Author: Tipper

Disclaimer: the Magnificent Seven are owned by other people. I did not create them.

Description: Explosions rock Four Corners, but its the aftermath that's the killer.

Four Corners Today

Gunfire, echoing like thunder through the buildings of Four Corners, jolted the townsfolk awake in the wee hours. Someone screamed at the abrupt change in atmosphere, and shouts echoed through the streets. They could hear Chris yelling at Buck and JD to get down, and strange voices yelling in return from the bank – the abrupt noise was merciless and absolutely terrifying.

Up in his room over the saloon, Ezra's eyes flew open, muscles reacting instinctively to grab his rifle by the bed as his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. In seconds, he was at the window facing the street, pushing back the heavy sash and throwing it open, looking for the perpetrators. The sun was not even above the horizon yet and everything was eerily lit in the false pre-light of dawn.

With a grunt at the wind that assailed him, he silently cursed the bastards that saw fit to cause trouble at this ungodly hour. Forcing his eyes wide open, he let the freezing winter wind assault his corneas with abandon, using it to sharpen his senses and wake him up.

The street appeared empty, but he knew it was only the eye of the storm. Sudden movement caught his eye, and he quickly recognized the white buckskin clad legs of Vin where he crouched behind the water trough. The gambler couldn't quite see from his vantage point at whom the tracker was aiming, and it annoyed him. This meant the shooter was out of the visible range of his rifle.

Damn.

His room was over the east corner of the bar, with two windows facing the alley and only one facing front towards north. Jumping to his feet, Ezra ran to his door and into the small hallway beyond. Jogging down the few feet to the room he knew faced east, he threw open Inez's door without a thought. She yelped as he entered, gathering her bedclothes around her.

"Stay down!" he ordered absently, moving to her front facing window and throwing it up. She watched him with bright eyes, sheets pulled up to her chin, goosebumps assailing her flesh as the cold wind whistled in through the open window. She tried not to let her teeth chatter as he lifted the rifle, concentrating on his aim. Inez's room was on the western corner, and her street window faced the bank.

Ha, now he could see what was happening. Three figures were inside the institution, gray light glinting off the barrels of their guns. In the corner of his vision, Ezra spotted JD and Buck up the street behind a wagon, the kid still in his long-johns. He also saw Josiah off to the left behind some barrels in front of the Potter's mercantile. He assumed that Nathan and Chris were either below him, or behind some other cover to his right that was not visible. It occurred to him he could no longer see Vin clearly.

"You best give up now, boys!" Chris's unmistakable drawl came from somewhere below him.

Well that answered that question. Chris must be behind some of the casks on the boardwalk in front of the saloon. Ezra raised his rifle and drew a bead on the outlaw in the window. The man thought he was hidden, but it would be an easy shot for the gambler from his higher position. He wondered if he could take the other two cretins out as well. He remained poised, only vaguely aware of the frightened breaths of the saloon manager behind him.

He heard the bed creak as she pulled her bedclothes tighter. At the same moment it occurred to him that he was wearing nothing more than a loose pair of cotton pajama bottoms. Oops.

"We can hold you off all day, law man!" This was spoken by the outlaw in the doorway, the man's shotgun pointed generally towards Chris's position. Ezra considered switching his aim, as this one looked like the leader. He thought he could probably take that one out as easily as the man in the window. No, the leader always belongs to Chris. Part of the gunslinger's joie de vivre. Ezra grinned at the thought.

"I doubt it," Chris called back. "Tell me, Conners…It is Conners isn't it? Your wanted poster doesn't do you justice….Tell me, how many men do you see covering you?"

"Sure he can count, Chris?" Buck called from the wagon. Behind him, JD snickered.

Ezra watched as Conners frowned. "Whaddya talking about, lawman?"

"Well, if you've done your research, you'd know that seven men protect this town. That means at least seven guns are trained on you right now," Chris explained. Ezra smiled as he saw Conners' smug expression fall. The one in the window pushed up off the floor a little and did a quick search with his eyes of the street. Conners whispered something to his men, and they whispered back. The "damn" on Conners lips was easy to read, even from this distance. Then Ezra saw them speak some more, and one of the men disappeared from his sight into the back of the bank. What were they up to now?

