Chris Larabee moved slowly down the length of the looming tank, attention split between his partner’s activities and the flicker of movement from the distant shed. Carefully remaining out of the bright moonlight, he slid around the end of the tank, allowing his gaze to scan slowly to the north and west, watching for any indication of exposure. No suggestion of discovery from the distant compound. No sign of guards or alarms.

His nerves loosened slightly as he heard a double click in his earpiece. Quickly, but without losing a shred of caution, he ducked back around the tank.

“Buck,” he breathed. “Done.”

Buck’s blackened face popped up to peer over the top of the cart, followed by his fist with thumb elevated.

Chris nodded sharply and moved back to the corner of the tank, lifting his rifle to cover the risky return of the two ATV’s. The noise was unavoidable, but he could feel the muscles in his chest tighten at the approaching growls of the engines.

Still no movement from the compound, and he relaxed as the small vehicles cut their engines and coasted into the shadow cast by the fuel tank.

He exchanged glances with the two big men driving the machines, receiving silent reassurance that all had gone smoothly, then turned his gaze back to surveillance as the other three men jockeyed the ATVs into position for the hitch. He grimaced as a sharp clank was immediately followed by a soft expletive in Josiah’s deep voice.

Apparently the problem was minor; moments later the two vehicles snarled again, engines firing up smoothly.

Chris glanced over his shoulder, receiving another thumbs-up from Buck. Nodding, he slipped back behind the tank, then moved to mount his cycle, giving Buck’s offered hand a quick, hard squeeze as the bigger man straddled his own machine.

The ATVs accelerated slowly, pulling the team’s now full fuel cart east toward their breach in the barrier. Chris and Buck followed, then swung around the slower vehicles, beating the cart to the fence.

They worked quickly to disengage Buck’s clever join in the chain link. Closed, you’d never notice the break in the fence if you didn’t know exactly what to look for. They’d been using it for months, and Royal’s bozos had yet to realize they’d been raided.

Buck pulled the fencing back to allow the ATVs and their burden through, while Chris grabbed the prepared rake and branches and ran back to do his best to obliterate the tracks near the fence. Back around the tanks and sheds, the locals would never be able to distinguish the raiders’ tracks from their own vehicles, but they didn’t want to advertise the existence of their personal entrance into Royal’s private kingdom.

Task completed, he helped Buck pull the fence closed and seal the seam.

The two men cast one last glance through the chain link, seeing no indication they’d been observed, then set out after the departing ATVs.

Chris felt the warmth of satisfaction at once again helping himself to Royal’s property. For now, it was enough.

<<<<<>>>>>

Buck let out a whoop as his cycle rolled into the tunnel, enjoying the echoing magnification of the sound.

He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at Chris’s disapproving face. They’d made a good haul, and nobody the wiser. Cause for a bit of celebration. And there was no reason to put a lid on it here, in the protection of their own space.

Chris just shook his head and grimaced, pulling to the side to let the ATVs and their load through the tunnel entrance. As their engines died, he once again grabbed rake and branches and disappeared into the darkness to obscure the marks of their passing.

Buck joined Josiah and Nathan, struggling to maneuver the heavy tank cart into position alongside its half-empty twin. They were set for gasoline for a good while, thanks to the unwitting generosity of Guy Royal.

Somehow it made it all the sweeter that the smug bastard was giving up the means to keep them going. Some day he’d get a big kick out of explaining the whole thing to their little tin-pot tyrant. They were careful in their raids, and had so far been completely undetected as they provided for themselves at Royal’s expense.

Of course, there were the times Chris made sure the old bastard knew he’d been invaded. They’d made a few forays right into the living compound, just for the sake of pulling the bull’s tail. Buck wondered if Chris’s message was still visible on the walls of the compound. He figured old Guy’d had a cow when he saw it.

Buck waved at the other two as they climbed back onto their vehicles and set out through the tunnel.

They’d eat well for a while, too, thanks to Royal’s late summer harvest.

“Buck.”

He turned at Chris’s soft voice, then lent his shoulder and considerable weight to the task of repositioning the camouflaged barrier to their tunnel. It would definitely take some of the shine off their secret victory if, in the light of day, one of Royal’s thug patrols spotted the entrance.

Comfortably enclosed once again, the two men dusted off their hands, remounted their cycles, and followed their two teammates through the tunnel and across the narrow gorge. As they crossed the bridge over the creek, Buck whistled softly, smiling at the sleepy whuffling from horses unhappy at the noise disturbing their rest.

If it weren’t for all the crap going on outside their encampment, he’d really be enjoying this life. If it weren’t for all that crap.

They left the bikes beside the ATVs in their small storage cave and climbed the few feet to the entrance to their common living area. Buck blinked his dark-adapted eyes a few times at the sudden brightness of the lights in the cavern. They could probably cut back on the fixtures in here.

Or maybe not. He saw Chris’s hand brush over the bank of light switches beside the entrance, saw his eyelids droop and his mouth relax slightly. The satisfaction in his expression was unmistakable.

This was yet another thing they appropriated from Royal. And Buck knew Royal hadn’t a clue. He’d never have left their connection intact if he’d discovered it.

Buck was proud of that bit of piracy. It had taken him quite a while to accomplish, advancing his underground power lines a bit further each night for a week, covering all signs of his activities before crawling out before dawn. He’d spent time checking out the wiring setup in Royal’s power station, and had matched the wire casings just about perfectly. You’d have to look closely, and know exactly what you were looking for, to spot the extra cables bundled in with the ones that served Royal’s compound.

So thanks to the man Chris hated more than any other person in the world, they had all the electric power they wanted. Buck knew Chris felt a flicker of satisfaction every time he turned on a light or grabbed a cold drink out of the cooler.

“Hey, Buck!” JD bounced up from behind the counter where he’d been helping trim extra bulk from vegetables. “You get it?”

“Course we did, kid!” He grinned down at the youngster’s eager face. “Full tank and…” He waved his hand at the laden counter. “…Every basket full up. Great haul.”

“Next time I want to go!”

“No.” Chris’s voice was flat and final.

“But Chris, I can…”

“Kid,” Buck soothed. “Give it a year or so, all right?”

“Bu-uck.” JD drew the single syllable out in frustration. “Damnit, I’m not twelve years old any more. I ain’t a kid.”

Buck laughed and scrambled JD’s dark, shaggy hair. “What are you, all of fourteen?”

“Seventeen! Buck, I’m old enough to pull my weight around here.”

Chris lowered himself onto one of the stools. “You do, JD.”

“But…”

“He’s right, JD. What you do is important.” Buck grabbed a carrot from the table, narrowly dodging Nathan’s admonishing slap.

The boy grimaced. “What, running errands, yakking on the radio?”

“Those things are important, JD. But so’s the surveillance you do. Any of us can run around encouraging ol’ Guy’s native generosity. None of us can do what you’ve been doing.”

“What about you? None of the other guys can do what you do.”

“Mechanics are a dime a dozen, kid. In a pinch, Chris can do most of what I can.”

“Nuh uh! None of us can…”

“Let it go, JD.” Chris’s voice cut across the argument.

“But… Damnit, I want to get a chance to paint my initials on those tanks. Let Royal know I’m here.”

Buck felt all his amusement drain out. “Not a chance, kid.”

“Why not? You said Chris left a whole message.”

“Yup. On the house. Inside the compound. Long, long ways from those gas tanks.” Buck grasped JD’s shoulder, holding the younger man where he could capture his eyes. “But we never leave any signs by the tanks. Royal figures out we’ve been pirating his gas and food, and things’ll get real nasty around here real fast.”

“But Chris…”

“Let it go, son,” Josiah’s deep voice interrupted.

For a moment, Buck thought youthful stupidity would win out over common sense, but gradually the sulking pout left JD’s lips and he turned back to chopping and sorting with a long-suffering sigh.

Buck slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “One of these days, JD. One of these days.”

“Yeah, right.”

Josiah’s deep rumble of a laugh filled the cavern. “Ah, how long the years are. When you’re seventeen.”

Buck snorted. “And how short when you’re… what is it? Forty-five?”

“Every minute of it, brother. Every minute of it.”

“Quit your squabbling, boys.” Chris tossed a basket across the counter. “Here, JD, start loading these up for Nettie.”

Josiah, leaned back on his stool, letting his knife drop to the counter. “You know, JD, what Chris did to Royal’s house has a long tradition—secretly invading an enemy’s space and leaving evidence of your passing. Many Native American tribes consider such actions the noblest of achievements for a warrior. To touch the face of an enemy, leaving your sign, without killing or wounding. Far more admirable, if you think about it, than leaving a trail of bodies in your wake.” He stared dreamily into the distance. “A fine achievement…”

“Yeah! That’s what I want to do.”

“But not yet.” Josiah winked at JD. “Not yet. And not on the gas tanks. You’ll get your chance.”

JD sighed and nodded, down-turned mouth still showing his displeasure.

Chris reached out and turned on the radio, effectively silencing the argument.

They completed their task listening to Ezra’s smooth, honeyed voice as he offered enlightenment, advice and hope to any of the struggling Outsiders who might be in range. Buck shook his head slightly, listening to the cultured tones. Nothing like a con man to package words up in a way to convince folks with nothing that there really was hope for something better.

He figured the radio broadcast was their greatest accomplishment. Yeah, they pecked away at Royal, they extended what protection they could to Four Corners, battling off Royal and the idiot survivalists, and they made it from day to day. But that radio… that was their investment in this damned world’s future. Sharing the eight-hour broadcast schedule, Ezra, Josiah and JD contributed their unique brands of encouragement and support to the desperate people out there, trying to survive a world collapsing around their ears. And Nathan’s occasional health and safety programs had probably saved more lives than all their efforts against Royal and the other Hoarders out there combined.

As Ezra’s voice brought the broadcast to a close, Buck grabbed one of the filled baskets and dropped it by the entrance to the cave. JD would load their little pack donkey and take the baskets of produce to Nettie and her friends the next afternoon. The struggling little town needed all the help it could get. The limited trading and commerce they managed with the few small communities in the area barely met their needs, and forays to the decaying city were becoming more and more dangerous.

“We’d best plan some hunting soon,” Chris’s voice accompanied the drift of smoke from his cheroot. He’d moved out through the heavy curtains at the entrance. “Town could use some meat.”

“Yeah.” Buck moved through the curtains to crouch beside Larabee. “We should butcher a couple of the yearling steers as well. Get them and us set up for the winter.”

Chris stood and dropped the butt of the cheroot, grinding it into the dirt. “Sounds like a plan. Get some sleep, Buck. And don’t let that kid get any more wound up than he is. He may be seventeen, but he still has to sleep.”

Buck accepted the offered hand as he hauled himself to his feet.

“No problem, pard. Sleep well.”

He watched as his old friend moved up the trail toward the sleeping caves, his dark-clad body just visible as the faintest light of pre-dawn crept into the canyon.

“Sleep well,” he whispered again.

<<<<<>>>>>

Chris stretched as he stepped out of his personal cave into the noon sun. He’d actually managed to sleep an hour or so longer than usual. Even after more than eight years, he still had trouble with their odd schedule. So much of what they accomplished needed the protection of darkness. They couldn’t waste those hours sleeping. But his natural tendency toward rising early hadn’t given in easily.

The enticement of coffee drew him down the switchback trail into the common cave. He nodded to Ezra, who sat at the counter picking over his breakfast.

“Mornin’, Ezra.”

“Good day, Mister Larabee.” The southerner smiled tightly, head tilting as he gazed at Chris. “Morning left us nearly an hour ago.”

“Feels like morning. That’s enough for me.”

Ezra’s gold tooth glinted as his face relaxed into a grin. “Far be it from me to dispute with you, sir.”

“Yeah, just you remember that, shyster. We could still toss you back where we found you.”

Shuddering with delicate revulsion, Ezra grimaced. “A dreadful fate, indeed. Be assured, I intend to behave.”

“Oh, I’m sure Royal’d be glad to see you.”

“Ah, but would I be equally delighted to find myself enmeshed in such an encounter? I think not.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Breakfast? The eggs are quite tolerable this… morning.”

Inhaling the odor of the coffee he’d just poured, Chris shook his head. “Maybe in a bit. What the hell is Buck up to back there? He’s making enough damned noise to bring the Frontiersmen down on us!”

