The echoes of the dynamite blast reverberated through the town. It was a fitting period on the gunfight that had ended seconds earlier.
Ezra looked around at the damage the had been done. Five dead, all bad guys thank heavens. It appeared at least on first glance that the seven had all escaped injury for a change. Ezra quietly cursed himself for having the thought, hoping he had not tempted fate.
The window of the bank had been destroyed – again. He considered fleetingly, and not for the first time, of abandoning any dream he had of running his own saloon in favour of opening a glass replacement service. Of course, the way his luck had been running lately, that would be there the next stick of dynamite would land.
The thought lead him to scan the street again for damage. There were a few more broken windows and other damages, but all the buildings seemed solid. He sighed with relief when his eyes landed on the livery. The horses, including his beloved Chaucer, had undoubtedly been severely spooked by the noises, but their residence was undamaged. Had he not wrestled the dynamite away from the young thief the building would have been destroyed, all in an effort to ensure the gang could not be chased. Inhuman savages. The thought of the wanton destruction made Ezra wish he could shoot the bastard again.
Turning back to the street he saw Chris, Buck and Nathan running toward the blast site. JD was headed in the opposite direction, toward Nathan's clinic, which meant someone had been hurt. He looked around fighting down a surge of panic, relaxing slightly when he saw Josiah moving toward him from the far end of town. That left only Vin unaccounted for, but that made no sense. The injury had to be the result of the blast, and Vin was on the hotel roof, away from any impact. Unless, he realized in horror, the force of the blast had knocked the sharpshooter from his perch.
As he started toward the downed man he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Vin was coming out of the alleyway, and Ezra slowed in relief. He felt a pang of guilt. Someone had been hurt, likely because of the dynamite he had thrown in his effort to get it as far from town as possible. He'd had no choice. One glance had shown him the fuse was bound inside the five sticks that had been secured to form the bomb. It couldn't be stopped, only removed from where it would do so much harm – cause so much devastation. He'd run faster than he ever done in his life, and thrown with a strength he didn't know he had. Now he feared he had thrown directly at an unsuspecting victim.
The close he got, the more puzzled he became. The others were in a near state of panic, shouting something Ezra couldn't understand. It was only then he realized his hearing had been affected by all of this. Sounds were muffled – distant. He concluded it must be a side effect of the blast and dearly hoped it was a temporary condition. Regardless, Nathan had more pressing concerns at the moment. He was enormously grateful that seemed to be the only ill effect he had from the experience. He stopped in mid stride. That made no sense. He'd been close enough to the blast he should have at least been knocked off his feet. Barring that, he should have been winded by the run, not to mention that his shoulder, problematic at the best of times should be aching after the throw he'd made. Yet, none of these things bothered him. Not at all. Was he in shock? Yes, that had to be in. He would approach Nathan once the others had been looked at.
He returned his gaze to the men huddled on the ground near the injured figure. Nathan turned slightly as JD charged past Ezra with the medical bag. He moved in close, shaking his head to clear the persistent fog. It must have worked, because the voices were becoming clearer.
"Can you help him Nathan?" "How bad is it Nathan?" "What can we do?" It was JDs question that brought Ezra's advancement on the scene to an abrupt halt. "Is he still alive Nathan? Is Ezra still alive?"
"Only just." was the quiet response. Buck stood up and stepped back to clear the onlookers away. The space allowed Ezra to take the last few steps he needed to stand next to the victim of the explosion. He looked down to see his own face, bruised, bloodied and as pale as death.
"Oh Good Lord," he thought, "I'm dead."
7-7-7-7-7-7
15 minutes earlier
"Strike you as at all strange them 4 boys seem so interested in the bank?"
Josiah was leaning against the railing of the saloon verandah, looking as inconspicuous as his size would allow. He answered Buck without moving. "I'd been thinking the same thing. Nathan went inside to mention it to Chris. You know where the others are?"
"Vin headed to high ground for a better view of the town. He's either on the hotel or" he glanced up, "yup, on the hotel it is. JD's at the jail and Ezra just rode in from patrol, so he's likely spoiling that damn beast of his."
"Don't let him hear you talk about Chaucer like that."