"Conners, I'm giving you ten seconds to get out of there or we start shooting." Chris barked.

"Alright!" Conners called back. "We're coming out." Again he whispered something to the man out of Ezra's sight. The gambler frowned, but didn't lower his aim. Then he saw the telltale striking of a match and knew exactly what was happening.

"Chris!" he yelled out the window. "They've got dynamite!" At almost the same instant, a bundle of the red sticks shot out from the door and ended up somewhere below Ezra. He took a shot and hit the guy in the window, then jumped backwards onto the bed with Inez. Grabbing her tightly, he pulled her away and over against the far wall of her bedroom, sitting them down inside the open door of the closet.

The explosion ripped upwards, taking part of the front wall with it instantly, followed quickly by two more explosions to the left and the right of their position. They must have thrown two more bundles, the gambler thought crazily, gripping the closet frame for support while Inez gripped him. He hated the sound of explosions – it reminded him too much of the war. He took comfort in the feel of Inez in his arms, reminding him that he was not back in the South, but home. Home.

The building creaked ominously, then the whole room started to tilt towards the front. Inez screamed.

The corner of the saloon slid downwards into the large main room below, or, more properly, what "used" to be the room below, thought the gambler sardonically. Inez's room shook as half the floor disappeared in an eruption of dust, glass and wood splinters, taking with it more of the wall, a dresser and a small chair. Bits of ceiling above the area followed, narrowly missing pelting the two people as they huddled on the floor of the small closet.

The bed slipped forwards across the remaining floor to hang precariously over the edge, along with a trunk and a night table. Other things moved to follow, except for Ezra and Inez. He held her in place with his right hand gripping the closet door frame and the other locked tight around her body. She, in turn, gripped him tightly about the waist, her head buried in his chest. Both had their eyes closed.

In the background, as the dust settled, Ezra could hear the sounds of more guns going off. Then he heard people yelling, and realized they were yelling for Chris, Inez and himself. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The entire front of Inez's room was gone, indeed her whole corner of the saloon had disappeared where it faced the bank. They were both completely out in the open, sheltered only a bit by some of the remaining roof and part of the west wall. Inez shook in his arms, and he shifted a little to make her more comfortable. Unfortunately, his slight movement caused the remaining floor to creak loudly, and he felt Inez tighten her hold of him.

"Don't move!" she screamed in terror.

"Yeah, I figured that out," Ezra snapped.

"Inez! Was that you? Are you okay?" Buck yelled up from somewhere below.

Craning his head to peer out, Ezra damned the bright sun that had risen during the escapade. It made it difficult to see anything except all the glittery dust that circled in front of him, blocking his view. Beyond the somewhat solid doorframe of the closet, he could see next to nothing.

"She's fine, Buck!" Ezra yelled blindly. "But we won't be for long if you don't get us out of here! If we move, I think the floor is going to give way!"

"Then don't move!" Buck yelled back.

"We already figured that out Buck!" Inez retorted angrily from where she still had her head in the gambler's chest. Ezra chuckled, earning him the feel of Inez's nails digging into his skin.

"Well good." Buck replied, sarcasm in his tone. Then his voice changed again, as the worry burned through it. "Chris is buried somewhere below you. He dove into the saloon as soon as he saw the dynamite."

"Damn," Ezra muttered, and Inez groaned. At that moment, a burst of cold air swept across Ezra's bare back, causing him to shiver.

"Please hurry Buck, it's freezing up here," Inez cried, pulled him closer. He lowered his head into her hair, glad for the warmth.

She smelled wonderful.

Oops, again.

He listened quietly as voices called Chris's name underneath them. It sounded like Buck, Josiah and Nathan must be crawling through the wreckage below. He heard some boards being tossed aside, then the room shifted again. Inez's voice rose in her throat, and Ezra pulled them tighter against the door frame of the closet, now using both hands to grip the frame since Inez appeared to have such a good grip on him.

