Setting: Old West
Rating: PF — Profanity and AC — Adult Content
This is the second story set in the Hope Ranch AU (the first is A Shining Place Called Hope) Winnie, dear, I hope you salivate...
IMPORTANT AUTHOR"S NOTE: This was written in a bit of a hurry for a specific reason, no time for beta work or many edits, so read with kind eyes!.
Chris was deadweight and Greg was exhausted. His own injured body was barely able to remain upright. He had no idea how he was still holding up the unconscious blond man. The sky was still dark but not quite as dark as it had been. He knew dawn was coming and hoped they were close to the border. He was not very familiar with deserts to begin with and especially those south of the border. Then a sound interrupted his quiet trek. He sat up a bit straighter, tightening his hold on Larabee. The wounded man flopped back against his chest. The odd sound got closer and he knew what it was.
"Shit... horses..."
Suddenly the unnaturally large silver moon that had aided him in making his way became the enemy. His frantic eyes roamed the landscape but there was nowhere to hide.
Luis Garcia was Santiago's right hand man. He was the leader of the six who'd gone out after the prisoners on the blood hunt. He was the one who found the horse when it came back alone. They never lost the game before and he vowed they'd not lose now. So when his scouts found the shallow graves, Santiago himself made a decree. If they found them alive, he would find a new way to kill them slowly.
"There, Patron!" Luis called out, pointing ahead to a lone horse.
"Si..." Santiago said, his eyes flashing. "They will pay... I will write it with their blood."
The shots didn't surprise him but still when they came he flinched and ducked down. Although he was not hit, the horse spooked, rising up on her hind legs and whinneying fiercly. Greg lost his grip and he and Chris both tumbled to the ground. He rolled away from the lethal hooves until the horse ran off. Then he scrambled to find Chris and shield him from the bullets. Then the thundering hooves got closer and he took out the gun he gotten from the dead guards. He lifted his head and fired once, taking down the lead attacker. The second shot clicked, the gun was empty. He tossed it away and reached in front of Larabee's pants. He pulled out the gun that was tucked in there.
"You cannot win, Senor Dog," Santiago hollered out, pulling his horse up. He nodded to the man on the far left to dismount. He motioned for him to circle around the prisoner from behind. "I have six men and many guns."
"...as long as I have one bullet... left..." Greg rasped, his throat hurt from the lack of water. He ducked down again as they fired.
"You still have some fire," Santiago sneered, "Pity that your feeble attempt at freedom ends here. You are very close, just a few miles to the border."
Greg's heart sank but he didn't let the other man see his disappointment. He curled his finger around the trigger and waited. If he was going to die here, Santiago was going to die as well. He'd see to that, he owed that to Chris and the other Americans tortured by the brute. He never saw the rifle that slammed into his skull.
When Santiago got to the pair, Luis had dragged the first man from on top of Chris Larabee. He squatted down and put his hand on the dirty, bearded man's face. He saw the graves of the two men he'd lost and there was now a third lying dead behind them. Larabee was the leader who'd orchestrated the plan, he'd pay for it dearly.
"Luis, you will return to the prison and take command today." He stood up, pausing to spit on Larabee's face. "Miguel, tie him over your horse, ride back with Juan and get Jose's horse." He watched as they kicked the blond man repeatedly before throwing him hard over the saddle and securing him. "You know where I will be."
"Si, Patron," Luis replied. "I only wish I could be there to watch." He knew the small adobe that Santiago used to inflict torture on selected prisoners. He knew that Larabee would die slowly, screaming in pain.
"What of this one?" Juan asked, his foot on the throat of the unconscious dark-haired man. He drew his knife and waited, his fingers itching to disembowel the man.
"Leave him for the vultures," Santiago ordered. "He will die of thirst as they pick his eyes from his head."
The boot on his throat brought his eyes open to slits. Greg had heard what they said and he watched as they took his friend away. He'd failed Chris Larabee and he felt badly about that. At least his own death would be swift, unlike Larabee's.
