The night air was sweet -- cool and invigorating as it swelled his lungs. JD walked slowly down the boardwalk, soaking in the stillness. His feet thumped in a steady rhythm against the wood and his fingers curled warm in his pockets. Noises and music floated on air, bleeding out of the saloon as he passed by on his rounds. Buck's infectious laughter rang out, fracturing the quiet before it gathered itself together again like a woman rearranging her skirts. JD grinned, imagining his friend's arms around one of the girls, his smile warm and gentle.

His steps slowed as he neared the end of the walk. The blackness darkened here, unaffected by the street fire flames that flickered in echo against the buildings. The yawning maw of an alley opened to his left. He stopped and gazed into the impenetrable passageway. A brisk breath of air blew into his face, fingering through his hair. A chill shivered across his skin.

Pulling his hands from his pockets, he turned toward the alleyway. His heart squeezed inside his chest. His eyebrows drew low over wide-open eyes as he searched for the source of his dread. His reaching fingers sought his gun and he pulled the weapon from the holster; the softly familiar sound of leather releasing metal braced his spine.

"Who's there?"

The question sounded ridiculous whispered in the darkness. JD gave a mental shrug, hoping to escape the uneasiness clamped around his heart. An explosion of light catapulted him into total darkness. The dichotomy didn't register as his knees buckled and he toppled face first to the ground, his gun lost somewhere in the shadows.

A heavy weight bore down on his back. His chest compressed. He gasped awake, choking and coughing when he sucked dirt in through his mouth. Thick, sausage-like fingers pressed against his lips, nearly closing off his nose. Rough calluses irritated the sensitive skin above his mouth.

Fear injected strength into his limbs. He managed to pull one arm out from under the combined weight of their two bodies and clawed frantically at the fingers cutting off his air. His feet began kicking almost before he realized he'd ordered it. Warm breath huffed moist into his ear. Lips mouthed near his face. JD's eyes rolled. He strained to see his attacker, but couldn't move in the firm grip that held his head.

"Tell Larabee. That's one for me, none for him."

Before he could decipher the cryptic message, fingers groped near his hip. Adrenaline increased the already frantic beat of his heart. With a powerful surge he bucked, lifting himself and his tormentor off the ground. JD felt the man fumbling for his remaining gun, pulling it from the holster. His determination swelled, pushing out fear and terror, making room for courage. He managed to free his other arm and grappled for the weapon blindly, his grunts muffled against the man's palm.

For an instant they both gripped the gun. Two fingers wrestled for the trigger. JD lunged forward on his knees and landed heavily on his chest. The weapon tumbled just out of reach. He extended his arm, spread fingers falling short of his goal.

Something hit the back of his hand, pushing it to the ground and pinning it there. The weight lifted from his back. Air rushed into his lungs. His lips tasted salty, seasoned with his attacker's sweat. He stared at his hand, unable to move. A knife handle was impaled between his knuckles; the blade planted firmly through his flesh into the ground. Black blood oozed over his skin. Shock traveled up his arm and exploded in a nova of pain in his brain. He shut his eyes and screamed. A boot tip whip-snapped his head back on his neck, and he fell into silence.

Buck pulled Clara closer and nuzzled behind her ear. He felt goosebumps pimple her skin beneath his palm, and smiled.

"How 'bout we find us a nice, cozy place all to ourselves, darlin'?" His whispered invitation elicited another round of shivers and a giggle from his companion. She turned and gazed at him through half-lidded eyes.

"My room's at the back of the hardware store. Barely a two minute walk from here."

"Well, then, what are we waitin' for?" His arm curled gently around her waist, they rose together and threaded their way through the crowd to the door.

The cool night air was shocking after the pleasant warmth of the saloon. Buck shifted his arm to Clara's bare shoulders, then helped her adjust a lacy shawl higher around her back. Bending down to meet her lips, he kissed her, smiling against her mouth when she moaned in his arms.

