A/N: Hi-ho, everyone!

(is greeted with a rain of rotted fruit)

DALTON: YAY! MANGOES!

Three things:

1. I'm very, very sorry,

2. Updates will henceforth be much more frequent than this last one, and,

3. Try sending some tangerines over, huh?

And now: in which a storm is encountered, a river is crossed, and an atmosphere is set up that deserves a name like 'IT Lives by Night!' ('Well, IT Shouldn't Drink So Much Coffee', in the words of Crow T. Robot).

Love it. Like it. Don't kill me, at least. Please…I have children…

DALTON: No you don't.

Please…I have Biology class…

DALTON: Yeah, that works.

And now, on with the fic!

Chapter Six—

Changing Horses in Midstream

The minute the Big Blue River came within sight, there seemed to be a change in the air. The clouds had been piling one on top of the other ever since dawn this morning, the air static with electricity. Even the sky seemed to press down heavy upon them, and now, as the wagon train caught sight of the river low in its banks—but it couldn't be that fast, that far, that wide; could it?—the sun was covered by a cloud, blotting out the early morning light. It was just a few minutes shy of noon, but out on the prairie, it was almost as dark as night.

Sitting up at the front of the wagon next to Jack, long legs curled under her skirts, Gwen squinted to get a better look at the river. It was low in its banks after the dry spell that had taken them through most of May, but still a swift little thing, and formidable enough to make Jack clench the reins a little tighter in his callused hands. Meanwhile, Gwen was too fascinated by it all to think of being frightened. As she stared up at the precariously still expanse of the sky, whispering cloud names under her breath—stratus, cirrus, altostratus, cirrostratus, cumulonimbus, fluffy—she thought that she could write a whole book about the prairie with no people at all in it, an epic about width and breadth and life, the story of a blade of grass, a leaf, a drop of rain.

"Gwen," Jack said melodramatically, resting his head on her shoulder and looking up at the sky, "do me a favor?"

"Yes?"

"Give me one last kiss, before I die?"

Smiling, Gwen leaned over, looked him in the eyes, and let her kips come just within a hair's breadth of touching his, grazing him just softly on the corner of his mouth, then leaned back and looked out again at the river.

"There. Now you have something to live for."

"…You ruin everything."

Just then, Buck bounded up from along the side of the wagon, slapping Mercedes-the-Ox's haunches and looking up at the sky. "Storm on the horizon," he announced, as if it couldn't possibly have occurred to them. "We're gonna have lightning by tonight, mark my words. Perfect day for a river crossing." And with that, he sped towards the front of the wagon train, off to alert the other travelers.

"This is gonna be beautiful," Gwen said, dreamily, and Jack quickly busied himself with looking as if he was about to faint.

An hour later, Skittery was up to his elbows in the muddy waters of the Big Blue, planting his feet firmly on the riverbed with each step and inching his way across, leading Checkmate's horse, Clover, behind him. After some planning, they had decided to bring the animals across the river before they brought the wagons, the drivers getting out and steering the oxen by hand as the animals waded up to their chests in the swift current, trying to keep them from panicking. (That was Buck's advice, anyway. But, in all honestly, Jack looked a whole lot closer to a nervous breakdown than any of the animals did). But now that all the other horses and mules and crated chickens had been brought across the river, and the wagons had started to plow by, Skittery was still inching across, eyes down, intent on not losing his footing. And Checkmate, of course, was there to make fun of him the whole way.

"So is it really that hard to walk across a river? Is it too cold, maybe? Or deep? Where I come from, Skitts, we're used to cold, love it really, which is good because we get frostbite on the fourth of July, but if you can't handle it then—"

"Check, might I remind you that this is your horse?"

"…Or maybe I could get you some earmuffs…"

"LOOK! I jus'…want…to do…this…right…"

"Great," she sighed. "A perfectionist with big ears…"

"WHAT?"

Meanwhile, a few yards away, Racetrack was doing his best to help Sapphy bring her wagon across and pretend not to hear Skittery and Checkmate's conversation at the same time. His concentration was broken, however, when a thunderclap resounded through the sky, and he was obliged to leap into Sapphy's arms as a safety measure that was obviously too complex for her to understand.

Sapphy stared at him, her mouth twitching a little. "Race…are you afraid of lightning storms?"

"No," he muttered. "Hey, stop laughing!"

"I'm not," she said, laughing.

Winding the oxen's reins tighter around his fist, he glared at her. "Everyone's afraid of somethin'," he said, resolutely.

"Not me," she said, lifting her hair off the back of her neck with one pale forearm and striking such a pose that Racetrack had to laugh at her.

