Date:         Sun, 20 Aug 1995 20:01:13 EDT
Reply-To:     Russ McMillan <mcmillan@ASTRO.PSU.EDU>
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
From:         Russ McMillan <mcmillan@ASTRO.PSU.EDU>
Subject:      Hold Fast, Part 7b/8 repost

        Hold Fast, Part 7b
        by Russet McMillan
        mcmillan@astro.psu.edu

        Dawson drew a shuddering breath and opened his eyes.  He was
sprawled across Nicky's legs, and Duncan had landed on top of them
both.  When Joe twisted around and pushed at the Immortal, Duncan
didn't move.  His eyes were open and unseeing.  A trickle of blood ran
from his mouth.
        Dawson shivered.  He had seen Immortals die dozens of times,
both temporary and permanent deaths, but this was a little more
immediate.  With shaking hands he pulled himself out from under
Duncan's still form and looked around.
        Nicky lay motionless on the dusty floor.  He was spattered
with blood -- Duncan's, or his own?  Joe felt anxiously for a pulse,
and found it.  When he rolled the boy over gingerly, he saw blood on
his forehead and realized he had hit one of the pews when he fell.
        Connor was the only man left standing.  He held a gun still
pointed at Carver and was watching him warily, but there was no
movement.  Carver had a hole in his forehead, and the other two men
were crumpled about the floor.  Moving slowly, Connor checked each of
them for signs of life, then laid his gun on the floor and turned to
Dawson.
        "You recovered pretty quickly," said Joe shakily.  Then he
realized that there was no blood on Connor's chest.  Only his sleeve
was reddened.
        "Bulletproof vest," said Connor with a grin.  "Comes in handy
sometimes."  He winced as he stretched his arm.  "Too bad it doesn't
have sleeves."
        "I guess Duncan could have used one too," Joe said.
        "We only had one."  Connor knelt beside his kinsman and
studied the bullet wound in Duncan's back.  "He'll be all right."
Then he stiffened and turned, looking warily toward the back of the
church.
        "Is someone here?"  Dawson had seen that look before.
        Connor didn't answer as he rose to his feet.  Then a grin
crossed his face.  "You're too late, Richie," he called.  "It's all
over.  Come on in."  He walked into the shadows where Duncan's katana
had fallen.
        Joe started disentangling himself from Nicky and Duncan,
moving the two of them to more comfortable positions.  It was only at
the last moment that he looked up and realized the approaching figure
was not Richie, but a stranger raising a sword behind Connor's
undefended back.
        Dawson shouted a warning just as Connor sensed the danger and
ducked, scooping up the katana and dancing out of the way.  Connor's
eyes widened with surprise as his opponent came into the light; a
slight woman who looked no older than Richie.
        "I don't want to fight you," Connor said uneasily as he ducked
another slash.
        "But I want to fight you, Highlander," said the woman
hoarsely.
        "Not here, then," Connor began.  "This is holy --"
        "Murderer!" she yelled, thrusting at him.  The blades met in a
shower of sparks and separated.  "You killed him!"
        "Killed who?" Connor asked, retreating.  "This is not the time
or place--" then he was too busy defending himself to speak.
        For Joe, the fight was unlike any he had ever watched.  It had
been some years since he was properly impartial about the fights he
watched, after tonight's events he had a special sympathy with Connor.
He was wracking his brains to think who this strange Immortal could be
-- why had he had no warning that she was in Seattle?  And of course,
he had never witnessed another fight in such proximity that he had to
scramble to stay out of the way.
        Dawson didn't know what the consequences might be of fighting
on holy ground, but he could see some differences immediately.  Connor
was fighting purely defensively, reluctant to attack, and it was not
merely because the katana sat awkwardly in his left hand, or the
shotgun pellets in his arm.  Every time the blades met, they sent up
enormous fountains of sparks, far greater than the usual small spurts.
The sparks obscured the fighters and stung Joe's arms as he curled
over the still form of his nephew.  He saw one of the sparks alight on
the first pew and sit there, glowing sullenly, until he patted it out.
        It was a while before it occurred to Joe that maybe he should
_not_ remain uninvolved in this fight.  The rules were already being
broken, since the fight should never have started on holy ground.
Perhaps it was again time for him to break the rules in the other
direction and even the odds.  Even so, his training, habits, and
philosophy resisted the idea of interference so strongly that it took
him precious seconds to decide.  The combatants moved away as Connor
retreated between two pews, still using his weapon only for defense
and trying to reason with his attacker whenever he caught his breath.
        Reaching a decision, Dawson pulled himself across the floor
toward the gun that Connor had dropped.  Behind him, he heard Duncan
beginning to stir.  With a gasp and a groan the Immortal rolled over
and squinted in bewilderment at the continuing fight.  "What?" he
mumbled.  "No . . . stop!"  But his voice was still weak, even if the
two battling Immortals would have listened.
        Dawson reached the gun and weighed it in his hand, still
unsure.  The swordfight had rounded the end of the pews and was
heading back in his direction; Connor's body blocked any shot he could
have made.
        "Mac!" Joe said, urgently.  "Mac, here!"  He slid the gun
across the floor in Duncan's direction.
        At first Duncan didn't seem to realize what the gun was for.
Then, picking it up, he staggered to his feet, clutching his chest
