Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I don't own the Dukes of Hazzard or CSI, not making any money just cheap thrills
Warnings: Angst, Violence, Supernatural, Character Death, Language
Rating: FRT
Summary: What connection is there between a Las Vegas CSI and The Dukes of Hazzard? An answer to the dream challenge issued on Wonderful World of Makebelieve. The challenge was to write a story in any fandom, based on a dream or daydream. This one is based on a dream I had a few months ago.
A/N: For those who are unfamiliar with it; CSI is a show about the forensic specialist of the Crime Scenes Investigations of Las Vegas Nevada. The characters are Gil Grissom nightshift supervisor; Catherine Willows swing shift supervisor(though she used to be on the nightshift); Sara Sidle CSI Level 3; Greg Sanders CSI Level 1; Warrick Brown CSI Level 3; Nick Stokes CSI Level 3. Level 3 CSI is a higher ranking than level 1. At the end of the 5th season Nick Stokes was kidnapped by a man who wanted revenge against the Las Vegas Crime Lab and Dr. Gil Grissom. He believed his daughter had been wrongfully imprisoned because of the evidence they collected. He buried Nick alive and sent a live webfeed to the other CSI's so that they could watch their friend as he struggled to survive. They were able to find Nick in time, but just barely and he was in fact on the verge of killing himself with a gun provided by the kidnapper when he was found. For the purposes of this story the Dukes of Hazzard would be taking place in the present time. For any of you who haven't yet seen it, Joe Duke was introduced in Go West Young Dukes, a seventh season episode. Joe is the great-great-great grandfather of Bo Duke.
Italics and/or * indicates thoughts
------------- indicates a change in point of view
Out Of The Past
Chapter 1
I laid in my plexiglass coffin, staring at the dirt that surrounded me, knowing I would never survive this. I couldn't believe that I was going to die like this, buried alive and slowly suffocating. Of course I could use the gun he left me, at least that would be quick, but a Stokes never gives up. The light at the end of the coffin had been coming on periodically, blinding me and heating up the small space, making it harder to breathe. I don't know how long I had been in the coffin when I lost control and shot out the irritating light. If I'd known it was connected to the fan that sometimes blew air into my prison I wouldn't have done it, I can't believe that with all my training I didn't make the connection. I'm sure Grissom would tell me it was a sympton of oxygen deprivation; he'd be right too, but I still feel like an idiot. He'd probably tell me that what I experienced was a hallucination too, but I'm not convinced of that.
I remember laying there, thinking I was going to die, seeing the cracks in the plexiglass, feeling the bites of hundreds of ants and suddenly I wasn't there anymore. I was on a horse, riding through the desert, a hat on top of my head and a rifle in the scabbard next to the saddle. Somehow, I knew everything this man was thinking, was experiencing what he was, but I wasn't in control, he was.
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* I can't wait for this trip to be over with, ah Molly it'll be so good to see you again and to hold our little Ethan in my arms. I should be in Pagosa Springs in another five days and then I can finish up and go back home.* The sound of horses coming from behind startled Joe from his thoughts, turning slightly in the saddle he saw two horses on the horizon. Suddenly shots rang out and Joe kicked his horse into a gallop, desperately trying to reach the cover of a rock outcropping in the distance. Just short of the rocks, he felt a sharp pain, as one of the bullets found it's mark, striking him in the left shoulder and knocking him from his horse.
One of the pursuing horses pulled up beside him and two men climbed down from it's back, their clothes marking them as escaped convicts. "Well looky here at the mess you got yourself into," the larger of the two men smirked, kicking Joe in the side as he spoke. "Now see if you'd just stopped you wouldn't be laying here shot in the back."
"Who are you? What do you want?" Joe asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew.
"Want? Why we don't want much mister, just some help getting out of our own mess," the first man spoke again. "We only wanted you to help us, was that too much to ask?" He asked, squatting down beside Joe and rifling through his pockets.
"How?" Joe asked, moaning in pain as the convict roughly turned him to get better access to his pockets.
"Oh we don't want much, just any money you might have...and your horse," the other, smaller man answered.