“Apparently he and Mister Dunne have gotten their new surveillance system up and running, at least in rudimentary form. I’m certain he’ll be delighted to demonstrate its attributes for you.”

“Yeah, I can hear that.”

Taking the coffee with him, Chris moved further back in the cavern, toward the area they’d made into their common room. Buck was seated at the gaming tables along the far edge of the padded, rug-covered floor, attention glued to one of the computers. Though the internet was no more than a memory, in the hands of JD Dunne, a computer with a source of electricity could still be a very powerful tool, and in combination with Buck’s inventive mechanical wizardry, the boy’s genius had provided them with a pretty sophisticated alarm and warning system.

Two weeks before, they’d diverted a truck originally headed for Royal’s compound, and had found themselves in possession of, among other treasures, an assortment of security cameras and associated equipment. JD and Buck had been obsessed with their new toys ever since, and had spent several nights placing and connecting their observation devices.

“Buck?”

“Hey, stud! Check this out!” Buck’s voice rang with smug delight. “Wanna see who ol’ Guy’s got visiting?”

He tapped a few keys, and the screen lit with a distant view of the main gate into Royal’s territory. Another couple of clicks and the view telescoped closer, showing the barred gate and one of the perimeter guards pacing along the fence.

Chris stared for several seconds.

“Exciting.”

“So he’s got no company today. Watch this!”

More keys clicking, and Chris found himself viewing the external wall of their camouflaged vehicle entrance. Then the image switched to show the segment of the narrow entrance to the canyon where they’d set their pressure alarm. Another change showed the switchback trail as it ended at the top of the cliff.

“We got five of them set. We can add more later where we need ‘em. Like showing our private entrance to Royal’s place.”

“How easily can they be spotted?”

“Don’t figure anyone will see ‘em. We’ve set most of them among the branches of trees, with the wires camouflaged against the bark. We’ll have to check them once in a while to keep the new leaves from obscuring our line of sight, but they’re about as invisible as they can be. Only ones not in the trees are the alarm view and this one.”

He tapped again, and the view shifted to show the ragged, dusty main street of Four Corners.

“This one’s under the eaves of a building. Still pretty invisible. We also need to add one at Nettie’s, so we…”

His voice faded as he leaned closer to the screen.

“Shit,” he breathed.

Chris crouched down, peering over Buck’s shoulder. “Damn!” he snarled. “Get Josiah and Nathan.”

He turned and ran back toward the cave entrance.

“Ezra! Royal’s recruiting—truck’s in Four Corners! We’re on!”

He hurried into the cycle cave, grabbing his black coveralls and hauling them over his clothes as Ezra darted through the entrance, closely followed by Buck.

Chris paused and glanced at Buck, lifting a brow in question.

“They’re coming,” Buck snapped, reaching for his own coveralls.

Chris grabbed his black full-face helmet and straddled his bike, checking his weapons.

The last two charged into the cave, Josiah still carrying one of his boots.

“Buck?” Chris demanded.

“Open-back transport truck, driver and armed shotgun, two armed guards in back. At least four additional guards on cycles—that’s all I saw. Back of the damned truck will be full of their collection.”

Josiah snarled as he jerked on his coveralls and dropped to the floor to shove his foot into his boot. “Filthy bastard’s ‘restaffing’ again?”

“Looks like. And this time he’s picked up JD.”

“God damn!” The sharp expletive from their healer startled them all. “No way do we let that man gather any more Indents! And he sure as hell can’t have JD!”

“Indents!” Josiah snorted as he jammed his helmet over his short hair. “I know a better word.”

“Enough!” Chris snapped. “They’re just leaving Four Corners now. Truck’s full, so they’ll be heading back to Royal’s. We go out the truck entrance, and we should be able to intercept them along the road, before they get close enough for the noise to gather reinforcements from the fences. No pussyfooting—we’re outnumbered. Let’s go!”

Ezra straddled the bike behind Chris as the other three men mounted their own bikes, and they set off across the canyon and into the tunnel.

<<<<<>>>>>

It was fast, noisy and deadly. And nearly disastrous.

They’d split into pairs, lying in wait on either side of what used to be Highway 53. As the truck lumbered between them, they’d roared out of the shelter of the trees, Ezra neatly taking out the shotgun.

Chris slowed enough for Ezra to safely leap from the bike into the back of the truck, then joined the others in targeting the outriders. A quick glance showed JD and a few of the other young captives pitching in with Ezra to subdue the two guards.

Then he had his hands full. He’d sideswiped his targeted rider, sweeping the other man out of the seat of his vehicle. But the impact had shaken him loose as well, and he found himself rolling on the ground, bike spinning away into the ditch. He lurched to his feet to meet the guard’s snarling attack.

Chris tossed the handful of dirt he’d grabbed toward the other man’s face, then dove into him as he staggered backward. They tumbled, and wrestled, the other man snarling and punching blindly. Chris’s throat tightened with a surge of vicious satisfaction as he felt himself gaining the upper hand.

“No, you bastard!”

Vaguely, he heard Buck’s voice screaming the words as the shock of a third body joining their tangle drove the air out of his lungs.

He lurched desperately to the side and twisted to face the new threat, only to find himself staring at the black circle of the end of a gun barrel.

For a breathless moment, his world froze. Fast as he was, he wasn’t going to be able to bring his own weapon to bear before the guard pulled the trigger.

With the sharp crack of a high-powered rifle, time shattered back into motion. The guard’s face softened into an expression of astonishment as a red circle appeared in the middle of his forehead and he collapsed, gun sagging to the ground.

Shaking his head sharply, Chris staggered to his feet and lurched toward his downed bike. He could still hear Buck’s raised voice, and the roar of Josiah in a rage.

He dragged the motorcycle back onto the road, hauled himself back into the saddle and headed after the receding truck. He could see Buck hanging off the door, wrestling with the driver, as Ezra attempted to crawl around from the back through the passenger window. Josiah was on the ground with one of the guards from the back of the truck, apparently beating the man to death. Nathan knelt over the still body of one of the youngsters from the back of the truck. None of the rest of the guards was in evidence.

But the damned truck wasn’t stopping.

Snarling, Chris roared after the vehicle, then skidded to a halt, astonishment rippling through his gut, as two flickering objects sped from the treeline to the truck. Arrows. Two goddamned arrows, piercing and flattening both near-side tires.

The lurch of the crippled vehicle jerked the wheel out of the driver’s hands, giving Buck all the edge he needed. Seconds later, it was over.

‘I’ll be damned,’ Chris thought.

More slowly, he rode toward the now-still truck. He paused as he passed Nathan, who was supporting the injured youngster. Chris raised an eyebrow.

“Guard threw the girl out of the truck. Josiah got a bit upset. She’ll be fine. Guard won’t.” Nathan’s voice was grim and unrepentant.

Chris nodded and continued past Josiah and the bloody remnants of the offending guard. They were in for some heavy-duty repentance from the big man, but like Nathan, Chris found it hard to be sorry. There was no place in his heart for compassion toward those who essentially enabled slavery.

Chris rolled to a halt next to the crippled vehicle.

“Everyone okay?”

Buck hopped out of the passenger door. “Everyone who matters. Few nicks and cuts, but you got the worst of it, pard. Sorry about the surprise. Turned out we missed one of the outriders—there were five. Thought you’d finally bought it there for a second.”

Chris grimaced. “Me, too. Who put the bastard down?”

Buck glanced upward to exchange a look with Ezra.

“Shit if I know. None of us was carrying a rifle, and that’s what I heard.”

Chris shook his head. What the hell was going on? He walked to the back of the truck and crouched down, grasping the wooden shaft protruding from the demolished tire. It took a hard tug to pull it loose.

He turned the arrow over and over in his hands, willing the inanimate object to answer the questions buzzing around in his head.

“What the hell is going on here, Buck?”

Buck leaned against the dusty fender. “Damned if I know, Chris. A ghost?”

Chris snorted, squinting up at the bright sun as he met the big man’s eyes.

“Right. What is this, Buck? What the hell is this?”

Buck laughed. “Can’t tell you, pard. But I’d say, one way or another, this was a rescue.”

<<<<<>>>>>

Buck heaved the last of the dead guards onto the bare bed of the truck. Seemed no matter how much fun you had, there was always way too much cleanup.

He snorted at himself. He’d gotten a pretty strange idea of “fun” these last few years.

They’d sorted the good guys from the bad guys, and the dead bad guys from the ones still breathing. Surprisingly, the latter had included the target of Josiah’s Old Testament rage. Lordy, that man could go off like a keg of bad moonshine!

Nathan, being deeply infused with the infamous Milk of Human Kindness, had patched up the injured men. The team members and captives had suffered only a few bumps and scratches, the worst being the bruising Chris had suffered in his little tumble and roll, and the battering of the fourteen-year-old the guard had thrown off the truck in an attempt to distract Josiah. She’d collected her own share of scrapes and contusions, and had the breath thoroughly knocked out of her. None of the bad guys had escaped unscathed. Even the driver, the last man standing, so to speak, had suffered a broken jaw when Buck had finally managed to really make contact.

After the patch-ups, they’d stripped the morons down to their dirty underwear, tied them back-to-back and left them along the roadside, lined up like a little row of bookends, while they’d used the truck to transport the former cargo back to their families. They’d been snatched from a half-dozen of the tiny, struggling communities in the vicinity. Apparently Four Corners had been the kidnappers’ last stop.  Now Chris and Josiah had loaded the first of their loot from the event onto two of the bikes and headed off for the canyon. They’d return with the ATVs, whose carrier space would accommodate the rest of their new goodies, leaving Buck and the others to sort out the site of the ambush.

Buck’s amusement shriveled instantly as he thought about those dozen kids. The skunks had grabbed every young, able-bodied person they could catch. Just driven from town to town, snatching up anyone who hadn’t run quickly enough. JD’d been grabbed as he’d tried to protect Casey and the Potter children. Fifteen young lives headed for hard misery in the service of a selfish, arrogant bastard like Guy Royal.

The world had never been a particularly kind place, but these days it could be a real bitch.

The team had stripped the truck of anything they or the town could need. The bikes and weaponry would go back to their canyon. A couple more bikes would come in handy, and the others could be scavenged for parts when the inevitable need for repair arose. The weapons and ammunition would be welcome additions to their growing arsenal.

Buck felt a pang of regret over the truck itself. It could be of use to Four Corners. But it was way too identifiable, and Royal would flatten the town without remorse at sight of such belligerent evidence of their resistance. Not to mention the problems the struggling folks would have getting fuel for the monster. As it was, they’d have to watch pretty carefully for the next while, just in case the bastard decided to retaliate against its helpless inhabitants.

“…but it was just so fantastic!”

He grinned as JD’s voice drifted over from the pile of weapons, where Ezra and the boy were sorting and cataloging their loot. He’d been going on without pause, excited over the mysterious help they’d received.

Nathan hauled himself up over the side of the truck’s bed.

“That boy ever need to stop for breath?”

Buck laughed. “Not so’s I’ve noticed. I got a bag of peppermints says Ezra won’t last another thirty seconds.”

Grinning, Nathan shook his head emphatically. “I may look dumb, but I’m no fool. I can’t believe he’s put up with it this long.”

“Just glad we got the little monster back, I guess. Not that ol’ Ezra’ll ever admit it.”

“Mister Dunne!”

Buck and Nathan burst out laughing as the southerner’s patience finally collapsed.

“Yes, it is a great mystery. Yes, it was incredible marksmanship. And no, none of us has any idea who fired those shots. Please!”

“But Ezra…”

“Silence! Cease at once, or I will practice my own marksmanship.”

”Hey, kid!” Buck shouted. “C’mon over and give Ez a break. We could use your help, here.”

The boy jogged over, face bright with residual excitement. Buck shook his head. He hoped the young man never lost that resilience.

“Dunk those rags into the gas tank, kid and toss ‘em up here.”

JD continued to chatter as he soaked rag after rag, handing them up to Buck and Nathan, who tucked them around the bodies of the dead guards.

Buck sneezed as the fumes tickled at the back of his nose. “That’s enough. The stink of this stuff is getting a bit strong. Let’s get this damned bonfire going.”

JD backed away as the two older men jumped off the truck. Buck pulled the explosive device out of his pocket and tucked it on the underside of the wooden truck bed, then stepped away with the other two. He pulled out the electronic detonator and, when they’d reached a safe distance from what was now a big, clumsy incendiary device, triggered the small charge. The truck jerked with the explosion, and flames began to spread rapidly, wicking along the gasoline-soaked rags.