"Buck, damn it!"

"Shut up, Ez!" Fear strained the ladies man's voice, causing him to be more curt. "We're doing this as fast as we can!"

Inez's shoulders started to shake as the initial shock gave way to tears. Ezra risked releasing his hold with his left hand to massage her back. She was only wearing a light nightgown, and he could feel the curve of her spine through the thin fabric. In fact, as he thought about it, he could feel quite a lot of Inez pressed up against him. Oh hell, where was his mind! That was the last oops, he reprimanded himself.

"It's alright, Senorita. We'll get out of this soon," he kissed her hair, speaking as much for himself as for her. She gripped him tighter just as another blast of cold swept over them, unrelenting. It seeped into him, freezing him from the inside out.

The floor creaked again, and the bed slid further over the edge. The gambler returned his left hand to grip the frame, the fingers of his right hand already cramping under the strain of the grip. Ezra craned his neck to see below him better, as the wind had blown away most of the dust. He could just make out the edge of the street and the bank. Several townsfolk were gathered in front of the bank and the next door jail, watching them and the men below with unguarded dismay. He grinned, wondering what a sight they must seem.

"It's very cold, isn't it Senor," Inez mumbled, stating the obvious. She swallowed a sob, and it was obvious she was trying to distract herself through conversation. Great choice of topic, the gambler mused as his back began to numb.

"Colder than the paws of a polar bear," he whispered in reply.

"A what?"

"A polar bear." He smiled, even though he knew she couldn't see his face where her head was buried in his chest. "I read about them in some arctic scholar's travel journal. They say they are completely white. That way they blend in with the ice that covers the northern landscape."

"A landscape made of ice? Does not sound like a nice place."

"No, but I suppose the bears like it. Of course, they have all that hair…."

Inez giggled slightly. "Would you believe, I have never seen a bear. Neither white nor brown."

Ezra's smile broadened, "No, I don't expect you have. They don't like people very much. We tend to shoot them."

"And you say there are ones that are all white? They must be beautiful. Just like the snow when it first falls. You know, this was the first year I saw snow…." She cringed as the floor fell a little more. "Madre de Dios," she muttered, digging her head more into his chest. He felt her arms stretch tighter around his waist, and he mindlessly wondered whether her hands were able to reach each other.

From behind him, he heard some startled cries from the crowd as the bed shifted slightly. It took all of Ezra's will power not to scream out at Buck again to be more careful. Instead, he shut his eyes to listen more intently to the search below. A few minutes later, he heard Josiah's exclamation of joy. It was followed quickly by a swear.

"Nathan! Over here!" the preacher called. "Oh Lord. He's out cold."

Both Ezra and Inez tensed as they listened. More boards were heard being tossed aside, and some light swearing from the healer.

"He's alive," they heard Nathan say. Sighs of relief came from all around. Outside, some of the crowd clapped. "He must have hit his head, but it doesn't look too bad. And I think his left arm is broken. But I can't…I can't reach his legs. We have to move that beam."

"Alright," Buck answered. "Josiah, you and me will try to lift this thing. Nathan, try to slip some of these pieces of wood under it as soon as we get it up." In the back of his mind, Ezra wondered where JD and Vin were. A horrible thought crossed his mind that they may be hurt, and he tried to erase it. He heard the men beneath him move into position, then the sound of grunting as they lifted the offending piece of wood. Immediately the floor started moving again, and the bed started to tilt upright where it hung over. The trunk and nightstand began to follow.

"Look OUT!" Ezra yelled, "The bed!"

"Pull him out NOW" Buck screamed.

Ezra watched in horror as the bed tilted completely vertical in a strange sort of slow motion, then suddenly disappeared in a cascade of colors. Screams from the crowd accompanied the massive boom as it landed, and both Ezra and Inez felt the remaining floor under them drop to an even steeper incline. The nightstand and trunk fell next, eliciting some more screams. Ezra gripped the closet doorframe with both hands now, trusting Inez to maintain her hold on his body herself as more of the room disappeared in a cloud of dust. Wood and nails rained down on them from the collapsing roof, smacking the gambler in the head and back where he bent over Inez, trying to keep her protected. Splinters dug into his hands, and his muscles ached as he held on for what felt like an eternity while the room settled again.

