Chapter Three:
When Worlds Collide
When Darien Lambert stood at the edge of Four Corners, thanks to Selma's expert navigation, he knew with absolute certainty Sahmbi's device had succeeded in sending him back to the 19th century.
Staring at the town with a child's wonder, Darien was revisited by his memories at the orphanage. Back then, he used to dream of growing up in the Old West, hanging out with Wyatt Earp, Buffalo Bill and Jesse James, like a real-life outlaw with six shooters and robbing trains. Now he was really here in this rugged frontier where so much of the West was still untamed.
"It's just like in the movies." Darien grinned as he left the outskirts of Four Corners and began moving into the heart of the town.
Thankfully, referencing accurate historical data when choosing to outfit himself kept him from standing out. While the urge to look like a Clint Eastwood knockoff was tempting, Darien suspected he was just going to end up looking like a reject from a circus rodeo. As he entered, he was glad to see he largely succeeded in blending in. His tan duster covered a plain cotton shirt and a pair of jeans that would have little trouble fitting in any era. Although he missed his sneakers, especially during his walk to town, Darien eventually got used to the boots.
Darien pulled the stock hat favoured by Australians everywhere over his eyes to keep the glare away. It was almost noon and the heat of the day prickled his skin. He had to admit feeling like a bit of a tourist as he soaked it all in. Fascinated, he observed the horse drawn carriages and wagons rumbling past him and the staples of western movies, the jailhouse, the saloon and even the barbershops with their striped poles. There was a great deal of people on the street today and Darien wondered if it was always this busy.
Women who wore long dresses with sweeping skirts, their faces hidden under straw bonnets strolled up and down the wooden boardwalk that flanked the dirt road running through the centre of town. It was easy to forget they were still considered second class citizens in this day and age although the ones who sighted him were surprisingly forward.
At least a dozen women, from saloon girls to properly demure young ladies, waved and greeted him as he walked by. One or two had tossed him suggestive 'come hither' smiles that made Darien wonder whether if that aftershave this morning was such a good idea. One woman had actually come up him and said how nice he looked with a shave.
Weird.
Ignoring their behaviour as just one of the things the history books got wrong about women in frontier times, Darien focused on his mission here. If he knew his westerns at all, heading to the local saloon would be the best place to get a lead on Christopher Larabee.
Darien hadn't paid much attention to the loud footsteps that appeared behind him because there were so many people on the boardwalk going about their business. The air was filled with so many conflicting sounds and voices, it was impossible to keep track of. Only when he was spun around roughly, did Darien realised the booming voice attached to those footsteps was aimed only at him.
"You have a lot of nerve Wilmington!"
He found himself staring at the enraged face of a behemoth who could have easily headlined on the WWF circuit. Darien, who was quite tall himself, felt positively tiny next to this giant of a man who possessed the astonishing ability to block out the sun.
"I think you've mistaken me for someone else." Darien tried to be polite, not wanting to cause a scene or get into a fight. Turning around, he attempted to walk away from the situation before it deteriorated any further.
"Very funny Wilmington." The man slapped a huge palm against his shoulder and fastened a grip that clearly indicated Darien wasn't going anywhere. "I suppose it wasn't you in my Virginia's bed this morning!"
Oh hell. Darien swore under his breath when he guessed quickly how this was going to end up.
"I assure you, I don't even know a Virginia," Darien said calmly even though he had the sneaking suspicion the civilized approach was not going to resolve this case of mistaken identities. Judging by the anger on his face, the man was spoiling for a fight and cared little for reasonable explanations.
"You're a yellow bellied, low down liar!" The man growled and threw his enormous fist at Darien. Fortunately, like all men of his bulk, he was slow and Darien who was a product of 22nd century genetic engineering was more than equal to the task of fending off his attack. He caught the man's fist easily and used his opponent's forward momentum to flip the man onto his back. He hit the ground and made it tremble slightly because of his weight, sending clouds of dust in the air upon impact.
There was shock on his face but only for a moment. Astonishment gave way to rage and Darien suspected it was quite possible no one had ever gotten the better of this man before. Jasper Cray got to his feet, growling and Darien realized there would be no placating the man after such a public injury to his pride. By now, people had stopped what they were doing to observe the fight, much to Darien's chagrin. He had no intention of turning this into a spectator's sport for the people of Four Corners.
"Look, I don't know who you think I am but I don't want to hurt you." Darien said quickly making a last-ditch effort to resolve this misunderstanding peacefully as he saw the man scramble to his feet, covered in dirt and becoming even more enraged.
"You're going to take your medicine Wilmington!" He growled before lowering his head and charging like a bull.
"Ah shit." Darien swore when he saw the man coming at him.
Jumping out of the way easily, Darien saw the giant run straight by him only to connect with a wooden beam holding up a section of short awning, head first. Darien winced when he heard the terrible crack of skull meeting wood before his would-be attacker staggered backwards from the collision. He met Darien's eyes for a moment with an expression of dazed shock.
Then he fell flat on his back and moved no more.
"Well this is good too." Darien sighed as he walked over to the man and felt for a pulse. He didn't think the man hurt himself too badly but it never hurt to check. Other than the injury to his pride and a severe headache when he regained consciousness, Darien decided the man would be alright.
"Captain are you alright?" He heard Selma whispering.
"I'm fine." He muttered under his breath as he broke through the crowd gathered to witness the fallen man's misfortune and continued towards the saloon. After that little episode, he could actually use a drink.
"Very well then," Selma retorted. "I shall return to silent mode."
"I wish you would." Darien grumbled, unhappy that his attempt to make a discreet entrance into town had been shot to hell. Darien supposed he might have to deal with the man again when he had regained consciousness but hopefully, that would not be for another few hours. Selma remained silent, probably aware when his voice took on this tone he had little patience for questions.
Reaching the saloon, he stepped through the swing doors, hoping no other trouble found its way to him. Despite the sightseeing he had been indulging himself in earlier, Darien's mission in this time was no laughing matter. The future of humanity depended on what happened in this town.