"I'm sorry," his hoarse voice called out. He watched them ride for awhile and split up, Santiago taking one man with him along with Chris, they went in a different direction. He fought hard to try to see at least one more sunrise but it was not to be. His father's face appeared and the lump in his throat nearly choked him. The last word was uttered weakly but with much heart as he went limp
"Father..."
JD Dunne stepped outside and yawned, stretching widely. It seemed to him he'd barely laid his head on the pillow when Josiah banged on the door alerting him and Buck to get up. He watched the new colors of the day beginning to color the sky and wondered about their missing leader. Was Chris still alive? Or had the cruel guards taken pleasure in beating him? What if he was dead? He shook his head and sighed hard, toeing the boardwalk with his boot. He wasn't sure if he had the stomach to bury Chris Larabee twice.
"Mister Dunne," Ezra greeted, stepping outside of the hotel. He squinted and brushed the front of his green jacket. "Even our fine feathered friends have the good sense not to be about yet."
"We have to get there early," JD replied. "Where is everyone?"
"Nathan's securing his supplies and Buck's working his magic on Mrs. Owens." Josiah Sanchez walked over to the duo.
"Working his magic in what way?" Ezra narrowed his eyes.
"Not the usual way," Josiah replied. "She runs the cafe. It's not open yet but she's inside getting ready for the morning customers. It took a little work, but she agreed to make some sandwiches we can eat on the road."
"Wrong man for the job," Ezra decided. "Mister Tanner could garnered us a feast without uttering more than a slight "Mornin' Ma'am'."
"Speaking of Vin," JD prodded, eyeing the deserted street. "Where is he?"
"Where do you think?" Josiah nodded towards the livery. He shared a room with the restless tracker the night prior. "He got up a couple hours ago, I don't think he slept at all."
"I hope after all of this, Chris is still alive," JD thought. He was still not comfortable with what Vin did and a part of him was glad he had not run into Vin this morning.
"Let's ride," Buck declared, striding across the street with two large burlap sacs. "Daylight's burnin'"
"There's no light yet," Dunne argued, taking a sac from the taller man.
"There will be all too soon and we need to be over the border by then," Josiah answered.
There weren't many times when Vin Tanner was not comfortable in his own skin. He stood eye to eye with most men, not allowing his beliefs or background to make them feel superior. But the uncertainty of his best friend's wherabouts and life had taken a toll. He couldn't sleep or eat, concentrating on anything else was a waste of time. Even the dawn seemed too slow today.
He shoved off the haybale and adjusted the cinch again, running his hand on the horse's mane. His eyes went to the landscape ahead and he traveled back in time just a few weeks ago. He'd been working with two of the horses in the corral at the ranch unaware that Chris was watching him.
Shame all that sweet talk is wasted on horses."
Vin turned and saw the light at the end of the cheroot first. It was early and the sun wasn't fully up yet. He was a little surprised, Chris was not usually up this early. The hint of the smile of Larabee's face and the light in his eyes was something Vin never tired of. He ambled over and took the mug of coffee offered.
"Meanin' what?"
"Meaning it would go a lot further on a woman."
"Well," Vin drawled, shoving his hat back and tossing a cocky grin back, "could be I don't waste m'time with words." He leaned against the post, arching a single brow in triumph. "The boys talk fer me."
"Shit!" Chris chuckled, taking a draw on his cheroot. "To hear you talk, them damn boys of yours are busier the Buck."
"Texas growed," Vin crowed proudly and drank in the laugh that followed. Even when the black-clothed arm reached out and tugged his hat over his eyes, he kept that grin. He hitched himself on the corral gate, enjoying his coffee and the golden glow appearing in the sky. For a few moments, they shared that pretty picture, then Chris's soft voice colored it even more.
"I never thought I would find this again, Vin." Chris caught the questioning profile and relayed a more in his expression. "When Sara and Adam died, I thought my life was over. You've given me something. This place... it's special, Vin." He paused and thought of the sign at the end of the property. " Hope..."
Vin didn't wait for Chris to finish, he'd already said far too much. It wasn't the words as much as the break in his voice. He had no idea what kind of pain Chris had suffered but he did know how much courage it took to walk on.
"Yer boy," Vin lauded softly, "he was one lucky little fella." He paused then thinking of just how strong a father's touch goes. "He'd be bustin' his buttons lookin' on ya."
