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The Outlaw Buffy Summers.

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This story is No. 2 in the series "Free Fall.". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: “They say you’re a hard ridin’, desperate woman, Buffy Summers,” Granny cackled, “they’re gonna heel and hide you to a barn door…” After jumping from Glory’s tower Buffy finds herself in Missouri at the beginning of the Civil War.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Movies > Other-Action(Recent Donor)DaveTurnerFR151437,34249314,55426 May 1319 Jun 13Yes

Chapter One

The Outlaw Buffy Summers.
By Dave Turner.

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or ‘The Outlaw Josey Wales’, which was directed by Clint Eastward; written by Philip Kauf man and Sonia Chernus from the book ‘Gone to Texas’ by Forrest Carter. I do not claim authorship of any scripted words you might recognise. I write these stories for fun not profit.

Crossover: ‘The Outlaw Josey Wales’ was made in 1976 and is still probably the best western ever made.

Spelling, Punctuation, and Grammar: Written in glorious English-English which is different to American-English.

Timeline: End of BtVS season 5, after that all ‘Outlaw’ until the beginning of BtVS season 6.

Words: Fourteen chapters of about 2500+ words.

Warnings: Here lies the body of Mike O'Day, who died defending his right of way. He was right, t'was clear, his will was strong; but he's just as dead as if he'd been wrong.

Summary: “They say you’re a hard ridin’, desperate woman, Buffy Summers,” Granny cackled, “they’re gonna heel and hide you to a barn door…” After jumping from Glory’s tower Buffy finds herself in Missouri at the beginning of the Civil War.


All you need to do is take
One step into the sky.
Give yourself to gravity,
Give death another try.*

*: Free Fall; Hawkwind.

Turning away from Dawn, Buffy paused for just a moment before she started her run towards the rising sun. Her long strides soon took her to the end of the platform; stepping off Glory’s tower, she leapt into thin air and fell towards the portal that glowed beneath her. As she fell she felt the weight of the world lifted from her shoulders, she heard the wind rushing in her ears and a loud, calm, female voice that seemed to fill the entire universe.

“…and now the marks for artistic interpretation…” The voice started to recite numbers. “…Eight point five, eight point seven, eight point…”

Slowly the voice faded away and Buffy found herself caressed by a soft, warm, blackness and for a time a feeling of utter peace surrounded and engulfed her, until…


Opening her eyes, Buffy found herself sitting on the cold, hard ground; not six feet in front of her lay three freshly dug graves. One was about the size for a normal adult; the other two were depressingly small. Each grave had a crooked, roughly made cross over it and near by lay a shovel with fresh earth still on its blade.

The sound of a crow ‘cawing’ made Buffy look up; her eyes were met by the sight of a burnt out log cabin; wisps of thin grey smoke still rose into the cold blue sky above the skeletal trees that surrounded the clearing where the cabin had stood. Shivering Buffy pulled her rough, homespun jacket more firmly around her shoulders. Running her hands over the material she frowned as memories seeped slowly into her mind like…like… After a short struggle Buffy’s mind gave up trying to find the right simile and went on to study her memories in greater detail.

Buffy remembered kissing her sister goodbye after telling her to look after her friends for her, she also remembered the sound of horse’s hooves beating on the ground as they got closer and closer. In the same moment as she found herself running towards the end of Glory’s tower she was also running towards the cabin her long skirts dragging at her legs slowing her down.

Jumping into the night air, Buffy also remembered gunshots and men on horses riding around the cabin smashing things up while they fired into the house. Being hit by one of the horses she fell to the ground at about the same time as she entered the magic portal. Struggling to get to her feet again Buffy heard voices, a man’s voice calling her name urgently from somewhere close by. Vainly she tried to get back to her feet; somehow she had to go to that voice that called her name so desperately. Pushing herself to her feet at last Buffy shoved herself between the milling horses and towards what looked like a barn. Not having taken more than a few steps she heard another voice calling to her, a child’s voice.

“MAMA!” the child screamed from the cabin from which clouds of dirty grey smoke were already escaping into the cold air, “MAMA!”

