Hello, all! Happy Sunday. Gonna make this short and sweet this week. Seatbelt warning is still in place.

Enjoy!

Linny

Chapter Thirty-Five

Bernardo could hear a strange sound coming from somewhere in the room. But, he couldn't tell where it was coming from. He was distracted by all of the other sounds around him.

He could hear screams coming from the plaza. There were gunshots and yelling coming from all sides of him. The sounds that sickened him the most were the ones coming from the other side of the door.

For nearly an hour, El Camaleón had been torturing poor Capitán Estevez. Though it was muted, he could hear each punch that landed and every whimper and grunt of pain. With each hit that landed, it was accented by a laugh coming from the others inside that office. They sounded like they were receiving just as much pleasure as El Camaleón was as he was hitting him.

On top of that, he could hear the frustrated grunts coming from the soldiers that were tied up in the room with him. With every blood-curdling strike, they winced and whimpered with pity for their Captain. They had tried for nearly forty minutes to break free of their bonds, but with each heartbreaking blow, they had lost the will to struggle free. Now, they merely mourned for their commanding officer.

But Bernardo wasn't about to give up so easily. He continued to struggle against his bonds, even though the others had all given up hope. They all knew that after he was through with the Captain, they would be next.

With every single burn of the ropes against his skin, he knew he had to keep the faith that Zorro would find them and rescue them. They were going to be the only hope that Los Angeles had against this onslaught, but they couldn't do that if they were trapped inside this damned room.

Wincing in pain, he continued to twist and turn his wrists, almost hoping that all it would take for them to break was one final tug. When they became too sore, he pulled and tugged against the ropes at his feet. Perhaps if he could get his boots off, he might be able to slip them free, but he couldn't reach them to get them off.

Eventually, he found himself giving up hope as well and slumping to the floor in a tired, defeated slump.

It was no use.

Then he heard the sound again. He didn't have much of a view from his spot on the floor, but he could tell that it wasn't coming from any of the other men with him in the room. The only place it could be coming from was the fireplace.

Lifting himself so that he could peer over Garcia's head, he saw soot drifting down from the chimney. He remembered the time that Garcia had locked Don Diego up in this very room and his only means of escape had been that chimney.

But the cuartel was teeming with armed men. There was no way that Zorro could have made his way passed them all without being seen. Then he remembered hearing a single shot, followed by a cacophony of yelling. He could only imagine what that meant. He only hoped his imagination was more horrific than what had actually happened.

He caught sight of a black boot. He nudged at the Sergeant's back with his knees and motioned with his eyes for him to look.

Garcia struggled to get at the right angle, flopping around on the floor like a fish out of water. A gasp escaped him when he finally saw it too.

The sound he'd made had drawn the attention of the other soldiers until they all became witnesses to the man in black appearing from within. They all began to murmur and grunt with excitement; their hope finally renewed and their prayers answered.

Bernardo sighed with relief at seeing his master unharmed. But then, he knew that meant that the men in the cuartel were chasing after The Shadow. Señorita Olivia was a brave woman to take on such a task on her own. He sent up a silent prayer that she would remain safe.

Zorro shushed the soldiers as he began to release them. He started with the Sergeant. He quickly cut his hands free which allowed him to work on the ropes around his feet.

"How are you here, Señor Zorro?" The larger man looked to be in complete shock at his sudden appearance.

"I'll explain later, Sergeant," he responded in a hushed tone as he allowed his eyes to scan the room and take stock of all of the men who were tied up. And who might be missing. "Where is the Capitán?"

The rest of the men all began to murmur against their bindings with panic at the mention of Estevez.

"The Lieutenant has been keeping him in his office. He has been torturing him." Sadness filled the Sergeant's expression as he assisted in releasing those who were still tied up. He hastily tugged at Bernardo's ropes until his hands and feet were free.

He winced as he rubbed at the red, raw skin of his wrists, but felt relief that they were no longer bound.

Zorro cut more ropes, allowing the other soldiers to get their hands free. "Señores, there is much danger. Los Angeles is in trouble and we are the only ones who can set her free. I am going to need your help."

"Whatever you need, Señor Zorro," Corporal Reyes piped up as he spat out the cloth that was covering his mouth.

"Good. Get yourselves the rest of the way free while I rescue the Capitán." He passed a knife over to the Corporal and spared a glance Bernardo's way. He didn't speak a word. He didn't have to.

Bernardo could see the worry in his master's eyes. Worry about his well-being. Worry about the fact that they might lose their home. Worry about the fact that they might lose each other.

