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The Magnificent Seven Cats AU: Not This Day
by Pirate Turner
He should have been safe in his arms, and he would have been, if not for the sandstorm. It had come out of seemingly nowhere, ripping and tearing at them like a ferocious, howling Demon. It had taken all that Buck could do to hold on to Chris and keep him pinned behind the precious, little coverage afforded them by a particularly large branch of cacti. He had since carefully picked all the thorns out of Chris' tender spots, but he himself still wore the marks that stung like a thousand angry bees. He couldn't see out of one eye that had been blinded by sand, and he had no more idea where they were now than Chris did.
The large catman struggled once again underneath the black tom's weight as his best friend moaned his pain. Chris had not awakened since the storm. Chris had broken free from Buck shortly after the storm had first began and had raced out into the storm, yelling the name of his dead wife and kitten and screaming for the "sand Demon" to take him home to them. Buck had ran after him, knocked him down with his full weight, and dragged him, kicking and screaming with surprising strength for his near-death state, back behind the cacti. Some time during his struggle to hold him pinned beneath him throughout the storm, Chris had slipped into unconsciousness, and Buck had been unable to rouse him since.
The spotted catman stumbled in the hot, desert sands. Chris began to slip from his arms, but he caught hold to his friend and held on for both their lives. If he lost Chris, Buck knew he'd never make it. It was only the thought of saving him that kept him trudging forward, placing one furry, booted foot after the other and picking them both up time and again, no matter how many times they fell or how thirsty and aching he was. A fresh shot of pain seared through his left eye, and Buck roared in misery. His roar echoed around for miles and miles, and nothing answered it save its own echo.
He raised his head to the sun that beat cruelly down upon them and prayed. It was not the first time he had sent a prayer winging its way Heavenward since they had been lost out here in the desert. Indeed, he had prayed so many times that he had began to think that the Great Lady had abandoned them, but with no other recourse for hope, he did so again. "Please, Bright Lady," the black and white tom begged, his voice so hoarse that his words were barely audible even to his own superior hearing, "please show us mercy. Grant us water and shelter and life. Help us, please!" His fangs glistened in the noon-day sun as he cried the last.
Picking himself up, Buck trudged onward until, again, he fell to his white knees. This time, though he struggled to get back up, he found he could not. Pain throbbed in his legs, in his eye, in his head, his throat, his arms . . . There was not a single part of him that did not burn and ache with a pain more miserable than any he'd ever felt before in his life, but he had to continue. He had to save Chris . . .
His tender, pointed ears pricked forward at the sudden sound of galloping horses. He fought to hold on to his consciousness, and his hand groped for his gun as the riders came ever closer. Would they be friend or foe?
As he waited, fighting to hold on should he need to defend Chris, Buck heard the call of the buzzards overhead. They had been circling for hours, but they were beginning to come closer in. It would only be a matter of time before he'd have to find a way to fight off the birds.
Blackness slipped tauntingly in and out of his vision until, at last, a shadow fell over them. Buck raised his head, his good eye blinking as he tried to clear his vision. His eye at last settled upon a gray mountain of a catman. His tail was at full plume and white paint circled his eyes, but he looked down upon them with kindness and compassion filling his green eyes. "Please . . . " Buck managed to croak out, never taking notice of the other riders who accompanied the hulking tom, " . . . please . . . help . . . us . . . " His last word was a whisper of breath as he fell, face forward, onto Chris' crumpled, ebony form. He covered him with his own body, protecting him even in unconsciousness.
The catman shared a glance with the black tom who rode next to him. With a silent nod of mutual understanding, they dismounted and moved forward to check on the pair. The larger catman raised his emerald eyes to the circling buzzards and rose his voice in a feral wail that made them scatter. "YOU'LL NOT HAVE THESE UNFORTUNATE SOULS THIS DAY, DEATH BIRDS!"
He looked to his friend, who knelt beside the fallen catmen, checking on each of their injuries. "They've suffered a lot of blood loss, but I think they'll pull through. Help me get 'em up on the horses, Josiah."
Josiah nodded. Gently lifting the black and white tomcat, his deep voice spoke soothingly, "You're among friends now, brothers. Everything will be okay." Together, the companions loaded the injured party and turned, with their posse, to take them home where they would mend and treat their wounds and pray that the black tom's words proved to be truth. They rescued many from the desert, but some did not make it and these were the worst cases they'd had in quite a while. The preacher said a prayer as they rode side by side, carrying the injured home to their village, and he purred quietly, feeling confident, in his heart and soul, that the Lady would grant their prayers.
The End