"My horse? No you can't leave me out here without a horse," Joe protested.
"Ah good ya got him," the first man said as a third man rode up, leading Joe's horse behind him.
"Of course I did," the third man snarled. "Let's see what we got in the saddle bags," he continued, climbing off his horse and moving to Joe's. Opening the saddle bags, he drew out a spare set of clothes, tossing these to the first man, he kept looking. "Damn it, he ain't got nothing in here but some papers and trinkets. Did you find anything on him?"
"Not much, just a few dollars in his pocket, a train ticket and a letter," came the angry reply. Turning around he stalked to Joe's side, squatting beside him he grabbed Joe by his shirtfront and pulled him upward. "Where is it?"
"What? I ain't got nothing else," Joe replied.
"Bull! You got to have more, where's the gold or silver you're carrying?"
"I'm not carrying anything like that, just what you found," Joe insisted.
"No, damn it everybody out here is involved with mining. Why else would you be out here in the desert?"
"I'm on my way to Pagosa Springs, a friend asked me to deliver some personal items to his wife. He didn't want it sent through the mail," Joe explained.
"A friend? Well why ain't he just taking care of it himself?"
"He died, it was his last request."
"Well ain't you a good friend," the third man sneered, angry that there was so little here for them to take.
"He saved my life, I owed him that much," Joe snapped. He regretted his momentary anger almost immediately as all it got him was a kick to the ribs.
"Yeah, well now he's gonna cost ya your life mister," the first man told him, raising his gun and pointing it at the fallen man.
"Please don't, I got a wife and son waiting at home," Joe begged. He hated the sound of his own voice in that moment, but he would do whatever it took to make it home to his family.
"Aw isn't that sweet, you know ya beg real pretty mister. I'll tell ya what, we'll give you a chance..." the first man paused, interrupted by the third man.
"Damn it Lee, what do ya mean give him a chance? You think he'd give us a chance?"
"Shut up Cliff! We're taking his horse remember, how much chance do you think he'll have?"
"Lee's right Cliff," the second man put in.
"Who the hell asked you Bobby?" Cliff snarled, angry that the other men were ganging up on him.
"Alright Cliff, let's just stop arguing and get out of here," Lee interrupted the fight before it got out of hand.
"Bye mister, thanks for the horse," Lee smirked, looking down at Joe from the back of his horse.
"Wait, you can't just leave me out here without a horse or water," Joe protested, pulling himself to his knees and looking up at his assailants.
"Ya know you got a point there, wouldn't be civilized would it? Tell ya what mister, I'll leave you a canteen," Lee said. Grabbing a canteen from the saddle horn of his horse, he threw the nearly empty container to the ground a few feet away from Joe.
"Thanks," Joe sullenly said. Reaching towards the canteen, he jumped back when the canteen suddenly moved away from him. The sound of a gunshot registered a moment later, and Joe looked up at Lee in anger at the cruel act. "You bastard!" Joe yelled, lunging towards the convict, stopping when a bullet kicked up dust at his feet.
"Well now that's not very nice, I left ya a canteen you didn't say it had to be whole," Lee smirked. "Good luck mister," he good-naturedly told Joe, and kicking his horse, he led the others away from their victim.
Joe stood watching as the three convicts rode away, leaving him stranded in the desert with no horse and no water. Realizing that standing in the open wasn't doing him any good, Joe picked up his discarded shirt and used it to fashion a makeshift bandage. After treating his wound as best he could, Joe did the only other thing he could and began walking in the direction he'd been traveling before the attack.
By the end of the day, Joe Duke was exhausted and disappointed. Though he had done his best, he had only managed to travel a scant five miles. The longer he walked, the more the lack of water slowed him down, the heat from the sun overhead sapping his energy and increasing his exhaustion. Finally, the sun sank in the sky and Joe breathed a sigh of relief as the air rapidly began to cool. The relief was short-lived; as the air cooled, so did his skin, and soon he was shivering with cold. An hour after sunset, Joe found a small rock formation to provide minimal shelter while he grabbed some sleep.
