Chris screamed as the blade sank into his right shoulder, unaware of the fear that formed on Maguire’s face. All he knew was the new pain was adding to his misery, but he needed to keep his eyes on his captor. Everything came down to a strength of will and having faith in his friends, both old and new. He forced his eyes open, feeling warm blood flowing from the wound. His eyes met Maguire’s once more as the man went to pull the blade from his shoulder.
Robert Maguire could not understand why his aim had been deflected. He’d raised his hand over his head and brought it down towards the taut chest, but at the last minute his aim faltered. The knife embedding in his victim’s shoulder instead of dead center of the X he’d made with the cane. He reached for the handle protruding from Larabee’s flesh, but a sound outside the entrance caught his attention and he turned away from his victim.
Chris let his eyes slide closed and a thin smile adorned his battered features as he recognized the voices from outside. He knew instinctively who was out there and took a deep breath in spite of the pain in his chest. He knew ribs had bent and broken under Maguire’s fists, yet he found the strength to face the pain and let it keep his mind clear.
“You feel them too, don’t you?” Larabee whispered as the madman turned back to him.
“They won’t stop me Christopher. I will not fail like my ancestor did. You die right here, right now!” the madman vowed as he walked to a shelf, frowning as a screeching sound came from overhead and dust and dirt billowed down around him. ‘Can’t fail,’he thought as he reached for the gun on the shelf. Long slender fingers wiped the dust and dirt from the weapon. He didn’t know where it originally came from, but the white handled colt had been his property since he discovered it in an Old West novelty shop seven years before. He caressed the handle and walked back to his captive as footsteps sounded at the entrance to the chamber. His eyes darted to the branding iron still nestled in the flames and regretted that he wouldn’t get to use it on his victim. He looked into the green eyes and saw a strength in them he knew he’d never possess. ‘Perfection!’he thought simply.
“Don’t fuckin’ do it!” Wilmington hissed as he entered the chamber. Dust and debris fell around him, but his eyes were drawn to the bound man. “Oh, God, Chris,” he muttered as he brought his weapon to bare on Robert Maguire.
“You can’t stop me!” Maguire hissed as he lifted the gun and pointed it at his victim’s head.
Buck heard the sounds of footsteps beside him, the heavy breathing of everyone involved, but only acknowledged the sound of a cocking pistol. “NO!” he snarled as he pulled back on the trigger of his own weapon. The bullet discharged from the weapon and the men watched as if everything was happening in slow motion. It felt as if they could track the bullet’s progress as it left the barrel and made a direct line to Maguire’s waiting flesh.
Chris knew he needed to watch what was happening, but the adrenalin rush that kept him on his feet was quickly disappearing, leaving him weak and trembling. He watched as the white handled Colt came up and still he met the dead eyes of the madman. He waited, his body rigid as it anticipated the inevitable impact of a bullet. He could see his six friends enter the chamber and knew Wilmington was screaming at Maguire. A blast shattered the silence and he gasped as his strength gave out and he sagged in the chains, his shoulders now holding his dead weight.
“Chris!” Tanner shouted as he tore from Sanchez and Jackson’s hold. He registered the fact that Maguire was sinking to his knees at the same time Chris sagged against the overhead beam. He felt the strength leaving his own body, yet he couldn’t give into the weakness until he knew his friend was alive. He heard Maguire slip the rest of the way to the floor and the gun fall to the ground beside him.
Jackson hurried forward and stepped in front of the team leader as Sanchez rushed to support the tracker once more.
“We need to get him out of here, now!” Jackson shouted above the rendering cracks of overhead beams. “Buck, see if he has the keys!” the medic shouted, not wanting to chance another gunshot in the rapidly weakening chamber.
Wilmington knelt beside the man he’d just shot and searched through the pockets. ‘Thank God,’ he silently prayed as his hands fell on a set of old keys. “I got ‘em, Nathan,” he said as he hurried forward.
“Give ‘em to me. You and Ezra are gonna have to support him once I release the chains. Josiah, Get Vin out of here!” he shouted as more and more dust, chunks of rock, and rotted wood fell around them.
“N...no, all need to b...be here. Get him down, Nathan!”
“Vin’s right,” Sanchez said as he saw the seven shadows standing at the darkest corner of the chamber.
JD frowned as he noticed one of the shadows point to something on the floor in front of him. Not understanding why, the young easterner picked up the white handled Colt and held it in his grasp. He had no understanding of why this seemed important, yet he didn’t question why he’d been told to do it.