He couldn't think of such things at a time like this. So, he merely nodded to the man in black. That nod told him that he understood what was waiting for them just beyond those doors. And that he was ready to fight.

As were the rest of the men in that room.

And fight they would.

For life.

For freedom.

For Los Angeles.

Zorro didn't linger any longer than he deemed necessary. With a swift kick, he busted the lock on the door holding all of them inside. He kicked it once more, knocking it completely off of its hinges.

The Chameleon reared around to face him, a mix of awe and horror on his features. The traitorous men who stood with him looked just as shocked as their leader was.

It didn't surprise Zorro that the Chameleon wasn't alone. Men in search of power rarely were. They needed the validation of others to feel good about themselves.

"Impossible!" El Camaleón crowed. "How did you get in here?" He didn't wait for a response as he sicced the two men who were beside him on the outlaw. "Get him!"

They were untrained and undisciplined when it came to sword fighting. They were amateurs at best. Zorro quickly dispatched them, leaving them to bleed out on the floor.

"Please allow me some secrets, señor," he continued as if he hadn't been interrupted by those men. Turning his rapier toward El Camaleón, he used it to maintain a bit of distance between the two of them. With The Chameleon kept a length away, it allowed him to circle the desk to check on Ramon.

The Captain drooped in his chair, his head lolling to the side as his chin rested upon his chest. For a beat, the outlaw watched the labored breaths the injured man took. He was still alive and by the look of it, still conscious, though very weak.

His uniform was cut or torn in several places and he wore cuts and bruises over practically every inch of exposed skin. Zorro could even swear he could see a few burns as well.

Blood was dripping down in a slow crawl from the crown of his head. What remained of his white shirt had been decorated by a spray of crimson and pink that had, no doubt, become deeper and deeper in color with every punch that had been dealt.

And even throughout all of it, Ramon had managed to not give The Chameleon what he had been craving. He refused to die at that monster's hands because he knew it would only give him pleasure.

"I see that you have been quite busy." He shifted his gaze back to The Chameleon and studied him. His white shirt was dotted with just as much crimson as Ramon's and his knuckles were bruising and bloodied.

The worst part of it all was the sickening sneer he wore that told the outlaw just how much this demon of a man had enjoyed dishing out his torture.

"And you have been a thorn in my side long enough." El Camaleón grabbed for a sword so he could face off against the man in black. Zorro recognized the weapon as the one Ramon always carried. The coward wasn't even going to use his own sword against him? He was going to show him how bad of an idea that truly was.

"At least we have that in common."

The trapped soldiers began to emerge from the other room. Each one wore an angry scowl as they stepped out and found the Lieutenant still on his feet.

"Let us take care of him, Zorro," one of them muttered with murderous rage in his eyes.

"Not this time, amigos. This one is mine." He admired the fire in each of their hearts as they glared at El Camaleón, but their skills would be better used elsewhere. "Arm yourselves and remain vigilant. Those men out there might look like soldiers, but every single one of them is a traitor."

"Do you think you'll be able to stop this?" The Chameleon scoffed. "An outlaw and a handful of brainless soldiers who were never even fit to shine my boots?" He spat at the ground in front of them.

The Sergeant began to charge forward but was stopped by a warning glare from Zorro. "Go, Sergeant," he commanded with a warning from his blade. "And be safe, my friends."

Two of them picked up the weapons left by the two fallen men. As of now, they were seven men with two swords and one pistol. The odds were not in their favor.

They left as they were commanded, leaving Zorro and El Camaleón to finally face off against one another. Zorro allowed his opponent to make the first move. He parried the attack and made a move of his own.

The Chameleon fought more on the offensive, his movements were filled with anger and desperation to win. Add that to the fact that he was using a sword that wasn't his own and that meant he was making far too many mistakes.

"You are allowing your anger to beat you, señor. That is what you don't want to happen during a duel."

"This isn't a duel, outlaw," El Camaleón spat out. "This is a fight to the death."

Zorro smirked in response. "But I do not intend to die just yet."

His words seemed to rile up his opponent even more. The Chameleon picked up a chair and threw it at the masked man.

Zorro dodged the object and advanced on him. Using all of the skill he had at his disposal, he continued to fight with all of his might until a slice on the hand had unmanned his opponent. Crimson streaked his skin as the deep cut began to bleed. The saber clattered to the floor when he no longer could hold onto it.

