Hello! No, I haven't forgotten about this story. Like I said on the last chapter, this is where it gets kind of weird. Let me know if you want me to keep going. It gets weirder as we go along. I just can't resist pilling as many characters I like into a story and seeing what happens.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from 'The Magnificent Seven'. I just had to borrow them for this story.
C HAPTER EIGHT
Time passed imperceptibly. The fog made it impossible to see the change in the sun's position. The temperature rose fractionally as the day wore on but not enough to be felt. The only time either of them left the marginal warmth of the cot was to answer the call of nature, a tricky business. The fog had stayed as thick as when Sandra'd first climbed out of bed, which necessitated that they stay close to the tent or the fire.
The riflemen had rags wrapped around the pans of their rifles to keep the powder dry but otherwise relaxed around the fire. A large pile of wood had been collected carefully and so would replenish the flames if they started to gutter.
Frost covered the top blanket, making it brittle. Sandra's shoulder throbbed from lying on it but she ignored it. It was too cold to get out from under the blankets unless absolutely necessary. For the fire, Sandra could dimly hear Daniel singing a song, something about 'over the hills and far away'. It lulled her to the netherworld between sleep and wakefulness.
"What time is it?" The captain was awake and feeling restless.
"I have no idea, sir. I seem to have left my watch at home," Sandra replied. It hadn't been the first time she'd noticed its absence.
Sharpe laughed. "You're unlike any woman I've ever met."
"That doesn't surprise me, Captain. I'm not from around here," Sandra responded.
"Where exactly are you from?" Sharpe hadn't had a chance to ask these questions before and he was bored.
"It's a small city in the Canadian plains called Moose Jaw," Sandra said.
"There aren't any cities on the Canadian plains." Sharpe was beginning to question the girl's sanity.
"Not yet, no. Moose Jaw isn't established until around 1903." Sandra waited to see if the meaning of her words sank in.
Despite the narrowness of the cot, Sharpe somehow managed to turn until he could see her face in the dim light. "What are you saying, lass?" he demanded. She didn't have madness burning in her brown eyes.
"It's what, 1810 here? I'm not born for more than a century, Captain Sharpe! When I fell asleep at home, it was February 1998." Sharpe was looking at Sandra as if she had two heads. "Now you know why I didn't tell you earlier."
"It's a bit much to swallow, lass," Sharpe managed around his astonishment.
"And you think I'm completely out of my mind. How do you explain my clothes, my shoes and my attitude?" Sandra didn't want Sharpe treating her like an idiot.
"I'm not sure." Against his better judgement, Richard was inclined to believe her. She'd made three very valid points.
"What's your name?" Richard asked.
"Sandra Ruelle." Sandra saw the shock register on the scarred face. "Yes, my father if French Canadian."
"You were wise to change it," Sharpe said.
"I had the feeling you wouldn't take kindly to it so I took my mother's maiden name," Sandra explained.
"How old are you?"
"Thirty five," Sandra said.
"The fog is letting up." Harper had his head just inside the flap. "We're getting ready to move."
"Yes, sergeant." Sandra escaped the blankets and stood shivering beside the cot. She helped Captain Sharpe out from under the heap of blankets, pulled his great coat out of the bottom and wrapped it around his shoulders. "I'll pack this."
"Thank you." Moving stiffly, Richard made his way out of the tent and went to stand beside the fire. Out of habit he'd picked up his sword belt, ammunition and his Baker rifle. He struggled to buckle the belt around his waist.
"Here, sir." Harris handed him a piece of bread with cheese stuffed inside it and placed a wineskin on the ground beside him. Then he went to help Sandra and Sergeant Harper take down the tent and stow the blankets.
In minutes, they were walking through the fog. The temperature had risen marginally and the fog had receded so they could now see roughly six feet ahead. The horse was skittish. The fog upset her. Sharpe had trouble keeping her under control with only one hand. So much so that Hagman had to catch hold of the reigns and lead the horse.
They moved in silence, their ears straining to hear beyond the white cloud and the sounds they unintentionally made. The sun was still nonexistent. None of them had a watch so they had no idea what time it was. The world had been reduced to a white mass.