Of course, it was really only seconds until it was over. Inez whimpered, and Ezra was hard pressed not to start crying himself. He looked up at the now visible cloudless sky above their heads, its shade an icy blue. Curiously, he felt something wet dripping down his face from his hairline, tasting its saltiness as some of it touched his lips. Fabulous. Now he was bleeding.

He looked at Inez where she cowered against him, and was happy to see that she seemed unscathed. Unable to resist, he once more placed a kiss to her hair, and she shifted it a little, clearly trying to move her head up so she could see his face. Unfortunately, her position was too awkward and she gave up.

The cold continued to lash at them, and she started to shiver. His own limbs were beginning to feel like ice, especially his arms. The only warm place on his body was his chest and stomach where Inez was curled in a ball.

Both were listening to the sounds below, waiting for news. Just then, more spontaneous clapping erupted from the crowd, along with cries of joy. Inez relaxed a little, and Ezra sighed with relief as they heard Buck's voice delivering more orders.

"Nathan, Yosemite, get Chris to the clinic. We'll be along as soon as we get Ez n' Inez."

"Ez n' Inez," Inez snickered weakly. "We rhyme."

The absurdity of the statement caused Ezra to laugh, the cold and his fear driving a bit of hysteria into the sound. Inez giggled a little too, her own tone a little less than stable.

"Or," he whispered, a little too jovially into her hair, "If you combine our names, you get Inezra." This caused Inez too giggle even harder, and Ezra laid his cheek on her head. Eventually, she quieted, the giggles turning back into a light crying.

Looking up, he risked turning his head again to look around, his strained neck muscles complaining. There was barely four feet of floor left between them and the massive hole that led to the saloon floor below. Basically, all that was left of Inez's room was the corner in which they were sitting, which included part of the exterior wall to where a window had sat, and the back wall that they were clinging to, which was anchored by the rooms behind and the storerooms below. Looking across, he realized with a jolt that he could see clearly into his own room, as the wall and hallway were gone. At least most of his room appeared to be intact.

Small favors. He attempted to grin roguishly, but at that same moment the freezing wind lashed his back again, and he gritted his teeth instead.

Taking in a deep breath, he was about to call down to Buck and ask after JD and Vin when the most wonderful thing occurred.

He heard JD's voice.

"EZRA!"

The gambler twisted his head around to look sideways at the building next to the saloon, the one which Inez's western wall had faced. It was the three story residence of one of Four Corners more affluent citizens, Lester Mitchell. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out that JD was looking at him from a second story window, waving gaily. He pointed up, and with a little work, Ezra craned his neck to see that Vin was on the roof of the house, two ropes hanging off his shoulders. The tracker grinned.

"W-Where the h-hell h-have you b-been?" The gambler yelled through chattering teeth, attempting a smile. Damn, when did his teeth start chattering?

"Buck sent us to get ropes and to figure out a way to get you down," Vin called back. "I think I got this worked out." He was yelling too, even though he couldn't have been more then ten to fifteen feet away. Ezra didn't point this out. He just nodded.

"Okay," Vin continued, "I've secured these lines through the trapdoor behind me to the floor below. JD's going to be in there holding on to them with Mr. Greene, Mr. Baxter and some of the other men. Now, I'm gonna toss these to you and you tie 'em around your waists. Then hold on and we'll lift you up one at a time and swing you over. You might hit the side of this house pretty hard, so watch that. Then we're going to lower you down where Buck'll be. Sound good?"

Ezra nodded wordlessly, but Inez squealed a "NO."

She tried to turn her head, but as she was tightly balled into Ezra's chest, she couldn't make it. Instead, she yelled into his chest, her eyes shut. "W-we have t-to go to-together! If one of us m-moves without-out the other, the-the other will fall! We've already t-tried."