Chris inhaled sharply, dropping his gaze and swallowing hard. He knew how close VIn was to his own father and how hard it had been to lose him. He also knew a part of Vin would never get over that. As much of a living hell he'd undertaken burying his son, he couldn't imagine Adam at ten or eleven having to bury him, as Vin had done to his beloved father. The words hit him hard, soaking through the walls he'd so carefully built up over the last few years. They gave him a warmth, and added more color to his world. THat was something Vin was very gifted at, just by his presence.
Sensing he'd done something to make Chris uncomfortable, Vin thought for a moment. He drained his coffee, set the mug down and slid off the fence. "Some o'us actually work here. But if ya play yer cards right, mebbe later I'll give a few tips. It ain't yer fault yer boys are undersized."
"Fuck you, Tanner!" Chris laughed, shoving the prankster.
Buck wasn't sure where Vin was but the void face, unblinking sorrowful eyes and slow breaths coming from the slightly parted lips were painful to watch. He looked awful, the dark circles under his eyes only made his face paler. He hated to disturb him, but they needed to get moving.
"Vin?" He gave the slumped shoulder a small pat and the lean body jumped a bit. "Sorry."
"S'okay," Vin rasped, fisting his hand to ward off the waves of pain that came when Chris's face disappeared. Without a word, he climbed on his horse and headed out, riding uncomfortably with a anxious heart and nervous stomach.
He never thought much about what being dead would feel like-until now. Chris was awake but didn't open his eyes. He knew Santiago was waiting for that and would hold out at long as he could. For awhile, when he was wading through the red hazy netherworld of pain and agony, he thought he had died. He shivered as the morning air caressed his skin. He felt the harsh sand and gravel cutting into him hard. He was naked and spreadeagled, staked to the ground. He heard them talking, at least two guards and Santiago. He could tell by the impatience in the evil man's voice that he was getting restless. Then Santiago's voice rose and grow louder as he came closer. But when the sharp heel of his boot ground hard into his groin, Larabee's eyes shot open.
"So, you are awake, Gringo Dog," Santiago sneered, withdrawing his boot.
He drew out his knife and stood over the prisoner. That he was still alive was a miracle. One side of his blond head was dried crimson where the bloody head wound was. Half of his face was also covered in the dried redness, resembling a warrior's paint. The leg wound was infected and raw, oozing greenish muck. The lean body was covered with bruises, cuts, abrasions but there was still room for more. He moved past Larabee to the fire and heated the blade there.
"This is a very special day, as you will soon find out." He turned back, watching the feverish green eyes darting. He squatted down and leered a bit as he pressed the hot metal onto the meaty thigh, drinking in the scream of agony. "This is the day you will die. But not before the sun does, you will suffer, like all Gringo dogs must do."
Chris's head pressed hard into the cold sand and the stench of his own burning flesh sickened him. His head was screaming in pain and his leg was in agony. He grit his teeth and strained every muscle against the waves of pain. Then the blade ran slowly along his thigh, over his groin. The tip went under his staff and for a moment, Chris thought he was going to lose it. But then he realized Santiago was toying with him. That would bleed too much and he wanted him alive for at least another twelve hours.
Twelve hours.
He closed his eyes, unable to fathom that length of time in the river of anguish he was mired in. A boot kicked him hard in the side, causing his eyes to open again.
"You will remain awake," Santiago warned, putting the tip of the blade in the soft area just above Larabee's hip. He drove the blade in and felt a surge of blood coursing through his veins at the cry of pain. The blood ran down the lean hip onto the sand.
"Despite what you may think," he addressed the pain filled green eyes that were trained on him with loathing. "I have a heart. I have dogs inside and they were not fed yesterday. But tonight, they will dine well." He paused and eyed the wound in Larabee's side. "And what they do not eat," he slid the blade under the stiches and began to pull them apart. "The vultures will feast on."
