***Hey fans! Nope, I did *not* forget about this story (actually, it's on my mind about 95% of the time), but the usual excuse applies: Real Life. She's a bitch around this time of year...likes to make my kids start school and such. Oy. But, as promised, I'm back! There's only a few more chapters, my friends, and I am ever so grateful for your continuing reviews, encouragement and support! Thank you SO much!***

***My advice: Go back and read from the beginning. Get the flow of the story back in your mind before you venture forth. It'll help! And now to continue the adventure...***

Buckaroo Banzai: You ever thought about joining me full time?
New Jersey: Whatya mean, you serious, do you have an opening?
Buckaroo Banzai: Uh huh. Can you sing?
New Jersey: A little, yeh, I can dance.

- Buckaroo Banzai across the Eighth Dimension

-o-o-o-

"I woke up in the desert like I'd been dropped out of the sky."

– Cowboys and Aliens

Marshall signaled the all clear to Eliot and waited for the man to join him before slipping into the Redpoint barn. The wrangler was swift and silent, a testament to his military training and likely the terse warning Marshall had given him before they ventured close to the building: make a sound, and Eliot would find himself trussed up under the trees with his own horse. Marshall would've preferred him back there anyway, but due to the nature of the man's involvement he thought it was prudent to keep him within arm's reach. For a number of reasons. Hell, if he didn't think Stan would have an aneurysm, he'd deputize the cowboy. A ragtag posse comitatus of one. He shook off the amusing thought as Eliot filled in the shadow next to him.

A brief, whispered exchange, and then they were hugging the walls of the dimly lit back hallway as they crept towards the stall that held the comm left by Agent Hardison. Dirt floors strewn with straw muffled any sounds of movement, and their passage was only tracked by the half lidded, amber gaze of a lazy barn cat atop a pile of saddle blankets. The men saw no one, heard no one, and slipped into the empty stall a few moments later. Marshall silently instructed Eliot to cover the line of sight while he retrieved the small comm devices from their hiding place. He took slow deep breaths to appease his adrenaline fueled, oxygen hungry lungs, glancing over once to assure Eliot's position as he fit the device into his ear and looped the small transmitter around his neck.

Eliot watched as Marshall pulled the throw-away cell from the nook and turned it on. "You're not going to get a signal out here," he whispered. "Even our two-ways are sketchy."

The man looked down the empty hall one last time before taking a seat on a small straw bale resting against the wall, resting his shotgun across his lap. Marshall had allowed him to keep the weapon.

Marshall stepped over to join him as he finished punching in the access code on the phone. "There's a signal booster hardwired into the phone, and we've got some amplification programs uplinked to the towers. It'll work." He pushed 'send', locked the phone and stuffed it into his front pocket. "We've now crashed the party."

Eliot was staring at him expectantly. "So, what are they saying?"

Marshall listened to the silence for a few moments before hearing a characteristic series of clicks. "It's radio silence right now. They're waiting." He leaned forward to peer out the door of the stall.

"We need to find a place where we can see the office and the main doors to the parking lot," he murmured, looking back to see Eliot's questioning look. "You're with me. In for a penny…"

Eliot grinned and adjusted the bandana he had turned into a headband. "In for a kilo."

-o-o-o-

The dream made no sense. An Indiana Jones-like nightmare of pushing through cobwebs while knee deep in mud as the demons of the dark depths behind her screamed their pursuit. She couldn't see…couldn't speak…could barely breathe. The invisible creatures had reached her, pulling at her hair and clothes as she desperately struggled to find some way of escape. She strained against the sticky strands wrapped around her arms as she tried to yell for help…tried to open her eyes to see what tortured her. The screams were closer now as hands slapped at her face. She could almost understand what they were saying. Could smell…smoke?

Sheryl felt herself falling. Winced as her face bounced off a soft surface, but the blow and reorientation finally woke her completely from the dream. A subconscious rendition of hell morphed into a close-up view of her children's carpeted floor. But the screams continued. Not hers - she licked her lips experimentally, tasting a sticky residue that reminded her of third grade art class – but someone familiar. And the smell…

She didn't get the luxury of gathering her senses as she was roughly rolled over and shaken like a rag doll, hands gripping her shoulders and knees. The voices were back, and Sheryl blinked slowly, trying to focus on their owners in the dim, hazy room.

"She's dead!" High pitched and panic stricken near her knees. "Mom, please don't be dead!"

"Shut up! Just shut up! She's not dead!" Only minutely less panicked and near her head. "She's waking up…see? Her eyes are opening." Hands belonging to this voice started to pat her cheeks.