Buck and Ezra stood on either side of Chris Larabee. Neither man could see an unmarked place on his upper body and both were afraid to touch the victim. Buck was on the side where a knife protruded from Larabee’s shoulder and he knew they shouldn’t remove it. His eyes were drawn to the livid bruise on Larabee’s hip and he drew Jackson’s attention to it.
“Dammit! Look, it’s gonna hurt no matter how we do this! Hold him now!” Jackson ordered as he reached above Larabee’s head and released him from the beam. “Okay, you two, get him out of here! Josiah, bring Vin! JD, get out now!”
Buck and Ezra lifted the injured man into their arms, biting their lips in an effort to ignore the weak cries of pain and the gasping breath as they rushed from the chamber. Although painful to hear it was evidence that Chris Larabee was still with them. They raced into the bright sunlight and nearly collapsed with relief as Josiah, Vin, JD, and Nathan joined them.
“Where do we put him, Nathan?” Buck asked worriedly.
“Let’s get him into the house!” Jackson ordered. “Josiah, bring Vin along!”
“S...si...ck.”
Wilmington heard the weak gasp and turned to Jackson. “Nathan, he ain’t gonna make it to the house.”
JD didn’t wait for instructions as he left the others standing where they were. He ran to the house and shoved open the door. He ran into the slightly cooler interior and searched for anything they could use. His eyes fell on an open door leading into a bedroom. He ran across the foyer and into the room, grabbing the blankets and pillows from the unmade bed. He turned from the room and raced back to join the others.
“Mr. Jackson, he’s gonna throw up.” Standish eased his grip in order to let the injured man turn his head slightly as dry heaves wracked his body. His eyes looked at the blond, sympathy for his plight written on his normally steadfast poker face. He knew these men would not think less of him for his emotional display as he let the tears stream from his eyes.
Chris could feel six pairs of eyes watching him and knew he was safe, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, yet he also felt things were not quite over. He saw the seven shadowy images near the entrance to the mine and smiled thinly. They were there to help and as long as he let them everything would be okay. He sucked in a deep breath as he was eased to the ground. He looked into the eyes of the youngest member of his team and smiled weakly. “T...thanks...Kid,” he stammered through cracked lips. He groaned as a deep cough erupted from his chest and he tried to wrap his arms around himself.
“Just lie still, Chris,” Jackson ordered as he placed his hand on the team leader’s arm. “Josiah, put Vin down here beside him.”
“V...Vin,” Larabee tried to speak, but it came out as a rasping whisper.
“R....right here, Cowboy,” Tanner said as he was eased down beside the battered blond.
“T...thought you w...were dead.”
Tanner smiled in spite of the agony raging through his head and shoulder. “Ain’t that easy to kill.”
“Me e...either,” Larabee gasped as his mind once more registered the pain invading every nerve ending in his body. The signals to his brain were overwhelming as new injuries registered in his mind. “F...uck!” he swore as he tried to curl into a ball. He could feel hands touching him and trying to sooth some of the pain from his body, but there was no relief from the terrifying feeling that death was closing in on him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~`
‘Dying!’ he thought as he felt blood run from the wound in his back. ‘Have to finish it!’ He rolled onto his side and finally made it onto his stomach. He set his mind to ignore the pain in his back as he stood up. A creaking moan from overhead once more announced the immanent collapse of the mine. He looked around the chamber, his eyes coming to rest on The Book and he hurried to pick it up. He moved to the well stocked shelf and picked up the second gun he’d kept there. This was a newer acquisition and he wished he still had the Colt. It had seemed fitting that he kill Christopher Adam Larabee with the battered old weapon, but it was not to be. There was no pain now, just a deep sense that things were about to end. Proof once and for all that he was a better man than his ancestor was within his grasp. He held The Book in his left hand and placed it over his heart as he walked towards the entrance. A rock struck his temple and blood seeped from the tiny cut there, but the pain never registered. For Robert Maguire things would end just outside the entrance to the mine. When all was said and done, Robert Maguire and Christopher Larabee would both be dead.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Nathan!” the sharpshooter hissed as Larabee suddenly went quiet, his body tense and rigid.
Jackson reached for the blond’s neck and felt the tiny flutter of a pulse there. “He’s still with us, Vin,” he assured the worried man.