Turning away from the barn, Buffy tried to make her way to the cabin, but each time she took a couple of steps she’d be knocked to the ground by the men on horses. Eventually she stopped trying to stand up and concentrated on crawling across the cold, damp earth towards the cabin, flinching away from the flashing hooves she crawled on towards the now fiercely burning cabin.

“MAMA!” the child screamed in fear and panic, only this time the child’s voice was joined by a baby’s scream.

“I’m coming,” Buffy gasped desperately as she crawled on hands and knees towards the homestead, “mama’s coming baby.”

Almost at the house now, Buffy made it to her feet again and ran the few steps to the door of the cabin. Kicking in the door, she was forced back by the heat of the flames that roared from the open doorway, although she tried to enter the house several times each time she was forced back by the smoke and flames that billowed from the doors and windows. As she lay on the ground she watched as the roof caved in and silenced the screams of the children still inside; her children a memory told her.

Seeing one of the horsemen laughing as he watched the burning ruin of her home collapse in on itself, Buffy stumbled to her feet and launched herself at the man with a blood curdling scream. The man turned to look at her as he registered her cry; with insolent slowness he raised the rifle that he held in his right hand and brought it crashing down on her head. Feeling a pain like she’d never felt before, Buffy stumbled and fell to her knees. Again the man raised his rifle only to bring it sweeping down on to her head again. Rapidly the darkness closed in around her and she fell onto her back and lay so still any observer might think she was dead.



Later Buffy remembered waking up, lying on her back with her skirts hitched up around her hips and her legs wide open. Knowing without even bothering to look that she’d been gang raped, she pushed down her skirts and got slowly and painfully to her feet. For a moment she stood and swayed as a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over her. Closing her eyes for a moment and taking a few deep breaths she waited for the feeling that she was going to spin to the ground again pass. Taking a slow and painful step, Buffy tried to ignore the dull ache between her legs as she headed haltingly towards the ruin of the barn.

On the ground between the burnt down walls lay the body of a young man, older than her by a few years she guessed. He lay as if asleep strangely untouched by the fire that had consumed the building. Bending down she grabbed him by the shoulders of his jacket and pulled him across the ground. It was only then that Buffy realised that her slayer strength, which had seemed to have deserted her had somehow returned.

“Why now?” Buffy asked an uncaring universe as she sat down hard on the cold ground and stared at the body.

Why hadn’t she been able to do something earlier to save this man and…Buffy remembered the child crying from inside the burning cabin.

Mama!” the child’s voice echoed through her mind. “Mama!” and Buffy knew with a certainty that she’d never felt before about anything, that the child had been hers.

The piteous screams of the baby echoing in her head made her bury her face in her hands and start to sob uncontrollably. Her child, her baby where dead because she couldn’t help them, because she’d been weak, because she’d been normal.



Vaguely she remembered drifting like a ghost through the ruins of her home the acrid smell of wood ash and burning in her nostrils. She found the child hidden in the corner of the main room of the cabin, a blackened bundle still clutched in its burnt and twisted arms. Both children were too badly burnt for Buffy to tell whether they were boys or girls. Carefully she picked up the charred remains and took them outside to lie next to their father.

Wandering like she was in a trance over to the wall of the barn, Buffy found a long handled shovel. Walking over to an area of fresh earth she started to dig. She never knew how long it took her, but it couldn’t have taken her long, two of the holes were heartbreakingly small. Once she’d finished digging she lay the bodies into their separate holes and started to shovel the cold earth over their bodies. After patting down the earth into three smooth mounds, Buffy found wood and twine to make crosses. The rough crosses where the best she could do. As she drove the crosses into the soil at the head of each grave she realised she couldn’t remember her family’s names. Once again Buffy found herself on her knees, her head in her hands, crying inconsolably. How could she have forgotten the names of her own children and her husband?



A search of the ruined cabin revealed a small, secret compartment under the floor boards of the cabin. Ripping the scorched floorboards to one side Buffy found a box with some faded photographs and a bag containing a few coins and a couple of banknotes. For a while she sat on the floor and studied the photographs. They showed a small family group all dressed in what was obviously their Sunday best. A proud husband and father standing behind a cute looking young woman who held a baby in her arms while a small girl looked shyly at the camera from beside her mother.