A deep scream clapped like thunder through the night. Clara gasped and pressed closer to Buck. His arm tightened around her as he searched the darkness for danger. When nothing happened, he grasped her shoulders. "Go back to the saloon. Get Mr. Larabee and tell him I need him, okay?" When she didn't look at him or acknowledge his order, he shook her gently. "Clara."

She turned to him. His heart skipped in his chest with the fear on her face.

"It's all right, darlin'. Go get Larabee." She nodded, a quick bob of her head, and pulled from his grasp to run back toward the saloon. When he saw that she'd entered the building safely, Buck pulled his gun and turned back to the darkness. He drew closer to the alley.

A figure lay curled in the slant of moonlight cutting through the passageway. "JD?" The familiar form shot terror through Buck in a shocking wave. He hurried forward. Something thumped into the back of his shoulder, knocking the breath from his lungs. Pain electrified his bones. His knees folded and he dropped heavily to the ground. His clawing fingers reached and brushed against the knife handle protruding from his back. He jerked in reaction and doubled over in agony.

Someone moved near him. He swayed, pain dragging him down too fast. He braced himself against the ground, his quivering muscles barely keeping him from falling on his face.

"Tell Larabee. That's two for me."

Knuckles cut across his face. Buck's head whipped to the side. He fell limply to the ground and lay still, powerless to keep his head above the drowning blackness pulling him under.

Vin held the harmonica cradled in his hands. Moonlight fingered through the darkness shrouding the inside of his wagon, and glinted dully off the metal in his palms. Memories undulated through his mind like musical notes.

Cloth whispered and he turned. A hard fist smashed into his face, forcing him back against his things. He sprawled awkwardly, one hand reaching for his knife at his side. Fingers clamped tight around his wrist and pulled, nearly yanking his arm out of socket.

He stiffened with pain, head thrown back and eyes clenched shut. Starbursts of color exploded in the darkness beneath his eyelids. An impossibly heavy weight pinned him down; a bony knee thrust into his abdomen and his arm was stretched over his head, forced back and held down. He squirmed under the pressure, feeling as if his gut was being compressed nearly to his spine. Air gushed out of his lungs. He grunted -- raw pain vomiting from his mouth.

"Tell Larabee, you make three."

The voice spoke near through the darkness, fetid breath puffing against his cheek. He arched up, anger lending determination to his lean frame. A spear of agony pierced his side. The knee lifted from his belly and Vin doubled over, hands clutching the knife buried near his hip. A fist grabbed his shirt and jerked him up. He flopped gracelessly in his attacker's grip, unable to defend himself. Knuckles rammed with destructive force against his face. He fell back, unconscious and unaware of his tormentor's exit.

Ezra watched the young lady Buck had just left with, reenter the saloon. A worried frown folded the skin between her delicately arched eyebrows. She hurried to Chris and whispered in his ear. The gunslinger's expression didn't change, but he threw back the rest of his drink, stood up, and left the saloon, the girl following close behind.

Taking that as his cue, Ezra showed his companions his best grin. "Begging your pardons but I must leave you gentlemen for the night." A combination of groans and ragged cheers met his announcement. Scooping up his money and folding it neatly, he waited until after leaving the table before tucking away his earnings. No need in advertising where he kept his lucre.

Tipping his hat on his way out, Ezra stepped between the batwing doors into the night. He saw the black tail of Chris' coat and the pale flash of the girl's bare shoulders as the two hurried away to the right. He turned to follow. A strained groan of pain drew his attention behind him. He held still, his head tilted as he listened. Curiosity pulled at him. With a brief glance to see if Chris was returning, Ezra turned and started down the opposite direction.

Moonlight and shadow striped the boardwalk at his feet like a barber's pole. Caution spoke to him and he fingered the hidden rigging on his arm, the derringer's slight weight assuring him he could defend himself against thieves hiding in the night. He drew near the end of the street where Vin's wagon nestled in the darkness. A pale hand hung limply over the wooden bed's edge between the open canvas covering. Ezra frowned, sluggishly trying to connect his thoughts. "Mr. Tanner?"