Darien sidled up to the bar and climbed onto a stool. No one took any notice of him inside the walls of this establishment as most of the patrons were too busy downing their drinks or playing cards. Other patrons were amusing themselves with the attention of saloon girls and Darien marvelled at how much the saloon looked exactly like he imagined.
The most beautiful Latina woman appeared behind the counter as he waited for service. As she approached him with her dusky skin and sultry features, Darien found himself gawking at how heart achingly gorgeous she was.
"Hello." He greeted with a little smile when she came up to him.
"Hello?" She returned coldly, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze. "That's all you have to say?"
"Excuse me?" Darien stared at her blankly.
"I knew you were low," she continued oblivious to his confusion and clearly very angry with him. Her hands were on her hips and her eyes were blazing fire in his direction. "I knew you chased everything in a skirt but a married woman who is known across five states for her reputation! Don't you know you were just another notch on her garter belt?"
"I just came in for a drink Miss," Darien replied, starting to get very tired of this. Just exactly who did these people think he was?
"Oh, it's Miss now?" She shouted angrily and Darien looked around and noticed all eyes were staring at him, which is exactly what he had wanted to avoid. If he ever met this Wilmington character, Darien decided he was going to kick his philandering ass from here to the 20th century.
"There's been some mistake..." Darien tried to explain and calm her down.
"Of course there's been some mistake!" She snapped cutting of any attempt he made to explain things to her. "I made it! I trusted you and thought you meant it when you said you were going to change. I am never going to trust you again Senor Wilmington." With that she poured a glass of whisky into a small shot glass and threw it in his face.
The room exploded into laughter as Darien wiped the dripping alcohol from his face and managed to see a flounce of red skirt moving out of his line of sight with a trailing sob in its wake.
"You even shaved your moustache for her..."
"Goddamn it woman! That hurts!" Vin snapped at Alex as she examined the contusions that formed a substantial lump on the side of his head.
"Then stop moving!" Alex returned just as sharply.
While treating Vin at his Infirmary, Nathan discovered a sizeable bump on Vin's head that concerned him enough to have Ezra summon Alex from her clinic to consult in case it was more serious than it looked. Mindful of just how long Vin was unconscious in the desert, the healer wanted a second opinion just in case.
Since her arrival in Four Corners, Nathan and Alex had developed a professional rapport where they often consulted each other on cases. While Nathan took advantage of Alex's formal qualifications and knowledge, Alex found Nathan to be an excellent diagnostician who had an eye for identifying all sorts of ailments. Traveling the world with her father, Alex encountered many physicians who didn't attend colleges or universities and still saved lives. Like Nathan.
"Look I'm fine," Vin complained on the examination table in Nathan's infirmary.
"He was out for a couple of hours." Nathan pointed out, conscious that any kind of blackout following a severe injury to the head required investigation.
Nathan regarded Alex's opinion not just because she was a real doctor with all the diplomas and education that came with the title, but also because she passed on her knowledge to expand his. A copy of Gray's Anatomy sat on one of his shelves, a gift from Alex. It wasn't until much later, when he saw the stencilled named inside the cover, did he realise she'd given him her father's copy.
"Well," Alex stepped away from Vin, pleased her examination was more or less concluded because Vin Tanner could be as obstinate as a mule. "I've done all the visual acuity tests and the balance and coordination test. I think it's little more than a mild concussion although his disposition could be better." She threw Vin a look as she made that last remark. "I'd say he will be fine."
"I didn't mean to bother you Miss Alex." Nathan responded. "It just kind of worried me."
"It pays to be careful Nathan." Alex smiled. "What happened to him anyway?"
"I'm here you know?" Vin grumbled.
Both Nathan and Alex glanced at him for a moment before they resumed speaking again, ignoring the interruption.
"I'd keep an eye on him for the next day or two. No alcohol or I should say, no more alcohol. If there is any dizziness or nausea, we need to know whether it is caused by the head injury and not the hangover."
"I'll keep him out of the saloon," Nathan agreed.
"That will be an interesting trick." Ezra spoke for the first time.
Ezra had learnt quickly it was best to sit back and let Nathan and Alex continue unimpeded when they were talking medicine. He particularly enjoyed it when Vin required Alex's considerable medical knowledge because unlike Nathan, who considered them friends' first and then patients, Alex knew no such sensibilities. Friends or not, her medical advice was to be followed without exception.
"Don't worry," Vin drawled rising to his feet a little unsteadily. "I won't go anywhere near the saloon. I'm going to find the varmint that stole my clothes and my gun."
"Hold it there Mr. Tanner," Ezra interjected. "You are doing nothing of the sort for a while yet. Let us wait until Mr. Larabee returns before we decide on a course of action." Without even hearing his words, Ezra was certain Chris would not allow Vin to embark on any hunt in the condition he was in.
"He could be anywhere by now!" Vin exclaimed in protest.
"He could be," Ezra agreed. "But as you say he was on foot and had no horse. Wherever he is, it isn't far away and the man you describe is not easy to fade into the background."
Vin opened his mouth to protest but he knew Ezra was right. Despite his anger at what had happened to him, he was unable to deny he felt like hell. His head was aching a bit more than he let on and he did feel woozy and nauseous but he was not about to admit that to anyone, especially with Alex present.
"Okay, I'll get some rest but if he comes to town, I want to know about it." Vin stared at Ezra and Nathan so they'd see how serious he was about this. Vin was usually able to take most things in stride but part of him still couldn't come to grips with how easily the stranger had overwhelmed him. His pride stung with humiliation.
"Of course," Ezra replied. "Now why don't you let Mr. Jackson and I escort you to your lodgings." The gambler offered politely.
Vin shrugged, unhappy at being out of commission for any length of time but he had to confess needing the rest. Begrudgingly, he looked up at the friends who were not about to tolerate any argument on the matter and growled, ""I can get there myself."