Bucks attention was distracted from Josiah's rebuke by a summons from inside the tavern. He and Josiah both headed over the table where Chris sat. The passed Nathan on his way out.
"He's headed over to let JD know something's going on. We'll give them a minute, then head out. Ezra will likely hear the commotion and join us."
"Commotion? You plan on making some noise?"
"Just talk Buck. At least to start. Hopefully they'll see the group of us as something more than they want to deal with."
"Got to say I'm a little offended that our reputation hasn't scared more of these folks off." Buck complained.
"Works the other way. Young hotshots want to challenge us. Prove themselves." Chris replied.
"Good way to stay young forever." Josiah observed.
Buck raised an eyebrow. "Feelin' philosophical today?"
He had no chance to answer as Chris stood and led them outside. JD and Nathan were lining up across the street, obviously focusing their attention on the group gathered near the bank. Chris allowed his eyes to scan the building tops. He saw only Vin perched above them, and a quick nod confirmed the other rooftops had been checked. No surprises from above.
Ezra was brushing dust from his coat as he exited the livery. It took one a glance at the scene in front of him to cause him to turn his step toward the far side of the bank.
Knowing subtlety would be lost on this bunch Chris opted for the direct approach, quickly covering the ground that brought him to the middle of the street. Before he had a chance to say anything, one of the quartet spun, gun being pulled from its holster. It hadn't cleared the top when a bullet from above dropped him where he stood. Chris and the others, dove for cover, guns firing.
It wasn't long until the sound of breaking glass signaled to them that at least on bullet went through the bank window. Josiah said a quick prayer that everyone inside had hit the floor when the shooting started. He'd barely finished the thought when he saw one of the thieves moving to get into position behind Nathan and JD. He made in only a few steps before Josiah's shot stopped him.
Chris and Buck likewise had no trouble disposing of the last of the shooters. Clearly, no one had been in the mood for surrender. For such a determined band of thieves they were woefully unskilled at the task.
Chris started to holster his weapon, waving Vin down from the roof when another shot range out from up the street. He spun quickly and saw Ezra running toward the body faster that he would have imagined possible. He swooped down as he ran, grabbing something from the ground before covering another 25 yards, looking at the bundle as he ran. Stopping suddenly, he heaved the item with all the force he could and turned to run back. He had taken far to few steps before the explosion rocked the town.
The men were charging toward there down comrade before the dust settled. Buck grabbed JD's arm, shouting at him to get Nathan's supplies. The young man immediately changed direction. Chris was the first to the scene, with Buck and Nathan just steps behind. His heart skipped a beat as he looked down.
Ezra had been tossed like a rag doll, landing a good 15 feet from his original position. He was on his back, left leg bent at the knee. His left arm was flung over his head while the right lay resting across his barely moving chest. Chris' first thought was that there should be more blood. A man doesn't get busted up like this and not bleed. There was some from a gash on his head, and more trailed toward the ground from his ear. Finally, a small trickle from his nose left a trail on his cheek. He could hear Josiah's prayers being voiced. Prayers Chris himself didn't have the faith to utter, and prayers he was quite certain would not be answered.
JD dropped the medical kit next to Nathan, who was now kneeling beside the still form. The healer could barely be heard as he answered JD's question. "Only just." Nathan looked toward Chris, while avoiding direct eye contact. "He's just holding on. Pupils aren't reacting, but that may be just shock" he said, with no conviction. He ran his hands over Ezra as he spoke. There was no reaction from the injured man, regardless how hard he pressed on the wounds.
"Buck, get me a stretcher. We'll try to make him comfortable."
"Talk to me Nathan."
"There's nothing to say Chris." His answer was almost whispered. "He's bleeding inside some, I can feel it. But it's the blood from the ears and nose. Means there's probably bleeding around his brain. He's not reacting to anything." He shifted from his squatting position to land hard on the ground. "I'm thinking he's just too busted up. He was too close. Maybe, and I mean maybe, if we had a real surgeon here, but even then Chris…" Buck arrived with the stretcher.
"OK, we move him nice and slow. Get him on as careful as you can. I don't want to causing him any more pain." He was speaking loud enough now for the others to hear, and they quickly moved into positions.
"What about his neck and back Nathan? We need to do anything to keep him still?"