Thick arms wrapped around him from behind, pinning his own arms uselessly to his sides. Before he could gather himself, he was swung around and slammed into a brick wall. His head bounced back with the impact, his forehead bursting open in a violent spew of red. Pain edged his vision in black. His muscles melted loose in his body, unraveling from his bones. He slumped to his back on the ground when his attacker's arms opened.

A hand held his chin, lifting his face clear of his chest. "And you are four."

"Wha--?" The knife bore down out of the darkness that hid the man's face, the blade cleaving the air before stabbing through Ezra's shoulder. His frame stiffened in shock. Air evaporated from his lungs and he sucked hungrily inward. A hard-knuckled hand slammed against his cheek, driving his face into the ground and his soul into darkness.

Chris froze for an instant, his breath caught in his lungs. Buck lay half-slumped against the wall, his head lolled slightly sideways as if he'd sat down for a nap and had fallen asleep. JD lay just beyond him, curled in on himself, his arms tucked close to his body.

A small gasp brought his head up sharply. Clara stood behind him, both hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide and scared above shaking fingers.

"Get Nathan Jackson."

Her eyes moved, rolling in brimming tears. She nodded once, then turned and fled. Chris moved quickly. He pulled his gun and held it close to his side, quietly thumbing the hammer back. Kneeling next to Buck, he pressed his knuckles against his friend's cheek. Warm breath tickled the hairs on the back of his hand. Relief showed in the rippling muscles of his jaw as he clenched his teeth. Keeping low, he shifted to JD and checked him. Irregular huffs of breath blew moist against his hand. Thank God.

Pattering footsteps strummed danger across his nerves. He raised his gun, aiming for the sound, when Nathan hurried into the alley. Chris lowered his weapon.

"What happened?" Nathan dropped to his knees beside Buck. He pushed the injured man's shoulders back, bringing his face into view. Carefully pulling Buck's hat from his head, he placed it on the ground.

"I don't know. Just found 'em like this." Chris rolled JD gently to his back, supporting the kid's head as it lolled weakly to the side. JD's hands were pressed to his belly. Blood oozed between his fingers and blackened his shirtfront. "How's Buck look?" Glimpsing JD's gun, Chris picked up the weapon and returned it to JD's holster.

Nathan tilted Buck forward, supporting his weight in his arms. "He's got some kind a wound on his back. Can't tell what from."

"JD's been gut shot." Chris' terse announcement brought Nathan's head around. He watched sorrow fold the healer's brow. His mouth opened, but before he could speak Josiah burst in on them out of the darkness. The man's nostrils flared and his chest heaved with his breathing.

"Chris --"

He craned his head to see Josiah's face, terror swirling with the grief in his chest. "What is it?"

"Vin. And Ezra."

"They been hurt too?" Nathan's voice sounded strained.

"Yeah. I found Ezra near Vin's wagon. They both been hurt, stabbed maybe, since I didn't hear no gunshots."

No gunshots. Chris glanced down at JD again, searching for answers. "Dammit, what the hell's goin' on here?" No one answered and he turned to the practical problem of getting their friends to safety, ignoring the fear screaming for attention in his head. "We'll take these two. Josiah, you grab who you can and get them to Nathan's."

Josiah turned and left. Lifting JD's arms to check his wound, Chris discovered the gapping injury on the back of JD's hand. "Shit." The angry word pushed air through his teeth in a hiss. Quickly opening the kid's shirt, he realized he'd mistaken JD's injury on his hand for a gut wound because of all the blood. Relief flushed warm through his chest. "JD's not hurt as bad as I thought." He looked up in time to see Nathan nod. "I'll get him up to your room, then come back and help you with Buck."

"I can walk." The words slurred, tumbling from Buck's lips. He lifted his head, the movement slow as if the weight of his skull was nearly too heavy to handle. "You get JD -- Nathan can help me. We'll make it -- just fine."

"Nathan?" Waiting for Nathan's nod of agreement, Chris turned back to JD. Pulling the kid's arms over his shoulder, he ducked and rose quickly, but stumbled under JD's weight. He heard a weak laugh from behind him.

