Explosions
Part Two
They placed Ezra gently into the central bed in the clinic, Josiah pressing down with all his strength on the bleeding wound on the younger man's upper shoulder. A jagged piece of wood had skewered him as he landed, upper back first, into the rubble of the saloon. Inez had clung to him, taking the brunt of the falling room above them, dazing her. She'd landed on top of him, saving her from worse injury. As it was, it looked as if she had only broken one arm, and maybe sprained an ankle, on top of a myriad of cuts and bruises that colored her small frame.
Chris was still unconscious in the next bed, one leg at an odd angle. Mary was holding a compress to the side of his bleeding head, her eyes bright with fear.
Belinda Greene pushed inside, her arms filled with herbs for Nathan's poultices from the apothecary's shop. Dropping them on the counter, she went to help Buck with Inez.
Nathan straightened Ezra's legs, hoping he hadn't made a mistake moving him. Not that they could have left him where he was, not when the saloon was still making noises like it would collapse even further. The gambler's neck wasn't broken, and his spine had felt straight…. He just didn't know. He still had no idea why Ezra hadn't been breathing when they found him. Hell, he thought the man had been dead.
"Nathan?" Josiah looked up into the healer's eyes, seeing the fear there. Nathan swallowed harshly, still hovering at the edge of the bed. "Nathan, shouldn't this wound be cleaned? And his arm looks broken. Or something looks broken."
"His collarbone, Josiah. And his right shoulder blade. And maybe his right arm." The healer still made no move. He looked stuck, as if he suddenly became aware of the damage that had been done to his friends. Insecurity wracked his tall frame, and he clenched his fists.
The preacher frowned, "Nathan…"
Suddenly Ezra's eyes flew open. "NATHAN!" he screamed, shocking Inez awake on her cot. Chris remained unmoved. "Leave him alone! VIN! VIN! Get him out of here! VIN!" The gambler started to thrash, and the healer instantly responded. He'd been afraid that Ezra had broken his back in that fall, and he couldn't help grinning stupidly as he had to work to stop Ezra's legs from moving.
Vin ran into the clinic, obviously responding to his name being called, his face drawn so tight it looked as if it would snap. Tears were running down his face, and his jaw trembled. When he saw Ezra thrashing, he jumped in to help, pressing down on Ezra's good arm as Josiah tried to restrain the gambler around the chest.
Then the man started to choke, his breath coming out in gasps. He immediately stopped thrashing as his breathing became more and more ragged.
"Damn IT!" Nathan spat, pulling away. "What the hell is wrong with him!"
"Sergeant Spencer! What is the meaning of this insubordination! Who was that colored soldier you were helping! Who is this Nathan?" The captain was shaking him, slamming him against the hospital table.
"I don't know sir! I don't know!" He coughed loudly, trying to draw in air as he felt the oxygen driven from his body. "He was here when I woke up! Please, captain, please!" Had he helped them? How could he have helped them? Hadn't it been Nathan helping him, as he always did? And, and….how did he know their names? The captain only shook him harder, making it hard to breathe and cracking his skull on the metal table.
He could feel the fluid building up in his chest from the treatment as he choked on his own saliva.
"And the boy in the Ohio Sharpshooters outfit? I suppose you don't know him either, eh? The one who got the Negro out of here? The one you called Vin?"
"No sir, please. I don't know how I…" Ezra was coughing badly now, and pain rolled up and down his chest. He wasn't going to last much longer.
"LET HIM GO!"
The captain immediately loosed his grip and pulled his revolver. Another man in Union Blue, with the stripes of a major, shot the gun out of the captain's hand before the Reb could even get it raised. This major couldn't have been more than twenty eight, with a shock of blond hair marred by a massive bloody cut to one side of his head, but his eyes were jaded with the war. Steel-green in color, they threatened to kill anyone who wronged him.
"No one hurts one of mine!" the Union major hissed, causing the confederate captain to back up a step, his bloody hand cradled to his body. Ezra's eyes widened in confusion. He tried to say that he didn't know who this man was, that he wasn't "one of his" but, when he turned his head, the confederate captain was already gone. Instead, a different face stared down at him. It was kind, with graying hair and a soothing appearance. The man wore a poncho….Where the hell did he find a poncho in Tennessee? From far way, he thought he could feel this same someone stroking his hair.
