PHOENIX
Michael Biehn Archive


Choose skin:

RSS

The characters belong to various production/film/TV companies. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
- Text Size +
Story Notes:
The start of a new AU. Crossover with 'Dead Like Me'.
Title: Cold, Clammy Touch.
Author: Lopaka Tanu
Disclaimer: I do not own The Magnificent Seven or Dead Like Me.
Characters: Ezra, Chris.
Words: 368
AU: Dead Like Vin.
Prompt: Huntersglenn suggested a 'Ghost Town' like fic.
Fandom: The Magnificent Seven/Dead Like Me
Pairing: N/A
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Graphic Descriptions Of Illness.
Summary: The Devil has come to collect his due.
Author's Note: Small Pox was not a lovely disease.
______________________________________


The room was dark. Coughs and moans of distress filled the stagnant air. This was occasionally broken by the buzz of happy flies. Death was on the prowl.

Cloth over his mouth, Ezra carefully navigated his way through splayed limbs. His leather soles made little sound as he stepped over them. More than one had ceased all function. They were not his concern, though. His eyes were instantly drawn to the thready pulse of a swallowing throat.

Greasy blond hair stuck against his forehead. His eyes had long since swollen shut. Skin sallow and marked by blisters, the man's distress was obvious in his jerky movements. Even though he could barely move, he tried desperately.

What struck Ezra the most were the man's wounds. They throbbed of their own accord from the movement of tiny creatures within. That was all Ezra allowed himself to consider before glancing away. He could not think of that for he had a charge to carry out.

Reaching in to his red coat, he stuck his fingers in the inner pocket. Ezra pulled out the rolled up parchment and quickly unrolled it. The image on the paper was vastly different from that of the man before him, yet there was no doubt in his mind.

He cast a quick glance around. The room was filled with shelves lined with the dead and dying. No one was going to be watching him. Feeling secure, he bent forward and ran a hand along the man's leg. "Time to go, Mr. Larabee."

The man's head jerked to the side at the mention of his name. His blind eyes tried desperately to open, but they lacked even the strength to move. A moment later his chest rose and his body jerked. He emitted a choking sound then began to weakly thrash.

During this Ezra backed away a step. He watched for the next two minutes as the man suffered through his death throes. Then, suddenly, he was no longer alone standing in the central aisle of the prison.

On the bed marked Prisoner Seventy-Eight lay the corpse of one former peacekeeper and gunman. Innocent of the crimes he was sentenced for, guilty of many others.


Chris Larabee
March 23, 1843 - June 17, 1878.
You must login () to review.