RATING: G
MAJOR CHARACTERS: Ezra – with Nathan, Josiah and Vin at the end
DISCLAIMERS: This is fanfiction. No profit involved. This story is based on the television series "The Magnificent Seven". No infringement upon the copyrights held by CBS, MGM, Showtime Extreme, Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp. or any others involved with that production is intended.
NOTE: This is based on a dream
DATE: Originally posted 11/26/15.
Cold Snap
By NotTasha
He was standing in his room.
He had no idea how he'd ended up in that spot. He had been somewhere else earlier - in the middle of an important task. He was trying to reach someone, to stop someone, to do something.
What?
He blinked, wanting to bring everything into focus, but the room was blurred and too bright. He blinked again, bringing the images together.
Snow - white and bright and overpowering.
A light layer of white covered everything – his bed, his wardrobe, his rocking chair. It covered the little bottles and the picture frame on his dresser, filled his basin and ewer. It covered his shaving stand, obscuring his mirror. Snow clung to the walls. It coated his books, making them all the same. Within his open wardrobe, his jackets had been transformed to only whites and grays.
How?
He frowned at the peculiarity of it. It didn't seem right.
He turned, seeking a reason. The window was open, curtains hanging stiffly – frozen beside it. Hoar frost crept its fingers across the raised pane.
It had been so cold lately. How could he have been so insipid as to leave his window open all night?
Would that have allowed so much snow in?
Outside, everything was winter white – the town seemed utterly buried. Bright sun made the whiteness almost blinding. He stood at the open window for several moments, staring out into it.
They were in the middle of a cold snap. It had been bitter cold for over a week now. Vin had said that a storm was coming, bringing some snow. He'd underestimated it.
Snow blanketed landmarks and signs – turning everything to the same empty white. The buildings lost definition. Balconies, barrels and boardwalks vanished. No sign of color. Nothing moved. Nothing made a noise.
All was impossibly still.
In the sky, there was no sun – only a bright cover of white that made him squint.
He turned from the window with a frown. He had to find the others – find out what was going on and if anything needed to be done. For certainly, they needed to do something.
They'd been involved in some event, hadn't they? – Something important. He'd been in the middle of it moments before.
And now this. Why was the town so quiet? Certainly, the townspeople should be awake. The unseen sun was up, yet there were no tracks in the snow – all was pristine and white.
Josiah. Was he trying to reach Josiah?
He stood at the top of the stairs – gazing down into the saloon. Snow – the entire saloon filled with it. The stairs were impassible – snow reached halfway up the steps. Below, the tables were buried under it – the bar invisible – the mirror covered – windows fogged - lamps capped. Tons of snow.
It was incredible, impossible – it would take all day to dig it out.
How was he supposed to get out? There was no way he could make it through all that! He didn't even have a shovel. As he pondered this, he supposed he had something in his room that could be used for digging – the basin from his wash stand, but he'd paid a pretty penny for that set and it would be a shame to ruin it. Of course the ewer was probably cracked now from the water left inside.
How was he supposed to remove so much snow, and where should it go? The streets were already choked with it. He supposed he could melt it – if he could only get to the stove.
But the wood would be wet and the matches were probably fouled, and how was he even supposed to make it to the stove if he couldn't get down the stairs?
He'd have to try the back stairs instead – with any luck he'd be able to get down, and then go to the hardware store for a shovel. From there he could dig a path through the saloon – free up the stove, start a fire, and then start digging out the stairs so that he could get down.
He was standing on the boardwalk. Well, that was easy. He smiled, congratulating himself on his abilities, even though he didn't remember how he'd been able to get this far. Certainly, it took some effort to get down from the upper level. Perhaps the snow had left the back stairway bare?
That had to be it. Strange that he didn't recall.
From his position, he could see the whole street under feet of snow.
Everything was so quiet. Not a soul moved, not a hint of wind – only the bleak whiteness that covered all. There wasn't a single track in the snow, no blemish to mar the white. Above the sky was a milky gray. Around him, the buildings had lost their color. The weathered brown of the wood was gone – faded into grays. Not a single store's sign showed – windows were opaque – wiping away all variance and making everything the same.
What was he supposed to be doing?
Somewhere, far off, he heard a voice. Vin?
His gaze fastened on Vin's wagon, across the street and completely coated in snow – the canvas top collapsed under the weight of it.
Vin!
He reached out a hand.
Vin!