Chris could hear them talking, yet his eyes were glued to the entrance of the mine. Seven figures stood silently watching him and he knew the time of reckoning was at hand. He lifted his left hand and reached for the gun tucked into the young Bostonian’s pants.
Vin knew something was happening as he too watched the figures at the mine entrance. He looked from them to Larabee, to Larabee’s long fingers closing over a white handle sticking up from JD Dunne’s pants. It seemed as if Chris’s hands were the only thing moving as he pulled the gun from its resting place. Vin sighed and struggled upwards, frowning as Jackson didn’t stop him. With his left arm he reached out and dragged the battered form upwards. He let Larabee lean against his own chest, ignoring the reawakened pain in his shoulder.
“N...nearly time, V...in!”
“I know, Chris! Here come the others!”
Larabee and Tanner watched as the seven figures seemed to glide towards them. They knew why these men were there and knew with their touch they’d gain the strength they needed to end everything, here and now. He saw each figure place a hand on his own namesake and smiled as Chris looked into the eyes of his great, great grandfather.
‘You can do it, Son,’ the black clad man said and placed his hand on Larabee’s shoulder.
‘Hang on to him, Son’ the buckskin clad man said as he placed his hand on Tanner’s shoulder.
‘Here he comes,’ the seven shadowy forms hissed as one. They sent their own strength into their namesakes and waited for destiny and fate to make things right.
Nothing moved as seven men from the past surrounded seven figures form the present. Their images were barely noticeable yet there was little doubt of their presence as a dark figure stepped from the cave. Time stood still as fate made up her fickle mind as to who would win this day.
Maguire moved into the framed opening of the mine. Blood continued to flow from the wound in his back, his body shook as sweat beaded on his forehead. His eyes, cold and deadly, sought out and held the contact he wanted. He was oblivious to everything, but the blond man sitting on the ground in front of him. “I will not fail!” he shouted as something clamped down on his arm, steadying the tremors in his hand. He knew who was with him as sure as he knew who was surrounding his victim. A shadow stood beside him, the arm outstretched and touching him as he watched the changing patterns before his eyes. “You die, Christopher!” he gasped as he felt his ancestor sending him the strength he needed to finish what had started over 100 years in the past.
Fourteen figures watched as the man who’d tormented Chris Larabee in July 1876 joined his own great, great grandson.
Chris felt the strength shift slightly and once more met his ancestor’s gaze. Both sets of green eyes sent the message that it would end today. Robert Maguire would meet his destiny and fate at the hands of the men grouped around Chris Larabee.
Maguire watched as the shadows of the past mixed with the reality of the present and knew the time had come. He held The Book tight to his chest as he felt the form next to him help lift his right arm.
‘Are you ready to meet your Destiny, Chris’ the shadow asked.
‘You’re not my destiny, Maguire, but we are yours!’ the black clad man said as he felt his hand join the three others on the gun held tightly in his namesake’s hand. The gun came up, inch by inch until it was pointed at the figures before them.
‘Now!’ the spectral Maguire hissed.
“Burn in hell where you belong!” Fourteen voices spoke the words as a single shot rang out.
The ground quickly sucked up the offering of moisture as a rogue wind blew sand and dust around the silent forms huddled on a single blanket.
Robert Maguire looked down at The Book, not quite understanding where the hole came from. His eyes misted as pain lanced from beneath the ruined journal and he let his hand drop. He heard a soft cry of rage from beside him and frowned as the shadow of his ancestor faded before his eyes. Still nothing registered in his mind until he looked at the seven men in front of him. His eyes grew wide as the shadows beside them grew stronger.
“NO!” he cried out as the gun he held dropped from his hand. He stood frozen in place as his life seeped from his body and dropped to the greedy, waiting sands. His legs could no longer support his weight and he sank to his knees as the gun slid from numbed fingers. His eyes lingered on one man and for a second he thought he was seeing double. Sudden realization came with the flash of pain in his chest. He knew beyond a doubt who this man was. His ancestor’s victim had come back to save his own great, great grandson. His eyes slowly lost focus as he finished the final journey of his life and his lifeless body lay on the hot sand, as the wind around him died as quickly as appeared.
Chris felt the presence beside him as the winds of time shifted. He felt nothing right now, no pain, no fear, no worries, but he knew it wouldn’t last long. He met the eyes of his ancestor and knew the other six men were looking into their own pasts.