"Mom! Mom…wake up! The house is on fire! We have to get out and Tyler won't leave without you."

Some primal part of Sheryl's brain threw an 'on' switch, and the situation became alarmingly clear. Children. Her children. Danger! Time to wake up. She focused on the gauzy outline of the figure hovering over her: Leanne.

"Leanne," Sheryl rasped. Coughed and tried again. "Leanne, get Tyler out, now." Sheryl now realized her arms were trapped beneath her. All her limbs felt heavy and slow.

"He won't go out the window, Mom," Leanne sounded less commanding now, more like the little girl she was…and afraid. "I can't make him go. And I can't get your arms untied. I pushed some blankets under the door to stop the fire, but…" A sob hiccupped into a cough and the panic was back. "C'mon, Mom! You have to wake up!"

Her daughter started pulling at her, trying to help her into a sitting position. Sheryl did her best to assist, but only managed to roll to one side. Tyler was still crying and coughing and the smell of smoke was only intensifying. What the hell had happened? She had to get them out of here.

Her desperation spurred an adrenaline jolt that allowed her to think and assess. Her wrists were tied tightly behind her back but her legs were free. The room was filling with smoke, and there was a strange, faint crackling sound permeating the air; somehow ominous though she didn't know its source. She could see daylight filtering through the high, open window above their dresser. Their escape. The sound of breaking glass reached them from somewhere else in the house and Sheryl found the strength to move with purpose.

"Leanne, take Tyler and get up onto the dresser by that window," she said, rolling and twisting on the floor as the kids backed up. "Now! Go! I'm coming with you, but you have to move." She watched them scramble over onto the furniture, clinging to each other and crying.

It seemed to take forever to fold up and maneuver her arms under her butt so she could pull her legs through. Finally getting her bound hands in front of her, Sheryl could now attempt to stand. Three tries to get to her hands and knees, willed by the kids' encouragement, but she ultimately had to pull herself into a standing position using the closet door for help. Winded and dizzy, she was so focused on the task of survival that she didn't see it until she was about to turn towards the window. A boot.

A boot attached to a leg. In the closet. Memories from earlier slammed into her, and she had to tightly grip the door in order to stay upright. Carter. Sophie. Some…drug? Fear mixed with smoke inhalation and realization and she felt sick. They were all supposed to die in here.

She was breaking the rules and escaping, and she had to change the plan. Had to see who was in the closet. Legs shaking, she leaned down to peer into the small space. A woman with hands bound similar to her own, and Sheryl squinted in confusion as she recognized the unconscious form. Mary Shepherd. Why was Mary in the…oh. Oh shit.

Her jumbled thoughts fell into place while Leanne's strident cries rose in pitch. The timeline of events would never be clear, but Mary must be the marshal who had come to rescue her. Had come just a little too late and walked in on the mess. And now she was slated to die with the rest of them.

"Mom! Let's go!" Leanne yelled.

Sheryl looked over to see her daughter wrestling her little brother through the open window, the child realizing there was no more time to waste, and made her own decision. She would get the children out, but she couldn't leave another human being behind to burn to death…if Mary was even still alive. She pushed off the door and wobbled over to the dresser. Her bound hands were clumsy and slow, but she was able to get both kids through the window. They tumbled down onto the dirt, neither hurt beyond a few scrapes and bruises, then turned to look expectantly back up at their mother.

Sheryl sucked in deep breaths of clean air as she glanced around the area. If anyone had noticed the house going up in flames, no action had yet been taken. There was still time, but she didn't know where the next danger would come from. If Sophie was watching…Sheryl shuddered. Her brain was too damaged and confused to decide whom to trust. She just needed to get the kids to safety.

"Take Tyler and run to the river, Leanne. Run straight there along the cattle path. Keep your heads down and don't stop for anyone." Sheryl saw her daughter's face crumple in fear.

"No! You said you were coming!"

"I am! I promise," she reassured the child. "I'm coming in just a minute. And if I find out you waited for me I'll paddle you both so hard you won't sit for a week."

The threat immediately worked on Tyler who began to tug at his sister's hand. Leanne struggled against him still, staring at her mother. There was a brief, terse exchange of promises and finally the children ran towards the path, disappearing into the brush. Sheryl assessed the area once last time as she filled her lungs with good air. There were no sirens heard, no voices…nothing but the quiet of a desert midday. The window frame shuddered slightly, broadcasting the house's tortured groans, and she knew there wasn't much time. Five minutes. She would give herself five minutes to get Mary out, and if the woman couldn't be saved in that time…well…

A few last gulps of air, and Sheryl ducked back into the smoke filled room.