Buck nodded in satisfaction. There’d be no salvaging the truck—one more hammer against Royal’s greed and selfishness—and the gasoline-directed fire would dispose of the bodies as thoroughly as they could manage.

For once, JD was silent, staring in fascination at the flames licking at the truck and its grisly burden. His nose wrinkled as the odor of burning flesh reached them.

“Ugh,” he exclaimed.

“Yup. Let’s get away from this stink-bomb and be ready when the boys get back.”

Ignoring the burning truck, they wheeled the extra bikes into the protection of the trees. They’d ride two of the new ones back, then return riding double for the rest.

“This mean I get my own bike?”

Buck chuckled at the tone in JD’s voice.

“Reckon you and Ezra both.”

“Though I will appreciate being liberated from riding behind Mister Larabee, I must say these noisy, foul-smelling machines will never be my conveyance of choice.”

“Right, Ez,” Buck teased. “You’d rather ride in the back of a stretch limo.”

“Actually, Mister Wilmington, I’d rather ride in gentle solitude on the back of my noble steed.”

JD slid down to sit on the ground, the excitement leaching from his face. “I lost Milagro and Dinky.”

Buck crouched down to meet the boy’s eyes. “They won’t go far, JD. We’ll find them.”

JD had been frantic when they’d returned to Four Corners and the horse and donkey had been nowhere in sight. Milagro had been the first foal born after they’d established themselves in the canyon, and when JD had joined them following the death of his mother, he’d latched onto the young horse with fierce affection—one youngster finding solace in the care of another. For a twelve-year-old in the throes of shock at the collapse of his world, in both the general and the personal senses, it had been a vital connection.

“They ran off when the truck and cycles pulled in. They made a hell of a racket. I… I didn’t tie them. They always stand so quietly. Didn’t think I needed to.”

Buck gripped JD’s shoulder and shook him slightly.

“Damn, JD, that horse wouldn’t know how to poop if he didn’t ask you first. He’ll come back.”

“But, Buck, he don’t know anything outside the canyon. How’s he gonna know…”

“Stop it, JD. If he don’t find his own way back, we’ll go out tomorrow and look for him. We’ll get him back, and Dinky, too. She’ll stay right with him. And she’ll take care of him, if that’s what you’re worried about. Sometimes I think she’s the smartest thing on four legs in the canyon.”

JD’s face lightened at the teasing. “Smarter than some things on two legs, too.”

“Hey!” Buck gently slapped the side of JD’s shaggy head. “Who you calling dumber than a donkey?”

“My dear Buck, It is a wise man who recognizes himself.”

Buck stood and loomed over the smaller Ezra. “Weeeell, now, Mister Standish. Seems to me there’s someone ain’t been on compost pile duty in a while.”

“Really, Mister Wilmington. Simply an efficient utilization of resources available by our indomitable Mister Larabee. He assigns us to the most suitable duties for our skills and abilities.”

JD chuckled. “Yeah, Buck. You’re so damned good at compost pile duty. Why should Chris change anything?”

“Why you…” Buck grabbed the youngster and threw him down onto the leaf mold under the trees, careful to avoid rocks and protruding roots. He whooped as he pounced.

“Gentlemen.”

They both ignored Ezra’s admonition as they rolled and wrestled.

“Gentlemen, attention!”

Buck lifted his head at the sharpened tone in Ezra’s voice, now hearing the same thing the other man had noted.

“That’s the ATV’s. Let’s get this stuff ready.”

They returned to their sorting task as Chris and Josiah roared up on the ATVs. Chris’s brows rose as he ran his gaze up and down Buck’s and JD’s litter-decorated bodies.

“I can see you’ve been keeping busy. C’mon, boys, get that stuff loaded. I want us long gone before Royal’s goons spot this little campfire.”

<<<<<>>>>>

Chris did his best to relax with his book. The big common cavern was warm and companionable, the six members of the team sprawled on chairs and padded floor. But there was a sort of tension crawling up and down his spine that was keeping him from settling. He had the irrational feeling of being watched. There was no way it could be true. They were about as secure as it was possible to be in their hidden canyon, but all the internal reassurance couldn’t quiet that tickle of recognition. Oddly, it wasn’t making him apprehensive. He had no sense of danger. It was just an… awareness.

It might have something to do with their ghost. They’d done a quick check in the forest around the point of their ambush, and found not the slightest indication that anyone had been there. Yet there was the rifle bullet through the head of that guard, and the two steel-tipped arrows Chris had brought back with him. He’d spent a long time just staring at them, but was no more enlightened than he’d been at the moment the crack of that rifle had split the air, saving his life.

Giving up, he set the book down, glancing around at his companions. Josiah and Nathan were playing one of their unending chess games. Chris wasn’t convinced they ever actually finished the games. He figured they surreptitiously snuck pieces back onto the board to keep the same conflict going forever.

Ezra sat deep in the cushions of his favorite chair, brandy snifter in one hand, leather-bound book in the other. Their last trip to the city had yielded some very fine liquor and a stash of custom-bound classics, and Ezra had figuratively clutched both finds to his chest in joy.

JD and Buck were behind the gaming tables, fiddling with the computers. They’d been playing with their new surveillance system, but had finally abandoned it for pure gaming. At least, Buck was playing. JD was staring morosely at the screen, adding little to whatever it was Buck was doing.

Chris was a bit worried about their youngest. He was completely absorbed in the tragedy of his missing horse.

After running back to collect the last of the new bikes, they’d decided to lay low for the night, figuring Royal would be fired up and strutting at their latest, very noticeable assault on his power. A little flush of satisfaction swept over him as he recalled the note he’d left pinned to one of the surviving guards. This operation was never going to go unnoticed, so he’d decided to take advantage of the opportunity to rub a bit of salt into Royal’s wounds. Not to mention diverting the tin-pot megalomaniac’s attention away from Four Corners.

Before going to ground, they’d spent the rest of the daylight hours looking for JD’s horse and the donkey, with no results. JD was going to take it hard if they’d truly lost Milagro. Right now he was pretty much inconsolable.

Chris sighed, and contemplated his abandoned book. He’d really thought he wanted to read the thing, but right now he couldn’t make it through a paragraph without losing interest. Maybe he should go to bed. Damned night-time schedule. Here it was, one in the morning, and he wasn’t nearly tired enough to sleep. Took a lot of tiring out, these days.

His head jerked up at a rude, aggressive buzz from the jumble of apparatus on the game table.

“Shoot!” Buck exclaimed, standing and leaning over a small panel of lights, one of which was flashing an angry red. “That’s the pressure alarm from the path.” He tapped JD’s shoulder sharply. “Shift it, kid. Let me at that screen.”

Chris joined the others as they crowded behind Buck. The big man’s fingers flew over the keys, bringing up his surveillance system.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” They stared, jaws dropped, at the eerie, night-vision-green image of JD’s missing horse and his donkey companion, tethered and munching on a pile of grass. Grass which had to have been brought in for them, as there was no grazing in the narrow, twisting entrance path to the canyon. Milagro wore a halter he hadn’t worn when JD took him out of the canyon, and was tethered via a rope that hadn’t been provided by them. His bridle was hanging from the saddle horn, the reins, one clearly broken short, looped neatly.

“Milagro!” JD shouted, lurching to his feet and forcing his way through between the bigger men.

“JD.” Chris called.

“Kid! Hold on, now.”

The boy paid no more heed to Buck than he had to Chris.

“Damnit! Stop him before he gets to that horse.” Chris demanded.

The five of them ran out of the cave, following the boy toward the narrow cut, still calling out to him.

They caught him just before he reached the twist in the path that marked the position of their pressure trap. Buck grabbed the youngster, restraining and shaking his struggling body.

“Calm down, boy!” he snapped. “Let us check this out.”

After a moment’s additional struggle, JD finally quieted and listened to Buck’s voice. At his sharp nod, Buck released him, and the two followed the other four men around the final turn.

They almost ran into Josiah’s backside. The others had stopped, staring down at the trip line of their trap.

The alarm was designed to trigger when the pressure of a tug against the wire closed a circuit, sending a signal to Buck’s little control panel. Normally, the trip line stretched, two inches above the ground, across the path.

All four of their flashlights were focused downward, illuminating the sizeable flat rock which rested—clearly deliberately placed—on top of the wire, setting off the alarm without breaking the wire.

“So…” The beam of Josiah’s flashlight lifted from the rock to sweep over the contented horse and donkey, still munching on their snack. “I believe your ghost has visited again, brother Buck.”

<<<<<>>>>>

Buck added another branch to the fire, then leaned back against the log supporting his back.

“I’m just sayin…” he said, gaze fixed on Chris’s pensive face.

Across the fire, Nathan, hands wrapped around the warmth of his mug, shook his head slightly. “He sure hasn’t done anything but help us, Buck.”

“What, shooting up Royal’s thugs and bringing back Milagro and Dinky? Not much to go on.”

Josiah stretched his long legs out toward the flames, deep chuckle shaking his chest. “You have to admit, Brother Buck. Whoever he is, he appears to be on our side. And he certainly appears to have a very distinctive style.”

“Just ‘cause he helped us doesn’t mean he’s on our side.”

“’The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’” Josiah intoned.

Buck threw a pebble at the big man. “Right,” he snorted. “But I can think of a hell of a lot of reasons for someone to have it in for Royal. And not all of them would make him our buddy.”

They all stiffened at the noise of approaching footsteps, then relaxed as JD trotted up the path from the stock cave.

“They’re fine,” he panted as he dropped to sit cross-legged beside Buck’s log. “Great. Looks like he even brushed them.”

Josiah’s smile widened into a grin. “See, Buck. Sounds like a good man to me.”

“Yeah, well, maybe he just likes horses.”

“Give it up, Buck,” Nathan prodded. “He’s on our side.”

JD stiffened. “Who, the ghost? ‘Course he is!” He poked Buck’s thigh. “Why’d he bring Milagro and Dinky home if he’s not okay?”

Buck poked him back, scowling faintly. “Your vast experience with people help you figure that out, kid?”

“Bu-uck.” JD’s whine turned the name into two syllables. “Just because I’m not a million years old doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

Buck relaxed, face softening to a grin at the outraged dignity in the youngster’s face. “You’re all right, boy. Just need a bit more seasoning.”

“I’ll show you seasoning!”

Buck laughed as JD launched himself into his chest, driving him backward over the log. For a few moments, Buck allowed JD to have his way, then he rolled them over and trapped JD’s smaller body against the ground while he scrambled the boy’s dark hair with his free hand.

“Buck!”

“Just adding a little salt to the pepper, kid.”

After getting in a good tousle, Buck sat back, laughing down at JD’s flushed face.

“And you wonder why we don’t let you carry a gun.”

JD pushed himself upright, scowling. “I can shoot. You know I can.”

“We know you can, JD.” Chris’s soft voice drifted over the fire. “Doesn’t mean you’re ready to use a gun for real.”

“But Chris…”

Buck tangled his hand in JD’s already mussed hair, tightening his fingers and shaking the boy’s head gently.

“Don’t be in such an all-fired hurry, JD.”

“Listen to Buck, son,” Josiah said gently. “Hang on to your innocence just a little longer. You’ll lose it soon enough.”

“I ain’t innocent! I’m a grown man.”

Buck couldn’t stop the roar of laughter that rumbled up from his gut.

“Grown into what?” he taunted.

JD renewed his attack, shoving Buck back down against the ground and grabbing handfuls of leaf litter to stuff into the older man’s shirt.

Nearly helpless with laughter, Buck let himself be assaulted with the scratchy stuff, despite knowing he’d be picking the junk out of his clothes for the rest of the night.

“Give! I give!” he howled. “Uncle!”

“Hah!” Still grumbling under his breath, JD brushed himself off, then moved back to sit by the fire.

Buck hauled himself to his feet, shaking as much of the litter out of his clothing as he could manage. Still chuckling, he resettled himself, this time sitting on his log, and reached across for the mug of coffee Josiah was offering.

He sighed with contentment as he inhaled the rich aroma. This was some of that gourmet stuff they’d brought back from the city on their last foray. Beat the hell out of Maxwell House.