Chris bit his lip and felt his muscles tense again. His mouth was so dry he couldn't even produce spit. The sun wasn't even up yet and his throat was burning. He gasped and coughed, watching in horror as the blade went into the fire again. The flames hissed as his blood hit them. He steeled himself as best he could, training his fevered eyes on the horizon. Where they coming? Or did they think he was dead? The hot blade was pressed against the sole of his left foot and he screamed again.
But the pain wasn't as bad as the one inside. He couldn't hear Vin's voice anymore. He felt himself passing out and with bit of strength, he dug deep inside to find Vin's image. Those steadfast blue eyes had to be his anchor.
Luis Garcia tapped the small baton he held with his right hand against his left palm. He walked through the camp, inspecting the Gringo dogs as they shuffled past. It was hard to tell who was in worse condition, the men who were coming out of the mines or those going in for the early shift. He barked out his orders, pausing long enough to lash out at several of the men just because he chose to. Two of them groveled and he kicked them, then ordered one to be whipped. He enjoyed the role of commander and didn't get to flex his muscles too often. He waited for the man to be stripped of his shirt and tied to the post. He took out the whip with several metal studs in it and lashed at the inviting skin brutally. It would prove to be his undoing.
"Shhh!" Vin halted, putting his right arm up. He cocked his head and tilted it to the right. They had crossed the border about twenty minutes prior and were on the outskirts of a desert.
"What?" Buck asked and was shushed again. Then it came through again, a cry of pain and the distinctive sound of leather hitting skin. "Shit... that's close."
"We must be on the back side of the mine," Josiah advised, riding up to where Vin and Buck were waiting. "We haven't passed any guards."
"We can't take any chances," Buck offered, turning to the tracker. "Why don't we ride ahead and check. I'll come back and update the others."
"Alright," Vin agreed, easing off his horse. "But we go on foot. It ain't far and the road's gettin' narrow."
Vin's years of living with the Indians had given him skill in slipping through small areas without a sound. Buck was smart enough to let him do that and go ahead. He drew his gun and tried to follow quietly. So he was surprised when he lost sight of Vin for a moment and the Texan came up from behind him, squatting down and wiping blood of the blade of his knife in the dirt.
"Jesus!" Buck whispered, 'You damn near scared a year off me. Trouble?"
"Not anymore. Two guards, I took care o'em. There's two more guardin' the entrance t'the mine. I peeked inside the winda of the large buildin' just ahead. It had bunks, tables and there was two guards sleepin' inside. That means the rest are most likely in the mine."
"We need a diversion," Buck stated. "Somethin' that will bring those guards this way."
"And the rest of us slip in the side," Vin agreed, jerking his head. "I'll show ya."
Buck followed Vin down a trail, past the two dead guards and up a hill. They went belly down and studied the courtyard from above. There was no fence, only three buildings and a small gate. Some poor bastard was tied to a wooden post and by the looks of him, possibly dead.
"Git Jo'siah, the kid and Ezra. They can toss a stick o'dynamite jest past that well," Vin suggested, pointing to an area past the guards quarters. "Me, you and Nate will come in from behind, corner 'em like the rats they are."
"SHould work," Buck replied, eyeing the path. 'I'll be right back."
Ten minutes later, they were all in place, waiting on Vin's birdcall cue. The explosion caused utter chaos. Four guards spilled from the sleeping area, half dressed. Only two thought to bring their weapons. They were quickly cut down but bullets fired by Ezra, Josiah and JD.
Luis froze when the mine rumbled. He wasn't so deep that he didn't recognize an explosion from above. He ordered two of his men to go and investigate. He moved in and shouted down the workers, who were uneasy. His threats were not idle and they went back to their work.
Vin kept the high position on a short retaining wall to the side of the mine, giving cover to Nate and Buck, who crept in behind the two guards in the front of the entry. One spun around and Nate's blade hit him in the neck. The other dropped his weapon when he was wounded.
"How many men inside!" Buck demanded, aiming his rifle at the cowering Mexican. "English!" He commanded of the Spanish babble that followed .
Ezra, Josiah and JD took their cue and spilled in from the back. Ezra and Josiah went inside the guardhouse while JD covered the area in the front. He spotted Vin who was coming through the old arched entry.