-o-o-o-

Marshall and Eliot had just tucked themselves behind a low wall separating the main barn from the tack rooms and bathrooms when the main office door swung open and Brad and Jamie Garcia ventured out. They spoke in low voices, unintelligible to the two men hunched over and hugging the wall only a few dozen feet away, and slowly walked towards the main barn doors at the parking lot. Marshall quietly updated the task force via his comm as Eliot carefully peeked around the side of the wall to eye their targets.

Marshall finished the brief conversation as he took stock of their hiding place. A darkened corner of the barn directly opposite to the area where the action should take place, they should remain unnoticed by the players and out of the way of the task force when the bust occurred. He had let the DHS team know that he had a civilian with him, and he could now only hope Eliot would fall back on his own training and follow instructions quickly and without argument. Marshall leaned over to squat next to his companion as he heard a truck pull into the parking lot.

"I can't give you names or specifics as to what's happening, so just keep your head down, keep your mouth shut and stay put." He glanced at Eliot as the man chuckled softly.

"I've given those instructions myself, chief. Usually right before it turns into a cluster," Eliot said, meeting Marshal's glare with a raised eyebrow. "Don't worry, I'm not looking to be a hero today. I got a lady and some kids to get home to."

Marshall relaxed a notch. Eliot was a professional in his own right and intelligent enough to know the score. Most civilians dragged into the middle of the marshals' operations were the very people they were trying to save, sometimes from themselves, and Marshall was too used to incompetence.

The shifting light and shadows near the barn entrance drew their attention to the opening scenes of a twisted drama. Garcia stepped back a few feet and set a backpack onto the ground as Brad shook the hand of the man who walked through the large doors.

"Goddamn Sweetwater," Eliot hissed, apparently referring to the young cowboy now with Brad. "He's been a pain in my ass since day one."

Marshall quietly relayed the name to the task force as he listened to the increased chatter on the channel while watching the men near the door. Their conversation drifted his way.

"The girls are all on board, boss. We can load the cattle whenever the drive arrives," the young cowboy said.

Brad patted the man-boy on the shoulder and asked him to line the trucks up along the road just north of the barn, then tossed a self-satisfied smile in Garcia's direction.

"A well oiled operation, as you can see," he boasted, turning to face the Mexican. "Easy enough to expand my manifest to include your items without anyone being the wiser."

Garcia appeared non-impressed as he pursed his lips and stared at the ground. The cowboy looked uncertainly between the two other men and took a few steps towards the doors. Brad waited.

Marshall could feel the tension radiate off of Eliot as the power play stretched into minutes. The comm crackled with activity, but the two men in hiding remained still and silent, keenly aware of the increased potential for discovery during the tense silence. Finally, Garcia reached down to lift the backpack off the ground as he grinned dangerously at Brad.

"It seems my brother may have underestimated you." He held the backpack close to his body even as Brad stepped forward eagerly. "It may very well be that we could've done business, but now…" he ended the sentence with a shrug and a smile.

Brad's expression darkened and he leaned forward to speak, suddenly interrupted by the sound of yet another vehicle sliding into the parking lot. The young cowboy who had been inching towards the door slunk into the shadows as Brad strode over to peer outside, the angry set of his shoulders apparent.

Marshall processed the information coming through his earpiece as watched the door intently, eager to see the identity of the newest arrival. The task force began closing in as the final participant in the deal walked in out of the sunlight. He straightened slightly as he recognized her.

"Sophie?" Eliot asked, obviously confused. "What the hell is she doing here? Does she know - " Marshall hushed him with a raised palm.

"Better not to know," he murmured, still watching the action. "Things are going to happen. Just hold tight."

-o-o-o-

Awareness arrived in fits and starts, like a timid animal venturing forth to snatch a tasty morsel from the palm of your hand. Almost committing, then skittering back to hover just out of reach. Hesitant, yet stubbornly insistent, it was only a matter of time before it would make the grab.

It was sensation at first, a pinch, a tug, the scratch of material along her face that welcomed her back from the quiet dark. Neurons fired one by one as connections were tested before the power switch was thrown. Taste, touch, smell…snippets of the here and now that intruded on the prior nothingness. Her brain latched onto each strand of reality and wove it into the semiconscious tapestry of memory and dream. There was something familiar there, some recollection of similar circumstance that attached the tassels of fear to the edges.

She had to escape to fight to run to get away get away get Marshall where is Marshall did she leave him in the gas station bleeding her only friend only friend who would save her it was dark but light and the smell of gasoline and dirt and smoke…smoke...Marshall?