Sandra was walking in the rear with Harris. It was unnerving but she wasn't going to complain. Suddenly, Sandra and Harris stopped as one and turned to face the way they'd come. Harris emitted a small, low whistle, warning the others. She didn't know what had warned him but Sandra had had the distinct impression that she was being watched.
The barrel of both rifles came up. Sandra pulled the hammer back on her rifle and started to pull the rags away from the pan. A hand came down over her own, stopping her. "Wait until you can see your target," Daniel whispered in her right ear. "Otherwise the powder may get wet."
The riflemen had created a circle around the captain's horse. Sharpe had pulled his sword out of its scabbard and rested it across his saddle. Harper fired first, his huge seven barrel volley gun barking loudly. Whatever was coming at them seemed to have them surrounded. Within seconds all the riflemen were firing at swatches of movement in the mist.
Sandra had yet to fire her gun. She could see something dark move but not well enough to aim, let alone fire. Fear ate at the edges of her mind. She found it hard to concentrate amid the smoke and noise. She glanced at Harris on her left. He seemed to see better than she did. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move. Sandra barely had time to pull the rags away from the pan, turn and aim the rifle.
It was hideous, all black fur, muscles and fangs. It snarled at her as it advanced. Its right paw reached out to slash at her face. Sandra pulled the trigger, point blank range. Bloods and brains splattered her and the ground. Detaching from her horror, Sandra quickly reloaded the rifle with practiced ease.
Another veered around the first one and jumped at Sandra's throat. She thought she saw her death in the creature's lifeless eyes as she brought the rifle to waist level and pulled the trigger. It sprawled into her, knocked her back into the mare. The horse reared. Sharpe just managed to stay in the saddle while Sandra ducked out of the way of her slashing hooves. Harris shot a third creature before it could catch Sandra with her rifle unloaded.
Gasping for breath, Sandra reloaded and fixed her bayonete. They were being herded off to the south east of their present position. The largest number of creatures was attacking Hagman and Sandra to drive them back. She couldn't load her rifle fast enough, even with tapping the round in instead of ramming it in. Daniel was having similar problems.
Just when Sandra thought they were going to be overrun, more shots sounded from before the fog. The reports weren't as loud as the Baker rifles and were coming at shorter intervals. Outnumbered, the creatures disappeared in the fog but their snarls and howls could still be heard.
Reloading frantically, Sandra thought she saw more coming in a pack of six or seven. Then she realized that the shapes were walking on two feet and there was not a single blue jacket among them.
"Sir?" Harris called to the captain as he reloaded his rifle. He kept one eye on the advancing men. They were dressed in civilian clothes except for one who wore a jacket made of animal hide.
"Stand down," Sharpe ordered. He raised his voice to address the men who'd stopped just outside the wall of fog, about 8 feet away. "Who are you?"
"We were about to ask you the same thing."
One of the first things Sandra noticed was their weapons, six shooter hand guns. She had no idea what kind they were, all she knew was that they didn't belong here. There were seen of them, all men, one black, the others white and they were all armed to the teeth.
A man dressed almost completely in black from his cowboy boots to his cowboy hat. Sandra had the sudden impression that they'd stepped into the Wild West. She supposed they just might have.
"Who are you?" Captain Sharpe repeated. He'd seen their guns and they made him nervous because he didn't recognize them.
"I'm Chris. This is Vin, Josiah, J.D. Nathan, Ezra and Buck. Do you know where we are?" He wasn't worried about the men's rifles. They were archaic.
"No," Sharpe responded. Chris Larabee was obviously American, Sharpe wasn't sure about the others.
"Who are you?" The youngest of the men, J.D. had stepped forward and was staring with open curiosity at the men and their uniforms. He'd never seen anything like them before.
"Captain Richard Sharpe, Sergeant Harper, Riflemen Hagman, Harris, Perkins and Herring." Sharpe had gone back to Sandra's improvised name. He didn't want them to know any more about her than necessary. He was hoping to keep her sex a secret. For a while anyway.