"He ain't as light as he looks, is he?"

Shaking his head in irritation, Chris ignored the comment. He walked slowly, careful not to bump his burden against the alley walls. He heard a slight protest at his back, then Buck's voice raised in pain. He couldn't turn around to watch their progress, but heard shuffling steps follow, and knew Nathan had managed to help Buck to his feet and move him forward.

He made it to the clinic and opened the door just as Josiah met them, Ezra slung over his shoulder. Josiah hurried to the bed and placed Ezra down gently, then swung his long legs in a hurried stride back across the room and out the door. Figuring he'd left to get Vin, Chris stumbled to the other bed and carefully lowered JD to the mattress. As the young man shifted back against the quilt, he moaned, his brows pulling together over his eyes. Chris touched his face, holding his chin in his palm. "Easy, kid."

"Hold still, Buck."

Chris looked around in time to see Nathan press a bunched cloth against Buck's back. Buck winced with the touch, then brought his hand up to palm his jaw. His fingers looked black against his pale face. Chris squinted, recognizing the dark stain coating his knuckles. Buck gasped, then spoke. "He said I was number two."

"Chris, come help me with this." Nathan disrupted Chris' thoughts before he could ask Buck what he meant. He joined Buck and Nathan. The healer indicated for Chris to take his place. "Hold it right here, press down to stop the bleedin'."

Chris felt Buck flinch with the added pressure. He grasped his friend's arm, offering support when Buck's body sagged against him. "Steady, Buck."

Nathan checked the bleeding and mumbled to himself, then left to see about Ezra. The gambler sat slumped on the bed, his head hung low to his chest. Chris watched as Nathan deftly reached for a folded towel that sat on a low table, then slid it beneath Ezra's bloodstained jacket. He grasped the gambler's chin, turning his face gently to get a better look at the bleeding gash on his forehead, then guided his head carefully to the side.

Chris frowned when Nathan pressed his fingers into Ezra's throat to check his pulse. "How's he look?"

"'Bout like the other two. He's got a knife wound and someone's knocked him out." Nathan glanced over his shoulder. "Same as Buck." Withdrawing his touch, he straightened and shifted over to the other bed to check on JD. A soft curse brought Chris' head up sharply.

"What is it?"

"He's been stabbed through his hand. If he cut something vital, JD might not be able to use this hand no more." Nathan held the injured hand carefully, his long fingers graceful as they probed gently around JD's knuckles. He looked around at Chris, his shoulders held in tight. "I need to put stitches in this and wrap it up." His eyes rolled white in the dark room as he looked at the other two men. "They need to be seen to but as long as the bleedin's stopped, they can wait. Can you watch after 'em for me?"

Chris nodded. Nathan stood and moved to light a lamp, then returned to JD.

Chris carefully guided Buck back, grabbing a quilt to prop between his back and the wall, making sure the bandage stayed tight over the wound. Buck's chest swelled then deflated as the air left him in a whoosh. He closed his eyes, his face grimly pale in the low-lit room.

"Sorry, Buck."

"I was number two. JD ... was one."

"What do you mean, number two?"

One hand lifted lazily, the wrist bent at a sharp angle. "Nevermind. I'll be all right. See after Ezra." The words slurred from his mouth, his lips barely parting to let sound through. Chris held his hand against the side of his friend's throat, keeping it there to let his palm warm Buck's skin, then let go to move to Ezra.

The wound on Ezra's head had stopped bleeding. A low whimper curled across Chris' skin. From where he sat beside Ezra, he watched Nathan carefully begin working on JD's hand. The kid moved on the bed but didn't wake up.

"Easy, JD." Nathan's low rumble soothed the air. His movements were steady and sure. He held JD's injured hand gently, his other hand rose and fell in the air with his sewing, a hypnotic rhythm that drew Chris' attention. The procedure was finished quickly, and then Nathan wrapped bandages loosely around his patient's hand. "You have any idea who did this?"

Chris' gaze found Nathan's across the room. "No."