Another tug followed by a grunt, and Mary felt herself fall backwards. Instinct joined the party, and she tried to protect herself from the tumble, failing miserably as her arms refused to cooperate. Mumbled curses accented with the whine of desperation tiptoed along her nerve endings, serving to further stir her sense of anxiety.

Stuck stuck stuck I'm trapped in the dark again and they're coming move must move must get free call Marshall to find me no don't touch me don't touch don't die on me Marshall I can't get my hands free to save him save myself…

"Mary!" Her name focused her attention to the voice.

Marshall? No. Listen. Not Marshall a woman where was Marshall her hands were stuck but she had to speak to ask…

Sharp pain across her face and mouth and Mary's eyes flew open in surprise at the insult. The world was an up-close charcoal drawing of faded shapes and she was being pulled into a sitting position by the disembodied voice. Her eyes burned…her lips burned…she sucked in a deep breath and began to cough as now her lungs burned.

"Mary, please!" the voice pleaded. "I cannot carry you. You have to get up, or at least help me. Please!"

Mary squinted at the shape of the speaker close to her face. A woman for sure. Someone she knew? Yes no maybe who? Where was Marshall?

"Marshall?" A choked plea.

"Yes. You're a marshal. You're my marshal. And we have to get out of here, Mary. The place is burning down!" Sheryl continued to tug Mary into a sitting position, moving behind the groggy woman after she propped her against the wall. "I'm going to cut this tape off your wrists and we're going to go, okay?"

Confusion was relentless, and Mary could only sag forward weakly as the woman picked at the bindings on her wrist, nicking her flesh painfully a few times before the task was finished. Her arms flopped freely against her sides, the fingers numb and tingling and basically useless. She shrugged her shoulders experimentally as the woman stepped back over her legs to crouch in front of her again. Grabbed the lapels of her jacket and shook her a few times until Mary met her gaze.

The woman. The woman who looked like another woman in the picture Marshall gave her with the witness a woman. A witness. Marshall's witness her witness?

Sheryl struggled through a coughing fit and finally managed to get Mary's arm over her shoulder and gripped the woman's jacket tightly. She could barely make out the window as the room continued to fill with smoke, and could feel the heat now. Could imagine the flames flowing across the ceiling like the incoming tide. The hellish image spurred her into action with a shudder. Setting herself firmly into a wide-stanced crouch, she prepared to haul Mary to her feet, muttering a multi-deity prayer for good measure.

"Let's go, Mary. C'mon…on your feet!"

Mary had a smoke induced epiphany as the two women half-crawled, half-staggered over to the dresser under the window, her legs doing their best impersonation of silly string.

"Sheryl?" Mary asked, leaning on the dresser for support as the other woman clamored atop the furniture. Even as her mind seemed to clear, her body refused to cooperate. Her hands left bloody smears on the poorly veneered finish. She stared at them. "What's happening?"

Sheryl pulled a struggling Mary onto the dresser top with her before answering, "We're getting out of this death trap to go get my kids, that's what's happening. Now get out that window before I leave you here to roast!"

Unable to mount a mental or physical defense, and sensing the urgency of the situation, Mary only managed to make her unceremonious exit from the high bedroom window slightly less injurious than it could've been. She tumbled through the opening and hung from the window frame for just a moment before falling to the dirt. Hit hard and fell forward to lay still as the world spun in a manner that invited nausea. The smoke still tickled and burned her lungs, joined by the dirt now in her mouth, and nausea was pushed aside by the massive coughing fit that jerked her to her knees.

By the time Sheryl joined her a minute later, Mary had taken a few deep lungfuls of clean air. The world was making a minute amount of sense, and her leg muscles seemed to be obeying a few simple commands. There were still no memories of how she had gotten here, or why the house was burning down, but she knew she was supposed to be protecting Sheryl. Now, where the hell was Marshall?

Mary was checking her pockets for her cell phone when Sheryl pulled her to her feet again. "We have no phones, no wallets, nothing. She took everything. We need to get to river with the kids. I don't know who's watching. Mary! Please!"

The desperation of a frightened woman was clearly conveyed in that last word, and Mary only stared at Sheryl's soot covered face for a moment before allowing the woman to lead her into the brush. Marshall would find them.

***See? I didn't kill her! We're only partly out of the woods here. Big stuff still to go down at the barn. Again, I can't thank you enough for sticking with me and my story! Please, please REVIEW as they warm my heart and give me something to smile about for the day! ***