Ezra looked at Vin, agreeing without a word. He saw Vin back up and turn to kneel over what he assumed was the trap door leading to the attic under the peaked roof. He heard him ask if he thought they could handle both of them. JD answered with an enthusiastic "Sure!" but the gambler could also hear argumentative voices coming from the others. Inez continued to shiver in his arms, and chills ran through Ezra as well. A particularly sharp wind whistled through the ruined wall, and the floor creaked again. God, he was so cold. He could recall only one other time when he was this cold, back during the war….He slapped himself mentally. He was not going to remember the war. He was not!

"V-vin just th-throw us the ropes now!" Ezra yelled. He lowered his head to whisper to Inez, "Go f-first. It w-won't fall with j-just me here. And I'll have th-the rope to anchor me. This'll work. It's the only way."

"No, Ezra…." she whispered, just as the ropes smacked into the side of his body. Then fell away. He couldn't grab them without letting go.

"Inez, you-you'll have to catch them. Can you m-manage that?" He looked up, "V-vin! W-wait!"

"B-but I c-can't see them…" she whispered helplessly.

"Just hold your arms out, m-maybe we'll get lucky," he replied.

The tracker scowled as he drew the ropes back in for another throw. In Ezra's arms, Inez shakily unlocked her grip on him and tried to reach further around him by shifting her legs under her. Again the floor and now the closet wall they held onto creaked ominously, but somehow stayed in place. With great care, she somehow managed to press herself more tightly against Ezra and lengthen her reach. She opened her arms up, so that only her elbows were still tight to his sides.

"Okay, V-vin," she called. "Throw…."

Both yelled as the wood creaked one last time and suddenly gave way under his fingers. In the background, Vin's scream of "No!" echoed above it all. Desperately, the tracker threw the ropes, hoping beyond hope.

Noise, dust and pain hit the gambler all at once as both the floor and the closet frame collapsed, sending him sliding sideways, then backwards. He was falling, his arms holding Inez to him tightly. She was screaming, following him as he skidded rapidly down the tipping floor. She reached out with a free arm, feeling the roughness of the ropes on her fingers, but she was too slow.

They hit the edge, and, like the bed, hesitated only briefly before they both disappeared down into the gaping hole. Unknowable things stabbed at him as he fell, and he felt more than one pierce his unprotected flesh. Wood, nails and other crap rained down in their wake, and then the sensation of his back and head slamming into something unyielding drove his consciousness from him, and Inez from his arms.

Tennessee, winter, late 1863, on the wrong side of Sherman's Campaign

Explosions and gunfire rained down as he hunkered behind the cannons, his freezing hands tightly wrapped around the elevating screw on the cannon's base, fingers tight and aching with nerves. Green eyes measured the distance to the trees where the shadows in navy blue were hiding, and computed the angle of the hill with an uncanny precision -- child's play to one who'd been brought up to rely on mathematics over morals. The battle was already waging in different places around this string of fields, but the main contingent of Sherman's army would aim for the artillery line, as per usual.

The South was on the defensive now, being pushed further and further back as the North turned the tide of the war through better weaponry and more stable supplies. But the Rebels would keep fighting for their independence. After three years of fighting, three years of watching their friends and families destroyed by the cold Northern bluecoats, they weren't about to give up now.

General Joseph E. Johnston had them slowly retreating, trying to find them the most defensible positions, and somehow, they had managed to hold fairly steady against Sherman's army now for weeks, despite the Yanks outnumbering them in almost every battle. Ezra smiled. He liked Johnston, even though that bastard had been the one to pull him into this bloody debacle.

He had been unkindly drawn into the fray about six months ago, against his will, but he was committed now. Joe Johnston had been a friend of his mother's, back when they were running the riverboat up the Mississippi. When Ezra had been caught by the Rebs running black market supplies to both sides, Johnston had recognized him as "Ezra Spencer," the boy who helped his mother Maude run slaves to Illinois, and threatened the young man with hanging unless he joined the confederate army under his command. At the time, he thought the army would be the lesser of two evils. Now, he half wished he'd gone for the noose.