Four hours later, Joe woke from a fitful sleep that was filled with images of his wife and son mourning his death. Looking up at the night sky, he was thankful for the full moon. At least he would have some light to see by as he walked. *I'm trying Molly, I'm doing my best to make it home to you and Ethan. Lord help me please, don't make me leave them alone. Don't make Ethan grow up without a father, don't leave Molly a widow. She's too young to be a widow, I promised her we'd grow old together, don't make me break my promise. Please God help me, Amen.* Joe prayed as he walked, stumbling as he moved, the exhaustion and lack of food and water taking it's toll. Just as the sun began to peak over the horizon, Joe fell to his knees, unable to take another step.
When Joe woke up the sun was high in the sky. Running his tongue over dry lips, Joe tried to generate some much needed moisture. As he struggled to pull himself to his feet, Joe moaned in pain as the movement caused his shoulder to begin throbbing with renewed agony. Falling back to his knees, he stayed where he was, his head hanging down as he rode out the waves of pain. Finally the pain slowed and Joe again began the climb to his feet. Forcing himself to move forward, Joe stumbled on, determined to survive and make it home to his family.
The further he walked, the harder it became to move. His throat and tongue were beginning to swell from the lack of water and his head pounded in tandem with each step he took. As Joe's feet developed blisters from the extensive walking, he wanted nothing more than to stop, each step an agony of pain. He didn't though; whenever the urge to give up became too strong, he would think of Molly and Ethan, giving him the strength to go on.
No man can go on forever though, and as the sun traveled towards the western horizon, Joe was finding it harder and harder to go on. Just as he was about to collapse, he spotted a kangaroo mouse running across his path. With renewed energy, Joe followed the tracks left by the small rodent knowing that there had to be water nearby. He had traveled only a few hundred feet when he came across a small watering hole, hidden behind some rocks. With a cry of relief, Joe half ran and half stumbled to the prescious liquid. Falling to his knees he clumsily scooped up handfuls of water, dribbling them down his parched, swollen throat, desperate for the life giving substance. After slaking his thirst, Joe began to look around the area more carefully, searching for any signs of recent passage. Not seeing any other prints, he realized that the convicts hadn't come this way. That surprised him, he would've thought they would head in the direction of Pagosa Springs, or maybe he was the one who wasn't headed in the right direction? Joe had done his best to continue in the right direction, but there was no way he could be sure that he had managed it. The heat and exhaustion were playing havoc with his mind, making it hard to concentrate until he wasn't sure where he was headed. Deciding that the best thing he could do was to stay put for the night, and needing food nearly as much as water, Joe set a few small snares. Gathering up a few twigs from nearby mesquite bushes, Joe prepared a small fire, ready to be lit when the sun disappeared from the sky. Realizing that with no gun and weakened from his ordeal, he was vulnerable to attack, Joe kept a careful eye out for other travelers. An hour after setting the small snares, he heard movement as something struggled to break free of a trap. Picking up a small rock, he crept towards the trap. Seeing the small jack rabbit trapped by the snare, Joe used the rock to end it's life, in the hopes of prolonging his own. With no means of skinning the small animal, Joe used a stick to skewer the rabbit, planning to allow the fire to cook the meat while burning the fur from the body. After eating his meal, Joe spent a few hours sleeping next to his fire, enjoying the warmth it provided. Waking up about midnight, he drank as much water as he could before reluctantly leaving the watering hole. He knew it would be better to travel at night as much as he possibly could; he only wished that he had a way to carry some water with him. Resigning himself to the reality of the situation, he once again began walking towards the direction, or so he hoped, of Pagosa Springs.
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I still can't believe that I experienced several days of Joe Duke's life in only a couple of hours. Not that I plan on telling anybody, they'd just tell me it was my mind playing tricks on me. Was it? Did I just imagine all of it? Maybe an attempt by my mind to block out my impending death, I don't know, but I'm going to find out. I'm glad nobody else knows about this, I don't think they would understand my need to find out the truth. I'm not sure I understand it exactly, I only know that for some reason I lived several days of Joe's life and I need to know if it was real or a dream.
TBC
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