with his free hand.  He started to circle around the fighters for a
clear shot, then stumbled and caught himself against a pew.
        Connor turned his head at the sudden movement, dancing back
from the woman's blade while he looked around for more danger.  But as
he retreated, his heel caught against Martin Carver's still leg.  He
fell backward and to the right, unable to catch himself or to lever
into a roll with an arm that was no longer there.
        The woman took instant advantage of his fall, striking the
katana out of Connor's hand.  Face exultant, she raised her sword for
the killing blow, while Connor, still disbelieving, stared up at her.
        Duncan raised the gun, took aim at the woman's heart, and
squeezed the trigger.
        Nothing happened.  Dawson had grabbed Nicky's gun, with the
safety on.
        The sword descended.
        "NOOOOOO!" Duncan cried as he saw his kinsman's head roll
free.  He threw the gun aside and stumbled forward, his face twisted
with fury and grief.
        The Quickening came like an explosion, sudden and violent.
The woman was limned in a harsh white light, and lightning ran between
her body and Connor's as she screamed.  The three lamps erupted in
flame.
        Dawson caught Duncan's leg before he could move any closer to
the vortex of light.  "Mac!" he yelled, "We've got to get out of
here!"
        The windows began to shatter.
        "MAC!"
        Wind tore at Duncan's hair, pushing him away from the
Quickening.  With a sob, he grabbed Joe's arm, and the two of them
staggered, three legged, out of the church amid a shower of falling
glass.
        From the grass in front, the old church looked as if it were
being eaten from within.  Lightning struck upward from its
weathervane.  First one, then both of the cars parked behind the
church exploded with a _whump_.  The light glaring through the empty
windows began to change from an unnatural blue-white to the
reddish-yellow of fire.
        Dawson gripped Duncan's sleeve.  "Nicky," he breathed.
"Macleod, my nephew's in there.  You've got to get him out!"
        Duncan just stared at the glowing church.
        "He's just a boy!"  Joe insisted.  "Mac!  Dammit, if you won't
go after him, I'll do it myself."  He released Duncan's arm and
started to hop toward the church, cursing Martin Carver for taking his
leg away.  He was now quite sure that he would rather have had his
hands tied.
        Duncan caught up with Joe and blocked his path.  "Stay here,"
he said in a low voice, then raised his arm before his face and ran
into the burning building.
        By the time Duncan reappeared with the boy slung over his
shoulders, sirens had begun to wail in the distance.  Duncan dropped
Nicky, coughing, onto the grass beside Dawson and turned again toward
the church.
        Joe put an arm around his nephew's heaving shoulders.  "Mac,
we need to get out of here before the fire department shows up."
        Duncan's stance was rigid.  "There's someone else in there,"
he said quietly.
        "What?"
        "Wait here."
        "Mac, you can't go after her on holy ground!"
        Duncan ran back toward the blaze and ducked through the
firelit door of the church.
        Swearing under his breath, Dawson pulled his nephew into a
sitting position.  "You all right, Nicky?"
        "Yeah," coughed the boy.  "'S just -- the smoke . . . "
        "It's OK.  You'll be fine," Joe said, hearing in his voice an
echo of Connor's words from the past.  "Dammit, Mac, would you get
back out here?" he fretted.  Flames were beginning to rise from the
roof of the church, and the sirens were much louder.
        "We gotta get away," Nicky rasped.  He twisted around dizzily.
"Where's the car?"
        "It blew up.  Macleod's car is the only one left.  If he
doesn't show up soon, we're stuck."  If he had had his other leg, Joe
would have gone after Duncan.  He knew the Immortal could recover from
burning to death, but he also knew that it was the most unpleasant
experience anyone could go through.  "What the hell is he doing in
there?"
        He saw someone running around the corner of the church, and
drew breath with relief.  But when the man drew nearer he realized it
wasn't Macleod, as he had hoped, or the Immortal woman, as he had
feared.  It was Alan, the man Carver had stationed outside to watch
for the Macleods' arrival.  He stumbled to a halt, gaping at Dawson
and his nephew, twisting his head to take in the blazing church.  Then
he ran the other way, frantically, tripping over shadows in his haste.
Joe turned his attention back to the church that had swallowed Duncan.
        For a moment, he thought he saw a dark figure outlined against
the flames in the doorway.  Then a piece of the doorframe collapsed
with a roar.  When Joe's vision cleared, he saw that Duncan was making
his way down the front steps much more slowly than the occasion
warranted.  He was walking backward and dragging something with him,
and he had two swords tucked under his arm.
        As soon as Duncan came within reach, Joe grabbed him by the
knees, tripped him, and rolled him on the grass to put out the embers
smoldering in his ponytail.  "Come on," he gasped.  "Let's go."  He
saw what Duncan had dragged from the church -- his clansman's naked
body.  Without asking questions, he pulled off his coat and threw it
over the body.  "Nicky, bring him with us.  Duncan, get up, we need to
use your car."
        And so, with Nicky dragging a dead body, Duncan bearing
Dawson's arm across his shoulder, and Joe himself carrying two swords
for no good reason that he knew, they staggered to the Thunderbird
parked at the curb and piled in.  Duncan climbed into the back seat
with the body, handing his keys to Nicky without question.

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