Nathan Jackson was so frustrated he wanted to shoot something. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs in pure anger. There was too much that needed to be done. It all needed to be done first. None of it was getting done and the trials were piling up, one on top of the other.
When he'd finally come upon Josiah and their fallen friends, the relief that washed over him was immeasurable. He could tell by the way Josiah was leaning over them that they had to be alive.
The Preacher was trying to revive them and get water down them. Had that only been thirty minutes ago? Seemed like a lifetime.
Their friends needed attention badly. The best they'd done so far was tie bandanas around their mouths and noses to keep them from choking on the damnable sand.
They needed shelter. The horses needed shelter. And there wasn't any.
The sand storm was coming in now full force. Sustained winds of thirty miles per hour impaled them with the minute grains of sand. It felt like hundreds of tiny needles pricking the skin. It whipped their coats. Their hats had long since fallen to their backs held there by the chin straps.
Nathan tried to come up with a course of action. They could lay the wagon on its side, perpendicular to the largest ridge on the outcropping and form some semblance of a windbreak. But the horses were tied to the wagon.
They could give the horses some shelter, but there were no tie downs. If they lost the horses they would be in the same shape as Buck and Ezra. And he needed to be trying to get water into those two and lowering their body temperatures. They couldn't move those two to the more protected side of the outcropping until they had the wagon tipped and were sure it wouldn't topple over on them. Two people couldn't do it. But they had to try.
Josiah was trying to tip the wagon. What little help Nathan was able to offer was next to useless. He had one hand and shoulder against the wagon wall, but in his other hand he was trying to control the reins of four frightened horses.
It was hopeless. And Nathan wanted to scream defiance at whoever set this in motion; whoever let them get this far and fail.
Then he felt a gentle, reassuring pat on his shoulder, sensed rather than saw through the dust that it was Vin there, taking the reins and passing them over to JD.
The boy had a way with animals. He adeptly controlled the four skittish animals for all their size in addition to the three he, Vin and Chris had ridden up on.
Then Vin and Chris added their strength to turning the wagon. Once it was settled they tied the horses to one end. The tall rocks supplied all the cover they would need.
Quickly they bundled up the unconscious Ezra and Buck and moved them to the makeshift shelter on the bed side of the overturned wagon.
They distributed the extra blankets Nathan had brought and the bedrolls. They tented them over their upper bodies for whatever added protection that could afford.
Chris cradled Wilmington under one blanket. Nathan got the feeling that the gunslinger, ever fighting to control his emotions, had not allowed himself to register the damage done to his friend.
Josiah continued his attempts to trickle water squeezed from a cloth past the unconscious gambler's cracked and chapped lips
Between them, Vin held the blankets over himself and JD. The boy had folded in on himself physically and mentally at the glance he got of his friends and their condition. His head rested on his knees. His knees were pulled tightly to his chest and his arms were wrapped around his legs.
As much as Nathan was drawn to the boy, to check his condition, he knew Ezra and Buck needed his attention first.
Vin wished desperately that he could find the words to ease the young sheriff's guilt and fears. Any words needed now would lose their effect shouted over the roar of the wind.
Unbidden the attack on his poetry came back to him. How had he thought to write poetry where each descriptive word must mean so much? Because, Tanner, you know what words are important. He told himself and force away the doubts. And you know when words aren't important. Vin wrapped an arm around JD's shoulders lightly. He knew the sunburn might not be registering now in light of all else going on, but it would.
He pulled the young man closer until the straggly, dust coated head rested on his shoulder. The boy reached over and took a handful of Vin's shirt as a lifeline and relaxed ever so slightly.
Nathan couldn't sit still. The storm was stealing precious time from his injured friends.
Had it been less than two days since this nightmare started?
He moved to the covers that housed Chris and Buck first when he heard angry shouting coming from their leader.
Slipping under the blankets and adding his hands to holding it in even more of a tent shape, Nathan was startled to see Chris desperately, almost angrily trying to rouse Buck. Fearing the worst, Nathan quickly confirmed to himself that the lanky ladies' man was still breathing. "Chris, use the water, cool his body down. Let him sleep through this."
"You gotta tell Buck you're here." The man in black growled. "Nathan, you've always got to let Buck know you came for him, no matter how much you think he should sleep." It was a prescription the healer understood he was being told he must follow in any similar situation. He nodded.
Chris tried to keep his voice indifferent but there was a touch of regret there that his friend would believe he would be abandoned. Gradually Nathan began to wonder what Larabee saw when he looked behind the easygoing façade Buck put forth for the rest of them.
Nathan studied the men. Like a knife into an onion, fate had cut through Buck Wilmington and Chris Larabee and given the others this glimpse at the men they thought they knew. You couldn't see what was there... it was only a slit, it didn't tear away any of the outer skin... but it hinted at the layers of complexity hidden safely beneath the easy smile of one and the fearsome silence of the other.
Nathan was surprised when he glanced over and saw that Ezra was awake and the look in the green, blood shot eyes as he watched Nathan try to tend to Buck past Larabee. He seemed both fascinated and angered by this interaction. Well, hell, at least the damn Southerner was conscious.