He touched the wagon - already beside it. In horror, he saw that the snow had utterly crushed it. He tried to sweep the layer from the canvas, but found his movements lethargic and slow. Why couldn't he move any faster? He brushed at the snow, hardly able to move anything.
Why was he so useless?
With a grimace, he realized that he'd left his room without his gloves, without his winter coat.
What was he thinking? Well, there was no time to worry about that. He had to get Vin out of there.
Valiantly, he pulled at the canvas, trying to get under it to find his friend. He was certain that he'd heard Vin calling. Was he staying in the wagon in this bad weather? Even Vin wasn't that rustic. It had been so cold all week - he should be in the boarding house.
He had been, hadn't he?
He paused and stared at his hands, bare in the snow – but not cold. He was not cold at all in this silent, white world. He felt nothing really. He wasn't even breathing out any steam.
He frowned at that. Was he breathing at all?
Wham!
Something hit him hard, jerked at him, pulled at him, yanking him off his feet.
He fell to his knees.
What was it? What? The canvas? Ice falling from the rooftops? A building giving way under the weight?
Grabbing, pulling, grasping.
He wanted to struggle against it, but he felt pinned and thick and slow. He could hardly move.
For a moment, he heard Vin calling again. He tried to turn, to look for him, but his head wouldn't move, his legs were leaden, his arms – limp. JD, he could hear JD as well.
He gasped. He gasped again, filling his lungs with air and breathing out harshly. He coughed and gasped, feeling like a fish torn from the water.
For a moment he saw something else – trees. He was looking upward into the sky and seeing trees.
Vin called, his voice, muted and distant. A face swam in his vision for a moment– concerned, anxious.
It faded, faded away - replaced again with the white – the snow and the endless white.
He was on his knees, sucking in air as if he was starved for it. He felt dizzy and his mind just wouldn't clear. When he raised his head, he was no longer next to Vin's wagon.
Shakily, he stood and took in his surroundings.
He was in Josiah's church. He'd been trying to reach Josiah.
The church was bigger than it should have been – with huge stained glass windows. It shone like diamonds.
Everything was coated in a layer of ice. Huge, menacing icicles dangled above his head like stalactites. He could hear his breath as he moved and was surprised at the sound – everything had been silent before.
Ice, inches thick, glazed the pews and the walls. The lectern was utterly encased, the walls and windows crusted with ice. He stared at the glass for a moment, knowing that Josiah never had stained glass. An entire wall was now made up of the stuff. The pattern was abstract and all in whites and grays. He was lost for a moment as he stared at the images – trying to draw saints and psalms from the patterns.
He didn't know how long he stared into the windows, finding nothing outside of a scattering of broken snowflakes. When he looked down, at the thick ice beneath his feet, he could almost see water moving beneath.
And then he realized that the room was vibrating.
Spider webs of cracks formed under him. The ice was too thin. He gripped the nearest pew – as he stared downward. The floor snapped and cracked. The sound filled the room as it continued to shake.
The ice was too thin.
He knew that – he remembered that fact. The ice was too thin, and yet he chanced it anyway.
Voices again – Josiah. He was mumbling, his voice soft and reassuring, yet urgent, troubled. Where was he?
He needed to get to Josiah.
He stepped forward, keeping one bare hand on an icy pew, and then reached for the next one. He edged further into the church. Beneath him, the ice continued to split and everything trembled.
He should leave. He should go back. He forced himself onward. Josiah's voice kept up a litany in his ear, unintelligible but filled with portent.
He needed to reach Josiah. Josiah was in trouble.
The church spread onward – the path to the altar stretched impossibly long – like the cathedrals of Europe. Alcoves and chapels split off and the light tremblor rolled on. Alabaster saints looked down from their niches, their gazes cold and indifferent.
He edged onward, desperate to get to Josiah, to find him.
Something was wrong.
The ice continued to crack with every step. Above, the formless shapes in the stained glass seemed to swirl. The saints pulled up their shawls of ice. Outside, the sky dimmed, bringing more grays to the glass, edging shapes in black.
The icicles grew longer. Beneath them, stalagmites reached upward.
Frustrated, he tried to hurry, but his movements were slow as molasses, and between the slickness beneath him, the lengthening room and the constant shuddering of everything around him, he could make little headway.
It was hard to breathe. It was as if the air itself was growing thick.
The icicles above merged into the ice below, forming great columns, crowding the space. Patterns seemed to form in the columns, gothic and foreboding.
Josiah - he had to reach Josiah – if he could only break through!