"Son, son, can you hear me? You have to calm down, can you do that? I don't know what demons you are seeing right now, but they aren't real. You have to stay with us, Ezra. We need you here."
Ezra blinked. He knew this man. For a moment, he thought he could see the outlines of a room – a dark, wood-paneled room. What happened to the hospital tent?
"Ezra? Oh, Lord, Ezra, I'm sorry. If I'd been quicker with the ropes! Or found some other way…"
Tilting his head the other way, he found himself looking at a very young man, maybe three years younger than himself, with huge blue eyes that looked bloodshot. His light brown hair was cropped short, and covered by a hat well known and greatly feared by the confederates. This sixteen year old boy in the green trimmed Union outfit must be one of the elite Ohio sharpshooters. Ezra's eyes blinked in recognition.
"Vin? Is Nathan okay? My captain tried to…" Ezra felt very strange all of a sudden. Where was he again? Oh yes…the hospital tent. He'd failed to hold the artillery line….
To his left, the boy's eyes had widened in confusion. Then he was gone, as if he never existed. In fact, everyone was gone.
Ezra sat up on his elbows, searching the suddenly empty tent.
"Sergeant Spencer! Get back out there! They need you in artillery!" It was his lieutenant's voice. His lieutenant was calling him. He had to get out there.
But wasn't his lieutenant was dead?
"Captain? Lieutenant?" He stared wildly about the tent. He was still alone. The disembodied voice got closer.
"The Yanks are sending a bunch of infantry regiments to take the hill, sergeant. I want you on the central cannon. You'll direct the men's aim. We can't let them have that hill, Spencer. General Sherman will not win this campaign, you here me?!"
"But…." Ezra started to shake, confused, his eyes closing. His back and neck hurt, and it hurt to breathe. A shadow loomed over him, causing him to open his eyes again. The Union Army major leaned over his table, fixing him with an even stare. Where had he come from?
"Ezra, don't go back out there," hissed the blond major. "You can't leave yet. We need you here."
"Who are you?" Ezra demanded, backing away as best he could to the far side of the table.
"At the moment?" The man pursed his lips into a smile, eyes as sharp as flint, "I'm your future, Ezra Standish, and I'm not letting you give up on it."
Nathan was splinting Chris's leg, wrapping cloths around it to hold the wood tight to the limb. The gunslinger had remained unresponsive throughout the whole process. The healer grimaced, hating the implications. As he laid the leg beck down, he pinched a toe on the other leg, and was pleased to see a slight reaction as Chris drew his foot away.
Sighing, he took over from Mary to take a look at the head injury. It appeared superficial, but one never knew. The fact that Chris was still out of it after an hour worried him.
"How is he?" Mary asked, trying to read Nathan's face. The healer shrugged.
"I can only repair what I see Mary. He doesn't seem to be in any pain, and his breathing is regular, so, I'm hoping he's fine."
She nodded, and cast a glance over the other two occupants. Inez was sleeping peacefully on the far cot, one arm splinted. She had been awake on and off, asking about the others, but had finally succumbed to shock and exhaustion.
Mary couldn't look at Ezra, knowing already that his features were deathly pale and that cuts and bruises riddled his body. She couldn't even stand to listen to him, to his wheezing. Nathan had straightened the bones as best he could, sewed the hole, and splinted the arm, but he had been unable to do anything for Ezra's breathing. If his lungs were filling with fluids, Nathan had informed them quietly, it was likely blood, and Ezra would die.
He just didn't know.
Vin and Josiah were still in the clinic, hovering, much to Nathan's annoyance. Buck had gone to join JD. The kid was standing guard over the ruined saloon, trying to protect it from looters.
Through the window, the sun shone brightly down on the still shocked town.
Sergeant Ezra Spencer coughed again, trying to calm his breathing down. It felt like someone had wrapped a steel band around his chest, and, no matter how much he inhaled, he couldn't fill his lungs. He shook slightly in the cold air, and tried to focus more clearly on the Union major.
"My future, eh? I very much doubt that, major. If you're trying to make me betray my countrymen, you won't succeed."
