colored plants draped in front of him. "White's good... mash up... heat... brown one's okay... good fer..uh... fever... and... pain. Purple one's poison... get rid..."
"Okay, good ... thanks Vin!" he exuded. "How 'bout these?" He held up three pieces of fruit.
"Orange one's good... sorta like ... mangoes... green one's bitter... don't taste s'good..." He stopped to catch his breath, taking several minutes to regroup. He eyed the remaining fruit and nodded. "Tumbo..." he recognized. "S'good... carve out... bits and pieces." He nodded to the tubular growth with a spout-like handle. "...use it t'tote water... s'hard... ya can heat up..."
"Good... that's great. Thanks, Vin," he relayed with concern, turning to get the canteen. A tiny tap on his arm caused him to pause. "What?"
"...s...s....s..." Vin pointed to a cluster of white bell-shaped flowers.
"Huh?" The blond turned, lifted the indicated plant and frowned. "What about this?"
"...s...s...oap..." Vin hissed, relieved that the word got out. "...roots... use..."
"You sayin' I need a bath, cowboy?" he teased and then his smile died when the other man looked up at him with anguished eyes. "What?"
Vin couldn't speak; the word paralyzed him. Why should that word affect him like this? It was just a word. Six letters, no more no less. Yet spoken by the grubby blond with the green fire eyes, it ripped his gut. He was trembling all over and didn't understand any of it. He was struggling to breathe now and raised a hand.
"Cow...boy?" he whispered painfully, latching on to the other man's forearm. Why had he done that? What caused him to make such an odd gesture?
The confused stare told the older man that his friend was fighting hard to find answers. Simple gestures that had come to mean something far beyond tangible to the pair were now pushing through the dark world Tanner was lost in. The muddled blue eyes didn't understand the reaction in his body.
"Yeah, I gotcha," Chris soothed, gripping the arm and gaining a sigh of relief. "Vin, I need to know about your back. You landed on a rock. Any pain when you move your head, neck, arms?"
"Uh..." Vin laid still, moved his head to the left and right and cried out in pain. "...head hurts..." He reached up and touched the jagged wound.
"That's from the plane crash..." Chris saw the eyes widened and dart about frantically. "We survived, it's done. What about your neck?"
"...no... s'okay..." Vin managed, then his eyes widened in panic. He snaked a hand out, grabbing air, until another hand latched on.
"What? What's wrong?"
"..I can't...I ... can't... Oh God!... I can't feel m'legs..."
"Cut that out!" Chris ordered harshly, gripping the moving jaw. "You can't breathe like that and moving around might pop a lung. You got broken ribs..."
But it wasn't okay. Something was wrong. His mouth opened and closed, but no air would come. He tried to call out and felt the panic begin to close around his throat. Then several harsh slaps to his face caused the juggernaut to burst and air exploded from his lungs.
"....I couldn't... there weren't no... air... I ..."
"Easy, Vin..." he leveled, then watched closely until the breathing was steadier. "Better?"
"Yeah... thanks... sorry..."
"Vin, you got some nasty burns on your lower back..."
"...and..." The blue eyes saw something else lurking.
"Your leg's infected, I need to open it..."
"Okay," Vin nodded, then his heavy eyes closed.
Chris worked quickly, feeling his own strength fading away. He used the spear to catch several fish and the indicated shell of the fruit to boil some water.
Then he made a bed of tinder and formed a small wigwam of kindling around it. Next, he reached for the box of ammo he found in Arlee's pocket. He used the knife to pry the bullets open, spilling the black powder under the tinder mass. Then he laid two stones with gunpowder, striking them together until the flame sparked. He used larger pieces of kindling to stoke the fire and moved to use the frame he'd constructed. He positioned two large sticks into the ground, forked the ends and laid a third across them, over the top of the flames. Upon this, he staked the gourd holding the water.
While the water heated, he staggered to the river and took the empty basket with him. He filled it with water and then began crushing the tiny roots of the soap plant. He scrubbed his own body as best he could, getting rid of most of the lingering dirt. Pausing on the rocks, he rested for sometime, allowing his injured body to recover some much needed strength
Next, he dropped to the fallen man's side. Wary of the back injury, he carefully manuevered Vin onto his side, keeping his back straight. This 'log roll' was accomplished by using one hand on the shoulder and one on the hip and then easing him onto his side, keeping his spine straight. As luck would have it, the large rock Tanner landed on was there. He gently rested Vin against it, giving him clearance to work on the exposed lower back. He washed the tempered red flesh carefully with lots of water, taking the dirt and debris from the red and blistered flesh.
"Okay..." he sighed, sat back and rested as the landscape began to tilt a little. He took several steadying breaths and waited until the dizziness stopped, then he picked up the aloe plants he'd found. Along with the crushed pulp of the prickley pear, they would make a good burn cream. Once that was slathered onto the tracker's burned back, he eased the moistened section of cloth over it, tying it loosely. Then he carefully eased Vin back onto the ground, grateful that he'd slept through the ordeal.
The remaining pulp and cream were applied to the burns on his side. Then he rested, taking time to drink and eat. He took a long draw of water, ate some of the yellow berries which tasted a little like blueberries, and watched the steam rise from the now empty gourd. He stuck the knife inside, letting it boil good. Then he cleaned Vin's leg again with soap and took the knife out. He paused to eye the sleeping man and laid the metal to flesh. Greenish-yellow ooze flowed out along with a horrid stench. He flushed the open wound with soapy water and rinsed it, before pressing the blade on either side of the gash trying to get all of the poison out. He poured some of the steaming water into the half empty canteen and used the warm fluid on a clean cloth. He pressed this to the wound, drawing out more debris. Finally, the yellow fluid turned clearer and he tied a loose bandage around it, allowing it to drain.
Exhausted, but not yet ready to give in, despite his throbbing head and aching limbs, he diced up the brown root and mashed it with the hot water. He tapped the fevered face, watching the familiar scowl form.
"Fuck off!"
Chris smiled at the cranky Tanner tone, one the whole team had come to appreciate. He tapped again and the eyes half opened. Confusion gazed back at him and a hand came up to swat him away.
"Don't piss me off, Tanner, I'm having a bitch of a day. You need to eat this, it's the brown stuff for fever..."
"You... first..." Vin offered in a soft rasp.
"That's my cowboy!" Chris gripped the back of the neck gently and smiled at the typical Tanner reaction. "But I'm still the boss..."
He scooped up two fingers full of the pulp and slid it between the parted lips. He got quite a bit into the dazed man, adding some chopped fruit and water as well. He tossed the large clean shirt taken from Bull over the now shivering man and finally eased down to let his own body rest. He ate the remaining pulp, some fruit and eyed the fish nearby. He'd rest a bit then get dinner started
Chris sat next to Vin, staying close and keeping a single hand in contact with the bruised and shivering body. The trembling finally slowed as he eyed the surrounding terrain. As his eyes drifted shut, Chris saw a worried face appear in his mind's eye. Two piercing blue eyes and features full of determination over a chiseled chin and dark mustache.
"Where are you, Buck?" he prayed, needing his oldest friend more than ever.
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