He neither looked at them or Alex who was packing up her doctor's bag, before he headed out.
Ezra glanced at Nathan, "is it me or is Mr Tanner a lot more disagreeable these days?"
JD decided to help Vin in his own way by doing a quick patrol of town to see if Vin's stranger had slipped into Four Corners without notice.
Taking his cue from Buck, JD made a quick visit to the hotel and the local boarding houses to see if anyone new recently acquired lodgings in town. His search didn't yield any results and after an hour or so, he returned to the saloon to get some lunch. Even though he considered himself a man, he still had the appetite of a growing boy and unlike the others who seemed content to substitute their meals for drinks, JD couldn't get by without his three meals a day.
JD walked into the saloon and surveyed the room for anyone he knew. The table normally occupied by Ezra and the others was empty and JD guessed they were probably at the jailhouse. He knew Josiah mentioned something about fixing a stained-glass window in the church he was attempting to rebuild and assumed the preacher had probably headed there after Nathan and Ezra had left.
To his surprise, JD caught sight of Buck sitting at the counter, except…he looked strange. For a moment, JD almost didn't recognise the older man. For starters, Buck was missing his moustache, the same moustache Buck had once said he'd get rid of over his dead body. He looked so different JD thought, almost younger.
"Buck!" JD called out as he strode over to the tall man at the counter.
Buck didn't seem to hear him, heightening JD's puzzlement even further. For a moment, he considered the possibility Buck was in disguise to avoid Jasper Cray but discounted it because Buck Wilmington wasn't afraid of anyone no matter how big or mad they were.
"Hey Buck!" JD repeated himself, slapping Buck on the back as he took the seat next to him.
JD noticed Buck's eyes rolling in what could only be described as a mixture of indifference and pure annoyance before turning to him.
"Listen kid, I don't know who you think I am and I don't really care, but I am not him, got that?"
JD stared in confusion. "Buck, this ain't funny."
Buck started rubbing his forehead as if he was developing a headache before meeting JD's gaze again. "Exactly who do you think I am?"
This had to be a joke. JD knew Buck had a strange sense of humour and was willing to play along for a while. "You're Buck Wilmington of course unless you've changed your identity so Jasper don't come after you."
Darien groaned visibly. "My name is Darien Lambert, I'm in town for a few days on some private business. I don't know who Buck Wilmington is and if Jasper is a seven-foot-tall ape who thinks I've been sleeping with his wife, we've already met."
"He must have pounded you good." JD exclaimed looking Buck over for any signs of injury to explain this erratic behaviour. "Are you hurt? Do you need to see Nathan or Doctor Styles?"
Darien poured himself another drink from the bottle the angry beauty left behind. "I'm fine kid."
This young man reminded him of one of the rookies on the force who was too green to walk away from a bad situation until it blew up in their faces. Despite his persistence, Darien couldn't help liking the boy and he was a boy, even if he was packing six shooters on either side. This was hardly surprising of course. In this day and age, the NRA was not a bunch of gun happy fanatics; it was the cornerstone on which the old West was built.
Darien was about to tell him to go away when suddenly he noticed the silver glint of a sheriff's badge on the breast of JD's waistcoat. "You're the sheriff?"
"Very funny Buck," JD retorted. "I suppose you don't know that you're the one who told me I was a fool for taking on the job?"
Well that much Darien agreed with the unseen Mr. Wilmington. "You're just a kid!"
JD bristled and Darien winced, seeing the hurt on the kid's face. The badge was polished and well cared for, a clear indication the young man who wore it was inordinately proud of the title and the authority behind it.
"Listen Buck, I'm getting mighty tired of this game you're playing."
In truth, JD was feeling unusually persecuted and was actually angry enough to leave Buck to his charade. He rose from his chair when the older man responded.
"Sit down kid." Darien sighed, deciding it was not this kid's fault if he didn't understand what was going on. "I didn't mean to insult you. I'm sorry Sheriff... what's your name?"
"JD Dunne!" JD exclaimed. "That's it, I'm taking you to see Nathan." JD put his hand around Buck's arm. "You're out of your head!"
"Sit." Darien said coolly, with a tone in his voice that made the young man freeze.
JD obeyed, staring at Buck who for a moment, sounded just like Chris. What was going on?
Darien turned around on his stool so that he was meeting the young man face to face. "Just assume for a moment that I am not your friend. I know I look like this Wilmington person but I'm not him. Just empty your mind of that whole concept and start thinking of me as Darien Lambert. I am looking for a Christopher Larabee. Do you know where I can find him?"
If this young man was indeed the sheriff of Four Corners, there might be a chance he might know where to find this ancestor of Kyle Reese. Considering his luck already, Darien didn't think he would have much to lose if the boy knew nothing. In any instance, he would be no further along in his search than he was now.
"Christopher Larabee? Come on Buck, you know where Chris is better than I do! You went with him to Bitter Creek this morning."
Oh, this day was just getting better, Darien thought. If this boy was correct, then at this very moment, a man who looked exactly like him was out riding with the very person Darien was chasing across time. Darien rubbed the bridge of his nose as he concluded some cosmic entity was having a great deal of amusement at his expense today.
"Are you telling me Wilmington and Larabee are friends?" Darien asked wearily as he poured himself another glass of this rotgut that passed for whisky.
JD was about to respond to that preposterous statement when he took another look at Buck, a real look. It was so easy to miss the obvious when one was convinced of familiarity, but once he did, things began to stand out. At first, JD attributed it to the lack of moustache and the clothes, but the more he scrutinised the man, the more he noticed the differences.
What had he said? Empty your mind?
JD did just that and was rewarded with revelation. Moustache and clothes notwithstanding, this man was at least ten to twenty pounds lighter than Buck. While the lack of a moustache was jarring, JD realised this man looked younger and... JD struggled for the word and found the only one that came to mind, healthier. Finally, there was the way he spoke. Not at all like Buck's familiar Texan drawl. Instead he sounded like an Easterner and no one should know that better than JD himself.