The blond man laughed, "Damn it Ezra, why in God's name did you choose the war to come back to? Betray your countrymen indeed. From what you told me, you've seen more of this country than anyone I've ever met. You're about as Southern as I am!"
"How dare you sir!" Ezra levered himself up onto his elbows. "The South is who I am, Yank, and I won't have you say otherwise."
"Alright, have it your way. But, trust me, you won't be here much longer."
"Trust you? Trust a Yank? I don't understand you sir. You make no sense!" And suddenly he was coughing again, his head pounding with the exertion. The major was by his side, holding him up, rubbing his back.
"Calm down, Ez. You'll be alright."
As soon as the coughing fit ended, Ezra put all his remaining strength into throwing the Union man off. "Leave me be!"
The major backed off, hand raised in front of him. "Okay….You realize, though, if you could remember where you really are, I'm betting that cough would go away."
Ezra glared at him.
"No, really. You had that cough when? Did you catch pneumonia during the war? Some sort of repository ailment? If you were to wake up, I bet it would fade away along with your memories of this place."
"You're mad."
"Ezra, I'm not the one having delusions. Now wake up. You're making Nathan crazy."
Ezra's breathing worsened as his heart beat faster, his eyes fixed on this madman before him. "What the Hell are you talking about, Chris? Wake up? I am awake!"
"Oh, you used my name. Good!" Major Chris Larabee grinned.
"SERGEANT SPENCER, front and center! Get out here, now!" his lieutenant's voice, again. His dead lieutenant.
Was he dead as well? He stared up at the major, then moved to get up off the table.
"No, Ezra, don't," Chris said to him, gripping his arm.
"I don't know you! I don't!" Ezra pushed himself away, to fall to his knees on the grass and dirt floor of the hospital tent.
Voices rang around him again, and he looked around. He could smell the woods, and the cannon shot. Grass, brown mud, broken bodies, blood. "I have to go, Chris. I have to!"
"No!" the Union major lunged, trying to grab the younger man's arm, but Ezra was too quick. He pushed back the tent flap and slipped back out into the daylight.
The light was blinding….
"HOLD HIM!" Nathan gripped Ezra's arms as he thrashed again, heat rolling off of his body in waves. "Damn it, what is wrong with him? More of this and the bones will come unset. Josiah!"
"I'm trying," the preacher grunted, almost sitting on top of Ezra's legs. Vin, who was sitting by a still comatose Chris, watched with liquid eyes.
Abruptly, Ezra stilled, his body arching against the weight, before falling back into a heap on the bed. His eyes fluttered open, and he began to shake.
"Chris?" a small voice asked, the southern accent almost invisible.
"Ezra? Can you here me?" Nathan knelt down beside his head, his hands running across the collarbone and slipping under the bandage on his shoulder. "Ezra, please, you have to break out of this. Chris is fine. He's here, with us. You have to calm down."
But the green eyes were already closed.
"Damn," the healer stood, his arms shaking from the exertion of trying to keep his friend still. He looked over at Vin, who had shut his own eyes, then at Josiah. The preacher was staring at Ezra with a closed expression, hiding his emotions. Nathan sighed. "Josiah, could you go and get me some rope?"
The preacher looked up, startled. "What?"
"I have to restrain him, Josiah. He was lucky this time, but…." He shook his head, and went back to feeling down Ezra back and arm for any other damage. After a moment, Josiah simply nodded.
"I'll get some new rope from Mrs. Potter. I think she got some new supplies the other day."
Nathan just shrugged, unable to look at this old friend any longer. He heard Josiah stand and leave, before he himself fell back into a chair by the bed. Ezra was unresponsive again, his breathing sounding even worse than before.
"He talked about his captain," Vin said, his face dark. "Think he meant the war?"
Nathan looked up, and shook his head to say he didn't know.
"That's an awful place to be," Vin continued, watching Ezra. "I always figured he was one of those that slithered his way out of joining, what with that silver tongue of his and all."
"Maybe he meant a boat captain?" Nathan suggested, wiping a cloth across Ezra's brow to get rid of some of the sweat from the fever.
"Maybe," the sharpshooter frowned, and looked back down at Chris. The blond still hadn't moved. Compared to Ezra, he looked very peaceful. "Doubt it though."