"Sure, Annie Oakley."

"I'm serious!" she said. "The terror of the bible belt? The robber queen of the west? I fear nothing, be it knife fights, gunfire, storms or cinders…"

"You're never gonna shut up, are ya?"

"Nope."

"Still, you gotta be afraid of something."

"Well, all right," she admitted, pulling at Apollo's reins as they neared the halfway mark across the river. "One thing."

"Well, what is it?"

She looked at him a moment, as if judging whether she could trust him with this sacred information. Apparently, he was worthy. Leaning in, she whispered it in his ear almost too softly for him to make out.

He looked at her incredulously. "You're afraid a' FISH?" he asked, loud enough for absolutely everyone to hear. Sapphy just sighed.

Staring intently at the water for a second, Racetrack suddenly plunged his arm down into the river as far as his shoulder, and quick as lightning pulled out something dark, slippery, and unmistakably fishlike, and held it in front of Sapphy's face. "Ya mean like this one?"

"JESUS H. TAP DANCING CHRIST!"

After Racetrack had carefully disposed of the fish in the most sensible manner—going over to Kid Blink, who was dozing on the riverbed, and sticking it down the front of his pants, at which point Blink opened one eye, peered under his waistband, and promptly went back to sleep—and they had managed to steer the wagon and Apollo across the river safely, Sapphy found herself staring at Racetrack with a mixture of horror and admiration that she hadn't felt the likes of since her days with Billy.

"How did you do that?" she asked him at last.

"Oh, that?" he said dismissively. "Quick hands, I guess."

Before she could say anything else, they were interrupted by Skittery racing over, panicked, from what was obviously a heated conversation with Checkmate, leaning down, and gripping Racetrack by the shoulders.

"Race," he said, "tell me I have small ears."

"What? Skitts, I—"

"TELL ME I HAVE SMALL EARS, RACE."

Racetrack looked at him for a long moment. "You have small ears," he said at last.

"Thank you," Skittery said politely, and then skipped over to Checkmate, a triumphant grin on his face.

Half-sighing, half-laughing, Sapphy leaned back against the dry prairie grass on the side of the riverbank and propped her head up with her hand, looking at Racetrack contemplatively.

"Let's get married," she said.

For a full half-second, Racetrack's heart leapt and he knew an emotion somewhere between joy and dread as he thought that she might be serious. Then he realized that that was impossible—Sapphy was seldom serious about anything—laughed, and turned to face her. "Once we get to Oregon?" he said.

"No, now. And let's never go to Oregon," she added. "Let's just travel like this, cross rivers, let's do it forever."

"What'll we do once we've seen all of America?"

"Oh, we'll find a home somewhere, I guess. Wherever we like it best. Settle down in New Mexico, maybe, raise horses…"

"No. I'll drag you back to New York."

"You can try," she laughed.

"No, you'll love it there, I promise. I promise," he said again, because it seemed just important enough. "We can live at the Sheepshead races, I guess, 'cause they won't let ya keep Apollo anywhere else—we'll find a stall, dress it up, live there. Just a place to come back to."

"We'll see the world."

"We'll see everything. And have some kids too, maybe."

She stretched out low on the grass. "No. No kids."

"Aw, they'll be great though," he said, beginning to picture their imaginary future almost perfectly. "They'll come with us on all our trips…you'll teach 'em to ride, an' I'll teach 'em to play poker. They won't be like other peoples' kids. We'll have to have a lot, of course," he added. "Probably at least thirty. And we'll name them all Gino."

"All thirty?"

"All thirty." She laughed.

He looked at her a long moment. They were lying next to each other on the grass, turned towards each other, and he could see just the way the midday sun played across her face as it slanted through the clouds, making her features shine golden. It seemed the perfect moment to kiss her. And he was just getting up the nerve when a shadow fell across both of them, and he looked up to see Buck Mulligan staring down at them in distaste.

"Racetrack, what in the name of St. Christopher do you think you're doing?"

"Well, I—"

"Because if you think fraternizing with young girls all day is going to get you anywhere, you are sorely mistaken, my height-challenged young friend. We've got a storm rolling in on the horizon!" he shouted suddenly, loud enough to make Sapphy start. "Look at those clouds. LOOK!" Racetrack looked. "I would advise you," he finished gravely, "to erect some kind of stable dwelling. Tonight, it's gonna rain." And with that, he turned skipped off.

Sapphy sat up and began to rub the dirt from her back. "That was impressive, even for him."

"No kidding," Racetrack said. "I had no idea he knew a word as big as fraternize."