Nathan's eyes dropped back to his work. "Must be someone with one hell of a grudge." He lowered JD's hand carefully to the kid's belly, then hurried to Ezra. The gambler's face turned to him when Nathan touched him.

"What the hell happened?" The sparse tone and bald pain that laced the words were so unlike Ezra's usual vocabulary that Nathan bent closer and looked into his eyes.

"You was attacked, Ezra."

Ezra shifted against the bed, then gasped and grabbed his injured shoulder. "Thank you for stating the obvious, Mr. Jackson." His hand lifted to touch his head. "I am to inform you, Mr. Larabee, that I am number four."

Chris looked at Buck. "You said you were two, and JD was one." Turning back to Ezra, he continued, "If you're four, then three would be --" The door opened. His gun was in his hand before the thought found his brain. He pulled up when Josiah stepped inside, one arm supporting Vin, the other pressed to the doorframe.

"Little help here?"

Chris shoved his gun back into the holster and lunged across the room. Vin melted as if someone had cut his strings. Chris caught him before he hit the floor. He grunted when the tracker's full weight filled his arms. Josiah toed the door shut, then helped Chris carry Vin to a clear corner of the room and place him gently on the floor. Nathan joined them, another bandage in his hand. He peeled Vin's blood saturated shirt away from his body, then pressed the clean cloth against the wound near his hip. Blood soaked through immediately. Vin moaned and twisted on the floor, rolling slightly away from Nathan's touch.

"Hold him still." Chris and Josiah added their strength and braced Vin's shoulders and knees to the floor. Nathan left them for a minute while he gathered water and more bandages, and his needle and thread. He dropped to his knees beside Vin and began cleaning out the wound. Fresh blood seeped slowly from the gapping cut in his side as Nathan washed away the old. As soon as he had it clean he stitched the injury closed. Bandages followed. Chris supported Vin off the floor as Nathan slipped wrapping around Vin's torso to keep the cloth in place.

Vin lay quiet, his breathing regular and deep. Chris stood and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Josiah, come with me."

Josiah's head lifted. His hat brim hid his eyes but Chris must have read the question in his face.

"We're gonna find who did this." He thumbed the leather loop off his guns' hammers then held his arms near his weapons. His fingers twitched, his eagerness for revenge obvious to his friends. "Nathan." His quick nod wasn't a request for permission, but instead an announcement of his intention to leave. He turned for the door, and Josiah followed him out.

Nathan knelt with his back to the door. Buck lay quietly resting against the wall, his wounds tended to.

Nathan had wrapped bandages around Ezra's head, and turned his attention to the shoulder wound. The injury didn't look too deep. He held the gambler's arm still while he wrapped cloth around his shoulder, protecting the stitches he'd just put into the pale flesh. The door opened and boot heels thumped against the floor. The healer turned. He twisted his hips to look around, but kept his hold steady so he wouldn't jar Ezra.

A black ball of force slammed into his chest. He fell backwards, his arms sprawled to catch himself, and heard Ezra's sharp cry of pain. He reached for the thing holding him down and found a knife in his chest.

"You're number five," the stranger said, his voice low and dangerous in the room.

Through veiled vision he saw Buck's tall frame rise behind the man. Nathan choked, trying to call out and warn his friend to be careful. Buck slung his arms around the stranger's shoulders, locking his fists together under the man's chin. The attacker flung himself backward into Buck, arms opening wide, a roar widening his mouth. Long legs tangled and both men went down.

"Buck!" Nathan braced himself against the floor, clenching his teeth when a bolt of agony shot up his arm and through his chest. His heels slipped on the wooden floor, coordination running from him in red rivulets down the front of his shirt. The door opened abruptly, darkness spilling in on them from the night. Josiah's broad silhouette filled the doorway. The attacker shoved away from Buck and lunged across the room. He wrapped a sweaty fist around the knife handle protruding from Nathan's chest and pulled. Nathan shrieked and arched into the pain. Blackness shrouded over him and he slumped across Ezra's legs, unconscious.