He really loved these occasional campfire evenings. Well, not really evening. More like wee hours of the morning. But sitting around the fire with these men who were closer to him than family somehow helped him to put the last eight years into some kind of perspective. Yes, much of their world had disintegrated around their ears. But some things transcended catastrophe, and he wouldn’t trade this contentment for anything.

He glanced toward Chris, just in time to catch the twitch at the corners of the other man’s mouth. He grinned and nodded, lifting his mug in a gesture of honor.

Chris nodded, then leaned back, holding Buck’s gaze with his own. “He’s a friend, Buck.”

Buck shook his head slightly, then recalled the subject of their earlier conversation. “But…”

“A friend.”

He stared into Chris’s green eyes for a long moment, then nodded reluctantly. “Okay, then. A friend. For now.”

“So we are assuming our phantom William Tell is on our side?”

The men by the fire all turned as Ezra joined them.

“He…”

Chris halted JD’s enthusiastic endorsement with a raised hand. “For now. Signed off?”

Ezra nodded, easing himself down into the empty chair they’d left for him. “All finished. Though who would be listening at such an hour, I can’t imagine.”

“They listen,” Josiah assured. “Heard a couple of the women in Eagle Bend talking about Nathan’s last broadcast when I stopped by there last week. Be assured, my friend. There are those who hear what you are saying.”

Ezra smiled, gold tooth glinting in the firelight. “I certainly hope they enjoyed the little fable I offered this morning. Something about a medieval gentlemen obsessed with robbing those with excessive goods and distributing such goods to those in greater need.”

JD looked puzzled.

“Robin Hood,” Chris said. “He read Robin Hood, JD.”

“Somehow, I felt moved to revisit that favorite from my young life.” Ezra’s forehead wrinkled in bemused puzzlement. “I’d rather forgotten how much I loved that tale when I was a child.”

“There is something primal about the tale of a man who devotes his life to resisting the powerful for the sake of the powerless,” Josiah rumbled softly.

“That’s us,” JD whispered, staring into the fire. “We’re Robin Hood.”

“That we are, JD. That we are.”

Silence enveloped the six men as they sat, staring into the dying fire and contemplating the odd task to which fate had delivered them.

Eventually, Buck shook himself slightly, then snorted. “Well, while we’re sitting here bein’ so proud of ourselves, how about we talk about gettin’ some hunting done.”

Chris nodded, tossing the dregs of his coffee into the fire.

“Good idea, Buck. I want to check some of our contacts as well. Probably best if we keep our… philanthropic activities to a minimum for the next day or so—give Royal a chance to cool down a bit. JD, use those surveillance cameras to keep an eye on him. Buck, you and I can take the horses and see about getting a deer or so for the folks in Four Corners. We can take the short wave with us and do some catching up.”

“Sounds good, pard.”

Chris stood and stretched, glancing up at the lightening rim of the canyon. “We’ll set out toward dusk tomorrow, and spend a night or so out. Josiah?”

The big man nodded, dumping his own coffee. “I’ll keep an eye on things. Don’t make it more than two days, or we’ll come looking.”

Buck prodded JD with his boot. “Time for beddybyes, kid.”

JD pushed at Buck’s boot, then stood and followed Chris toward the path to the sleeping caves.

<<<<<>>>>>

They’d had a good evening, riding through the open forest that covered the plateau. Much as he enjoyed the companionship of the other men, Chris found himself craving the peace of solitude. Sometimes he just needed to get away from their canyon, leave the tension of their guerilla activities behind.

Not that time with Buck could qualify as lonely. It was no wonder they’d had no luck finding game. Even when the big man was quiet, he wasn’t still. Every deer in the forest was probably watching from a distance, laughing at them.

They’d set camp well after dark. Their nocturnal life style made it hard to bed down too early, but they had plenty to do before attempting sleep.

Dinky’s pack contained their short-wave and suitable batteries, and once their small fire was burning strongly, they led the little donkey well away from their camp and set up the radio.

It wasn’t so easy keeping track of what was going on outside their little corner of the continent, and the short-wave represented a vital connection to the rest of the world. Chris liked to periodically exchange greetings with their half dozen contacts. Grim as the situation was, it still gave him hope to realize others were fighting and surviving. That they weren’t alone in refusing to give in to the seemingly inevitable.

So every few weeks they packed the radio to some new location and hunkered down to chat.

Tonight he’d connected with Ian in Yorkshire, with Rafael in Mexico and with Robert in upstate New York. No real changes reported by any of them, but they were still there, still beating the odds. Rafael was in a situation very similar to their own—resisting the efforts of a local over-wealthy baron attempting to set up his own personal kingdom. The other two didn’t have those particular problems to complicate their lives, but still had their hands full trying keep ahead of the disasters of modern life.

He’d never met any of them, but they’d become vital parts of his own survival.

Shutting down the connection and nodding to Buck, he stood and stretched his back, arching against the cramps from crouching over the microphone.

Leaving the other man to dismantle the apparatus and stow everything back on the little donkey, he strolled slowly to the edge of the plateau and stood staring out into the void.

The darkness prevented him from actually seeing what he knew was out there, just at the limits of sight from this position. Once-white fences and corrals, now stained and in disrepair. A few tumble-down remnants of out-buildings. And the burned-out shell of one man’s dream.

Six years. An eternity.

Slowly, he sank down to sit, still staring out over the invisible remnants of his past.

It had come so fast, and yet it had still crept up on them. A batch of idiots of several religious and political persuasions indulging in a brainless spat somewhere in the Middle East. Escalation. And the completely unbelievable culmination—the morons had started throwing cheap, dirty nuclear and biological weapons at each other.

The result had been unthinkable. What with the fires, the basic destruction, the incredible loss of life, and the damned contamination, those oh-so-valuable oil fields were abruptly removed from the equation of the world’s economy. And the rest, in hindsight, had been inevitable.

In a world dominated by gigantic multi-national corporations, economic collapse was precisely equivalent to political collapse. The major governments of the world had been thrown into chaos as their national economies ruptured and their energy supply lines disintegrated into utter confusion. Within two years, the national and state governments in the United States had become more figurative than real. All major communication channels—newspapers, magazines, television, major radio stations—had been owned by those giant corporations and had imploded right along with their owners. There was still a president, though Chris wasn’t really sure who held the office, or how he’d been selected. It didn’t matter anyway. The only power he and his people contended with was local. Men like Guy Royal had hunkered down, gathered their possessions around them and created personal fiefdoms where they made their own rules, controlled people in their own ways.

For the first couple of years, Chris had openly and aggressively resisted Royal’s attempts to consolidate his power. Right up until the day Royal had decided to swat his least favorite gadfly in the most crushing way possible.

Chris tipped his head back, closing his eyes tightly. But there was no way to shut out the pictures. His fences knocked over, his barn collapsed, his home in flames.

But he’d gladly have forfeited every board, every lovingly polished table and stair rail. Gladly.

If he could just have her.

The image was seared into his memory. His beautiful Sarah, belly swollen with their first, eagerly anticipated child, sprawled on the ground, blood from her slit throat garishly alight with the reflected glow from the burning house.

If it hadn’t been for Buck…

If it hadn’t been for Buck, he’d have died that same night, throwing himself at Royal’s fortified compound, screaming his agonized loss as the guards cut him down.

Buck had dragged him away from the horrid scene, held him as he raged and wept, reasoned and begged and, when both failed, knocked him unconscious.

He’d kept Chris from throwing his life away in any number of ways—including at the bottom of a bottle. There was no way for Chris to ever repay what he owed his old friend.

“Hey, pard.” He opened his eyes at the sound of Buck’s soft voice. “You okay?”

Chris drew in a deep breath, then glanced over his shoulder.

“Just…” His voice sounded rough and breathless.

“Yeah, me, too.”

Buck sank down beside him, gazing out over the cliff edge.

“I miss her, too, Chris.”

“I know, Buck.”

“Seems like another life. And like yesterday.”

Chris dipped his head, then sighed.

“Like yesterday,” he whispered.

<<<<<>>>>>

For once, Buck felt no urge to chatter. He tugged gently on the lead, coaxing the little donkey along the path as they trailed behind Chris back toward their camp.

God, what he’d give to rewind the clock six years. Just long enough for the two of them to get back to that house an hour or so earlier.

He missed Sarah. Missed the chime of her laughter, the sting of her scolds. She’d taken him in like a beloved brother-in-law. He’d felt like family. The place she’d been in his heart would never heal.

And he missed Chris. The Chris who laughed and teased, who’d try anything just for the thrill—that man was gone. The shadow of that terrible night never lifted from his friend’s eyes.

For a while, he’d feared he’d lose the man altogether, either to Royal, or to the bottle. But Chris had wised up rapidly. The task of resisting Royal, and making the bastard pay in every way possible, had taken over his life. The drinking kept him from the task, so he stopped. Taking stupid risks would choke off his private crusade, so he got canny and cautious.

It had taken a while, but with the addition of the other four, they’d built themselves into a pretty effective resistance.

Sometimes Buck wondered if there was really any point to their efforts. Royal was so powerful, possessed so many of the goods and commodities those outside his fences lacked—how could they ever prevail?

But he’d follow Chris on this crusade until the day he died. The obsession had saved the man. Maybe not as he’d been before, but saved him none-the-less. So Buck would back him all the way to the wall.

“What the hell?”

He paused at Chris’s exclamation, then moved up to look over his shoulder.

The camp was pretty much as they’d left it. The two horses were staked out, munching on the grass in the small clearing. The fire was glowing with welcoming warmth. Their saddles and bedrolls were neatly laid out to the side of the fire.

Of course, when they’d headed off to set up the short-wave, the deer hadn’t been there.

The nicely dead, hanging-by-the-heels, two-prong deer.

Buck watched, bemused, as Chris drew his gun and moved cautiously around the edge of the clearing, heading for the carcass. He drew his own gun and let his gaze roam around the area lit by the fire.

“You hear anything, pard?”

Chris shook his head, examining the deer. Then he stepped back and slid his gun back into the holster.

Buck moved into the clearing, pulling the donkey behind him.

“Well?”

“Well…” Chris shook his head, still staring at the hanging buck. “It’s dead. Been blooded.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.” Chris rested his hands on his hips, lips curving upward. “Killed with a bow.”

Buck’s brows rose as he heard a rusty, recently unfamiliar sound. Then he grinned happily.

For the first time he could remember in the last six years, Chris Larabee was laughing.

<<<<<>>>>>

The agitated chatter from their common area greeted them long before they brushed through the curtains into the cave. They’d left the deer hanging in the bike cave, awaiting butchering.

Obviously, theirs hadn’t been the only excitement in the last couple of days.

Chris pulled a beer from the refrigerator and moved to stand behind Josiah.

“Boys?”

Josiah turned sharply as all four voices died to silence. After a moment, they started in again, now gesturing and shouting in Chris’s direction.

Buck’s sharp whistle again stilled the unintelligible racket.

“What the hell’ve you boys been up to?” he asked. “Uht!” His finger shot up as they threatened to resume their chorus. “One at a time.”

Chris moved across the carpet and sank into his favorite chair. “Josiah, you first.”

The big man drew a deep breath. “JD’s been keeping an eye—and an ear—on Royal’s activities. He picked up some interesting conversations the old man was having with Morton, down in Texas. And today… Well, see for yourself.”

He gestured toward the computers. Chris turned and stared at the only live monitor. It showed an image from one of JD’s surveillance cameras, displaying a part of Royal’s compound.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered.

“No lie,” Buck snarled. “That, my friends, is major trouble.”

Clearly shown on the screen were a pair of helicopters, and the four guards who paced around them, rifles at the ready.

Chris scowled, standing and moving closer to the monitor. The copters threatened them at their most vulnerable point. They were well protected from observation from the ground, and one luxury Royal had never had at his disposal was air surveillance. Unfortunately, it would be a lot more difficult to keep their nest hidden from airborne observers.

He stared at the image for a few moments, then nodded sharply.

“Okay, here’s how we’re going to handle this. For the next day or so, no campfires, keep the curtains down over the cave entrances, and stay inside as much as possible. We don’t want to draw Royal’s attention to the canyon if we can help it.”

“For the next few days?” Nathan asked.

“Yes. Long enough for us to prepare and plan. We’re going to take those copters out. We’re not letting that bastard hang on to any more advantage than he already has.”

“But he’ll just get more.”