Sapphy reached over and picked a long blade of grass out of his hair. "I have a feeling he's just disappointed none of us died."

Racetrack leaned back on his elbows, surveying the wagons making their way across the river. "Ya may be on to somethin'."

And then, as if he had just spoken the key words in some ancient curse, Sapphy's pronouncement seemed, for a moment, to be almost too real. Out in the middle of the river, in the swift cold water, where everything had been in control before, there was an explosion of spray, a shout: Race looked over just fast enough to see a head of mussed blonde hair disappear beneath the water. And just a fraction of a second after that, Blink, now awake, dove in after it.

"Oh, God," Sapphy said, unconsciously reaching over and grabbing Racetrack's hand. "It's Shooter. She must've gotten caught in the harnesses."

For one blind moment of panic, everyone stared into the dark water where the two had disappeared. The first sounds of graceless thunder came down from the heavens, and then quieted, and after that, all was silent. Everyone was counting under their breath, imagining Blink working blindly as he must be, unknotting the snags, giving her breath from his own mouth, among the stamping hooves of the oxen, the dark water. And then, as soon as it had started, it ended: he burst forth from the water, dragging her with him, and laid her down on the shore, where she spat up a lot of river water and weeds and a few small fish, and then reached up and kissed Kid Blink as if it was as natural as breathing.

"Excellent," he said, when he came away. "Along with the fish Race put down my pants, we'll be able to fry these up and have a nice catfish dinner."

"That's a trout," Racetrack remarked, because there really wasn't much else to say.

"Catfish," Blink countered.

"Trout."

"Look, why don't we let Sapph settle this—Sapphy, whaddaya say, Catfish or trout?" Blink asked, picking up one of the fish Shooter had coughed up, and waving it at Sapphy, at which point she screamed and dove back into the river.

"Boys," Racetrack said, "welcome to Nebraska."

The first rain began to fall just as dusk arrived, unmistakable as anything else but a prelude to a storm—the sky was torn apart with the very violence the West was famous for, and let loose its burden in torrents. It only took a few seconds outside to get completely soaked. Snitch was out brushing his teeth when the downpour began, and by the time he got inside he looked as if he had gone for an impromptu dip in the river.

Thunder shook the sky not long after that, and then lightning like they had never known before. Inside the big tent, Skittery lay on his side gazing out at the gray sky just visible through the torn flat that led outside, and counted the seconds between claps of thunder and lightning, counting the miles between them and the storm.

They had been lucky enough to get the tent up just before the storm hit, and even luckier, he thought, that they hadn't been forced to sleep apart tonight, which he didn't even want to imagine the results of. Right after Racetrack had wrestled his tent into submission, Sapphy, emerging from the river like the Lady of the Lake, had remarked casually that she happened to have a tent big enough to accommodate all of them, if he wanted to see if they could put it up. This led to all kinds of strange conversations—"but why would you have a big tent?" "I bought it." "But why did you buy it?" "To put many people in." "But why would you want to…"—but in the end, with Buck's grumbling advice, they got it up just in time, and herded everyone inside: Race and Sapphy, of course, Mush and Specs and Snoddy and Deanie and Hope and Duck and Dutchy and Dreamer and Checkmate and Skittery and Spot and Misery and Jack and Gwen and Lute and a still-soaking Snitch.

It was a monstrosity, a big old faded blue canvas thing that seemed to date back at least to the Civil War, whenever that was, Skittery thought. And he was glad, now, that they were here, instead of in their little tents, with their lanterns and their books: instead they were all here, talking, hushed voices--bodies all wend and warmth in the darkness, nested together like rabbits in a warren as they waited for the storm to pass them over. Still, though: it was different from anything he had ever known. Even together. Even here. Back in the lodging house, storms had been frightening enough, with four walls around them and a whole city to keep them company. Out here, it was something altogether different, something that he couldn't quite name.

The only thing in common was that Jack was still outside, as he was whenever the weather did something spectacular and dangerous. Skittery could see him leaning against the taut wall of the tent, tip of his cigarette glowing in the darkness as he stared out into the night (how he had managed to even light it in the first place, let alone keep it burning, Skittery had absolutely no idea). A clap of thunder, then a fork of lightning striking somewhere on the vast horizon. Skittery got to his feet, and walked outside.

Jack didn't seem to notice him as he joined him next to the tent, looking out at the sky. The rain was pouring down harder than ever, flooding the river as it leapt from its banks, pounding down on the prairie that stretched flat as far as the eye could see. It was when he looked out like this, at the ground so flat and unending he almost imagined he could see the curvature of the earth, that Skittery wondered how they were all still standing, how they could still be held down and not be swallowed up by the unending violence of the sky.