"Will…will he be alright?" Inez was pushing herself up on her elbows, watching them from her cot. She had pushed back the curtain Nathan had set up to separate her from the men, and her brown eyes were on Ezra.
Nathan frowned, turning to her. "You should be resting."
"Resting? Nathan, my home is ruined; I have no job anymore; my best friend is dying, and you want me to rest?" She put just enough venom into the statement to get Nathan to smile. But Inez's anger faded quickly, leaving her only her loneliness.
"Is he dying, Nathan?" she asked again, her eyes bright.
Nathan looked back at Ezra, and lowered his head. Over by Chris, Vin gritted his teeth, stood, and, after touched his best friend lightly on his good leg, left.
Outside, the day shone bright and beautiful, with nary a cloud in the sky. Normally, Vin would have his head up, taking in the scents of the coming of spring, but instead he walked with his head to the ground, eyes focused on nothing more than the filth of the road beneath his feet.
"Hey Vin," Buck's tired voice drifted out across the street, causing the younger man to look up. Buck was standing inside the ruined saloon with a few other men from town, working to move the debris into piles and looking to see what could be salvaged. Vin could see that shoring timbers had been put in place to hold up Ezra's room, which was visible for all the world to see. Instantly, Vin turned his head.
It felt like he was invading somehow.
He continued to walk listlessly down the street, stopping only when he saw JD looking equally as miserable in front of the jail. The kid looked up when Vin sat down next to him, but otherwise made no sound.
"JD?" Mary sidled up, a basket of sheets under her arm. "Did you telegraph the consortium that owns the saloon, the one that Mr. Travers works for? And Maude?"
JD grimaced, sighed, and looked up, all in that order. "Yes ma'am, I did. Though I don't expect word for a while."
"Ah," she twisted her lips in thought and stared back at the saloon over her shoulder. "You know…it will be all right, JD," she said softly. "It will."
"Yes ma'am." The reply was less than assuring. Mary glanced once more at the boy, and at the man sitting next to him. Vin stared out at the street like a man unhinged. With a slump of her shoulders, she nodded farewell and turned back to head towards the clinic.
A few minutes later, Josiah walked past with a coil of rope over his shoulder. He nodded at them as well. When they didn't respond, he gripped the coil tighter. Too many people to mend, he thought sadly. What a mess. Resolving to return once he'd helped Nathan with Ezra, the preacher forced himself to keep moving.
Buck shifted a particularly heavy board, taking out his frustrations on the wood, enjoying the feel of pain in his muscles as he strained them. He didn't look up as Josiah passed, his mouth set in a grim line as he chucked the board to one side. He didn't want to think about anyone but himself and this saloon right now, about putting it back together as soon as possible.
Out of the corner of his eye, though, he caught Vin and JD over by the jail.
He watched them for a moment, hands tight around a thin piece of ceiling.
"Thunder and Lightening," he swore, tossing the board down. "I'm taking a break," he announced to the others helping him. They nodded.
"'Bout time," Yosemite muttered under his breath, pulling another bit of kindling from off the floor.
Gathering himself up, the ladies man stormed across to the jail, not caring that dirt and sawdust billowed off of him in waves as he moved. When he stood before them, his expression was darker than a storm cloud forming a tornado.
"You boys done feeling sorry for yourselves yet?"
Both jumped, though Vin offered Buck a glower while JD simply frowned.
"What?" the tracker asked.
"You heard me. I know what is going on in those puny little minds of yours. You think that, if you had somehow gotten to them sooner, or come up with a better plan, that maybe they wouldn't be up in that clinic now. Am I right?" His voice was demanding, and JD physically shied from the confrontation. Vin just stared back, anger born of frustration beginning to bubble beneath his typically calm exterior.
"You weren't there Buck. We should have gotten to 'em."
The ladies man laughed, staring up into the sky as if for answers. "Wonderful! Throw that in my face, Vin! You think I'm not fully aware of the fact that all I did was yell at Ezra to shut up? You think I'm not over at that damned saloon trying to forget that Chris ain't flicked an eyelid since we found him? I wasn't there, you tell me. Well thank you very much."