Like the others, he wasn't always sure what they were fighting for, but too many of his friends were dead for him not to want vengeance. This fetid and nasty war had depressed the boy to the point where his only thoughts were to kill as many Yanks as possible, to give them, as one of his friends had put it, "a sound thrashing so that they'll go home with their tails between their legs. Teach 'em that the South ain't ever gonna bow down."

That friend had his chest shattered by a mini ball last week.

Ezra took his revenge out with the cannons. He gripped the elevating screw even tighter, not blinking as he watched the forest curtain for movement.

Everywhere was blood and noise, and his mind was ringing with the unyielding onslaught. He knew many who'd had their eardrums perforated from being too near the cannons. He wore earplugs. His lieutenant be damned. He would hear him if he yelled.

"Ezra! Inez! Where are you? My God, the whole thing collapsed on top of them!"

He looked up, his eyes searching for the voice's owner. What the hell was that?

"Ezra? Damn it, where are they! Ezra, answer me!"

Ezra spun around, the seven men standing with him around the cannon giving him odd looks. One held up a canister full of shot for inspection, and Ezra blinked, knowing full well that this had not been the one yelling his name.

"Proceed," he muttered, confused. The soldier nodded and pass the canister to the loader up front.

"Roll 'em round!" he heard the lieutenant yell from somewhere behind him, a rumble of hooves accompanied the call as the officer danced his horse near their backs. "They're coming from the east! Get those canisters loaded boys! Hurry. They got them new fancy Spencer Carbine Rifles on 'em! We want those guns and that ammunition! Take 'em down now! No white feathers today boys! Sergeant Spencer, get them guns reset!"

"Yes sir!" Ezra yelled back, whirling around to reset his cannon's moorings. "Turn her round! Lower her head! Lower it!" he bellowed orders to the other seven men around his cannon, and they complied without question. Ezra was the best gunner on the line, they all knew it. His aim was the most accurate, his instincts the most true. Down the line, the other cannons followed his lead. Not that it really mattered. The canisters would be filled with so much shot, it would take out anything near it when it exploded, even if slightly off.

"He's here! Oh my God! Ezra, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes? Where's Inez?"

"She's here, Nathan. I got her. She's moving a little."

"C'mon Ezra, open your eyes."

He looked wildly around again, but no one was talking to him directly.

"Here they come!" his lieutenant yelled. "Get 'em loaded!"

From out of the mists, some five hundred yards off, a line of Union soldiers appeared out of the forest like ghosts. Up on the hill, the cannon line adjusted, loaded and prepared to fire.

"Ezra's not responding. Get this stuff off of him now!"

There is nothing on me, Ezra thought, confused, one hand smoothing down the gray uniform's sleeves. Around him, the others glanced at him curiously, nervously. Shaking himself, Ezra focused on the Yankee regiments bearing down on them from the trees.

"Sergeant, your picket, your call!" the lieutenant yelled.

"Hold!" the twenty-one year old Ezra shouted, his right arm raised as his left turned the elevating screw a few more times to better sight the bore. "Left flank, bear down thirty degrees. Right, mirror that! Center, lower those heads, damn it….hold!" The Union soldiers raised their fancy guns, still marching in an orderly line towards the cannons on the hill, the copper plating glinting off of their rifle's firing chambers. Ezra frowned; they had to get those rifles and that copper cased ammunition! Nothing the South had could compete with the rapid fire weapons. Those damn guns were what was causing the South to lose this war.

He had to time this perfectly. Too far away, and they wouldn't take enough of the army down. Too close, and they might not have enough time to reload for a second barrage before they were on top of them. Timing….

"Ezra! Hell and damnation! Inez, can you move? She's awake, thank God. You can move? Good. Get her out of here Buck, now!!"

His hand shook slightly where it was raised. Where those ghosts he was hearing? Who were Buck and Inez?

Pay attention Ezra!

The Union army marched closer, over the bloody remains of the first flank to go up against Ezra's cannons. Two hundred and fifty yards. They would be cut to pieces.

"FIRE!" Ezra yelled.