"Kid, yer with me," Vin directed, pointing to the mine shaft. He eyed Buck and Nathan who had cut the dead man from the post and tied the guard there. "Ya got this?"
"Oh, he'll be chirpin' like a canary," Buck predicted, while Nathan tipped the guard's chin up with his blade.
"Yuh best listen up, cause he's in a foul mood," Jackson directed. "How many guards are inside?"
"...cuatro... cuatro..."
"Yuh better not be lyin!" Nathan warned.
"Cause if you are," Buck growled, drawing out his knife. "I'm gonna cut a finger off for each extra guard."
"...no... no..." He shook his head.
"VIN!" Nathan hollered, ducking as shots rang out from the inside of the mine.
Tanner heard the warning and went into motion. Wheeling around, he began to fire as he dropped down and rolled over. JD came up behind the two new guards who'd exited the mine and took care of the one that Vin's bullets didn't hit. The fired up Texan scrambled to his feet and ran over, grabbing a bleeding guard by the throat. His eyes went wide and he pressed the blade to the wounded guard's throat.
"How many prisoners?" Vin demanded, ignoring the pain in his lower back. "Are they all inside?"
"No... uh... uh... some sleep..." The guard nodded his head towards the small buidling beyond. "...inside... uh... diez..." He coughed up a mouthful of blood and had a body spasm, before his last breath.
"Ten," Nate translated, as Ezra and Josiah exited the guard house. "Any more?"
"No," Josiah answered.
"There's ten prisoners inside," Buck updated as Vin ran past him, not waiting on a reply. By the time the words left his lips, Vin was already through the door.
"Jesus..." Buck stammered, appalled by what he saw. Inside the building were small cells that reeked of every bodily fluid imaginable and worse.
"Good Lord," Ezra managed, repelled by the offensive odor and deplorable conditions. "That anyone could survive this..."
"CHRIS!" Vin shouted, peering inside the first 'tomb'. "Hey... wake up..." He eyed the ring of keys on a hook over the door. "Ezra, git them keys." He didn't wait and continued going to each small doorframe. "LAR'BEE!... CHRIS!"
"It's alright," Ezra reassured the skelatal creature who backed away when the door opened. "We are from the States. You are no longer being held here."
"CHRIS!" Buck shouted, trying hard not to gag on the putrid stench that was overwhelming.
"He... is... not... here..."
"Where is he?" Vin whipped around and strode over to an old man that staggered out of the third door opened by Standish.
"...He ain't... on... our... crew... they... have... others..."
"In the mine," Ezra guessed. "Go... Josiah and I will secure these creatures in the guards quarters."
"Keep an eye out," Vin warned, running for the door with Buck on his heels.
"I'll check the place, looks like an office." Buck stated, "I'll make sure you and the kid are covered out here."
JD waited for Vin to run past and followed him into the mine. The air immediately got cooler as they went deeper. Vin's keen ears picked up every sound and JD was careful to keep close and pay attention. Vin halted and held his arm up, then motioned for the younger man to go across to the other side.
"Hide..." Vin whispered, ducking down. He flinched and bit his lip when a wave of fire rolled across his back. He must have pulled something during the skirmish earlier.
JD darted over and knelt down, copying what Vin did. He trained his gun on the shaft that separated them. He saw Vin shaking his head, holstering his gun and drawing out a knife. He nodded back, the bullet would be too noisy and could pose a problem. He heard bootsteps and Spanish voices. The flickering torches above them cast the entry in an eerie glow. The shadows fell first, giving their enemies an unnaturally large appearance. Dunne braced himself just as Vin sprang.
Buck found the office to be empty, but over the small fireplace was a large oil painting of a sinister looking Mexican with a pock-marked face. The gold plate on the frame identified him.
"Santiago," he read, glaring at the likeness. "So you're the bastard I'm going to have the pleasure of sending to Hell." He thought for a moment and took the painting down, then shoving it hard over the post on the tall chair by the table. He read through several documents until he found what he was looking for. Chris was listed on the current list, and there was entries as recent as the night before of a prisoner who'd died. He exited the building with a new sense of purpose. Chris was still alive, or had been as of yesterday. "Thank God... hang in there pard."