Buck gripped JD’s shoulder. “Maybe, kid. Once, maybe a couple of times, he’ll replace them. But his resources aren’t limitless, and Morton isn’t going to keep throwing good machines at him. We’ve known he’d been trying to negotiate for something like this for quite a while, so Morton obviously took a lot of persuading. I’m betting Ol’ Guy won’t talk him into selling him any more of those birds, and I’m also betting he’s going to have a lot of trouble finding another source. So this should work.”

“It’ll work.” Chris’s voice allowed no possibility of error. “And if he finds someone else stupid enough to sell him more copters, we’ll just take care of those as well.”

“Yeah!” JD exclaimed, fist pumping in the air.

Ezra leaned back in his chair, gaze fixed on the image on the screen. “I can see the reason behind this plan, but I admit to some doubt about its feasibility.”

“What are you talking about? We just go in and blow them up.”

The southerner’s slow grin showed little amusement. “Just like that.”

“Sure. We can do it.”

Chris’s quiet voice cut across the youngster’s enthusiasm. “First, JD, you won’t be blowing anything up. And I agree with Ezra—this isn’t going to be as simple as you imagine.”

“Come on, Chris!” JD’s voice edged toward a whine. “I can help. You can’t leave me behind.”

Chris’s mouth twitched into a grim half-smile. “You stay. You’ll be helping Buck prepare the explosives. But you aren’t stepping foot inside that fence line.” He swiveled around to meet Ezra’s eyes. “And this is going to take some planning. Those birds are back from the fence, close to Royal’s compound. And he’s going to have them pretty heavily guarded. We’re not going to be able to waltz in as easily as we do to raid the tanks. This is going to take some planning.”

“I don’t know, Chris,” Josiah mused. “Seems to me simple is better. Elaborate plans can go wrong in way too many ways.”

Chris nodded. “I agree. Not elaborate. But well planned. Here’s the deal…. We need to know as much as we can about how he’s guarding those things. For the next couple of days, we watch that surveillance camera and record the activities of the guards. We keep this place as battened down as we can, and we just gather intel. Once we know how they’re handling the guard schedule, then we can set up our plans. In the meantime, Buck and JD, you put together some packages. I think at least two per chopper. Then when we decide just how we want to do this, we’ll be ready.”

Nathan dipped his chin in agreement, and reached for a pencil. “I’ll block out a surveillance schedule for us. We’ll need to cover it twenty-four hours a day.”

Buck dropped his hand on a still-protesting JD’s shoulder and steered the younger man away from the table. “We’ll get some sleep, then get busy on those little surprises. Right JD?”

“But Buck…”

“Right, JD?”

Scowling, the boy yielded. “Right, Buck. Do you think you should change my diaper before putting me to bed?”

Buck gently slapped the back of the boy’s head. “Stuff it, brat. Your day will come. Now get your butt to bed. Tomorrow we’ll have fun wrapping presents for Royal.”

<<<<<>>>>>

Chris poured himself a cup of coffee, grimacing slightly at the dark color. Stuff had been sitting in the pot for at least three hours.

Sipping gingerly, he moved back into the living area, absently stepping around and over the two men wrestling on the floor. Josiah, currently on surveillance watch, glanced up and grinned in wry amusement as JD’s indignant squeal echoed through the cavern.

“How old did you say Buck was?”

Chris allowed a small smile to curve his lips. “About a year older than JD, I think.”

Josiah chuckled as he turned back to the monitor. Chris stood behind him, watching the restless movements of the guards prowling around the brightly lit helicopters.

“Looks like Royal’s put the fear of God into them,” Josiah remarked as he added an entry to his meticulous list of notes. “They aren’t going to make this an easy one, Chris.”

Chris shook his head slightly. “Nope. But the patterns are there. If they keep this schedule…” he tapped a finger of his free hand on the list. “… We’ll be able to take them out.”

Nodding, Josiah jotted down another observation. “Another twenty-four hours should confirm their habits enough. I can already see a few good approaches.”

Chris smiled in grim satisfaction. “So can I. We’re on, then. We’ll put the plan together after we get confirmation of their activities—tomorrow night. We go the next night.”

Josiah’s deep growl of agreement vibrated in the warm air just as another shout of outrage sounded from the combatants on the rug-covered floor, this time from Buck’s deeper voice.

“Keep your damned hands off my hat!”

JD rolled onto his belly, the hat trapped underneath his compact body, while Buck shouted and dove on top. If he hadn’t known how Buck felt about the youngster, Chris would have been concerned about the boy being injured. JD’s high-pitched shouts echoed around the cavern as he wriggled and fought against the long fingers digging at his ribs.

“It’s a stupid hat!” the boy squeaked.

“It’s a man’s hat, you little rat!”

Chris shook his head over the antics of his old friend and their youngest. He supposed he must have had some of that in him, back when he was seventeen. Buck clearly still did.

Cradling his mug, he drifted through the kitchen area to the cave entrance. As he passed, he reached out and flicked off the bright working lights, leaving the front of the area in near darkness. The riot behind him continued as he shouldered open the drapes covering the doorway and leaned against the curtain-cushioned stone, staring out over the canyon. As his eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, he could see the silhouettes of the grazing horses, tails swishing idly back and forth as they pulled at tufts of grass.

Abruptly, he straightened and tossed the tepid coffee out into the night.

“Buck,” he called. “I’m goin’ for a ride.”

The big man paused in his assault, kneeling up to stare at Chris.

“Shit, Chris. It’ll be dawn in a couple of hours. Go get some sleep.”

Chris shook his head slightly. “Feelin’ restless. I’ll see you in a few hours. You give the brat a chance to sleep. You can rescue that damned rag of a hat tomorrow.”

Buck scowled. “Ain’t a rag. That’s my favorite hat. You sure you want to head out alone with our ghost out there? Not to mention the new birds in the area.”

Some of the tension eased out of Chris’s spine. “He’s on our side, Buck.”

“So far. Hell, Chris, we haven’t even seen ‘im. He could be one of those damned survivalists with a grudge against Royal. Don’t make him any friend of ours.”

Chris shook his head and turned away. “He’s a friend.”

Buck scowled, absently resting his weight on JD’s squirming body. “May be so. But Royal ain’t. You keep your ears peeled for those damned choppers. And be careful on your way back in.”

Chris waved his hand over his shoulder as he moved out into the darkness.

<<<<<>>>>>

Chris patted Pony’s muscular neck as they stood at the top of the switchback trail. They were old friends. At fourteen, the big gelding was still at his physical peak, and they were a good team.

“C’mon, boy,” he whispered gently. “Let’s find some place to watch the sunrise.”

He knew where he was going. Half an hour later, he sighed gently as they rode out of the trees onto the rocky bank of a small, jewel-like lake. The place was still untouched after all these years. He’d discovered it long ago, and before the crash he’d worried about some developer finding it and turning it into some sort of housing development. No worries now.

He dismounted and removed the saddle and bridle, tethering Pony on a long line so the horse could enjoy the illusion of freedom. Dropping the saddle beside his favorite flat rock, he settled down to wait for the first delicate streaks of dawn.

He tilted his head back, relishing the sweet, crisp breeze off the water and the fanciful notion that he could feel peace seeping into his soul. For a long stretch of time, the only sound he heard was the quiet ripping of the horse cropping grass and the occasional metallic rattle of the tether clip against the metal ring of Pony’s halter.

“I know you’re there.” His own soft, rough voice drifted over the water.

He heard no sound, felt no wisp of moving air, but he wasn’t surprised when a pair of feet, clad in soft leather, crept into his peripheral vision.

Slowly, he turned his head, and felt the breath catch in his throat. He found himself gazing at a phantom out of childhood fantasies—-dressed in leather from shoulders to the soles of his feet, narrow waist bound by a woven leather belt and supporting a large sheathed knife, shoulders crossed by the long wooden shaft of a bow, face framed by two thin braids, one adorned with a large hanging feather.

But that hair wasn’t glossy and black. It was light in color, and wild with uncontrolled almost-curls. And the eyes. No Wild-Wild-West Indian ever claimed a pair of eyes like these. Illuminated by the thin light of the half moon, they were a startling, deep blue, young and old at once.

Breathless, Chris stared up at the apparition for a few seconds, then carefully shifted to the side and nodded at the open space beside him on his rock.

The other man stood, apparently uncertain, gaze still fixed on Chris’s own eyes. Then he stepped forward and sank gently down on the rock next to Chris.

Chris tilted his head slightly, indicating approval, then turned to again look out across the small lake.

He heard a tiny sigh—-the first sound the other had made—-and felt the slight relaxation of the thin body beside him.

And so they sat in silence, reveling in the untouched quiet of the lake. Watched as tiny, faint fingers of glowing pink crept across the undersides of the scattered clouds. Felt the freshening of the morning breeze as the glow spread through the clouds, and the sky along the horizon lightened from black to depthless blue, and finally to the brighter blue of true morning. Squinted as the too-bright edge of the sun’s disc rose above the jagged treetops of the forest.

“Thanks.”

Chris almost cringed as his voice violated their still isolation.

The other man’s head bobbed in a sharp nod.

Another long moment of silence later, Chris again broke the stillness.

“So… Why?”

Just as he thought he’d receive no answer, the other man replied, “Saw ya countin’ coupe on that snake. Figured you’re men doin’ my work.”

The voice was whisper-soft, rough with disuse. But it brushed against Chris’s mind like a soothing breeze.

He nodded and turned back to the beautiful view, enjoying the warmth of the stranger’s body along his side. Stranger? Somehow, this man was no stranger.

Again, they sat in quiet appreciation of the beauty of the newly born world. And again, it was Chris who broke the stillness.

“Name’s Chris Larabee.”

Silence. Then for the first time his companion moved, turning to stare into Chris’s eyes, electric blue gaze piercing and demanding.

“Tanner,” he whispered. “Vin Tanner.”

An expression of near-surprise swept over the young/old face, as if the man were startled at his own words. Abruptly, Tanner rose to his feet, still staring at Chris.

Then he shook his head sharply, turned and vanished.

At least that’s the way it seemed. One moment he was there, gaze pinning Chris to the rock. The next he was gone, nothing sharing Chris’s solitude except his drowsing horse and a few hungry fish ruffling the surface of the water.

<<<<<>>>>>

Chris scowled at the disorganized mass of papers he’d spread out on their dining table. They’d collected these damned things willy-nilly over the years, and nobody’d ever bothered to sort them out. They’d never had any real use for them before.

But he was sure what he wanted would be in here somewhere.

He smiled slightly, recalling his surreal encounter the previous dawn. Assuming he hadn’t just imagined the experience, he had a name. And he knew their ghost—Vin Tanner—had something personal against Royal.

So there could very well be something in here that would give him additional information about the man who was rapidly becoming a bit of an obsession for him.

With a sigh, he began sorting through the tattered, dusty notices and fliers—printed evidence of the arrogance and ambitions of one Guy Royal. Some were proclamations of demands—Royal’s notions about the new order of things. Some were warnings. But some were the modern world’s equivalent of wanted posters. In common with any other megalomaniac, Royal didn’t like it when his property ran off, so he periodically sent his goons out to tack up lists of runaways, at least implying a reward for their return. Chris’s mouth tightened at the thought of someone actually dragging escaped Indents back to a man like Royal. He sincerely hoped his estimate of Royal was accurate—that no rewards had actually been forthcoming.

Chris sorted the wanted lists from the other notices, then sorted the lists by date. Grimacing, he wiped his grubby fingers on his jeans. The things were filthy. While they probably should have tossed the lot a long time ago, right now he was glad they hadn’t.

Finally, he began going through the lists, starting with the earliest, though if his judgment about Tanner was correct, he would have been a child in the early years.

As he’d expected, the early posters revealed nothing other than a sad list of people who had been lucky or courageous enough to slide out from under Royal’s ever-tightening grasp. He found himself hoping they’d all remained free.

And then… there it was. He glanced at the date—the fourth year after the disaster. “Indentured servant Vin Tanner, aged 14--runaway.” One name in a list of nine.

He narrowed his eyes, calculating. So that made Tanner all of eighteen. Shit.

Chris glanced at the next list and felt a little shock of denial. Later the same year, there was the name again. This time identified as a repeat runaway. Damn. The bastard had caught him. Or someone had been filthy enough to turn him in.