No this was crazy, it was Buck, JD's mind turning back to default, still refusing to grasp the undeniable. Then it came to him, a flash of inspiration he knew would wipe away all remaining doubt.
"Open your shirt," JD burst out.
Darien stared at the kid, wondering if the only sane person he'd met so far had suddenly reverted to type. "Excuse me?"
"If you're not Buck, open your shirt," JD insisted, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed in challenge.
The seriousness in the kid's eyes told Darien the request was not made lightly and he guessed very quickly why the young sheriff had asked. It was smart, real smart. If it would expedite things further, Darien was happy to accommodate him.
"Okay," Darien nodded and started to undo his buttons, starting from the one above his belt, all the way to the top. Parting the fabric just wide enough to let the boy see, he noted JD leaning in for a closer look.
JD studied the man's torso, taking note of a few scars that might have been left behind by bullet wounds and one that looked like a knife. However, the long scars across the chest, delivered by the sabre of a Confederate Colonel named Emmett Anderson, was not there. With a start, JD rose his eyes to the man's face, not Buck and stared.
"You're not Buck," JD stated in stunned shock.
"What gave it away?" Darien asked turning back to the counter again now that the boy had his proof.
"You look just like Buck," JD found his voice. "I mean really like him. You could be twins, except for the moustache."
"Uh no," Darien made a face. "Tried a moustache when I was younger, only Sam Elliot and Tom Selleck can pull that off."
"Huh?"
"Never mind," Darien dismissed the comment at the kid's blank stare.
"What did you say your name was?" JD asked, trying to remember if the man had introduced himself earlier.
"Darien Lambert." Darien answered grateful this complication was done with.
"Please to meet you Mr Lambert," JD extended his hand and Darien shook it, the gesture reaffirming his previous reaction of liking the boy.
Now that they were on better footing, Darien could get back on mission. "Look Sherriff, it is really important I find Larabee immediately. You said he's gone to Bitter Creek, when he will be back?"
"Tonight." JD answered, seeing unspoken danger in the eyes of this stranger who wore Buck's face. JD could sense the hard edge of concern in his eyes that he often saw in Chris' own. Something was wrong.
"What's happening? Is Chris in trouble?"
Judging by the way JD spoke about Larabee, Darien concluded JD knew the gunslinger personally and if that was the case, could afford to level with the kid, to a degree. Besides, he had no idea how to explain killer cyborg to JD.
"Someone is coming to kill him and I'm here to stop them so I need to know where he would go first when he comes back to town."
"Well that's easy." JD replied without even having to consider the question. "He'd go see Mrs. Travis."
By sunset, The Terminator was in Four Corners.
Although there was little reason to fear discovery, its program calculated optimum success would be achieved if entry was made under the cover of dark. As an infiltration unit, the Terminator calculated with a community as small as this, with tight knit social groups, the presence of a stranger could potentially warn the target before it was able to acquire them.
Factual data on the target was limited, derived from birth and death records, and the periodicals of the time. When the Terminator was being prepared as a receptacle for Skynet, the read-only function in its neural net CPU was disabled. To date, it was the only model of the Terminator series to have this function made inoperative. As a rule, Terminators were not required to be a learning computer.
The clothes and weapons the Terminator liberated from the humans it encountered on route to the town proved to be a success as it infiltrated the community without drawing suspicion. Utilising the information in its memory banks, the Terminator headed towards the Standish saloon, as the periodicals indicated the establishment to be a favourite of the target. As it made its way up the steps towards the batwing doors, the Terminator conducted an infrared scan and detected at least thirty-five people in the building.
Stepping through the batwing doors of the saloon, the Terminator scanned the floor. Most of the humans present were heavily affected by alcohol. The bottles of spirits and liquor on the wall behind the counter and across the table seemed to prove this point. Studying the faces present, the Terminator conducted a facial recognition scan and determined quickly the target was not present.
It would wait.
It found a table in the corner of the room presently occupied by a human slouched across the surface in an alcohol induced stupor. The human made no move to stop its advance, giving the Terminator confidence, no resistance would be provided. Thus, it sat down and quietly observed the proceedings in the rowdy establishment.
While it would not take long to search the town, the Terminator concluded such action could inadvertently alert the target and give him opportunity to escape, thus prompting the cyborg to switch to surveillance mode for now. If the target did not appear, the Terminator would switch to the secondary targets. The primary was associated with six men who could be used to draw him out.
The Terminator watched the proceedings with mild fascination. Once the read-only function was disabled, it was capable of absorbing great volumes of data. The Skynet programming inhabiting its neural net thirsted for such information with almost human like curiosity. The Terminator's understanding of human behaviour was the one aspect of its programming that required regular updates. Skynet was aware there was no such thing as a human equation. In any given situation, ten Terminators could be expected to behave the exact same way because that was calculable. How ten humans would behave, was not.
The war in which John Connor defeated Skynet's machine army was case in point of how this odd behavioural trait had become the defining weapon in the human arsenal. Despite Skynet's attempt to evolve the Terminators to anticipate human response, humans adapted even faster.
At this moment however, the quality that would allow them to defeat Skynet was sadly absent. The Terminator studied the present selection of humans and found them far removed from those encountered in the future. This motley collection represented the worst of humanity as they indulged in every vice, from avarice, sloth to lust.
If the target was anything like this, then the Terminator did not expect to encounter much difficulty when the time came to carry out its mission objective.
"If this is a joke between you and Mr. Wilmington, I will not be impressed." Mary eyed JD as she served him and Darien a cup of coffee.
It had taken JD's convincing argument about the vanished scars Buck Wilmington had sustained during the seven's first adventure in the Seminole village before Mary conceded the man before her wasn't Buck Wilmington. Like JD, Mary also noticed the visible differences between the two men. Aside from the obvious, this man was leaner, with more emphasis on muscle than bulk. His skin was nowhere as tanned and creased as Buck's and the hands lacked the callousness of a seasoned gunfighter.