Vin frowned, "Buck, I…"
"No, no. I don't want to hear it Vin. You boys don't have the lion's share of the guilt here, okay? So you couldn't get to them in time. Was there any way you could've? No! Because there were those damned bank robbers shooting holes in things to deal with first! The ones, I might remind you, who threw the dynamite? Now, get up off you keesters and do something worthwhile for a change instead of just wallowing in your self-pity."
JD's shoulders had slumped so far down, he looked as if he'd lost about two inches off his height. "I'm sorry, Buck," he said quietly. "I'll come help with the saloon."
"First you're going to go check up on those in the clinic, boy. Then you can come help. Why ain't you been there yet, huh?"
JD's eyes flashed with unshed tears as he stared up at his mentor. "Well, I, uh, someone had to protect the saloon from looters," he offered quietly.
Buck nodded, "Oh, and nice job you're doing to," he replied sarcastically. "Protecting the saloon while sitting in front of the jail with your head in you lap and your rifle sitting on the desk inside. Very effective."
"Buck…."
"Get your ass over to the clinic and see your friends JD. Now. Vin, you come with me."
Turning on his heel, Buck stalked off the way he came, not caring to see whether his orders were adhered to. After a moment, Vin cleared his throat.
"What got up his craw?" he asked, a hint of a smile on his face. JD answered with a smile of his own, and stood up.
"Well, I best be heading over to the clinic, to check on the others," the kid said weakly.
"And I guess I'll be at the saloon helping Buck when you're done," Vin agreed, getting up as well. Both feeling a bit lighter, the two men held their light smiles as they stepped off the boardwalk together.
Georgia, summer, 1864, still on the wrong side of Sherman's Campaign.
Ezra fingered the stripes on his arms, annoyed at the responsibility they suggested. The worst part was the medal he now had tucked away inside a small box in his bags. The idiots had actually commended him for bravery when all he had been doing was trying to save his own life. Well, his own life and those of his men. The result? Fools had given him a damned field promotion to lieutenant. Lieutenant! It was absurd.
Lieutenants were officers. Men with money and class. Ezra had class -- at least in his own opinion -- but money was something he was sorely lacking in at the moment. There was a couple hundred tucked in his boots (Union money, just in case). It was more, he knew, than most of the men around him had combined, but two hundred dollars was pittance compared to what some of the officered men had. His lips curled in derision, unable to stop themselves. Like all enlisted men, he really hated the brass.
Well, except for Joe Johnston. But he was gone. Sent north by Davis to North Carolina. General Hood was in charge now.
Hood the madman.
It was summer now, and the Georgia sunshine was beating down without mercy on the gray clad men, making their filthy clothes itch and smell more every day. Pushing through the swamps hadn't helped either. Hood had been sending them in assault after assault against Sherman's army, trying to break through the Yankee defense, but it was like trying to turn back a flood. At least under Johnston they had been whittling down the yanks, forcing them to hold as their numbers decreased in size. They might have had a chance given time. Now Hood had managed to kill more Rebels in the past month than Johnston had all year, and Sherman was so close to Atlanta the steeples were visible above the forest line.
Now, it really was just a matter of days.
Ezra and his men had been sent south and west, their orders to try and ring around the men Sherman had set up there, and cut off their supplies. In other words, they were being ordered to warp the train tracks.
Of course, a week ago, they'd been out there repairing those self same tracks to get supplies for themselves.
God, this was a stupid, stupid way to fight. So, Ezra decided a little bit more than simply destroying the tracks might be in order. He'd steal the Yankee's supplies while he was at it.
The erstwhile riverboat gambler lay on his stomach, watching the small contingent of Union soldiers standing guard on the tracks, awaiting the train. It was due in about half an hour, and Ezra planned to have his small platoon wearing those union uniforms when it arrived.
He grinned, flashing his gold tooth. They'd never know what hit them.
"So where are we now?" a low voice asked, as someone kneeled next to him. Ezra nearly jumped out of his skin, and he pulled the knife from his belt to point at the intruder. He saw the light blue pants first, then the navy jacket with its yellow stripes, and finally, he saw the man's face.
"Chris?" he asked, his voice shaking.