“Thank you,” Larabee said and saw an unmistakable smile cross the shadowy figure dressed in black. A simple nod of the head was his answer as both past and present Larabee’s looked towards the body. Two sets of green eyes fell on The Book and Chris looked at the fading image beside him. “What do we do with it?” he asked as the pain began to seep past his defences.
‘Burn it. It won’t end until that bastard’s words are vanquished the same way he was.’ He smiled as his namesake nodded his head. ‘You’ve got good friends here, Son,’ he said as Tanner and Larabee passed him the Colt. The weapon went from solid to shadow as it passed from one pair of hands into the hands of its rightful owner.
“The best,” Larabee agreed as his eyes met those of the gunslinger one final time.
‘You’ll be fine now, Chris. Just accept the help of your friends and you’ll make it through. I’m proud of you!’ the man in black stood up and placed the Colt back in the holster where it belonged.
The two Magnificent Seven Firm Agents watched as their counterparts joined The Magnificent Seven Peacekeepers from the past. A simple nod of fourteen heads was all that was needed. The Seven shadows moved to other shadows and each man recognized the familiar outline of horses. They mounted up, turned away from their namesakes and rode away. The sun blocked out the final leg of their journey back to their own time.
The seven men remained where they were for a full minute before a gasp from the blond brought Jackson back to the present. He moved to sit beside the two injured men. “Buck, ease Chris off Vin and lie him back on he pillows.
“N...no...” Larabee stammered as he tried to sit forward. The pain had a stronger grip on him now, but there was one more thing he needed to see done.
“Chris, I need to check you out!” Jackson ordered.
“G...gotta see it fin...ished,” the blond hissed.
“See what finished, Chris?” Tanner asked as his own pain came back to life.
“Burn....Gotta...bu...rn...it!”
“Burn what?” Wilmington asked worriedly.
“Book...burn it...”
Josiah stood up and walked over to the dead man. He reached down and pried the ruined book from the dead fingers and stood up. He turned towards the four men huddled around the two injured agents and knew instinctively what Larabee was asking them to burn.
“Only way to end it,” Larabee cried weakly. The pain that was once a dull, throbbing roar was taking hold and slamming into every part of his body and still he had to hold on. “Burn it, J’siah!”
Sanchez nodded and quickly searched for anything to set fire to the aged Journal. He searched Maguire’s pockets and found a gold embossed lighter with the initials R. M. on the lid. His eyes met the pain filled eyes of Chris Larabee and he flicked the lighter open.
“Do it!” Larabee hissed. He smiled as the flame came to life in the ex-preacher’s hands. The fire sputtered as it neared the pages, but the edge of the paper finally caught. The blond watched as Sanchez placed the book on the ground beside the dead man and waited for the fire to consume whatever was written inside. He leaned forward, crying out as the wounds to his body and the broken bones protested the new abuse he was inflicting on it.
Josiah watched the book until there was nothing left but a pile of black ash on the incredibly white sands. He knew they’d just destroyed evidence, but he also knew it was destined to happen. A sound behind him caught his attention and he turned to see a cloud of dirt and dust billowing out from the mine and rising up into the open air. He looked above the entrance to see a large crow circling overhead and he dropped his eyes to the injured men as he snarled. ‘You’re not taking Chris Larabee!’ he swore as he came and knelt in front of the blond.
“It’s done, Chris!” Sanchez watched as Larabee’s energy gave out and he sagged against the sharpshooter. Twin cries of pain reached the ears of the healthy men and they quickly moved Larabee off Tanner.
“JD, get the first aid kit! Buck see if you can find more water! Vin stay put! Josiah, make sure Vin’s shoulder’s not bleeding! Ezra, go into the house and find anything I can use to immobilize Chris’ shoulder! Bring some water to clean him up with too!” Jackson called the orders as he slowly ran his hands over Chris Larabee’s battered body.
Chris felt the soft hands of the healer as he gently probed his ribs. He couldn’t suppress the cry of pain as broken ribs shifted under the easy touch.
“Sorry, Chris,” Jackson said as he shifted his focus to the hip. The bruise covered most of the area, from the navel as far towards the back as he could see. There was no doubt in his mind the hip was broken, now they just needed to keep it immobile until the medivac chopper arrived. “Jesus,” he swore as he moved to the lash marks covering the lean thighs and taut chest. He could tell Chris had gone through at least two rounds with a cane, or something similar, as livid welts now surrounded old wounds.