Paging further, he paused again and shook his head sadly as the name appeared a third time. This time set apart from the rest of the list, and with an actual, stated reward. “Vin Tanner, aged 15—repeat runaway and thief.”

He wondered what a fifteen-year-old had managed to steal that would make Royal angry enough to actually commit himself to a concrete offer of a reward.

He quickly scanned the rest of the fliers and was relieved to see no additional mention of Vin’s name. Hopefully that meant the third time had been more successful.

Dropping the crumpled pages onto the table, he leaned back and stared sightlessly at the rock walls. What the hell had gone on in those three years to turn a runaway boy into the creature he’d met that morning? He shook his head slightly. If for no other reason, he had to get his hands on Tanner just to hear that story.

Chris snorted softly at his own foolishness. Tale or no tale, he just knew he needed to connect to this young man. And from Tanner’s behavior by the lake, he figured the youngster was just as strongly drawn to him.

“What the hell is this garbage?”

Buck’s voice drew him back to the present. The big man dropped down into the chair opposite Chris and carefully set a complicated-looking mass of wires and metal on the table top.

Chris cocked an eyebrow at the device, then offered the three pages he’d culled from the pile.

“Take a look.”

Buck glanced over the pages, clearly puzzled. “What the hell am I looking for?”

Chris smiled. “Our ghost.”

Buck’s confusion grew. “Huh?”

Chris’s smile grew into a rare grin. He leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “I met him, Buck. Yesterday morning.”

“You what?” Buck’s voice rose. “What the hell…?”

“Keep your voice down, pard. I said I met him.” He leaned forward, tapping the entry on the latest of the three posters. “His name’s Vin Tanner.”

Buck stared down at the entry. “Vin Tan…” He looked sharply up at Chris. “He told you his name?”

“Yep. And Buck… If you think JD’s impressed with him now, wait until he gets a look at him.”

Scowling, the big man looked back down at the page. His expression softened as he took in the information. “Shit. He’d be, what, eighteen now?”

Chris nodded.

“Run off at fifteen. Who the hell’s been taking care of him?”

Chris could see the speculation and distress in Buck’s eyes as the big man obviously thought about their own young stray.

“Hell if I know.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“Nope. I don’t think… I’ve gotta tell you, Buck, I’m still having a bit of trouble convincing myself I really met him. It was a pretty… unusual experience. We hardly said a dozen words between us.”

“Who hardly said?” Josiah slid into his own chair at the table, followed be Nathan, JD and Ezra, the last carrying their record of the activities of Royal’s guards. “About what?”

Chris smiled. “I met our ghost yesterday morning.”

He lifted his hand at the outburst of excited chatter.

“I’ll tell you all about it… after we take care of those damned helicopters. First things first.” He shoved the old fliers back into the box they’d come from and reached for the papers in Ezra’s hand. “Let’s see where we stand.”

<<<<<>>>>>

Buck pressed himself as tightly as possible against the corrugated metal wall. The floodlights illuminating the two choppers threw harsh shadows, but the darkened wedge provided by the corner of the garage was barely wide enough to conceal his big body. He felt a moment of envy for Chris. For once, he might have preferred that rail thin shape, rather than his own robust physique.

He fought to calm his heavy breathing, straining in the hope of hearing that double click over the radio by which his old friend would signal reaching his own position in their wild venture.

Well, maybe not so wild. So far, everything had gone just as planned. He, Josiah, Ezra and Nathan had managed to take out the six guards on the near side of the large open area—now serving as a helipad—between the main gate and the entry to Royal’s private compound. That left only the two on the far side, and the two men stationed right out in the middle, between the two big birds. Chris was creeping around the compound’s fence, the only route available to that far side. The plan was that he’d clobber the pair of guards over on his side, then they’d play the two men between the choppers by ear.

Buck knew there was no way Chris’s circuit could yet be completed, but that didn’t stop him from straining to hear that signal. It would take at least an hour, and probably longer, as Chris had to navigate around the back by the fields, then through the narrow space between Royal’s fence and the wall of the Indent barracks.

Buck allowed himself a moment of fierce regret that they would be unable to simply free those unfortunates locked into servitude. Someday.

For now, Buck had to sit tight at least another fifteen to thirty minutes, while Chris got into position, and Ezra, Josiah and Nathan crept partway back to their motorcycles. They’d be ready to provide backup if necessary, but their actual job was to beat the two bombers back to their escape vehicles. When Buck and Chris finished, they should be able to run like hell back to the darkness under the windmills, leap onto the backs of already running cycles, and roar out through their private gateway.

But first, of course, he and Chris had to do their little demolition job.

Oh, yeah. That. He scowled at the hunched shapes of the two copters and fingered the zipper on his waist pouch. Inside were the two charges he was to stick onto the near copter, twins to the ones strapped around Chris’s middle. In his right breast pocket was a small transmitter—the device with which he’d complete the destruction of those malevolent birds.

Well, that was the plan, anyway. If they could figure out a way past those two bozos squatting on the ground between the choppers.

Hurry it up, stud!

What the hell were those two doing, anyway?

Shit. Buck almost laughed. The stupid gits were leaned, back to back, obviously settling in for a nice little nap.

So, Royal, having a bit of trouble getting good help these days?

Covering his mouth with his hand to hide the whiteness of his teeth, he grinned happily. The idiots were almost doing his job for him. Now if that yellow-haired cowboy would just get caught up, they could probably actually do this thing.

It seemed like much longer than the thirty-five minutes it actually was, but finally he heard those two clicks. Chris was in position and had taken out his two guards.

He returned the click pattern indicating GO, sucked in a deep breath, crouched low and moved out into the brilliant light, running as silently as he could from the shadow of the building to the shadow of the near helicopter, his fingers already unzipping and digging into his pouch. No sound or movement indicated detection, and the two idiots supposedly guarding the machines snoozed on.

Where the hell is Chris?

Working as rapidly as he could, he fixed his first charge under the fat belly of the copter, then slid toward the tail.

Chris, get your skinny butt out here!

As he reached out to fix the second charge, he caught his breath at the sound of a muffled commotion from Chris’s supposed location. To his over-sensitized ears, it sounded like a drum beating, flooding the area with a shocking amount of noise.

He jammed the gummed charge against the metal of the helicopter, glanced at the stirring guards, and sprinted desperately back to his garage shadow.

As he dived into the darkness, his radio squawked to life.

**Buck, blow and go!**

Chris’s voice was strangled and panting, and the thumping from the other side of the clearing increased. Buck hesitated, suspended between the imperative in that command and the desperate need to help the man who was closer to him than a brother.

**Get the … hell… UMPH … out of here and bl… blow it!**

Swearing viciously under his breath, Buck scurried along the side of the building, heading toward their planned escape. He’d gone only a few yards when an almighty racket behind him jerked his attention back to the helicopters.

“What the…!”

The two guards weren’t snoozing any more. Neither were they heading toward the far side to help with whatever was happening there. They’d jumped into the copters and powered the damned things up.

Buck snorted at this demonstration of Royal’s priorities. Who cared how many of his employees got whacked, as long as those birds were safe?

He jerked the detonator out of his pocket, finger hovering over the transmission button. He knew Chris hadn’t loaded that second chopper. Would one set of charges be enough to take out both?

In the moment he took to watch the machines lift off the ground, he saw what looked like a spear, trailing some kind of cable or rope, arc out of the darkness where Chris had been stationed. The projectile flew over the tail of the far copter, the trailing line falling into and fouling the small tail rotor of the machine.

Buck barked an instant of laughter as the sabotaged helicopter lurched, tilted and spun, sliding closer to the machine he’d wired. With fierce glee, he waited for the two birds to nearly collide, then jammed his thumb onto the tiny button.

The riotous explosion heated his back as he ran toward escape. He wasn’t overly careful, knowing he’d have a window during which all attention was focused on the conflagration in the courtyard. He was virtually home free.

But what about Chris?

<<<<<>>>>>

He knew he really didn’t want to open his eyes. His head already felt like it was being crushed under a pile of rocks.

What the hell had happened?

Cautiously, Chris cracked one eye open, then winced at the spike of pain as the glare stabbed into his already pounding head.

Damn. Knew that was a stupid idea.

He relaxed slightly as shadow dimmed the assaulting light. And sighed as a cool, wet cloth swept over his forehead, soothing the snarling beast behind his eyes.

“Buck?”

Shit. Was that pathetic noise his voice?

“Sorry.”

He knew that soft, rusty voice. Who…?

He steeled himself, then eased both eyes open, trying to force his fuzzy vision to focus. The pale blur gradually resolved itself into a strong-jawed face, framed by long, wild hair. Deep blue eyes stared down at him with solemn concern.

Chris squinted up at the striking face, feeling his brain laboriously sorting and filing its scattered contents.

Tanner.

“How…?”

One brown brow arched, and the tousled hair shifted as Tanner tilted his head.

“Y’ don’t r’member?”

Chris scowled, trying to force his scrambled memories to make sense.

Choppers. Explosives. Long, nerve-wracking creep around the fence of Royal’s internal compound. Then a jumble of isolated scraps and images.

“Damn. There was a man in the garage.”

Tanner nodded.

“Whacked ya from b’hind.”

Chris squeezed his eyes shut, trying to sort the snapshot memories into some sort of order. He remembered being surprised and clubbed by the man who had popped unexpectedly out of the equipment shed. What the hell was the bastard doing in there at three in the damned morning?

He remembered the unequal struggle, his desperate efforts hampered by the blow to his head and the imperative to keep the man from calling for help. And his own need to get word to Buck.

Had he? Somewhere in the haze of his memory he thought there was the vague impression of an explosion, so maybe Buck had at least taken out one of the choppers.

His eyes popped open as more bits of memory presented themselves. He remembered the despair of realizing he was doomed to lose his personal battle, then the sudden, astounding disappearance of his opponent. The image of a buckskin-clad figure crouching over him.

Then bits of memory of being dragged, the poking and pinching of his body being forced under a chain-link fence, the nausea as his head objected to the swaying gait of a horse.

And that was it.

“Comin’ back?”

He focused again on Tanner’s face.

“Some of it. Where the hell did you come from?”

A mischievous glint lit those amazing eyes.

“Saw you sneakin’ in. Figured I’d take advantage of the opportunity.”

“Opportunity?”

Tanner’s expression turned grim. “Can’t pass up the chance to twist that bastard’s crooked tail.”

Chris puzzled over that for a moment.

“How’d you get in?”

The mischief was back, along with an engaging, lop-sided smile. “Y’ ain’t the only one’s got private doors.”

Chris smiled slightly, remembering that painful drag under the fence.

“So how much skin did I lose going through your door?”

The smile widened, but he got no answer.

Chris squinted again as Tanner moved away, taking his soothing shadow with him. He glanced around the small cave, surprised at the supplies and belongings he saw. The place looked like it had been lived in for years—more than the three years he knew Tanner had been on his own.

His attention was jerked back to Tanner as the other man knelt beside him, a battered mug in his hand.

“Y’ wanna try a bit of this?”

Chris eyed the cup warily, mentally exploring the state of his stomach.

“Might spew it back in your lap.”

Another crooked grin.

“Won’t be the first time.”

Chris arched his brows. “How long’ve I been here?”

Tanner shrugged. “Coupla hours. Sorta woke up a couple times, but didn’t talk much sense. Spit up everything I forced ya to take.”

“Damn.” Chris shifted, trying to sit up. Tanner’s free arm eased behind him, helping him when his own body refused to do the job, then pushing rolled blankets behind Chris’s back. Chris eased back against the support. For a moment, he was sure he’d made a fatal mistake. The pounding in his head stepped up a notch, and the small room swam sickeningly. His hand flailed out, finding and grasping Tanner’s muscular thigh as he fought the nausea.

“Figure you got a concussion. But yer eyes is okay, and yer head seems to be workin’ right now. Figure it ain’t too bad.”

“Feels damned bad,” Chris rasped. After a moment, he relaxed and sighed in relief as the pain receded and the cave walls settled back into their normal state.

“Yer okay. Just go slow.”

Chris snorted. “Easy for you to say. Nobody’s doing percussion solos inside your head.”

“Here, this’ll help.”

Chris released his bruising grasp on Tanner’s thigh, raising his hand to the offered mug.

“Shit, that’s awful!”

“Yep. ‘S willow bark tea. Tastes like horse piss. But it helps with pain.”