Nathan looked and Vin and the shooter new instantly his concerns didn't matter.
"Ah shit – nothing?" Nathan stayed silent.
"Ya gotta be able to do something." JD pleaded. "You can't just let him die."
Josiah stepped up, sparing the healer any further explanations. "He's not letting Ezra die, JD. He's already gone. Just taking his body a bit of time to catch onto that. He's just too badly hurt son." They picked up the stretcher, moving slowly to Nathan's office, but only got a few steps before JD spoke again.
"Then we take him to his room. He deserves to be comfortable as we can make him. He'd want to be in that feather bed of his." Nathan nodded his agreement and they turned to continue the sad walk.
Slowly, townsfolk came out from where they had taken cover. One looked at the posture of the 6 men told them all they needed to know about the seventh. Somehow, despite the violence they lived with, no one had been quite willing to accept the fact that sooner or later this day would come, that the group would lose a member. It was almost impossible to accept that their gambler had finally run out of luck.
Ezra felt surprisingly calm all things considered. He watched as his friends carried him through town. If you had asked him 30 minutes earlier what the citizens of Four Corners would think if he died, he never would have describe the scenario he was watching now. Never have imagined so many people would appear to be so deeply upset.
Mrs. Potter was weeping openly as she held her daughter's hand. The child looked confused by the fuss, but clearly understood that something was very wrong, and was quick to start crying herself. Mary stood outside the newspaper offices, unable to move. She looked lost, not trying to hide the shock on her face. It was only when she heard the wail from Inez that she came to life, running over to where the woman had dropped to her knees. She bent down beside her, wrapping her arms around the trembling form, trying to offer comfort that simply could not be sufficient.
Ezra looked away, unable to process the grief he was seeing. That was when he saw Nettie Wells holding onto her niece Casey. The women were in town for supplies. Now there was nothing Casey wanted to do more than offer her own support to JD. "Not now child," he heard Nettie say. "He needs to be with his friends. With Ezra. He'll need you later, but right now JD needs to be right where he is."
He watched his friends pass by. Watching them, seeing the looks on their faces, reality began to sink in. He was gone. No more fine brandy, no more poker. No more long rides on Chaucer. He looked again at the men walking past.
No more joking with Buck about his latest conquest. No more teasing JD regarding his naïve approach to life. No discussions of philosophical issues with Josiah. Never again would he hear Vin's poetry, or listen to Nathan harass him about an all night poker game. Never to hear Chris yell at him for being late for patrol, or not focused enough on the task, or any one of a thousand other things Ezra loved to do to irritate their leader. The reality was that he would never again spend time with these men who had, to his everlasting surprise, become his friends.
He felt anger swelling inside him. How dare these young punks think they can rob a bank, that they can hurt and kill just for their personal gain. He was Ezra Standish, damn it, and he was not supposed to die at the hands of a bunch of hooligans who were incapable of planning and executing an intelligent crime. Dying like this was nothing short of embarrassing.
Not yet willing to accept his fate, he avoided looking down, not wanting to see his body as the men passed by him, oblivious to his observation. He was grateful to JD for directing them to the comfort of his own room. Dying in his own feather bed was a luxury he somehow never expected to be allowed. Men who led the life he did were not likely to die in that kind of comfort.
"Wait a minute." He spoke without thinking of the fact no one would hear. "They're taking me there to die. So, I'm not dead yet." He realized he must be close to that moment. It was the only explanation for the strange sensations he was experiencing. But, not yet. And if he was alive, then this wasn't over. "This is no time to be folding your hand Standish. This game isn't over. All you have to do is – is – shit. What the hell am I suppose to do about this?"
On the long list of life experiences Ezra could draw from, nothing prepared him for this situation. Coming back from the dead – correction – near dead, was not a concept he had any reference point for.
"Clearly this is a time for rational, calm planning. There has to be a way to deal with this, and panic will not assist in anyway. First thing, do not lose sight of yourself Standish." He realized the team had moved well past him, and in fact were no longer on the street. The townsfolk had started to turn to the task of cleaning up the damage to their homes and businesses, and Ezra knew he had little time to waste. He moved quickly to catch up to himself, and followed his body up the stairs to his room.
M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7
TBC