El Camaleón was not beaten so easily, though. He pulled a pistol from the back of his trousers and aimed. "It is over, Zorro. You may have won the battle, but I will win this war. It will be my greatest victory."

"A victory won through bloodshed," he reminded his enemy as he tried to figure out his next step. He couldn't charge toward him. They were in too close of quarters that there was little chance that shot would miss its target.

"There is always the chance of a bit of collateral damage." El Camaleón shrugged with almost a gleeful chuckle.

Zorro couldn't believe it. He was talking about those who were giving their lives both for and against his cause as if they were just things. It was disgusting! But to him, he supposed they would be. They were the instruments he was using to succeed. And when those kinds of things fulfilled their purpose, they were disposed of.

"How can you murder innocent people in cold blood?"

"No one is innocent! Everyone has their vices; their secrets. Everyone has a dark side. You of all people should understand that."

"That still doesn't justify killing them." He was trying to keep him talking; to distract him. He was slowly making his way back to the desk to find something to use to disarm him. Quite a few things were decorating Ramon's desktop. A heavy-looking paperweight, his inkpot, and one of the knives that belonged to La Sombra.

"Who says it needs to be justified?" The cackle that escaped The Chameleon sent an icy-cold chill down Zorro's spine.

Without looking, he took hold of one of the objects on the desk and hid it in his gloved palm. He tested its weight and aimed. Quickly, he threw it at him. The paperweight hit the pistol and sent the shot wide, shattering a window.

Finally, The Fox was able to back him into a corner. Wrapping his fingers in the fabric of his shirt, he pushed him up against the wall. "Call off your men." His eyes were cold as he growled out the command.

El Camaleón chuckled in response. "Do what you want with me, Zorro. There are plenty of others who would take my place."

He had had enough of it all. Zorro set his blade against The Chameleon's throat and pressed. "Call off your men," he repeated just as coldly as he had before.

"No." He then grabbed at the blade, where it cut into his flesh, before shoving El Zorro back. He ran toward the door once he got the chance. Ripping it open, he stormed outside. "It's Zorro! Kill him! I want his head!" he cried out to his men. They suddenly flanked him which allowed him to slip into their ranks and disappear amongst their numbers.

Zorro lost track of him as a wave of fighters stepped up toward him. A dozen men stood in front of him and there were at least three dozen more who looked like they wanted a piece of him as well.

Here it was.

If this was the place he was meant to die, then so be it.

They charged and he defended. They showed no mercy as they attacked. Their blades slashed, their feet kicked, and their fists punched. They moved erratically and it was unpredictable where the next attack would come from. It was both a danger and an advantage. As each one moved in, he could disarm them and turn to the next.

During this, Bernardo had come to his aide. He'd stepped up alongside him and used the skills that he had taught him over the years. They were driving them back, and yet another group would move in behind them.

They continued to fight until their arms were sore and their bodies tired. But they had to keep going. They had to protect their home.

Gunfire began to ring out in the cuartel yard. Zorro had lost sight of Estevez's men long ago and hoped that they had found their way to the armory. Bodies began to drop all around them. Even a few of the men he and Bernardo were currently facing off against suddenly fell limply to the ground.

Zorro glanced up to the stable roof. More men had gathered up there, but these men weren't wearing soldiers' uniforms. Nor did they look like any of the unsavory characters that had been flooding into the pueblo. He didn't have time to look closer as he was now being bombarded from all sides. He managed to clock most of the attacks coming his way, but one man got him with a good slash.

His side stung where he had been sliced, but he continued to fight. He couldn't give up.

The men on the roof began to flood into the garrison with pistols and muskets drawn. More shots were fired and more and more men began to fall.

"Get to the gate," someone near him cried out to one of his companions. This man was not in a military uniform and he was battling against one of El Camaleón's men. Zorro caught sight of the glint of silver shining off of the man's vest.

Realization suddenly hit. He was from the Marshal Service.

This man was an ally.

He continued to fight his way through the throng, hoping to catch sight of The Chameleon once more. The coward had probably run at his first opportunity, he realized. He would be the type to abandon his own men when they needed his leadership the most. As long as it saved his skin, he could leave behind whoever was willing to clean up the mess he left in his wake.

He couldn't think about it now, though. Man after man continued to step up to him, trying to get their piece of the outlaw. But, man after man met their defeat at his sword when he struck them down.

Finally, the gates swung open, revealing a large group of men waiting on the other side.

Panic suddenly rose within him as he saw this new group charging forward. His side continued to burn with an excruciating heat and his body was quickly tiring. He couldn't hold on for much longer.

