The log bumped gently beneath him, waking him, and low groan slipped from his lips as it rolled, dipping him lower into the cold water. Zorro shifted, drawing his legs beneath him, and paused as his knees pressed against solid earth. His eyes opened into narrow slits, then fully as realization pierced his muddled mind. He released an arm, and then the other, and a small laugh gave way to a hacking cough as he caught a face full of water as they gave way beneath him. With no small effort, he pulled his head from the water, dragging his body forward and onto somewhat drier ground.

He rolled onto his back, ignoring the mud he felt seeping into his clothes and his hair, and as he did a flash of searing pain cut through his side, stealing the breath from his battered lungs. His hand rose to rest against his ribs, fingers trembling with fatigue as they probed the bones. He bit down into his lip, holding back a cry as the white hot pain returned. Fractured. Broken maybe. The hand fell slack as he fought to catch his breath. The rain was still falling though lighter than before, the rumble of thunder fainter. A gust of wind cut through his thin, wet clothing and he shivered, wincing as his body protested the movement.

His eyes opened, blinking against the rain. It was dark, fully night. Above, the moon was attempting to break through, small patches of sliver light shimmering through the swiftly moving clouds above. He turned his head carefully, and smiled faintly as he recognized his surroundings. A few miles from home, though it might as well be a hundred in his current predicament. He shivered again as the wind returned, the gust stronger than the last. He needed to find shelter, and then decide how to best proceed.

He rolled to his side, carefully, and edged up to his knees, gritting his teeth against the pain. He pushed back to his feet, wavering unsteadily as he eyed the small rise to the cave above. His dark eyes narrowed with determination and he moved forward, collapsing against the cool, dry stone several painful minutes later. It was several more before he was able to steady his breathing, and the pounding in his ears subsided, and he heard the voices. He thought them to be a hallucination at first, but then he opened his eyes, and saw the flickering of torches in the distance, and wondered absently how they managed to stay alight in the rain.

As they drew closer, he felt a grin stretch his face of its own accord. The two men were on foot, the smaller of the two following the larger as the path was barely wide enough for one, their voices a murmur against the wind they paused below. His grin faded as the Corporal moved closer to the water, the light from his torch illuminating the log, and the swiftly moving river just behind the small pool of calm in which it rested. A few inches more and he would still be drifting on the river, and with his current state, would likely have drowned. He closed his eyes briefly at the thought.

A commotion broke out below and he looked down in time to see Reyes' torch vanished beneath the dark waters. He watched helplessly as Garcia threw out a massive hand, closing over the smaller man's collar and hauling him back to the safety of the shore. Reyes collapsed onto the path, his face pale beneath the light of the remaining torch, his superior's a matching shade. Zorro relaxed as Reyes responded to Garcia's question with a small nod, and then stilled as the man's hand rose, a familiar object in its grasp. He ignored the pain in his side as his hands shot to his face, sliding over his eyes and forehead, tangling fingers in his hair as realization swept over him.

He pressed deeper into the darkness, panic welling inside his chest. His eyes flashed to the entrance of the cave as he fought to think. His mask. With it he would have welcomed their assistance, trusting that their honor would prevent them from using his weakened state to discover his secret. Garcia had a good heart and he would have, and had in the past, trusted the man with his life. But without it…without it there was more than his life at stake. He would not place that burden on the two men, or risk the lives of his father and Bernardo. But how could he prevent it, with the men mere steps away from his hiding place? At least the rain and the hard rock hid his trail, perhaps it could buy him time.

He eased back quietly, shifting away from the mouth of the cave and deeper into the cold dark interior. His legs trembled as he carefully stood and turned, and nearly jumped out of his skin. He was not alone it seemed. He slumped back against the wall, struggling to catch his breath as the skull grinned back at him in the faint light from the torch. His mind snorted in amusement, and he offered an apologetic smile and a small dip of his head in acknowledgement. Snake Canyon was riddled with caverns, many used by ancient tribes as graves for their honored dead. This man, judging from the tattered threads, which clothed the seated skeleton, and the head dress, which rested above the grinning skull, had once been a chieftain.

Raised voices carried from the mouth of the cave, reminding Diego of his current predicament. The two men appeared to be arguing. A grin curled the edge of his mouth as he listened.

"For the last time, Corporal. There are no such things as ghosts!" Garcia bellowed.

"That's not what my abuela told me." The Corporal countered. "She told me that the caves were guarded by the spirits of the old ones, and that if you disturbed them, they would curse you forever!"

Diego glanced up at the bones before him, an apology in his eyes as he removed the crumbling pouch from the man's belt. Forgive me. He sniffed the contents carefully, and then poured the powder onto the ground beside the skeleton. He fumbled a hand toward the objects beside the chief, gathering two and pressing deeper into the cave.

"She was just trying to frighten you into behaving." Garcia grumbled. There was a grunt and a skittering of small rocks against the stone. "Now help me. We must find Zorro. He may be injured and need our help."

The concern in the Sergeant's voice sent a feeling of warmth and guilt through Diego. He pressed it aside as he raised the gourd to his lips and blew. A mournful sound echoed through the cavern, and the voices fell silent. Then he struck the flint against the stone floor and tucked himself into the alcove behind the chief as the powder caught, and a blinding flash exploded in the mouth of the cave. There was a startled cry followed by a loud splash. As the light faded, he edged to the mouth of the cave in time to see Garcia pull Reyes from the water a second time. Unable to resist, he raised the gourd to his mouth a second time and the two men flew back down the path, the torch light dancing in their wake. Diego lay back against the rock, gasping between the pain and the laughter.

"I'm sorry, my friends." He murmured.

The humor faded as the torch vanished from sight, and he found himself alone once more. The gourd rolled to his side, and his hand fell to rest against his throbbing ribs. He closed his eyes, shivering as a gust of wind swept through the cavern. He wondered if Tornado had found his way back home. Bernardo would be beside himself with worry, as would his father. He opened his eyes, watching as the clouds swallowed the moon and the rain returned. He hoped they would have the sense to wait until daylight to search for him.

He gathered his strength, and moved deeper into the cavern, out of the reach of the wind and the rain. He would spend an uncomfortable night, but perhaps the situation would not appear so bleak in the light of day. He curled against the stone floor, his back against the smooth cold wall, his limbs and eyes heavy with sleep. The comforting darkness took him swiftly, and so deeply that he failed to hear the sounds from within the cave, sounds that grew nearer with each quiet breath, until a large dark figure that loomed above him. A warm puff of air caressed his face, and a soft muzzle nuzzled his ear, leaving a trail of wet apple scent slobber in its wake.

He smiled.


A/N: Tornado is truly one of a kind. To hear a friend of mine talk, horses are more likely to leave you for dead than rescue you. In the case of mine, I believe her…but Tornado…well he's just special.