He pressed a hand onto one of the pillars, wondering why he wasn't burning with the cold. He felt nothing. Nothing at all.
Light was fading. There were no candles to illuminate the space.
He could move no further. He needed to get Nathan and…
He was standing in Nathan's clinic. Voices again. Nathan! Was that Nathan? But where? There was nothing here.
Nothing.
He saw only wide-open spaces.
He knew he was in Nathan's clinic – but there were no walls, no roof – only the floor with the livery beneath - only the floor and a bed – bare and leached of color.
He turned slowly, looking out at the maelstrom around him. A storm blew. Wind whipped snow in a torrent, the roar filled his ears. A haze of white and gray seemed to lick at invisible walls, skidded across a missing ceiling, to pile snow around the perimeter of the room.
Nathan's voice continued – far off and nearly lost in the bombast of the wind. Chris and Buck, too, but the wind was eating them up.
The sky was growing darker. The snow rose higher. Where before it had been so bright, the world dimmed with dusk.
Where was Nathan?
He wanted to move through the room, but felt frozen in place. The wind swirled the snow madly against the glass-like walls. It didn't appear to bringing new snow, only stirring up what had already fallen, pressing the snow closer to the exposed room, drawing dark shadows.
Soon the room would be covered. The snow was more gray than white now – in places, more black than gray.
He had to find them. Had to find the others.
He looked around the wall-less room, seeking the exit – but the snow impeded him. There was no way out. He couldn't find the balcony nor the stairway down. Even taking the few steps to cross the room exhausted him. His limbs seemed unwilling to bend, his mind was muddled. Dusk was deepening.
Winter nights came early.
The others – they must be in the boarding house, trapped. He had to get to them, to free them so that they could save the town.
Four Corners would be totally covered soon if they didn't do something about it.
Ezra found himself on one edge of the room. The wall of snow was over his head now, surrounded him. But he had to get out. Without a stairway, he had no choice. It would be a long drop, but the snow would cushion him.
With a nod, he pressed into the snow. He only had to move through it – through the white wall, and fall.
He was standing in a field, staring back at the town. How had he come so far? Time had passed, the sky was nearly dark – blackness mostly, fading to a gray in one corner.
The town sat in the last of the light, visible even under its heavy mantle of snow. It wasn't far. He could walk the distance – if he could only move.
There was no moon, no stars.
He tried to get closer to town, but he was locked in place, snow nearly to his neck.
He had to get back – had to plow through his snow and return. The others, the others must be in trouble.
It was hard to breathe, so very hard. He was struggling now, as the snow pressed, as the sky continued to blacken, even over the town. He let out a slow breath as it disappeared completely.
He blinked when something touched his eyelashes and it took a moment for him to realize it was a snowflake.
He tipped his head back to stare upward.
Snow was falling – light snowflakes swirling in the blackness. The flakes dipped and turned above him, dancing, beautiful.
There's something utterly breathtaking about falling snow.
He rested, letting the snow support him as he looked up. Snowfall filled his vision - twisting turning snowflakes in the gloom, falling from the never-ending blackness.
It was peaceful. It was calm. The roaring of the wind was gone. He didn't even need to breathe anymore as he stared into the blackness.
He felt nothing as the snow consumed him, as winter took hold.
Peaceful.
And then the ice broke beneath him.
He fell into water and suddenly his world was filled with hot and cold, voices calling, hands reaching.
"He's coming out of it."
"Praise God!"
The pond! He'd fallen in. He struggled. The ice was too thin! He should have known, he should have realized – but he'd needed to cross it. He had to take the chance. If he didn't try, then…
Then what?
He fought. He had to get out of the water that was so warm, even as he was freezing cold.
Hands gripped him, forcing him down.
He was so cold.
"Hold him!"
"Ezra, Ezra, can you hear me! Ezra don't fight."
He had to keep fighting. He had to try. It was worth the chance, he knew it.
So cold – cold as ice.
"Keep his head out of it. Ezra, listen, we're trying to help. Keep still!"
His heart thudded, his breathing came in gasps – visions – the yellows and browns – greens and blues – faces.
He had to do it, despite the thin ice, he had to keep trying. He was so cold.
Water was splashing and he had to get out of it. He had to keep trying, but his heart was beating so hard, his breathing came in gasps.
"It's okay, Ezra. It's okay. You need to calm down."
He wanted to – Lord how he wanted to – but his heart refused to comply and the blackness came back.
TBC
I'm sure everything will be fine