Chris stopped at the door, blocked by Josiah from going into the room. He felt the big man pause, muscles freezing hard under the hand he held to Josiah's shoulder. "Josiah?"

A shout blasted through the air, hot and pulsing with pain. Josiah surged forward then staggered back into Chris as if he'd rebounded of a brick wall. He collapsed. Chris struggled to guide him to the floor without dropping him. With his arms still caught around Josiah, he craned his head back and swept a frantic search across the area. Dusk clothed bodies landscaped the room. Dull moonlight haunted the air, offering blurry vision at best.

"That makes six for me, Larabee. And none for you. I win."

The voice pulled Chris' gaze to his right. A big man stood in the middle of the room, his legs straddling Nathan's. The healer lay with his head thrown back, his chest stretched out in a wide arch, his arms extended across the floor. Fear quickened Chris' heart. The need to pull his gun sent tremors down his arms, but he didn't move, afraid of startling the stranger into attacking.

"Who the hell are you?"

A gunshot exploded, yellow light bursting from a dark corner of the room. The man jerked, his arms flung out then convulsed back to his body. He doubled over and fell to the floor like a giant oak toppling in the forest.

JD's voice mumbled from the darkness, "That's one for Mr. Larabee."

Releasing Josiah carefully, Chris straightened and rushed to Nathan. As he made sure his friend was alive, he asked, "JD? You okay?" He glanced up to see JD's wobbly nod, then looked back over his shoulder at Josiah. The preacher lay folded in on himself, one leg stretched out straight, a knife buried to the hilt in his thigh.

Assured that Nathan was still breathing, Chris rose. He moved quickly around the room and lit several lamps. He knelt beside the stranger, studying his face. Confusion and frustration tightened his gut when he didn't recognize him. Who the hell are you?

A low groan drew his attention back to his friends. Nathan moved on the floor. Ezra sat up; one arm folded against his chest in deference to his injury, and touched quivering fingers to Nathan's face. Sweat beaded his upper lip and his eyes were heavy lidded with pain. "Hold still, Mr. Jackson." His voice was steady and soft, despite his appearance.

"Here." Chris stretched for a bandage that lay puddled on the small bedside table, then handed it to Ezra. "Hold this against his chest."

After taking the cloth and pressing it against Nathan, Ezra looked at Chris. "Any idea who he was?"

Chris unfolded from the floor. He stepped carefully over Nathan and Ezra and bent over Josiah. "No, dammit." The curse fell out of his mouth as he concentrated on the older man's wound. He found the knife had entered at an angle instead of straight down. Pulling his bandana from around his neck, he pressed the cloth around the wound and pulled the weapon out. Josiah grunted, his body twitched against the floor and then relaxed again. Chris tied the bandana tightly around Josiah's leg, then pushed himself up.

He shifted around to the corpse. Hooking his hands under the man's shoulders, he tugged him past Josiah. Freeing one hand briefly to twist the knob, he held the door open with his hip, then pulled the body out to the porch. The hard sound of a bony skull knocking on wood when he dropped the man's shoulders gave him a quick spike of satisfaction. His instinct was to kick the man and plug a couple of bullets into him, but the senseless waste of ammunition changed his mind. Refusing even to glance his way, Chris walked over him back into the clinic.

Glowing light revealed a roomful of injuries. Chris stood for a moment in the doorway, his eyes panning across the room. Each of them had been hurt, but they were still alive. He doubted he'd rest until he could put a name to the stranger; figure out why he'd hurt each of his friends, why he'd kept count like he was playing a game. The thought would dance at the back of his mind, tickling inside his head like an unreachable itch.

Accepting that for now, he moved forward and reached for more bandages. It was time to get busy with the living. He could bury the dead later.

Epilogue Challenge: Write an epilogue for your favorite guy, detailing the comfort he'd be given following his injury. The only condition I ask is that you don't downplay the other injuries in favor of his. For example: while the others were healing nicely, his own wound festered with infection. <g>

Sequel Challenge: Anyone up for it?