“Nathan?”
Jackson looked up as JD placed the first aid kit beside him. “Thanks, JD,” he muttered as the kid opened it. He heard Buck and Ezra return and was grateful as they afforded him extra hands.
“Nathan, how is he?” Tanner winced as Sanchez probed his shoulder.
“I don’t know yet, Vin,” Jackson answered as he felt the area around the knife wound. He knew not to remove the blade or he could cause worse damage.
“Chopper coming in!” Wilmington said as the sound of rotary blades came closer.
“Thank God,” Jackson hissed. He opened a sterilized package of gauze and used it to soak up the blood seeping from the knife wound. “Buck, hold this for me!” he ordered and the ladies’ man placed his hand on the gauze, holding it against the wound, but not pressing down heavily.
JD rushed out into the open and waved his hands to get the chopper’s pilot’s attention. He watched as it descended towards them, knowing help was almost on hand. As it touched down he motioned them towards the injured men. Two men jumped out, grabbed the medical kits and the stokes and ducked as they ran beneath the churning blades. They hurried past the anxious agent and knelt in front of the injured men, one beside Larabee the second beside Tanner.
The two men were used to working together and began cursory exams of both men.
“What have you got, Phil?” Joe Striker asked as he placed his hand against Larabee’s neck. His expert eyes were quickly assessing the visible injuries on the front of the body he worked on.
“He was shot four or five days ago,” Jackson supplied, realizing he really wasn’t sure how much time had passed since Vin had been shot. “Bullet broke the collarbone. Second bullet grazed his head. He’s been suffering from a major concussion.”
Phil St. Laurent looked at the dark skinned man and frowned. “Why the hell isn’t he in the hospital?”
“It’s a long story. He wasn’t released...we...we signed him out,” Jackson explained as the paramedic completed taking vitals.
“What’s your name, Son?” he asked the young man.
“Vin...Tanner,” the sharpshooter gasped. He heard Jackson telling the man working on Larabee that he was a fully trained paramedic in Billings Montana and smiled as the second man put him to work taking vitals.
“Allergic to anything?” Phil asked the man he worked on.
“Penicillin.”
“All right, Vin, I’m gonna set an IV up and give you something for the pain. Then we’ll get you loaded in the chopper.”
“Ch...ris?” Tanner lifted his head slightly and looked at the man beside him.
“Joe’s taking good care of your friend and the quicker I get you comfortable the quicker I’ll be able to help him out. So just relax for me okay?”
“O...kay,” Tanner hissed as his eyes slid closed.
Striker was glad of Nathan Jackson’s help. The extra hands were needed as he started to examine the wounds on the injured man before him. He smiled as a pair of green eyes peeked out from under half mast lids. He saw the lines of pain on the haggard face and knew they needed to get this man ready and loaded on the chopper.
“What’s your name, Son?” the older man asked as he attached a cervical collar around the patient’s neck..
“C...Chris.”
“Well, Chris, I’m Joe and I’m gonna take good care of you. Now you try to relax while we get some fluid running into you. Okay?”
“...okay...” Larabee agreed and closed his eyes. He could feel hands all over his body and grimaced as they struck a particularly sore spot. ‘Hell, Larabee, you’re sore everywhere,’ he laughed as he felt someone tapping at his forearm.
Nathan heard the weak sound and looked at the man he was working on. He knew Larabee was in a lot of pain, but he also realized with his blood pressure so low there was nothing they could give him without jeopardizing his life even further. He looked back at the arm and searched for a likely place to start an IV.
“The right hip is broken and he’s got broken ribs down both sides,” he explained as he inserted the tiny needle that would help deliver much needed fluids to his friend.
“Does he have any allergies, Nathan?” Joe asked.
“No,” Jackson answered.
Striker nodded as he quickly wrapped the knife to keep it from shifting and then turned his attention to the wounds covering the body. He knew his patient was awake and in misery, but continued with what had to be done.
“Vin, we’re going to get you in the chopper now,” Phil explained. He knew the other men would help him as they’d informed him they knew the logroll as well as other maneuvers to load Tanner into the stokes.
“Chris?” Tanner asked.
“Joe and Nathan are getting him ready right now, Vin,” Phil assured him. “The faster we get you taken care of the faster we can get him ready for transport.”
“Okay,” the injured Texan said as he felt the hands on his body.