Recognising the young woman as herself, Buffy’s eyes moved to study the man. He was clean shaven and handsome, she knew from when she’d buried him he’d been a good six feet tall, strong and fit. For a moment Buffy congratulated herself on finding what had obviously been such a fine man to father her children and set up home together, they looked happy, at least in the picture, but… But she still couldn’t remember any of their names.

Picking up a bible she flicked through the pages hoping it was one of those family bibles that had everyone’s names inscribed on the blank pages just inside, but there was nothing. The bible looked new and nothing particularly special, Buffy discarded it after a moment or two, something else had caught her eye.

Putting aside the bible she picked up the gun belt and pulled the long barrelled revolver from the holster. After studying the weapon for a moment, her slayer instincts told her how it worked and how it was aimed and fired. Buffy replaced the revolver in its holster and retrieved the heavy card box and round metal tin that had been lying next to the gun. Opening these she found paper wrapped cartridges in the box and brass percussion caps in the tin. Slipping the photograph inside the top of her dress, Buffy picked up the revolver and its ammunition and continued the search of the cabin.

In a heavy wooden trunk that had only been slightly burnt on one side she found what were obviously some of her husband’s and her own clothes neatly folded away for future use. Going through the trunk she found a pair of her husbands’ trousers and a couple of simple white blouses that probably belonged to herself. Putting the revolver, ammunition and photograph safely to one side, Buffy started to strip off her dirt and smoke soiled dress and her under clothes which were soiled with things far worse than wholesome earth.

Still unable to look too closely at herself, Buffy wiped herself between her legs with a clean petticoat before putting on clean underwear, her husband’s trousers and one of her own blouses. Over this she put on a heavy jacket that she’d found in the trunk and her own shoes and socks. After adjusting the gunbelt to fit, it was far too large for her even with the thick jacket she was wearing, she buckled it on. Lastly she placed the family photograph carefully in an inside pocket of the jacket, she told herself she’d need to find something better to carry it in before it got damaged.

Walking outside into the darkening evening, Buffy loaded the revolver, a tedious business involving putting the paper cartridges into the revolver’s cylinder and percussion caps on the nipples at the other end. Once she was satisfied that the weapon was loaded properly she looked around for a target. Seeing a fence post about fifty yards away in the failing light she raised the revolver and aimed at it over the top of the barrel.

Pulling back the hammer with her thumb, Buffy let out a long slow breath; squeezing the trigger she felt the weapon buck in her hand. Altering her grip slightly she looked through the cloud of white smoke caused by her firing and saw that her first round had hit the post dead centre about four inches down from the top. Pulling back the hammer again, she fired again and again and again. When the hammer fell on a fired cap, Buffy holstered her weapon and walked over to examine the post.

The six neat holes clustered near the top of the post had almost blown the top of the post into the field beyond. Satisfied with her work she reloaded before going to sit on the remains of the front step of her little house in the woods. On her way she found a wide brimmed hat lying in the dirt, pushing her hair up under the hat she put it on and sat down to wait. What she was waiting for she didn’t know, she’d know when it arrived and then…? Well, and then she’d go out and avenge the deaths of her family.

“Vengeance is mine sayth the slayer,” Buffy told herself as she sat down to wait.


The following morning.

The sound of hoof beats across the ground awoke Buffy with a start, her hand went automatically to the butt of the revolver resting high on her hip. Moments later a whole troop of men mounted on big dark horses appeared along a track that she’d not noticed until now. They slowed from the steady canter they’d been using when they saw the burnt out farmstead. Turning towards Buffy they advanced towards her at a slow walk. A big man with a full beard separated himself from the crowd and rode over to where Buffy sat. Carefully he kept his hands away from the many revolvers that were attached to his saddle and to belts strapped around his body. He leaned against the horn of his saddle and looked down at Buffy.

“The name’s Anderson,” the big man told Buffy, he turned to look at the grim faced men who followed him, “Bloody Bill’s what they call me.” He turned once more to look down at Buffy, “Redlegs?”

Not knowing why, Buffy stared up at the man and nodded, maybe this was who or what she’d been waiting for.

“You’ll find them up in Kansas,” Bloody Bill Anderson explained, “they’re with the Union and we’re going up there to set things aright.”

“I’ll be coming with you,” Buffy announced as she got slowly to her feet.

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