Chris shuddered. “If the taste doesn’t do you in first.”

He forced himself to drain the mug, grimacing as he swallowed the last of the sludge at the bottom.

Tanner reclaimed the cup, rinsed it out and crouched beside the small fire burning near the entrance to the cave. He returned to Chris, steam rising from the mug.

“This’ll help with the taste.”

Suspiciously, Chris accepted the cup and sniffed the rising steam. His brows lifted in surprise at the enticing aroma, and he tried a careful sip of the hot broth. Despite the nausea, his stomach seemed willing to keep what he was sending it. Maybe he wasn’t going to die after all.

Slowly, he drank the soothing soup, watching as Tanner moved around the little cave, pulling another mug from a rack on the wall and filling it with stew from the same pot from which he’d dipped Chris’s broth.

“Can’t help but notice there’s actual meat in yours.”

Tanner glanced up and grinned at him. “My stomach ain’t been throwin’ stuff back for the last two hours. You get that settled first.”

Chris glared at him, but the grin just widened.

“Did we get them?”

A brow arched in query.

“The choppers. I thought I heard… Tell me we got at least one of them.”

The other man dropped down to sit facing Chris, cradling his stew in his hands. The mischief was back in his eyes.

“Got ‘em both.”

“Both? But I didn’t…”

A shrug and wink, and Tanner’s attention focused on his dinner.

Chris frowned, again trying to call forth his memories of the chaotic events following the blow to his head, but he couldn’t make any more sense of the scraps he could recall. But he was sure he’d never planted those charges.

“How did one set of charges take out both of those copters?”

The crooked grin was back. Blue eyes glinted at him as Tanner looked up through his lashes.

“They sorta run into each other.”

“They what? That doesn’t make any sense.”

A small, rusty laugh and another sly glance.

“Well, ya gotta admit you ain’t makin’ a lotta sense yerself, Larabee. Maybe you ain’t the best judge.”

Chris stared across at the younger man, mouth hanging open in bemused outrage.

<<<<<>>>>>

Buck pounded his fist against the wall of the equipment cave in impotent fury.

They’d left him. He’d nursed the ridiculous hope they’d find Chris waiting smugly when they returned to their canyon, but there was no sign of him.

They’d left him.

With a roar of frustration, he stalked out the entrance and toward their common area, the other three following in grim silence.

“JD!” he shouted as he jerked the curtain back. “Crank up that damned surveillance camera!”

The youngster popped up from behind the computer table, face twisted with anxiety.

“I already have it, Buck. I watched the whole thing.”

Buck strode to the back of the cave and jerked the second chair out, dropping into the seat and leaning closer to the monitor. The others crowded behind him.

“Where’d they take him?”

“Th… they didn’t.”

He twisted away from the screen to stare at JD’s pale face. His chest tightened.

“Didn’t what?”

“Take him anywhere.”

“You mean they… they…”

“No! No, they didn’t kill him. I mean, they didn’t catch him.”

Josiah’s big hand dropped onto JD’s shoulder.

“Son, how could they not have captured him? If he’d escaped, he’d have joined us.”

“I watched the whole thing. And I checked the view of our entrance. They never found him, and he never went to the rendezvous location.”

Buck turned back to the monitor screen, brow furled in confusion.

“JD, that just ain’t possible. What happened to him?”

“I don’t know. They’ve all been running around, shouting and searching. Royal’s been strutting and screaming. But I haven’t caught a sight of Chris since he headed away to go behind the compound, before everything started.”

For long moments, the five men stared at the activity shown on the monitor. JD was correct. There was no indication of any triumph, just fury and outrage. The open area was blackened and strewn with the twisted remains of the two demolished choppers, and the surrounding garages and the fence around Royal’s personal compound showed the battering damage from the blast. Royal stalked back and forth, screaming at the men and women who were clearly searching.

There wasn’t a whisper of indication of Chris’s presence, or of awareness of him among the searchers.

Buck sat back, stroking his twitching mustache.

“JD, did you record any of this?”

“Yeah. It’s all there.”

The young man leaned over and tapped on the keyboard, bringing up the saved record. They watched in silence, seeing themselves stealthily take out the guards near the gate, then watching the unexciting view of the sitting choppers. Much of what they’d been up to wasn’t visible to their surveillance camera.

They shared an amused moment when the two chopper guards sank down to steal their illicit nap, then leaned forward, bodies tense, as Buck’s black-clad figure darted out from the left side of the screen.

Nothing was visible of whatever was happening on Chris’s side of the clearing.

They saw the jerk in Buck’s body, corresponding to his awareness of the noise from Chris’s position. They watched him run back to his sheltering shadow as the two guards stirred and stood. They observed silently as the two men scrambled into the cockpits. As the rotors began turning, and the copters lifted heavily from the ground.

They all gasped at the unexpected flight of the spear-like projectile from the right side of the screen, trailing the line that fouled the tail rotor of the copter which had been Chris’s goal.

“Stop!” Buck pounded on the mouse button, pausing the image, then reversing and freezing again. “JD, can you manipulate this thing? Look here…”

He pointed to the shadows on the right side of the screen, where they knew Chris should have been. The others leaned closer, trying to see what had caught Buck’s attention.

JD’s fingers clicked over the keys, isolating and expanding that portion of the screen.

“Can you make it any clearer, kid?”

JD scowled at the screen. “It’s a security camera, Buck. The image isn’t very high quality. And no matter what they used to do on TV, you can’t create information that just isn’t there. But…” He clicked away again, gaze fixed on the screen. “…I should be able to lighten it up a bit and increase the contrast. That might help.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Buck sat back, shaking his head at the improved image.

It wasn’t clear; no details could really be discerned. But they could see the shape of a man, arm pulled back, ready to launch that spear. And it obviously wasn’t Chris. The black lump on the ground at his feet was probably Chris. This man was smaller, clad in lighter clothing, with what looked like a wild mane of hair on his head.

Laughter gurgled up as the knot in Buck’s chest loosened. He spun the chair around, and his laughter increased at sight of the expressions of drop-jawed astonishment on his partners’ faces.

“Guys, I do believe this was another rescue. Meet our ghost.”

<<<<<>>>>>

Chris leaned against the side of the cave door, sipping impossibly strong coffee and watching Vin handle his horse. He chuckled softly, recalling his own first attempt to ingratiate himself to the beast. The monster was coyly affectionate with Tanner, turning to mouth his hair and nudge his ribs as the young man groomed his sleek black hide. But when Chris had attempted to simply stroke the animal’s long nose, those black ears had flattened, and big white teeth had snapped millimeters from his fingers. Seconds later, he’d narrowly missed taking Chris’s head off with an angry back hoof. Sure was a beautiful animal, but Chris was privately convinced there was something wrong between his ears.

Vin, however, wouldn’t hear a word against him. They’d had their closest approximation of a falling out over the issue.

Chris glanced down as a soft body brushed against his ankle. He crouched and offered his hand to the small, tawny-colored cat, then accepted the permission to stroke and scratch. He was rewarded with a rumbling purr and the vigorous swipe of a hard jaw along the side of his hand.

“At least you like me, Puma,” he murmured.

For some reason, he’d been surprised by the small menagerie that surrounded his new friend. Only Puma spent most of her time inside the cave—possibly because of the litter of tiny kittens she nursed back in the corner, though she was as affectionate and tame as a pampered house cat—but there were a dozen or more half-feral cats darting and slinking around the area, taking the offerings Vin left out for granted, and occasionally allowing him to stroke them and check for burrs in their fur. Chris had also seen a number of dogs, most looking surprisingly plump and clean for animals living wild. He was sure he’d spotted the same hawk in the area several times. Vin was probably taking care of him as well.

The horse didn’t seem to be fenced or restrained. He just stayed in the area, grazing in one or the other of the small, grassy clearings near Vin’s home, and arriving each morning for treats and pampering. Vin rode him without saddle or bridle, though he did occasionally shape a rope into a makeshift halter, an indignity the horse permitted with clearly demonstrated condescension.

With a final pat to Puma’s round head, Chris stood and moved to the fire and the battered coffee pot steaming beside it.

It had been an interesting couple of days. Initially, his aching head and occasional residual nausea had occupied most of his attention, but it didn’t take long for those symptoms to fade. If he’d been concussed, at least it had been mild. Two days later he felt fine.

He’d been anxious to reconnect with his team, but Royal’s bozos were pretty fired up, and they were all over the area. He’d contacted Buck very briefly via radio, so he knew they’d made it out in good shape, and they knew he was alive and being cared for, but he’d been reluctant to spend too much time with the radio for fear he’d give away Vin’s location to the searching thugs. He didn’t know whether Royal had the capacity to trace radio signals, but he wasn’t ready to find out the hard way, and certainly not by sacrificing Vin’s safe haven.

So he’d stayed, supposedly waiting for the excitement to fade enough for him to safely return to his own people.

But he had to admit to ulterior motives. Not only was he fascinated by the younger man, but the connection he’d felt during that first dawn encounter had grown stronger with each minute they spent together.

Vin was important to him. He didn’t understand it, but there it was.

He still knew almost nothing about him. At least, nothing material. He knew everything that mattered, however.

This was a good man. And a man Chris Larabee wanted to keep close.

He moved back out of the cave and toward Vin, chuckling softly as the big horse tossed his head and cantered away, kicking his heels like a colt.

Vin turned around and grinned at him.

“Y’ scared off m’ horse.”

“That beast wouldn’t be scared off by a grizzly.”

Vin reached out and snatched the refilled mug of coffee from Chris’s hand, lifting it to his lips and taking a healthy swig.

“Y’ prob’ly glared at him. He’s sensitive.”

Chris laughed outright.

“Sensitive! Like a bomb’s sensitive! How the hell do you get him to let you handle him?”

Still cradling the mug, Vin turned back to gaze at the spot the horse had disappeared into the trees.

“We got us an understanding.”

“Yeah. You cater to him, and he resists the urge to eat you for lunch.”

Vin just favored him with that lop-sided grin, and headed back for his small cave. Chris took a moment to stretch in the sunlight, then followed.

He accepted the new mug of coffee Vin thrust in his direction, then settled himself, seated against the fur-covered wall of the cave. Vin sank down beside the fire, hands busy with the rabbit meat he was preparing for their lunch. Chris hadn’t seen where the meat had come from, but he assumed Vin had checked some of his traps and cleaned the kill earlier in the morning.

For a moment, Chris just watched those efficient hands. He smiled as the savory odor of the cooking meat began to fill the cave.

“Smells good.”

Vin glanced up and nodded.

Chris relaxed against the softness of the cushioning furs. That was one of the things he liked about Tanner. The man knew how to be quiet. God knew he was really fond of his five partners, but none of them could be described as quiet. A couple of them were downright noisy. In the past two days, he and Vin had spent hours in comfortable mutual silence.

As the meat browned, Vin pulled a variety of leaf-wrapped blobs out of the coals, carefully peeling back the wrappings and tipping the cooked vegetables onto the two chipped plates he had ready. He managed to find an amazing variety of edible materials out in those woods. In the past couple of days, Chris had several times found himself eating—and enjoying—vegetables he couldn’t have named.

The meat joined the veggies, and Chris accepted the filled plate Vin offered.

Vin settled beside him, his own plate in his hands. Puma materialized and, with a soft mewl, hopped into Vin’s lap, happily accepting the small bits of rabbit he’d obviously prepared for her.

For a few minutes, they ate in a silence broken only by the crackling of the fire and the cat’s happy purr. Chris pulled a few small strips of meat off his own meal and leaned over to offer them to her, rubbing her head gently as she gobbled them down.

Vin stroked her little body, smiling as she arched up into his hand.

“She’s gettin’ spoilt.”

Chris settled back against the furs. “Mamas deserve spoiling.”

Vin glanced up and nodded, hand still running along the small animal’s back.

Chris watched the two of them for a moment then took a deep breath, reaching into his shirt pocket to pull out a battered and creased sheet of paper.

“Found this after we met that morning by the lake.”

Vin hesitated, then accepted the offered paper. He glanced at it, then handed it back, face blank.

Chris arched his brows. The younger man had hardly even looked at the old wanted poster. In fact, he’d held it sideways.

“You’re a mystery, Vin Tanner.”

A shrug was his only response.

“This tells me you were Indentured to Guy Royal up ‘til about three years ago.”