"Glad to meet you, Captain Sharpe. What were those things?" the fanciful dressed one, Richard thought his name was Ezra, asked.
"I think we'd better keep moving, sir," Sandra interjected, her voice low. "They may be back."
"He's right," Chris said. "You seem to know where you're going. We'll tag along if you don't mind."
"By all means." Sharpe wanted to know where these men and their weapons were.
Without a word, Harper set out, his gun reloaded and his eyes and ears straining to find the creatures. Harris nudged Sandra up beside the captain's horse. He didn't trust the new arrivals anywhere near the girl.
For their part, the gunmen, for that was what Sandra as convinced they were, set themselves just outside the circle the riflemen made around their commanding officer. Chris, their leader, knew that the soldiers' rifles were slow to load and the creatures had greater speed and probably greater numbers. He wasn't sure if he trusted them but he didn't want to be responsible for their slaughter.
The fog was converging on them again, reducing visibility to three feet. They had yet to stop for the day except for the fight but none of them seemed particularly inclined. The sounds of the creatures kept them going forward.
Sandra walked beside the captain's horse, her left hand resting on his stirrup. Her rifle was slung over her right shoulder, loaded and wrapped against moisture. Faintly, she could hear Sergeant Harper and Chris talking at the front of the column. Daniel walked on the other side of the captain, the man named Ezra was just beyond him, barely visible in the fog. Harris and Perkins brought up the rear. Their shadows were Nathan and Josiah. The one shadowing Sandra was the man dressed in the hide jacket, Vin. J.D. and Buck were as far out front as they dared go.
There were more of them but somehow Sandra didn't feel much safer. The creatures continued a cacophony of sounds out in the white wall. She couldn't get rid of the idea that they were being herded.
They'd been travelling for several hours without a stop. Sandra didn't feel tired. They'd eaten on the road and she drank sparingly. The last thing she wanted was to have to go to the bathroom with the second group around. A quick glance up at the captain showed that he was lightly dozing. He was exhausted from the unaccustomed time in the saddle and his wounds. She would have preferred that they stop to rest for a few minutes but she knew that wasn't an option.
"You're not English," Vin stated from beside Sandra.
Startled, Sandra barely kept herself from jumping. It was the first thing the American had said to her. "I'm Canadian," she replied, lowering her voice.
"What are you doing with them?" the dark haired man continued to scan their immediate vicinity as they talked.
"I just sort of fell in with them." Sandra wished he'd go back to being silent. The masquerade wouldn't hold up to close scrutiny. Vin nodded his acceptance of her explanation then fell silent.
Relieved, Sandra glanced at the captain again. He was watching her. She felt a pang when she looked in his blue eyes. He was in a great deal of pain but he hadn't uttered a word. She unslung her canteen and offered it to him. "You really should drink some, sir," she said when he shook his head no.
Wearily, Sharpe accepted the canteen, removed the stopper and lifted it to his lips. After a few quick swallows, he stoppered it and handed it back. Sandra had rummaged in her pack, found some bread and some meat from the night before and handed them to the captain. She thought she saw a momentary grimace but it passed quickly. Sharpe took a tentative bite of the meat and gamely chewed. Satisfied, Sandra slung the pack and canteen and concentrated on not tripping on rocks underfoot.
"Is he all right?" Vin asked. He'd witnessed the whole exchange and found it strange.
Briefly, Sandra considered whether to lie or not. Honesty seemed the best policy. She chose to tell the truth. They'd find out eventually anyway. "No." Sandra felt the captain's foot shift under her hand so she didn't go into details.
The white wall was slowly turning grey as the sun went down. The pace had reduced as the day wore on.
One moment they were in the thickest part of the fog, the next they were in a green clearing. The fog and the creature were gone.
Startled, they stopped as one and quickly scanned their surroundings. The sun's last rays could just be seen through the tree boughs to the west. Where ever they were, it was warmer but not by much. At least it was above freezing, for that Sandra was grateful.
"Set up camp," Sergeant Harper ordered his men. He had no idea where they were. He had no intention of wandering around in the dark.