"I swear to you Mrs. Travis," Darien sighed, wondering if it was even remotely possible for him to have foreseen this complication when he decided to make this trip through time. "I'm not this Buck Wilmington everyone has apparently mistaken me for. Trust me, it's not fun being mistaken for this guy. Since I've gotten here I've had to put up with angry husband and a bartender who threw a drink in my face."
Neither Mary nor JD could help laughing at hearing that.
"Well, Inez and Buck have a complicated relationship," JD tried to explain.
"I thought he was doing the wild thing with Gorilla Grodd's wife," Darien muttered and then recalled how the women on the street had reacted to him. "Just how many women does he have?"
"Gorilla who?" JD exclaimed.
"Never mind." Darien shrugged and reminded himself that the use of 20th century lingo on these people would probably serve to confuse them more than anything else. "I take it Mr. Wilmington is popular with women?"
"Extremely," Mary said with a slight nod.
"Great," Darien sighed in exasperation.
"Well your resemblance is uncanny." Mary pointed out, "just like your story."
Darien had told them nothing about the future and as a result, his credibility was less than stellar. He suspected the only reason either of them had given him time of day was because he looked so much like this friend of theirs.
"I can't help that." Darien said honestly. "I can only tell you that I know someone is coming after Chris Larabee and they will kill anyone he knows to reach him."
"But why?" Mary looked at him in concern. Considering what she had learnt earlier today about her pregnancy, she was glad that her relationship with Chris was still a secret. The last thing Chris needed was to see her and the baby as a liability.
"I can't say for sure." Darien lied.
According to the timeline in which Darien was born, Christopher Larabee married twice. While only a death certificate existed for the first, the information regarding the second Mrs Larabee was quite extensive. The descendants that would produce Kyle Reese and eventually John Connor would begin from this woman as well as Larabee. If the Terminator had access to this information it was quite possible it might label Mary Travis as a secondary target.
"You're going to have to do better than that Mr. Lambert. It may be sheer coincidence that you look exactly like Buck Wilmington but we have no idea who you are or where you come from. I do not wish to sound ungrateful but you've given us nothing to prove your word."
Darien found himself flinching under her high-powered stare because he guessed this was a highly intelligent woman who missed very little. Her beauty and her youth disarmed people into thinking she was just another product of her time but they would learn otherwise very quickly. Darien knew he was not going to fool her with any fabrication and he considered the ramifications of telling her the truth.
Suddenly, a shrill sound tore through the air. Both Mary and JD reacted in surprise, causing Mary to drop her tea cup and spilling hot tea across the floral table cloth while JD jumped to his feet weapons drawn, trying to discern where the alien sound was originating. Mary backed away from the table as hot tea flowed in her direction when she noticed the sound was coming from Darien, who was the only one not reacting.
Darien's expression was one of annoyance and Mary was sure she saw him swear under his breath.
"Selma stop that!" Darien demanded, wondering if this was Selma's way of helping him convince Mary Travis about the danger to Chris Larabee's life. "They don't have beepers in this day and age!"
"I am sorry Captain." Selma responded, completely unrepentant at the situation she'd caused. "I felt this was an emergency situation."
"This better be good Selma." He warned, openly upset at this sudden breach in his orders. Trying to come up with an explanation for this was going to be almost impossible. As it was, both JD and Mary were looking around the room, trying to determine the source of that disembodied voice.
"I apologise Captain. However, you asked me to scan for unusual energy signatures at one hour intervals."
"Yes, yes," he nodded, ever mindful of the two people now turning their attention back to him, their eyes demanding an explanation. "And?"
"I've detected the resonance of a highly focus atomic power cell approximately 25 meters from this location, in the vicinity of the saloon."
Darien froze. "He's here."
If the Terminator was in Four Corners, there was little time to waste and because Mary Travis was just as viable a target as Chris Larabee, she was in danger.
"WHAT IS GOING ON?" Mary demanded, her patience exhausted. "Who was speaking?"
"I don't have time to explain this to you." Darien stood up and turned to JD. "It's here and I need to get to him before it reaches you or Larabee."
"You will make time to explain!" Mary insisted, grasping something terrible was happening, something with far deeper implications than this stranger was letting on.
"There's no time," he snapped. "Mrs Travis, I have to get out there and stop this thing, if it can be stopped." Turning to JD, Darien placed his hand on the young sheriff's shoulders. "Listen Sheriff, I know it's asking a lot but I need you to trust me. I need you get Mrs. Travis somewhere safe. If I can't stop it, it may come after her if it can't find Larabee. You need to get her out of town, as far away as you can."
The intensity of the man's eyes was hard to ignore and in that one moment, whatever the reason might be, JD knew the threat was real. "What do you mean ? Who is this guy?"
"No one you ever want to meet in this lifetime, Sheriff Dunne. Now get going before it's too late!"
Darien made that parting shot before running out the front door, leaving Mary and JD behind in stunned disbelief.
He should really see Mary first but he needed a drink.
The ride to and fro Bitter Creek had been long enough, without the tedium of listening to both Buck and Ben Davies claiming innocence for two completely unrelated crimes. While Ben pleaded innocent to all the cattle rustling, Buck claimed to be the only person other than Jeff the idiot who cleaned the public outhouse who did not know Virginia Cray was married.
By the time they reached Bitter Creek, Chris had half a mind to shoot both. Initially, he was supposed to have Josiah's company on this trip but after Jasper discovered Buck with Mrs. Cray, Chris decided a change of roster would be a good idea. It would give Jasper time to cool off and abandon the idea of dismembering Buck from limb to limb.
It was safe to say that after the day he just had, Chris had more than earned his dollar a day as unofficial lawman to Four Corners not to mention, the drink he was going to get when he reached the saloon.
"You think Jasper is still mad?" Buck asked as they walked up the steps of the tavern. The evening festivities were in full swing and they could hear the music and lively chatter from inside the crowded establishment.