Vin’s hand clenched, and Puma meowed in offense and leaped off his lap.

“Now, I got no problem with you runnin’ when you had the chance. Wish you’d been able to make it the first couple of times.“ He set his plate down on the ground and leaned forward, trying to catch those blue eyes with his own. “What I don’t get is… all this.”

He swept his hand around, indicating the accoutrements of the cave.

“You’ve been on your own for three years. You were all of fifteen when you escaped from that bastard. Yet here you are, living like the spirit of Cochise moved in with you. How the hell did you manage this?”

At first, he thought he wasn’t going to get an answer. Vin lurched to his feet and busied himself with the remnants of their meal.

Chris watched silently, almost sorry he’d said anything. He regretted the loss of that comfortable silence they’d enjoyed.

Having finished his cleanup, Vin pulled some materials from a shelf, hesitated, then moved back to sit facing Chris. He kept his gaze down, concentrating on the long sticks and other objects in his hands.

Chris shook his head in bemusement, and watched as those long-fingered hands commenced to remove the steel tips from damaged arrows and reattach them to newly fletched shafts.

Maybe Vin was inhabited by the spirit of Cochise.

He chuckled silently at the outlandish notion. JD would love it. Even Josiah would probably seriously entertain the idea, at least for a moment. Buck would find it creepy.

But there was surely some more mundane explanation here.

Vin started on his third reclamation effort, attention still fixed on his busy fingers.

Chris sighed, resigned. He picked up his mug and took a sip, grimacing at the outrage of cold, over-strong coffee.

“M’ mama worked for him. Before.”

Chris’s head jerked up. Vin was still focused on his arrows.

“Before? Before things fell apart.”

“Guess. I’s only little, don’t really remember much about what happened. Mama kept house for him.”

The way he pronounced the word “him” made it an epithet.

“He was always a bastard, but after… he got…”

Vin’s voice caught, and his clenched hand snapped the old arrow shaft he held.

“I know. There’s nobody in this world I hate as much as I do Guy Royal.”

Vin lifted his head and met Chris’s eyes.

“He burned me out. He murdered my wife.”

Vin flinched.

“She was seven and a half months pregnant.”

“Hell.”

Blue eyes wide with shock, Vin sat frozen. Chris could have sworn he felt realization sweeping through that quick mind— the acceptance of fellowship, the understanding of common pain.

For a long moment they sat silent, recognition of mutual ground tempering and strengthening the connection they shared.

A muffled ‘meow’ broke the spell that held them. Vin glanced down, then moved his project out of his lap to give Puma room to climb back in, along with the kitten she carried in her mouth. He scratched her jaw, then carefully rubbed a finger on the baby’s tiny head. Puma settled in comfortably, purring and washing her infant.

Drawing a deep breath, Vin looked up and met Chris’s eyes again.

“He kilt my ma.”

“Damn.”

Vin nodded. “Don’t know how. Just know he wanted somethin’ she didn’t want to give him, and ‘no’ weren’t a word he was gonna hear. He took her away, and she never come back.”

He glanced down again, stroking Puma’s head gently.

“I ran as soon as I could figure out how to get out of that damned fence.”

It didn’t escape Chris’s attention that he’d made no mention of his life as Royal’s virtual slave.

“He dragged me back a coupla times. Last time I run I visited his office first. Bastard likes to take stuff from folks. He had m’ mama’s locket and somethin’ belongs to me, so I took ‘em. An’ I took a rifle an’ as many shells as I could find.”

Chris smiled slightly at the belligerent tone. “Yeah, the poster says something about theft.”

Vin’s jaw tightened. “Ain’t sorry. Bastard owed me. An’ if I’d run into him on my way out, I’d have used the gun. Woulda deserved it.”

“He would.”

Eyes narrowed, Vin tilted his head, then nodded sharply.

“Still doesn’t explain this place. Somebody’s been living here for a long time. A lot longer than three years.”

For the first time since he’d started his painful tale, Vin’s face relaxed into that quirky, crooked smile.

“Run into him when I was tryin’ not to starve. Scared the shit out of me, sneakin’ up. Looked like something in a storybook.”

Chris arched a brow, confused. “Someone ‘rescued’ you?”

“Yeah, guess you could say that. Old guy’d been livin’ here in this cave for a lotta years. Since way before.”

“Before the disaster?” Chris’s brow furrowed as he dredged up long-ignored memories. “Wait a second! Crazy old Indian wannabe—what was his name? Joe?”

“Called himself Joe White Horse.”

“Yes! He was a bit of a legend around here. The local hermit. You mean to tell me he really was an Indian?”

A shrug. “Don’t know ‘bout that, but he sure knew how to live out here. Taught me a lot.”

Chris glanced quickly around, half expecting a decrepit Indian hermit to materialize out of the depths of the shallow cave.

Vin shook his head slightly. “Don’t worry. He ain’t gonna jump out at you. Died about a year ago. He’s real old. Got sick and nothin’ we could do helped him. Reckon he just died of old age.”

There was a real sadness in Vin’s raspy voice. Chris guessed the loss of the old man had been a lot harder on the young man than that matter-of-fact recital might suggest. Hell, he’d been JD’s age. Left alone at seventeen.

“Looks like he did real good by you.”

Vin nodded, glancing around his home. “Real good. Taught me to survive. Taught me what I needed to know to hit back.”

“I take it he’s the one who taught you to shoot.”

He was rewarded with a full grin. “Yep. Turns out ’m pretty good.”

Chris laughed softly. “I noticed. Real talented, with both of those things.” He gestured toward the bow and rifle hanging on the wall of the cave.

“Gotta be careful with ammunition for the gun. Can make my own arrows. Bow’s real useful.”

Vin turned his attention back to the cat and kitten in his lap, scratching and stroking. Chris watched his new friend in silence, smiling slightly. It was an amazing story. Vin was an amazing young man.

“You tired of being alone?”

Vin glanced up in surprise.

“I ain’t alone. Got m’ horse, the cats and dogs, and m’ bird. That’s not alone.”

“Yeah it is.”

Confusion swept across Vin’s face, and he shook his head slightly.

“I been happy here. Don’t need nobody else.”

Chris was pretty sure he needed Vin, but doubted that argument would win his case.

“Could come back with me. Join us in our canyon.”

Vin’s mouth dropped open in astonishment.

“What’d I do living with you folks? This’s my place.”

“You could come back here when you needed to. Bring Puma and her kittens. Hell, you can even bring that monster, though the first time he eats one of our horses he’s gone! Come back. Live with us. With me.”

Vin just stared at him, head shaking slightly. Chris felt a glimmer of hope at the uncertainty in those blue eyes.

“Cain’t. I live here.”

The words were firm, but the voice wasn’t. Chris decided to let the idea simmer for a while, and nodded.

He heard the faint whisper as Vin bent down over the purring cat.

“Cain’t.”

<<<<<>>>>>

Reluctantly, Chris released his hold around Vin’s narrow waist and slid off the horse. The beast snorted, swinging his head around, ears flattened, just to let Chris know how big a favor he’d done carrying him back to the top of the cliff.

Chris risked staying in range of those wicked teeth to remain close and stare up into Vin’s eyes, glinting blue even in the faint moonlight.

“Come with me, Vin. The others would welcome you.”

A shake of the head was his only answer. Vin shifted, nervous in the open space at the top of the switchback trail. He pulled his gaze away from Chris’s and scanned the darkness of the surrounding forest.

“Then think it over. Any time you want—at least come get to know the boys.”

He could hear the commotion down the trail as his partners realized who was standing in the view of their surveillance camera and started up the cliff. Vin’s increasing agitation showed his own awareness of the approaching men.

The horse shifted and moved away from the trail.

“Vin…”

“I’ll ponder on it.”

The soft, raspy words drifted back, and he was gone. Chris stood and stared into the darkness where the big horse had vanished, vaguely aware of the increasing noise as his friends charged up the steep switchbacks.

<<<<<>>>>>

“Damn, that’s a hell of a story.”

Buck shook his head in astonishment, digesting the bits of information Chris had given up about their ghost. He leaned back against the log that supported his back, slurping noisily on his coffee.

“Mister Wilmington!”

Buck chuckled. Got ol’ Ezra every time.

It was the early hours of the morning. Very early. Chris had been back for three days, and they’d gradually forced the story of his adventure with Vin Tanner out of his reluctant mouth. Man could give elocution lessons to a rock.

Buck glanced across the fire at Ezra, chuckling again. Elocution. That was an Ezra word if there ever was one.

The six of them were enjoying one of their campfires, sharing logs and ground space. All but Chris and Ezra, who’d pulled a couple of chairs out of the big cave.

Buck contemplated Chris, bemused. The man was different since spending those few days with the mysterious Vin Tanner. He sat, slouched back in his chair, sipping at his coffee. It had been a long time since Buck could remember seeing that loose-limbed relaxation. And he’d smiled more in the last half hour than he had in the last eight years.

“But that’s just amazing! You mean, he’s been living like one of those old-time Indians? Wearing skins, and shooting food with arrows, and living in a teepee and…”

“No teepee, JD. He lives in a cave, just like us.”

“But…”

“He sounds like an amazing man,” Nathan interrupted.

“A boy, really,” Josiah mused. “He’s only eighteen.”

“He’s no boy, Josiah. He’s taken care of himself for the last year. Not to mention saving our sorry butts more than once.”

Ezra shuddered. “I can’t imagine… Living wild like a savage.”

Chris chuckled, then lifted his head as one of the horses down the canyon whinnied, then squealed.

“Those ponies are restless tonight,” Josiah remarked, frowning. “Maybe we should check it out.”

Chris shrugged, then stood, coffee cup in hand, and moved back toward the curtained doorway to their common cave.

“Hey! You ain’t done in already, are you, old man?” Buck called after him.

Chris just waved his free hand vaguely behind him as he pushed through the curtain.

“You think we could go see him, Buck?” JD asked, leaning eagerly forward. “I mean—a real Indian!”

“Not an Indian, JD. There haven’t been Indians like that for generations.” Josiah sipped his coffee, eyes distant. “They were a fascinating group of cultures.”

Chris was back. Strangely enough, he was carrying a chair in one hand and two mugs in the other.

Buck listened absently to Josiah discussing various Native American tribes as he watched Chris shove his previously occupied chair to the side and wedge the new one in beside it.

“Something wrong with your chair, pard?”

Chris glanced at him, a slight smile on his face as he returned to his seat.

“Nope.”

He leaned forward, grabbed the coffee pot, and filled both mugs.

Buck squeezed his eyes closed, then gave his head a sharp shake. When he opened his eyes, Chris still sat there, two full mugs of coffee in his hands and an empty chair beside him.

Off in the distance, another horse snorted and squealed.

“What the hell troubles those beasts?” Ezra exclaimed. “Perhaps a check of our perimeter surveillance is in order.”

Buck glanced toward Chris and arched his brows at the widening smile on his old friend’s lips.

Chris’s eyes were directed across the fire pit toward the deep darkness.

Slowly, he rose and walked around the blaze.

“It’s all right. C’mon in.”

The others stood and stared into the darkness, gradually becoming aware of a presence just beyond the reach of the fire’s glow.

They collectively gasped as the man in the darkness took a small step forward, and the firelight at last illuminated the details of his appearance—buckskins, big knife at his waist, bow and rifle slung across his shoulders, and sharp-jawed face framed by long, wild curls with two braided-in feathers at the sides.

“Wow! Look at…”

Buck signaled sharply with his hand, stopping JD in mid-exclamation.

He saw all the exotic details that so excited their young partner. But he also saw the near-panic in those wide blue eyes.

Carefully, he gestured toward the extra chair Chris had dragged out to the fire.

“Sit yourself down, pard,” he spoke softly. “We been saving a place for ya.”

The boy’s wide eyes fixed on Buck’s face for a moment, then he shifted his gaze to Chris and took another cautious step forward.

Chris held out the mug he carried in his right hand.

Tanner stared at him, then slowly reached out with his left hand to accept the mug.

Chris stepped back, and Tanner followed, eyes darting around at the five strangers. Then he turned back to Chris and smiled tentatively.

Chris offered his right hand. Tanner’s arm lifted and they joined in a powerful forearm clasp.

A brilliant smile swept over Chris’s face.

“Welcome, brother.”

~~Ende~~