Once the tent and fire were set up, the riflemen scattered to do a reconnaissance of the immediate area, hunt and collect wood. Sandra didn't have any luck hunting but she collected as much wood as she could carry and went back to camp.
Harris waited for her when Sandra returned, a worried expression on his face. "I'm concerned for the captain," he said quietly. "He doesn't look very good."
Dropping the wood near the fire, Sandra headed for the tent. Inside she found Sergeant Harper crouched on the ground beside the cot, his attention focused on the lump under the blankets.
"Could we get some light in here?" Sandra asked as she gently moved the large man out of the way. The captain had been weak but otherwise healthy when last she'd seen him. She had no idea what would cause the sudden downward turn in his condition.
"Aye, lass. Whatever you need."
Captain Sharpe was feverish to the touch and completely oblivious to her presence. Scared beyond imagining, Sandra pulled the blankets down and started to undress him. She had to see the shoulder and the arm. It was the only thing that made sense.
The tent flap moved and the black man, Nathan, came in carrying two candles Harper had scrounged from Harris's pack. "I know something about medicine," Nathan said in way of explanation. "What's wrong with him?"
"He has a large wound on his right shoulder and his right radius and ulna are broken. I'd sewn up the shoulder and arm wound and splinted the bones. He seemed to be recovering until now," Sandra informed him. The shoulder wound looked healthy. No head or swelling was obvious. She turned to the arm and with her bayonete carefully cut away the cast.
The moisture in the fog had gotten to it. It was reverting to its paste state. Delirious, Sharpe was becoming combative. It hurt too much to be touched. Nathan caught hold of him and pinned him to the cot.
The moisture of the last two days had invaded the cast and caused the wound to fester. Furious with herself, Sandra cut the stitches so she could get at the pus underneath. Captain Sharpe cried out and struggled vainly to get away from her. "Hold him!" Sandra had slipped with the bayonete and nearly impaled her hand with it.
"We need help in here!" Nathan called. The blond man seemed to have sprouted extra arms and legs. He was having trouble controlling Sharpe.
Harper, Harris and Hagman crowded into the small tent and grabbed hold of anything that was available. The captain fought and cried out against the pain. Gritting her teeth, Sandra cut the final sutures and nearly lost her lunch.
Part of the wound had begun to heal so it wasn't quite as deep as it had been. The bones were still straight. The paste had created a breeding ground for bacteria. The smell was overpowering. A milky, green liquid had gathered at the bottom of the wound.
"I need clean water and clean bandages, as much as you can get me," Sandra ordered. She was draining as much of the liquid as she could over the edge of the cot.
"Perkins is working on more," Harper told her as he handed her the canteen of boiled water they'd carried from the village. There wasn't much left.
"Thanks," Sandra said as she took the canteen from him from him and carefully poured the contents into the wound. She'd left the splints in place. She didn't need to have to worry about the bones separating again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let this happen." Despair threatened to immobilize her.
"You're doing your best, lass." In his concern for his captain, Harper had fallen to old habits. He wasn't even aware of the slip. Sandra chose to ignore it.
By the time she had the top half of the wound clean, Perkins handed in a pot of hot water and the only clean bandages he could find. Beyond the teenager, from around the fire, Nathan's friends watched, concerned.
"Thank you," Sandra said. She turned Sharpe's arm so she could get at the other side of the wound. Cutting the sutures this time was a lot easier. The captain was weak from his struggles and barely able to move his head.
The oozing wasn't as bad on this side. Sandra may be able to save the arm yet. Wiping sweat from her forehead on her jacket sleeve, Sandra dried the wound and looked closely at it now that it was clean. "I need a clean knife," she said.
Nathan removed a blade from a holder he had under his coat. He preferred knives to guns. Carefully, he handed it over to Sandra. The blade was held over the flame of the nearest candle for as long as Sandra could wait. Then she used it to cut away the rotting tissue. Distantly she hoped Sharpe didn't have septicaemia as she worked.
Once it was as clean as Sandra could get it, she proceeded to stitch it up for a second time. The process was repeated on the other side. Then Sandra bandaged the wounds. Exhausted, she sat back on her haunches and studied the finished product. "Do you have anything for paid or infection?" she asked, turning her attention to Nathan as she handed him back his blade, a little worse for wear.