"We're in Georgia, I take it?" the union major replied, looking around, then he looked at Ezra. "Oh, and you're a lieutenant now. Congratulations." He smiled, causing Ezra to shift backwards and grip the knife tighter, loudly rustling the dead leaves on the ground as he moved. Over by the train depot, one of the Union soldiers looked in his general direction at the sound, peering into the woods with a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.
"What…who are you?" Ezra hissed.
"You know who I am, Ezra. And, you know, if this is a raid, you really should be keeping your voice down. Where are the rest of your men?"
Ezra's eyes narrowed to slits, the knife in his hand steadying. "My men are of no consequence to you, Larabee. And, as of this moment, you are my prisoner. Lay down your arms and lie face down."
"Or what, you'll knife me? Please. You hate blood. Now, if that had been a gun, I might have been a little more believing, since that requires far less mess." He sat back, to fall with an audible thump on his behind. "So, what's the story? You gonna attack these soldiers or what?"
Ezra just stared at him, wide-eyed and unbelieving. "I said, lie down, Larabee."
"Make me."
Gritting his teeth, Ezra drew the revolver he had in his crossdraw holster and pointed it at Chris. The major watched with amusement.
"There, feel better?" the confederate lieutenant asked. "I have a gun now. So, lie down and shut the hell up before I use it."
"Uh oh," Chris grinned, "I think you've been noticed," indicating with a jut of the chin the soldiers at the depot. Swinging around, Ezra froze as he noticed two Yankee privates heading in his direction.
Hell and Damnation!
He searched the other side of the forest line for his men, and saw one of them waving desperately towards his hiding place. Looking to his left and right, he saw the others were in place as well. Nodding, he pulled off his hat and waved it back.
Now or never!
He raised the gun, having completely forgotten about the union major standing behind him, and aimed at the closest soldier.
Suddenly, he felt an arm around his neck, throwing off his aim, and he shot harmlessly into the air.
"Let go of me!" he screamed, just as gunfire ripped out of the trees to attack the men at the depot. Already on guard, most of them managed to find cover, and were returning fire diligently. Meanwhile, Chris gripped Ezra tighter around the neck and started pulling him backwards, away from the fight.
Desperate, Ezra drove an elbow into Chris's side, but the man didn't flinch, almost as if he couldn't feel it. Once more, the gambler could feel his air being cut off, and he started gasping for breathe. As if sensing this, Chris let go, after having only dragged Ezra maybe twenty yards deeper into the woods. He dropped the gasping man to the ground, letting Ezra fall into a prone position.
His limbs felt like they were on fire, and something felt like it was cutting across them, preventing them from being moved. His shoulder in particular felt like someone was running a hot poker through it.
"What have you done to me!" he demanded, struggling to stand. He failed, and landed in a heap on the ground again. Chris shook his head.
"Nothing. Though I think Nathan may have restrained you with some ropes. You broke your collarbone and I think your arm, but you were thrashing around so much, he was afraid you'd ruin the work he did to set them. You really are causing the poor man heartache, you know. He can't figure out what is wrong with you." He smiled suddenly, "Not that any of us can ever figure out what's wrong with you even when you're healthy," he quipped.
"Did you say Nathan?" Ezra stopped trying to move, and his mind tripped a little. The colored soldier?
"Yes, Nathan," the major replied. "You know who he is, right? I saw you help him back in that hospital tent."
Ezra just looked at Chris, green eyes completely confused. In a vague motion, one hand went to his neck, trying to get his breathing under control. He was wheezing again, as the excitement worsened his still lingering consumption. Chris frowned, and kneeled next to him on the ground.
"I don't know why you're here, Ezra. But I really think you should snap out of it. The way you're remembering this part of your life, you'll more likely die before you'll let yourself return. I'm not going to let you die on me, not here."
Ezra just blinked, unable to respond. Chris's eyes narrowed.
"Do you understand me, Ezra? This isn't real. You have to wake up. If you come with me, I'll take you home, okay?" He stood up again and held a hand out.
"Lieutenant! Lieutenant Spencer!" a Rebel private charged out of the woods, to see Ezra on the ground and a Union major standing over him. Without second thought, the boy lifted his rifle and aimed.
"No WAIT!" Ezra screamed reaching out, but it was too late. The shot rang through the small clearing, killing the union major instantly.
Continued and Concluded in Parts 3 and 4