Nathan continued to help the paramedic working on Chris Larabee. He started a second IV as Striker finished hooking up the monitoring equipment. The portable equipment came to life with the flick of a switch and Nathan felt the relief of hearing his friend’s heart beat.
“Chris?” Larabee opened pain filled eyes once more and looked Striker. “I’m going to put an oxygen mask on you and I want you to relax and try to take deep breaths,” he ordered as he placed it over Larabee’s mouth and nose. “Phil, bring the backboard!” he shouted as his partner finished securing the first patient in the medivac chopper.
“Got it,” St. Laurent called as he grabbed the backboard and the second stokes. He hurried back to the second injured man and dropped the stokes. He knew Jackson was helping his partner and hurried to check the man sprawled on the ground next to the collapsed entrance to a mine. He quickly took in the open eyes and the blood covered body and felt the neck. There was no doubt that the man was dead. He hurried back to the group surrounding Larabee and began assisting with the care of the seriously injured man.
“I need to check his back,” Striker said. “Let’s roll him onto his side and hold him there while I take a look. The three men got into position and professionally logrolled the injured man onto his left side.
Nathan gently, but firmly held the injured hip, and tried to steel his heart against the pain he knew he was inflicting on the blond. He looked up to see the others standing over them, four silent sentries guarding a man who’d been put through hell. He tried to let them know Larabee was fighting, but his attention was quickly brought back to the injured man as Striker examined the wounds on his back and legs.
“It looks like he was struck pretty hard back here as well,” Striker began and turned his attention to the backs of Larabee’s knees. The flesh was swollen and bruised and he frowned as blood seeped from two tiny holes. “There’s a couple of puncture wounds behind both knees. It looks like there’s infection in both of them. Just hold him where he is for a minute,” he ordered and quickly cleaned and wrapped the wounds. There was nothing else they could do for Chris Larabee except get him on the board and transport him to the trauma center. “Alright, let’s get him in the stokes and into the chopper!” he snapped as he realized this man was dangerously close to losing his life.
Chris groaned as his body was rolled onto a backboard and secured to it. With the help of the others they quickly placed him in the stokes. The Paramedics secured the equipment and IV lines and stood back as they were shouldered aside and the five Firm agents lifted Larabee and carried him towards the waiting chopper. Buck looked at the bruised face and watched as the eyelids finally closed and his friend lay still. He looked up at the medic standing beside him, worry and fear etched on his face.
“He’s still with us, Buck, he’s just lost consciousness.” ‘Thank God!’ Jackson thought of the last glimpse of the green eyes he’d had. Larabee was no longer holding back the pain, it was there, in the green depths for any and all to see.
“Listen to the monitors,” Jackson told him. Although the beep seemed too fast, it was music to the ears of each man.
They lifted Larabee into the chopper and secured the stokes. Striker and St Laurent turned to the men standing outside the door. “We’re taking them to Washoe Medical Center. They’ve got one of the best trauma centers in the world,” Striker explained as he turned back to the two injured men.
The five remaining men moved back as the rotary blades began to churn up the sands underneath them. They watched in silence as the chopper lifted off and raced towards the trauma center. They stood silently watching until the black shape was a speck on the horizon and finally disappeared altogether.
They walked back towards the mine entrance and Jackson stopped to pick up the blanket. He walked to the body and covered it as sirens sounded in the distance. He knew it would take a couple of hours before they could drive to Washoe and check on their friends. All they could do was pray both men were alive when they got there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Washoe-2002
Vin’s head was turned slightly, and he kept staring at his fellow passenger. His eyes never wavered from the slight rise and fall of his friend’s chest as he fought to stay awake. He didn’t know how long they’d been in the air, but the pain in his skull had grown from a small tremor to a full blown earthquake. He was sure his head would crack open the same way the ground did during a heavy quake, but still his eyes didn’t close. He drank in every breath, every tiny beep from the monitor as the chopper ate the distance between the homestead and Washoe Medical Center.
‘Stay with me, Cowboy,’ he thought as his eyes began to close.
Joe Striker and Phil St. Laurent kept working on the injured blond. Both men knew he was suffering from severe dehydration and the fluids were running into him wide open.
“His blood pressure is dropping!” Striker said as he looked at the new readouts. He checked the temperature and noted it was low at 95. He looked towards the front and called. “What’s our ETA, Craig?”
“Three minutes!” the pilot answered.