Racetrack stuck his head out of the tent flap and looked up at them. "What are you guys doin' out here?"

Jack glanced sidelong at him. "I'm daring myself to stay out," he said, "until the lightning passes over." Racetrack shuddered, and just at that moment a bolt of lightning shot down, not more than a mile away, illuminating the entire sky.

"Jiminy," Racetrack muttered, and darted back into the tent.

Shivers went down Skittery's spine; he was drenched to the bone, shaking half from cold and half from fright again. He had always wondered, as everyone else had, why Jack insisted on standing outside the lodging house whenever a storm passed over, out on the street on the one night when everyone else was inside. But just now, as he looked out at the night sky, it seemed to make perfect sense—if you put yourself at the mercy of the elements, you could never forget where you were, forget where you came from. Lightning—what was it? Electricity that came from the sky? He didn't know any more than the next guy did. But it was the most real power left, and standing out there in the dark with the rain beating down and the lightning getting closer and closer, Skittery was giving his life over to nature and forgetting fear, the most important fear there was. The rain came down. Harder. Faster. And the thunder shook the sky. And Skittery knew: once you have experience fear like this, and come out alive, you may never feel the same way, feel so helpless. You may never be frightened of anything again.

He turned to Jack, still intent on the sky, and looked at him a long moment. "Are we crazy for doin' this?"

Jack laughed. "Nope," he said. "We're pioneers."

On the other side, the lightning stuck down.

[TBC…]

And now, a special "look-no-one-died!" edition of…shout outs!

DALTON: Is there a limit to how many exclamation points you can put to use in a single sentence?

…No, not really.

Lute: YOU! (points) …probably saved me from complete slackerdom. (bows down). Darling, where would I be without you?

DALTON: In roughly the same place geographically, but not as happy. Or about to take over the world.

…Take my wife. Please.

Sapphy: DUDE! "Whoa" look! (does her best Keanu Reeves) (pause)

DALTON: …

You gotta say it!

DALTON: ...Do I have to?

Yeeeessss….

DALTON: WYLD STALLYNS! (bows)

Thank you. (And as for Mr. The Kid…I'm open for ideas. (sobs) Richard…)

DALTON: You really gotta get over that one.

Teepot: NO! (grins) Happy? I don't think it would ruin the suspense at this point to say that not only is Sarah completely out of the picture, she isn't even in the studio, on the same street, or in the same city. Last time I checked, she was in Russia. (pause) But then who was taking the photo?

DALTON: I'm putting a five-stupid-metaphor a day limit on you, you know that?

Trolley: You know, the more I think about it, everything I actually know I learned in the Dear America books. Which probably is not a great basis for college applications, but what can you do? "I know nothing of physics or any other required course matter, BUT! I do know how to make ink out of walnut shells." (sigh)

Shooter: Well, Jack says, embrace your inner ego. But you'll never have one as big as him, so…

Misery: Well, you know what they say…first it's ducks, then it's mass homicide. Y'know, it's a slipper slope…

m-e lee12: Attack of the feel-good newsies! (pause) …Dear God, we have a sequel in the works.

Hope Diamonde: PARTY ON HOPE! (Hm. D'you think I should start calling Dalton "Charlie-Poo"? Either he'll decide he loves me or he'll attempt homicide. I'm just not sure which one…)

Ireland O'Reily: What are you talking about? The essence of coolness IS being historically informed, you silly thing…

Written Sparks: Right. But TWO hammerhead sharks, at least…come on, WE know the real story. Two angles at once? Pshaw. NICE try, CIA… (but how do they hold the guns with their flippers?)

Dreamer: Turnips, mark my words, are highly underrated as birthday cake material. You just gotta make some holes to put the candles in, so they won't fall out! (pause) Now, hand over one of those pixie stix.

Mattie: Yes! Damn those Oompaloompas. If Willy Wonka made ocugh syrup, I swear to god the world would be a better place…

Deanie: Ah, they wouldn't be any fun if they matured…I mean, what would be the point, unless you wanted to open a jar or something?

DALTON: That's so un-PC on…so many levels…

Checkmate: Ah, yours shall be the greatest story ever told—wandering gypsies! Balladeers! You shall roam the earth taking in beauty, living on love…or not. Whatever boats your float. (wink)

DALTON: …Isn't the greatest story ever told the bible?

(hands him a circus peanut) That'll glue his teeth together a good three weeks…