Vin's blade caught the first guard by surprise and by the time the angry Texan curled up his face in disgust as he drove it upwards, the man was dead. JD hit the other one hard on the back of the head, and Vin used the butt of his mare's leg to clip his chin, sending him down.
"I'll be back," Vin ordered, letting JD guard the downed man. "Shackle 'im t'the wall."
Vin crept slowly through the mine, careful to make sure there were no other guards. He didn't see any and then saw a huddled group of men, armed with pics. He didn't relax his stance, not sure of what mental condition they were in.
"I'm American," he called out. "My friends and me come t'rescue a friend, Chris Larabee. Is he here?"
"No," a voice called out. "He should have been, but he and Wilson are missing."
"How many are ya?"
"Ten..." a voice answered. "Five here and five on the other side."
"Git 'em," Vin directed, "The rest o'ya leave. Are there any more guards?"
"Four... and Luis... he was just here."
"Okay..." Vin eyed the drafty tunnels, keeping his gun up as the others staggered past. He took a moment to lean against the wall and try to adjust for the pain in his lower back. "Git t'the guards shack, m'friends have the others in there, it's safe. Ye'll get food and care."
One man paused and wept, taking Vin's hand. "Thank God... ya come..."
Buck saw them stumbling out and ran to give a hand. By the time he got them into the guard house, Nathan was already at work. The men were at tables, eating solid food. Nathan was assessing the ill and injured, glad to find most were able to walk on their own. What they needed most was good food, plenty of rest, a bath and some clothes. They were mostly weak from hunger and being overworked.
"We don't have much time," Josiah predicted, putting a bowl of fruit on the nearest table. "The army patrols these roads and if they wander in here, we better be gone."
"There are wagons in the back," Ezra stated, "We can load these men on them and head for the border."
"Where the hell is Chris?" Vin demanded loudly of the group. When he didn't get a reply, he picked up a glass pitcher and smashed it against the wall. That got their attention fast enough. The battered group froze and directed their eyes on him. "Lar'bee, tall, yella hair, shoots fire with his eyes. Where is he!"
"They took him and Wilson out a couple days ago," one man answered. "I heard the guards talking about a blood hunt in the desert."
Vin shot out of the room, Buck and Josiah ran to catch up. He strode over to where Nathan left the wounded guard tied up. He eyed the corpse on the post and cut it down, then turned to Buck.
"Git that Mexican cockroach up here," he directed, taking his knife out.
"Looks like Vin wants to parley with you," Buck hissed, ripping the white shirt and sending buttons flying. He and Josiah shackled the man's arms above his head on the twin posts. His heaving chest was covered in blood and sweat.
"Where's Santiago?" Buck asked, "Is he on the blood hunt? Is Larabee the one he's huntin'?"
"I do not know..."
"Wrong fuckin' answer!" Vin growled, cutting a large patch of skin from his back. He shoved the blade down the man's pants and leaned in close "Start talkin' or I'll cut yer balls off."
"I... do... not... know... Luis... he was with... them... the blood hunt... they let... let... the gringo... uh... men... loose in... the... desert... and hunt... them... " He nodded to the old stone arch. "...through... there..."
"Who's Luis?"
"He is in charge... when Santiago is not here... he was... in the mine when... you arrived."
"He didn't come out," Josiah noted, eyeing the mine. "He ran out the back." He paused and thought of the cowardly act. "That's a big surprise."
"We'll split up," Buck said, hitting the babbling guard in the head with his rifle and ending the whining prattle. "Me, Vin and Ez will head out through the gate, that's the only exit to the desert. You and the kid go thru the mine and out that exit, pick up Luis's trail, he's headed for Santiago. Could be that's where Chris is."
"JD!" Josiah called out to the youth who was in the door of the mine. "Stay there, I'll fill you in."
"Watch yer back," Vin warned, turning for the horses next to the guard's quarters. "Let's git movin'. EZRA!" He hollered, waiting for the green-coated southerner to appear. "Chris is bein' hunted in the desert by Santiago and some bastard named Luis. We're goin' on our own hunt.'
"Ever the sportsman!" Standish chimed, not missing the lust in the tracker's eyes.
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