Now if only Wilmington would show some consciousness. 'I'll be damned' Nathan had doubted that the lanky lady charmer would have responded to anyone's call, but by damn, he opened his eyes for his old friend.
The blankets billowed and slapped into them at the will of the angry wind. Their arms were going to get tired.
"We're here, Pard. Buck, we've come for you."
Chris grimaced. He hated that first look of surprised gratitude each time as the situation registered and the memories filtered back and Wilmington finally realized someone had bothered to look for him. Damn, Larabee hated that look. And he hated Zach Monahans who he blamed for putting it there.
Why couldn't the bastard believe people cared enough... Chris broke off from his own memories and anger when he realized his friend's mouth was too dry and swollen to speak, but he was worried about the others... "Ezra's fine. Right over there. Josiah's with him." Buck tried to speak. Larabee worked to get a few drops of water down his throat. It seemed too swollen to accept the gift. The liquid ran down his lips that were so dry they didn't absorb the moisture, either.
The gunslinger watched his friend's eyes, then responded to the question he saw there. "We found JD, too."
Chris watched the dry, bloodshot, grit scratched, swollen eyes, that were barely a foot from his own under the makeshift shelter. It didn't look like Buck was able to see much further than that. "The boy is good, he's okay." Larabee insisted by force of will that his friend believe him. And he did. He could tell because his long time friend relaxed slightly but not completely.
The wind squalled and popped the cloth in on them. Buck's eyes didn't blink. They were still questioning. Larabee's arm snaked past Nathan and grabbed JD from under the blanket next to him. For a brief moment they were all exposed to the fury of the storm. The sand adhered to the angles of their cheeks and brows and turned to mud where the water they had tried to give out was drying on their faces.
So what was it? Nathan wondered. Was Larabee the psychic one? Or were all the special friendships the man forged so strong that they could communicate on an unspoken level? However it worked, the gunfighter knew what his friend was trying to ask.
Vin scooted over to allow the blanket to follow JD. Larabee pulled JD up to Buck's face.
Worried at first when he saw Buck resting against their leader's shoulder, relief washed over the youngest of the seven when he saw his mentor's eyes open and searching his.
Weakly Buck reached up and touched the boy's cheek. Vin wondered if that was a trait they shared or JD had picked it up from Buck - the need to touch before he could believe something or someone was real.
JD grabbed the hand in both of his and held on. Reassured, Buck sank back against the security that was Chris Larabee and into unconsciousness. JD wasn't letting go of the hand, but leaned against the granite wall and shut his eyes. They weren't being separated.
The mid day light was rapidly turning dark soley from of the storm surrounding them.
The bedrolls tented over all of the men increased the darkness. But even in the dimness, Nathan saw Larabee smirk as he supported most of the weight of the two friends now sleeping between the others. He saw Vin's eyes dance at the pretended resignation of the situation which didn't begin to conceal the relief and contentment the somber gunfighter would never verbally express.
Chris and Vin clasped hands full the blankets as a means of enlarging the shelter. They leaned their arms over the other two to rest against the rock face for some support. They bent their knees and stomped down on the tails of the blankets. The lean-to they formed had plenty of room.
Satisfied here for now, Nathan moved over to check on their shepherd and lost lamb.
While the frosted green eyes weren't as focused as the healer would have liked, they were open and alert enough to follow him as he sidled under their protective blankets. Was there even a hint of annoyance in those green eyes, that he had allowed a few seconds of the sandstorm to filter in as he changed his position? Nathan smiled at the gambler who came up with a weak smile in return.
"Mr. ... Sanchez ... says ... others..." The voice was painfully raspy.
"Restin' like you should be."
"In ... hosp ...ita ...ble envir ...onment ..." Ezra explained as the reason he could not rest.
Josiah laughed at the response. Nathan smiled his answer, "Best rest while you can. You come around enough to feel that sunburn, you're gonna know what inhospitable environment really feels like." That got a grimace.
The healer was glad to see that this Southern gentleman was sucking on the clean cloth Josiah retrieved from the medical supplies and getting much needed fluid in his system. When the big man brought the cloth back up to his mouth again, the gambler swatted it away and reached for the canteen.
"Nope." Nathan broke in. "Too much too fast, you'll get sick. This ain't the time or place to go spewin' whatever's in your belly."
Taking in their barely 3x10 cocoon that housed seven grown men, he had to agree and accepted the cloth.
Nathan reached around to feel of the smaller man's wound that he'd glanced earlier and JD had told him about. He was concerned about how dry the skin was. "You got a fever in that graze. It might try to get infected."
"Whole body's on fire. How can you tell?" Josiah asked.
"There's a difference." Nathan assured him. Then spoke to Standish, "We'll take care of you, though. Think you can rest until the storm passes?" But the gambler was already asleep.
Nathan took Josiah's hand and led him in Chris's and Vin's example of the best way to hold the tent. They settled in for the duration.