Then, he began to spot familiar faces among these new men. Don Tomas. Don Cristofer. His own father. The Dons. While he had been focusing on taking on the men in the cuartel, they had been fighting against the army outside.

He was able to spot the searching gaze of his father, but could only nod briefly toward him. Don Alejandro returned the gesture with a mix of relief and pride shining from his eyes.

A horse suddenly bolted from the stables, bearing down upon their allies as the person riding made his escape. It could only have been one man.

Dispatching his latest opponent, he whirled around to find Bernardo still at his side. He was filthy and bruised and there was at least one cut just below his eye. But, he was still on his feet and he was still fighting with all of his might. Zorro was very proud of his friend. He grasped him by the shoulder to silently show him and he hoped that Bernardo understood.

"That was The Chameleon. I have to go after him."

The manservant nodded in response as he bent down to retrieve a lost pistol. He briefly checked to see if it was loaded before jumping once again back into the fray.

Zorro then turned toward the open gate. The Dons and the Marshals would have the pueblo covered. He had to go after El Camaleón. Racing passed his allies, he whistled for his steed.

Tornado came into view a few seconds later. Some of the lingering insurrectionists tried to grab for his bridle, but he began to kick and bite at anyone who came his way.

The man in black rushed to meet him and quickly jumped into the saddle. Racing off, they left their enemies in the dust.

He was surprised to find that The Chameleon wasn't alone when he caught up to him. He had been chasing him for at least a mile or two and feared that he might have lost track of him and his horse. But he was no longer on his horse as he faced off against his current foe.

Relief flooded through Zorro when he saw that it was La Sombra he was fighting.

He had tried not to think about where she had gotten to when she'd been chased away from the pueblo. Or even what had happened to her. He would be lying if he'd told himself that he hadn't been worried. Of course, he had been. These men weren't just petty criminals looking to merely steal something. These men were traitors and terrorists. And this was a war filled with death and danger.

Of course, he had feared that she would be among the bodies that were littering the ground. But then he remembered that she was strong and brave and that she could hold her own against her enemies.

As he rode toward them, he noticed how worn both of them seemed. The Shadow even seemed to be sporting some sort of injury on her left arm by the way she was tucking it against her body. And still, she continued to fight.

Zorro urged Tornado forward, racing to join the fray.

He launched himself off of the horse and landed heavily on top of The Chameleon. Both men wrestled on the ground for a moment before El Camaleón was able to weasel his way out of the bandit's grasp and rise to his feet.

"It's over, Allende," he warned him as he got back to his feet. He panted as a sharp sting of pain raced over his ribcage. It was becoming more difficult to ignore, now.

"That's what you think," the other man growled. There was madness shining out from his eyes as he searched the dark ground for his sword. It had slipped from his grasp and skittered across the ground, disappearing among the shrubbery. "All it takes is one tiny seed to sow enough doubt in this world. This is only the beginning. California will be ours."

"Not while we still breathe," Zorro promised. His interruption had given The Shadow a moment to recover and soon she was standing by his side. He nodded toward her and she returned the gesture just as his father had.

A sickening grin curled at The Chameleon's lips and Zorro could swear that his good eye had begun to glow red in the moonlight. It was suddenly like he was a demon being summoned from the depths of Hell. "I can arrange that." He gave a quick flick of his wrist.

Too late, Zorro saw a knife shooting toward him.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched it fly through the air. It was heading straight for his chest, but with time moving so slowly, he found that he couldn't move out of the way. Closer and closer it came and he watched it turn end over end.

A heavy force suddenly pushed against his side and forced him out of the way. As he tumbled to the ground, the burning in his side bloomed into a white-hot inferno. The pain was almost too much to handle as it shot through every nerve ending in his body.

For a few moments, all he could focus on was that excruciating sensation as it traveled the length of his torso, all the way down to his toes. But, there was something that helped push through the pain.

It was the cry that came from underneath the black hood.

An icy cold chill ran down his spine as he watched La Sombra fall to the ground in from of him. Breathing deeply, he continued to breathe through his pain as he scrambled to his knees. Unable to focus on anything else, he crawled toward her.

Hovering over her, he noticed how still she was. No no no.

The moon had come to be hidden by a thick collection of clouds, casting the valley into practically into complete darkness. He was only able to focus on the most visible part of her face. Her eyes.

But, they were closed. And her brow was furrowed in pain. He could hear her whimpering in pain as she tried to catch her breath.

Olivia! No!