“Is Chris o...okay?” Tanner asked softly, knowing any noise would cause the expected explosion in his head.
“He’s doing, Fine, Vin,” St. Laurent explained. “Is your head bothering you?”
“Y...yeah,” Tanner answered honestly.
“Why don’t you close your eyes and try to sleep? We’re almost at Washoe Medical,” the paramedic told him.
Vin felt his eyes closing in spite of his resolve to stand watch over the unconscious blond. He was drifting towards sleep, but was jarred from it by an alarm. “Chris!” he gasped and cried out as his the pain lanced through his skull.
“Easy, Son,” St. Laurent said from beside him.
“Ch...ris...is he?” Vin groaned as the alarm continued.
“Joe’s with him. If you’re okay I need to help him.”
“I’m o...kay! G...go!”
St Laurent checked Tanner’s monitors and knew there was nothing else he could do for him. He turned back to see Striker checking Larabee over, just as a second alarm sounded.
“Phil, I need you here, now!” Striker hissed as the monitoring equipment told him Larabee had stopped breathing. “Craig, how long?”
“We’re landing now!” the pilot answered.
Striker immediately started artificial breathing while his partner got things ready to get the patient into the trauma center as soon as possible. The Chopper landed with barely a thud and the doors were opened by the co-pilot. Derrick Barrett, head of the trauma team at Washoe County Medical, joined the two men. He knew the patient needed help immediately, and started shouting orders.
“Joe, keep bagging him!” Barrett ordered as they lifted Larabee’s stokes out of the chopper’s birth and placed him on the waiting gurney. They raced towards the trauma center’s main doors, Striker standing on the edge of the stretcher as he continued to do artificial breathing for the patient.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sandy Milano hurried into the chopper to check on the second patient at the same time the others worked over the critically injured man.
“Just lie still, Vin,” she ordered having been given his name by Phil St. Laurent as soon as she stepped inside. She listened as the paramedic read off the list of injuries and her patient’s vitals.
Vin kept trying to see past her, but his vision was blurred and the pain lancing through his skull made it impossible for him to keep his head up. “P...please...Chris,” he whispered as he tried to bring the figure above him into focus.
“He’s in good hands, Vin. I’m Dr. Milano and I’m going to take care of you. We need to get you inside so I can do just that, okay?”
Vin couldn’t answer as an incredible wave of pain and nausea washed over him. He felt her hands touching him just as everything became too much and he lost the fight to stay conscious. “C...Chris...” the name was barely heard as the doctor turned her attention to what needed to be done.
~~~~~~~~~
Barrett watched as an orderly opened the door to one of the trauma resuscitation rooms and they raced the patient inside. They transferred Larabee’s unresponsive body to the trauma room bed. Nurses quickly disconnected the portable monitors and hooked up the stationary ones while others checked IVs. Things moved swiftly in order to stabilize the patient and get him hooked up to the ventilator.
“We got work to do, people!” Barrett snapped as he watched his partner finish intubating the patient and hook him up to a ventilator. The soft beeping of the monitors reassured them the injured man was still breathing. “Alright, I want blood samples taken and get portable X-ray up here on the double! Jenny, get those samples to the blood bank!” He watched as a third nurse quickly inserted a Foley catheter. He moved to the head of the bed and expertly inserted a nasogastric tube down the patients left nostril. The Trauma team moved around the room as they worked quickly and efficiently to save Chris Larabee’s life. If anyone looked in on the scene they would have described the scene as organized chaos.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Vin opened his eyes as they transferred him onto the bed in the trauma room. The bright overhead lights sent daggers through his skull and he clenched them tightly in an effort to stave off the pain and instant nausea. He tried to curl into a ball, but was prevented from doing so by strong hands on his legs and shoulders.
“Si...ck!” he hissed weakly and felt a basin placed in front of his mouth. He felt someone rubbing his shoulders as what little was left in his stomach emptied into the basin. “T...thanks,” he rasped as a cloth was quickly wiped over his face.
“You’re welcome. I’m Dr. Milano and I’m going to help you.” She repeated in order to let the patient know he was safe. “You’re at Washoe Medical Center. Can you tell me your name?”
“Vin.”
“Very good, Vin. Do you remember what happened?” She asked as she checked his eyes, quickly removing the light as even that tiny instrument seemed to cause him discomfort.
He frowned and tried to grasp the foggy tendrils of his memories. “Shot?”