The thunder of the cannons shook the small hillock, causing them all to stagger. In front of them, the army fell to their deaths, screaming as the mini balls and shrapnel shattered bones and burst through chests and skulls like paper.

"RELOAD!" Ezra yelled, whipping around himself to grab another canister from the limber chest. The still standing yanks aimed and fired, the heavy gunshot of the spencer carbines echoing dully in the aftermath of the cannons. Ezra saw one of his men fall as he sponged the cannon's bore. Grabbing the rod, he completed the task.

"He's stopped breathing! Ezra, come on! Breathe! BREATHE!"

Ezra put a hand to his chest, his eyes wild as he stared at the boy holding the canister to his chest, waiting to load it. The boy stared back, brow furrowed, a smear of powder down his face. He hadn't said a word. Ezra finished sponging out the barrel and nodded for the boy to throw in the canister.

"Fire at will!" The lieutenant bellowed from behind them. Yelling came from the field below as the yanks charged. Ezra aimed the cannon again, turning the base to aim for the thickest contingent. Again, the other cannons mimicked his actions. As his men set the lanyard to ignite the fuse and fire, Ezra lifted his own rifle, knowing that his own store of stolen copper bullets were running low. A LeMat sat at his side, its weight comforting.

"FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!" the lieutenant yelled. Suddenly, the man screamed as a lucky bullet split his forehead. Ezra's eyes widened as he realized he was now in charge.

The cannons boomed again, splitting the ranks of charging yanks, quickly cutting fifty men down to twenty. They infantrymen were now outnumbered by the confederates.

"Ezra, it's over! Don't do this now!"

"I don't plan on dying anytime soon!" Ezra yelled back, not caring who heard him. He pulled the LeMat from his waistband as the rifle ran out. He engaged the central canister, aiming the 16 gauge shotgun to hit the three yanks charging his position, his hands rocking back with the kick it gave.

Explosions, more explosions. Damn it, they were firing their own cannons on their artillery line! He got his knife out as a soldier got too close, slicing the blue clad man's face open.

"Maintain! Maintain!" Ezra yelled. Suddenly, he felt someone slap his face, and he fell backwards into oblivion.

"BREATHE!"

He breathed. Oddly, he could feel himself filling with a sudden burst of air, as if he'd been holding it this whole time. When he landed, his eyes burst open again.

And he looked up into the face of a young colored union soldier. The man was talking to him.

"Ezra, thank god! Can you hear me? We nearly lost you. Can you move?"

"What….?"

"You fell. We're going to get you out of here, okay? Can you move your legs?"

He looked around, his eyes seeing the inside of the army hospital. Doctors moved around with cruel efficiency through the gore, their hands gripping cotton presses and saws. He could smell the blood, it was thicker in the air than mint julep in July.

"Ezra, look at me, not the saloon. I need to know, can you move?"

He stared back up at the colored, uncomprehending. "I don't…" he whispered.

"Sergeant Spencer! What happened? You were supposed to hold that line! That picket was your responsibility."

"I'm…sorry," he replied, staring up into the face of his commander. The confederate captain grabbed his lapel.

"We lost twelve cannons, Spencer! I want to know what happened?"

"I don't think he can hear you Nathan. Look at his eyes – he looks drunk."

"No, he saw me. For only a moment, Josiah, but I'm sure he saw me."

Josiah? The colored soldier was still hovering over him, concern on his face. Concern for a Reb? How could that be? And what was he doing here? Was this a Union hospital? No, his captain was here. Wasn't he?

"Nathan?" he asked. The colored smiled, nodding. At that same moment, the confederate captain seemed to see him.

"Colored soldier!" his captain shouted, pointing at Nathan, who in turn appeared oblivious. "Colored soldier in the camp! Grab him! Grab him!" He reached his hands out.

"Nathan, RUN!" Ezra yelled, fear coursing through him. The captain stopped, staring down at him with black eyes.

"TRAITOR!" he shouted, driving a fist down on Ezra's shoulder.

Pain erupted down his arm and chest, and he screamed.