"If I found another man in my wife's bed, it might take more me than a day to calm down."
"Chris, you'd just shoot 'em."
"Yeah, I would," Chris grinned at him devilishly. "But I didn't want you to get your hopes up."
Buck narrowed his eyes and gave Chris a dirty look. "Thanks."
"Buck, how many windows are you going to jump out of before you learn that taking up residence in someone elses' hen house in a bad idea?"
Chris had known Buck for years and the man never changed. Buck was incapable of saying no to a pretty face, whether it was available to him or not. If Chris did not know better, he would swear that the more unattainable the woman, the more determined Buck would be in his pursuit. The challenge of forbidden fruit was just too much for him to resist.
"I just can't help it. It's like a candy store. I gotta taste every one."
Chris rolled his eyes and shook his head in resignation. "Just be careful someone don't take it in their mind to rip out your tongue."
"It would be a loss to ladies everywhere."
Chris laughed despite himself and chose to abandon any attempt to sermonize when it was quite clear that Buck was never going to change. Chris also did not believe for one second Buck would have given up his dalliance with Virginia Cray either way. If anything, it would be an added attraction almost as addictive to Buck as the sex itself. Deciding a change of subject was in order, Chris left the issue of the Crays gratefully behind.
"Look, I can't stay long, I want to check in on Mary."
"How's she doing?" Buck inquired, aware Mary had been feeling unwell lately. During the few times he had seen her, she looked haggard and quite exhausted.
"Better than she was last week," Chris said without much pleasure in that admission.
"Well Billy's a bright kid but like all children, he is a handful," Buck commented as they entered the saloon and spotted Ezra, Josiah and Nathan at their usual table. "Mary's a working woman with a business and a son. It's gotta take its toll on her sometime. Maybe she'll feel a little better now that Billy's gone back to Eagle Bend."
"I guess." Chris shrugged, having said his farewells to the boy the day before. "She's always been able to manage it before. Seems kind of strange that it's only now affecting her." He said shortly, not wanting Buck to know just how concerned he truly was about Mary's state of health.
The atmosphere in the saloon was quite lively this evening, with everyone from drifters, cattle drivers and saloon girls present. Someone was playing the piano in the corners and a few cattle pokes had taken up post to sing some off key but bawdy songs. The drinking session was in early stages yet so for the moment at least, everyone was behaving themselves
"True," Buck nodded in agreement, speaking over the dull rumble of voices. "But these days, she's got her hands full what with looking after the paper, raising Billy and now keeping you happy at night." Buck threw him a mischievous grin.
"Watch it." Chris grumbled, disliking any talk about Mary in that manner especially in such a public place. His relationship with Mary was special and he didn't like anyone talking about her that way.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Buck apologized laughing, knowing when he had crossed the line from bad taste to insult. However, he could not resist teasing Chris sometimes, the man got riled up so easily when it came to Mary Travis.
"You know I think highly of Mrs. Travis." He said offering Chris a conciliatory bow.
"Yeah." Chris frowned sarcastically knowing exactly what Buck was up to by the time they reached Josiah and the others at their usual table. Pulling a vacant chair from another table, Chris sat down and relished being off his feet for the first time in hours.
However, following the chorus of greeting at their arrival, Chris soon realized that the circumstances of their return were less than ideal. Judging by the thoughtful look on everyone's faces, Chris guessed quickly something had taken place during their departure from Four Corners. Buck continued onward to the bar to get them some drinks since it appeared Inez had her hands full with nearly a full house and would not have time to be waiting on tables.
"Vin's hurt." Josiah replied explaining the situation to Chris who had impatience with any form of small talk until he was apprised of everything. "Someone attacked him and stole his clothes and gun."
"How did they get the drop on him?" Chris said with some measure of disbelief. If it was anyone else, Chris would have no trouble envisioning it but out in the plains, it was very hard for anyone to sneak up on Vin without his knowing it.
"How bad is he hurt?" Chris directed this question at Nathan who would have undoubtedly treated him since Chris knew Vin's attitude towards Doctor Styles.
"He's got a concussion and some nasty bruises." Nathan reported dutifully. "He also lost a back tooth."
"Jesus." Chris remarked distastefully. "Where is he?"
"Alex ordered him to get some rest." Ezra answered. "She did not feel it appropriate that he indulge in any hard living in his present condition."
Vin would have loved that, Chris thought silently to himself. "Any idea who it was?"
"Not a one." Josiah's deep voice responded while the preacher shook his head in distaste. "The man came out of nowhere it seems, stark naked and took Vin down really fast. You should have seen the bruising on him Chris. It looked like someone took after him with a shovel."
Chris winced at description and felt a rising knot of anger stemming from the pit of his stomach at someone doing that to any of his friends, let alone Vin Tanner. He resolved himself to pay Vin a visit before he headed home to Mary. Knowing Vin's temper, the tracker was liable to take off and go hunt down the bastard himself.
"Well that was strange." Buck announced his return with a look of puzzlement on his face. He kept glancing over his shoulder as if a further look would resolve his confusion.
"What?" Nathan inquired.
"Inez just asked me how I grew my moustache so fast." Buck retorted, wondering about the strange exchange he had just experienced with the lovely bartender. Just when he thought their relationship was starting to improve, she went and said something that proved otherwise. He guessed she might have heard about Virginia Cray which sent a pang of guilt through him.
"I think the busy day is getting to Inez," Ezra remarked, unable to offer any kind of explanation for that.
Chris took the glass from Buck, deciding against trying to figure out this latest calamity in his old friend's life. With Buck, it always seemed as if the man was forever leaping from one situation to another and it almost always had to do with a lady.
Chris raised his glass to his lips when his eyes caught sight of a man coming through the crowd in their direction. Big son of a bitch, he thought, noting the ill-fitting clothes especially against the massive chest and arms. There was no expression on his face, just this blank stare that seemed aimed in Chris' direction. It made the gunslinger's spine straighten in inexplicable alarm.