“Yes, you were,” she said as she checked his head wound. “Katy, get portable x-ray up here. I want a picture of the shoulder just to make sure the bones haven’t moved! What else do you remember, Vin?” she asked as one of the nurses took blood samples from the patient.
“Ghost town...shot....oh, Christ!” he cried, his eyes widening in spite of the pain as he tried to come off the bed. “Chris! Hurt...Where is he?”
“Lie still,” Milano ordered as she gently pushed him back on the bed. “He’s just across the hall, Vin.”
“His h...heart stopped...h...heard the a...alarm. Please, c...check for me...” he pleaded softly as again his head felt like it was on the verge of exploding.
“Betsy, go check on Chris Larabee’s condition,” Milano ordered as her patient seemed to grow agitated. “Vin, just lie still. You’re suffering from a major concussion and need to relax. As soon as I make sure there’s nothing else going on I’ll get you something for that. Katy, give him a shot of Zofran for now. That’ll help with the nausea, Vin.”
“O...okay,” Tanner told her as the dark haired nurse swiped a alcohol swab across one of the junctures in his IV and injected the ordered medication.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Betsy walked from one trauma room to the other and stepped inside. She could see Barrett was still working on the patient and she caught the attention of one of the nurses.
“Debbie.”
Debbie looked up at her name being called and hurried to the door. “What’s wrong, Betsy?”
“I’ve got his friend across the hall and he’s pretty worried about him. How is he?”
“We had to hook him up to a ventilator and he’s listed as critical right now. Tell his friend we’re going to do everything we can.”
“His friend thought his heart stopped.”
“No. He stopped breathing, but his heart was still beating.”
“Thanks, Debbie,” she looked at the patient on the bed and the myriad of equipment surrounding him. No matter how often she saw it she never got used to it for if she did she knew she’d lose what it meant for her to be a nurse. She let the door slide closed and went back to her patient.
Vin heard the door open and tried to look past the doctor examining him. He recognized the nurse named Betsy and tried to speak. His throat was arid and it turned into a dry cough.
“Easy, Vin,” Milano told him as she listened to his chest. “Betsy?”
“He’s listed as critical right now, Doctor.”
“Ah, hell!” Tanner hissed as the nurse’s words reached his ears. He’d known his friend was hurt, had felt him struggling to stay awake when they were in Black Rock Desert. Having his suspicions confirmed struck deep in his heart.
“Vin?” He forced himself to meet the nurse’s eyes. “His heart didn’t stop beating.”
The blue eyes filled with hope as he looked at the nurse and doctor. “But the alarms?”
“They sounded because he stopped breathing,” Betsy explained. “He’s on a ventilator and it’s helping him breath.”
“Shit,” Tanner swore as his mind wandered back to the start of what should have been a wonderful vacation. He felt the heavy weight of fatigue and worry clamp down on his mind and felt his eyes closing. “Ghost towns...supposed to visit g....ghost tow...” the final word was cut off as he sank into the blissful warmth of a painless sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Black Rock Desert-2002
Barry Lawrence and two of his officers took the statements of the five men, asking questions as four other officers checked the area and taped off the crime scene. The captain moved to examine the body of Robert Maguire.
JD and Ezra had found the woman’s decaying body in the barn and covered her with a blanket. Now they were watching as she was transferred to a body bag and placed in the back of the morgue’s van.
Josiah, Nathan and Buck were showing two of the officers the area where the mine collapsed. Each member of the firm continually looked at their watches, impatient to get on their way.
“Okay, gentlemen, I think that’s it for now,” Lawrence said as he closed up his notebook and shook each man’s hand. “I hope your friends make it,” he told them.
“Thanks, Captain,” Sanchez said as they walked towards the rented Aerostar.
“Call and let the office know where you’ll be staying in Washoe,” Lawrence told them.
“We will,” Buck assured him as the five worried men climbed into the van.
They were finally on the way, Josiah once more at the wheel. The others were silently staring out the windows as they travelled the roads to Washoe. Each man’s thoughts were centered on the two men in Washoe.
Buck was reliving a time when he’d first seen Vin and Chris together. Thinking about the simple nod of the head and meeting of the eyes. It seemed as if the two men were meant to meet and that fate had finally given them that chance. He sent up a silent prayer that he’d get to see that strange connection again. He wouldn’t have been surprised to know the other men were doing the same thing.
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