"I can make up a tea that should help with both," Nathan replied. The skill the girl, he hadn't been fooled for a minute, had shown impressed him. He'd noticed the healing burns on Sandra's hands as she'd worked. He thought about inquiring about them but decided to wait. He left the tent to brew the tea.
"Will he be all right?" Harris asked. He'd wet a piece of bandage and used it to wipe at the powder on the woman's face. She always forgot to wash it off or else she was too busy to care.
"I hope so," Sandra replied. She took the rag from him and swiped half-heartedly at her skin. "I feel so badly that I didn't see it coming."
"None of us did, lass," Harper assured her as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Captain Sharpe had lapsed into a deep sleep. He muttered to himself every once in a while. "Get cleaned up and I'll fetch you some supper."
The bandage was filthy by the time Sandra had cleaned her face, neck and the blisters on her hands. Sandra didn't even bother to examine her shoulder. It hurt from firing the rifle again but it would heal in time.
Harper came into the tent with a piece of unidentifiable meat, she didn't ask, some flat bread Perkins had whipped up and a mug of something hot. "This is for you. Mr. Jackson is still working on the tea for Captain Sharpe, so he is."
"Thank you, sergeant." The meat was still sizzling hot. Sandra was grateful for a plate Harper had scrounged for her. Suddenly ravenous, Sandra dug into the bread while she waited for the meat to cool. Her eyes were consistently drawn to the captain's face in the candle light. She felt so guilty for letting him down. Harper stood in the doorway, concern evident in every line.
"I'll stay with him, sir. I doubt I'll be able to sleep anyway," she said.
"I'll check in later. Sleep if you can. Tomorrow is going to be a long day." He and Chris Larabee had decided to keep moving in the morning. Staying in one place didn't seem like a good idea. The creatures might still be around.
"Aye, sir." If she bothered to stop and think about it, Sandra'd be amazed at how easily she'd adjusted to life here. She didn't, so she wasn't. The meat was cool enough that she was able to eat it. She had no idea what it had come from and she didn't bother to ask.
The more civilized part of Sandra's mind rebelled at eating animal flesh. She'd been a vegetarian in her other life but survival seemed more important. Besides, her main reason for boycotting meat was to prevent cruelty to the animals being raised and slaughtered. She wanted no part of it. The animals Hagman and herself had killed the night before had not suffered. One clean shot was all it had taken. No sledge hammers or crowding involved. As it was, she was only able to eat a small portion before she put in on the plate in case the captain was hungry later on.
The tea now brewed, Nathan brought a mug into the tent and handed it to Sandra. "How are your hands?" he asked.
"What?" It took her a moment to figure out what he was referring to. "Oh, yeah. They're fine. Thanks."
"Mind if I look at them?"
"If you must." Sandra set the mug down. It was too hot yet anyway. She held her hands out, palms up.
Even in the dim light of the candles, Nathan could see that the burns were healing well. "How did you do this?" he asked.
"Hot rifle barrel." Sandra didn't feel like going into details.
"Well, you seem to know what you're doing, Sean." It was the name Sharpe had given Sandra to cover her sex. Nathan waited to see if she'd correct him. When she didn't, he continued. "Try to get your captain to drink the tea. I'll make more in the morning before we head out."
"Thank you." Sandra waited until he left. Then she picked the mug up, braced the captain's head with her other hand and tried to coax him into drinking some of the liquid. It was harder than she'd expected. The captain was trembling, whether from shock, fever or cold, she didn't know. She set the mug down again, checked his head wound and left the bandage off. It was nearly healed. A few more days and she'd be able to remove the stitches.
Suddenly very tired, Sandra tried one last time to get Sharpe to drink the tea and even managed to get a couple of mouthfuls down him before she gave up and climbed under the blankets with him. His skin was hot to the touch but he was still trembling. Worried, she slid her arms around his trunk and held him tightly against her own body just as she had under the stairwell that day. Gradually, Sharpe's trembling decreased as did the soft moans but they didn't disappear completely.