The stranger's dark eyes pierced through the bodies gathered in front of the seven's table and fixated on Chris. There was a flash of recognition in his eyes before that blank mask fell over his features as he brought his hands up into view and Chris saw the shiny barrel of a shotgun.
"Get down!"
The double-barrelled shotgun went off almost immediately after his warning.
Chris and the others got clear, tipping over the table in the process, sending glasses flying in all directions. The discharge from the weapon tore a hole through the wood and kept going. Someone standing behind the five bore the brunt of the blast, catching the shot squarely in the chest. Blood erupted from his ruined sternum as the poor unfortunate uttered a short scream before falling to the floor. The shooter wasted no time taking another shot. Around him, saloon girls screamed as patrons ran for cover. Nathan was shouting for everyone to get out but his cries were barely heard as the saloon descended into complete pandemonium.
Chris, who was the first to see their attacker, had already drawn both his guns. Without thinking twice, he fired one shot before the man could pull the trigger on the shotgun again. The bullet caught him in the dead centre of his forehead and then did the most amazing thing; it deflected outward. Blood began flowing through the small entry wound, covering his face in red and staining his shirt. Chris holstered his weapon, not expecting the shooter to be on his feet for much longer when suddenly the man blinked.
Chris stared in utter shock.
The man touched the blood on his face and studied the crimson on his fingertips as if he were examining a cut. Ezra, Josiah, Nathan and Buck were similarly gaping, exchanging perplexed looks with each other at how the man could still be alive after a headshot.
Then showing no indication of being affected by the injury, the stranger raised his gun again, turning his attention back to Chris.
Snapping out of it, Chris had barely time to leap out of the way from the incoming projectile. He felt splinters flying into his back as the wooden table was blown to pieces behind him. Glasses smashing against the floor and those in the path of the shotgun pellets sprayed a mist of fine shards in all directions. Chris landed a few feet away, his weight buckling the chair on which he landed.
He rolled onto his feet in time to see Buck and the others had recover their composure enough to draw their guns and let loose a murderous hail of bullets in stranger's direction. Chris stayed down low as bullets flew over his head. In the background, he could hear glass shattering and wood splintering in the onslaught of gunfire.
Chris knew he hadn't missed. He fired a head shot for no other reason than to put the stranger down for good. Anyone who open fire in a crowded saloon was not someone Chris was going to reason with. But he'd seen the bullet penetrate the skin! Even now, while the others were firing away at the man relentlessly, Chris could see the entry wound weeping fresh blood.
Despite the impossibility of what they were seeing, this stranger who should already be dead from the first bullet, was still standing his ground against all odds. He reacted to the barrage of bullets with little more than a slight jerk of muscles like he was being assaulted with flies instead of bullets. He seemed almost oblivious to the gunfire. Fresh wounds appeared on his skin as almost every bullet fired found its mark on his body.
"Goddamn!" Chris heard Buck exclaimed and his response mirrored what everyone in the room was thinking. "Why the hell ain't he dying?"
"Keep firing!" Ezra's voice shouted frantically. Even from here, Chris could hear the fear in the gambler's voice. Chris could hardly blame him. How the fuck was he still standing?
Whatever the stranger was, it was clear he was only interested in one thing. Chris. Turning away from them, he closed in on Chris again, shrugging everyone else's gunfire as he reloaded the shotgun, oblivious to the fact he was being turned inside out by a hail of bullets. His only concern seemed to be Chris.
"I'm out!" Chris heard Josiah cry and knew the others would be the same way too. They had been firing continuously for the last few minutes as they tried to put down this monster that not seem able to die. Chris had no idea how to defend himself, knowing shooting was pointless, if what he had seen so far was any indication of the effect that bullets had on the stranger. The double barrel was aimed at him again and Chris scrambled to his feet, trying to decide whether what to do.
"Chris watch out!" He heard Buck shout as his old friend rushed at the thing.
"No Buck!" Chris shouted because Buck was wide open to get himself killed. The stranger had no intention of wasting a bullet, flipping the weapon over instead to strike Buck with the hard, wooden stock. The force of it sent Buck sprawling. Unconcerned with whether Buck had gotten up, the man continued towards Chris. Josiah hurled a chair at him but he swatted it away with ease, almost completely dismantling it with his enormous arm.
Chris Larabee did not know how to run from a fight. In all his life, he had never been forced into a situation where he had to tuck tail and run for his very survival. The idea was not only odious but it went against everything he was, especially when his friends were fighting life and limb to defend him. Chris was breathing hard, fear gripped him so hard, he almost didn't recognise the sensation.
But if the thing wanted him, he could lead them away from the others. Yeah, he could do that. Seeing Nathan scrambling towards an unconscious Buck, Chris knew if he didn't run, this thing would kill all his friends just to reach him.
"Mr Larabee, get the hell out of here!" He heard Ezra shout as the gambler fumbled for fresh ammunition to reload his gun.
While it was preparing to fire, Josiah had taken advantage of the enemy's concentration and leapt onto the man's back, sliding an arm around his neck in a deadly arm lock. As it tried to shake Josiah off its back, Chris saw the preacher tossed around like a man riding a bull. Using the distraction Josiah had provided, Chris ran forward to help, wrestling the shotgun away from the stranger's incredibly powerful grip. With a roar of exertion, Chris yanked the weapon free, sending it clattering noisily away. The shotgun clattered noisily away as Chris grabbed a chair and swung it at the man.
The stranger caught it with one hand and practically ripped it from Chris' grip with one powerful yank while at the same time throwing Josiah violently off his body. The preacher went flying and smashed into a table, collapsing it and all its contents under his weight.
With lightning reflexes, Chris did not give the monster time to react and he threw a fist into the enemy's bloody face. The thing looked up at him and reacted with little more than a slight jerk of muscles as if it were shaking of the blow. Chris pummelled him repeatedly in desperation. Even as his fists struck its jaw, Chris felt his knuckles flare in pain. Hitting it was like hitting an iron wall and to Chris' dismay, the gunslinger realized with a tinge of panic that he could not keep this up indefinitely.
"Christopher Larabee." The stranger surprised them by speaking for the first time. Like the rest of him, his words were strange. "You have been scheduled for termination."
"What?" Chris stuttered.
"Get down!" Ezra shouted having reloaded his gun.
Chris dropped to his feet as the gambler began firing every bullet from his Remington shooters at this seemingly unstoppable stranger. The bullets rippled across his broad back and then across the chest as the man turned around and took notice of something other than Chris for the first time. Despite the danger, Ezra ignored the threat to himself and kept firing, determined to put this thing down even as its skin hung off his massive frame like a carcass being shredded by buzzards.
Chris reacted quickly; knowing he had little time before Ezra ran out of bullets or before the thing reached him, whichever came first. He searched the floor frantically for the shotgun that had gone flying only minutes ago. Locating it under another table. Chris almost dived forward in his haste to reach the weapon. Skidding to the floor, he retrieved it and glanced over his shoulder to see the man almost on top of Ezra who was almost out and would have no time to reload.
Chris got to his feet, checking the barrel of the shotgun to see one shell still in the chamber. Secretly, he prayed it was enough to stop this thing because he had no idea what they were going to do next if it didn't.
Ezra had little room to escape when the bloody creature reached him and grabbed him by the throat. Ezra felt the floor disappear from under his feet as he was lifted into the air with ease. Thick fingers enclosed around his throat with such strength that Ezra could barely budge the digits that were crushing his windpipe. In seconds, Ezra was fighting to breathe. Through the haze of pain, he saw Nathan who was pulling an injured Buck out of the line of fire was now hurrying towards him to aid him in his precarious situation.
"I assure you we can talk this out." Ezra tried to gasp as he felt his spinal cord pressing up against his windpipe with such intense pressure that he was starting to lose consciousness.
"Let him go!" Nathan shouted as he reached for the hand around Ezra's neck. The stranger lashed out with his other arm and swatted the healer away like he was an annoying insect. Ezra saw Nathan being thrown backwards and marvelled at the strength of the thing strangling him in its relentless grip. Everything was starting to go black when he anchored back to clarity with the sound of Chris Larabee's voice speaking very calmly.
"Let him go or I'm going to blow your fucking head off."
The shotgun was poised to fire and Ezra followed the voice to see the barrel of a shot gun pressed firmly on the back of the stranger's head. The icy cold delivery of the threat told Ezra, Chris would have little difficulty pulling the trigger. Chris Larabee was known to protect his friends from danger with the savagery of a rabid wolverine.
The creature responded by slamming Ezra head first into a nearby column. The sound of bone crunching was loud and sickening, Chris was stunned by the speed and ferocity of it.
"Son of a bitch!" Chris cursed and pulled the trigger. The resounding blast forced the stranger to release the gambler and Ezra tumbled to the ground, unconscious. Chris felt his heart pounding and prayed the gambler was still alive.
Incredibly, the stranger did not fall. The blast had staggered him enough to release his grip on Ezra but not enough to stop the stranger. Chris had fired at his head and should have decapitated the son of a bitch but he was still standing. How the fuck was he still standing? When the smoke from the shotgun blast cleared, the creature, it wasn't a man, turned to Chris.
What Chris saw then was beyond even his ability to comprehend with any measure of calm. Under the exposed flesh of an eye socket, a bright red eye radiating with light stared at him. Like a lamp, Chris thought, unable to form any other comparison. It lit up the rest of its face and Chris' steel blue eyes widened in horror at the gleam of metal beneath the ruined skin on the man face
"You have been scheduled for termination." The voice repeated and took another step forward, completely unfazed by the shotgun blast Chris was certain would finish it completely.
"Step away Larabee." A new voice entered the fray. "Step away now."
Chris turned in time to see a shape running forward through the chaos of upturned tables and unconscious bodies with incredible speed. His own reflexes were fast but the speed in which this new arrival crossed the floor of the saloon surprised even him. The monster before Chris had little time to react as a very human looking man stopped behind it and produced an odd-looking device from his tan duster.
To Chris, it looked like nothing remotely resembling a weapon. It was squarish and black, with two sharp points protruding outwards. Chris could only guess its purpose but at this moment, he hoped it would be enough.
Prodding the two points against the monster's side, Chris saw the man squeeze what looked like a trigger(?) before jumping back to a safe distance. A split second later, tendrils of blue energy erupted across its body. Recognising electrification from the few times he'd encountered electric lights in some of the larger towns, Chris' would be killer spasmed a puppet on a string. All the while wearing that goddamn blank mask on its face, as if it felt nothing.
When the thing, Chris had no idea what else to call it, finally collapsed onto the floor with a loud thud, he was finally able to breathe again. Around them, the saloon was near demolished by the firefight. The gunfire left little standing with fragments of glass everywhere and every wall riddled with bullets. The room looked like the aftermath of a battlefield. He saw Nathan struggling to rise to his feet as the healer crawled slowly towards Ezra whose face was covered with blood.
In the corner, Buck was starting to come around while Josiah was buried under the remains of the table he had landed on. The monster and Chris could think of no other word that seemed appropriate, remained where it had fallen, unmoving.
Chris looked up at the man who saved his life, in fact saved all of them as he approached the gunslinger. When Chris stared into his face, what he saw was unsurprising considering everything that transpired in the last ten minutes. Even though he wore his friend's face and looked identical to Buck Wilmington, Chris knew unconsciously this was not since he could see the real Buck in the corner of his eye, struggling to regain some balance after their ordeal.
Suddenly Inez's odd statement to Buck earlier, made perfect sense.
"You're not Buck." Chris stated if only because he needed to hear himself say it.
"No," Darien shook his head. "My name is Darien Lambert and we don't have much time. Come with me if you want to live."