A figure sat perched on the edge of an embankment in the deep black of the night, the woods around him and his dark clothes nearly obscuring him from sight. A pair of binoculars held to his eyes looked out to a clearing below.

In the center of the clearing stood a single house. Shutters hung askew, old siding was fading or missing, and tarps covered patches of the roof. Had it not been for the dull light showing through the filthy glass, he might've thought the place was abandoned. Only, he knew better. He'd been camping out there for the past three days, intermittently; he knew when they would be there, when they would leave, and who drove what P.O.S. truck.

There were five of them that he'd counted. All family, all presumably part of this semi-cult they had going. 'Cause hell, what else could five guys be doing in an isolated cabin in the middle of the woods in Kentucky?

On second thought, he didn't care to think on that one. Deliverance was a weird enough movie without adding the element of incest.

Shaking his head a little, frowning as drops of the rain that had been falling for the past few hours scattered from his dark blond hair. The weather forecast had said it was just the start of things to come…three more days of rain, it said. Not that he put much stock in the weatherman.

With any luck, he would be out of there before then, anyhow. He was there trying to find a perp that the boss man had set him on. He'd seen the guy's rap sheet…killed some people, cut them up. Always with the same Bowie knife. Since it wasn't good having a guy like that running around, they needed someone to do the recon, and since he was the one with the sniper experience, that was him.

The problem was, he hadn't seen the guy. He wasn't one of the five, but he'd been told that this was the last place he'd been seen. Since then, he hadn't showed up at the motel he was hiding out in, he hadn't checked in with his parole officer.

So, they'd sent him, and there he was, watching for any sign of some guy that he'd only seen in a mug shot in a manila folder that had been unceremoniously dumped on his desk. Not that he was complaining; it was his role, and if this was where he was needed, then this was where he would be.

In the rain.

And the cold.

With a cramping back and sleeping legs.

Well, the last, at least, he could do something about.

Just as he was about to sit up, though, something caught his eye. Headlights, down the flattened grass and gravel that passed for the only road into this place. Immediately, he focused his binoculars on it, hoping to catch sight of whoever it was.

He recognized the car. It belonged to one of the younger men, one of the only ones that ever seemed to leave this weird little shack. He watched as it came to a stop amidst the rusty bear traps and rusted farming and hunting equipment, heard the engines die.

Both doors opened…two people had left. That was right; he'd seen them both go a few hours ago. They both went around to the back of the old Bronco, and the head- and single taillight giving him just enough light to see what was going on without switching to night mode.

There was a thud as the bigger of the two opened the back and let the tailgate down with a rusty squeal that even he could hear from where he sat watching. He couldn't precisely see what it was they were getting out of the back just yet – the truck was facing him, but it looked like they were having a bit of trouble with it. He heard one of them swear.

And then he found out that it…wasn't an "it" at all.

It was a "her."

It was a girl they were hauling out of the back of the truck, and one look at the bag over her head and the way she struggled was more than enough to tell that she was not there by choice. That was when a muffled sort of sound hit his ears…she'd been gagged, it sounded like. It got louder as she struggled, but she couldn't get away.

When one of the guys put a knife to her throat, he couldn't watch any longer. The sniper rifle lying under the tarp beside him on the ground came around to replace the binoculars. He didn't even have to adjust it; years in the army had taught him out to set up and shoot with what he had.

And shoot he did. One shot. Bang. Drop.

The one holding the woman hit the ground. Just as he was lining up the shot for the other one, though, the woman stepped into his line of fire. The guy grabbed her, and he used her as a shield, backing her way into the house.

He watched as the front door opened, showing two more of the men he'd seen. They hauled the woman in, and there was nothing he could do.

He needed to get down there. He had his firearm…he'd call for backup. He couldn't just leave her in there, though.

Without even bothering to pack up or grab his rifle – he wouldn't be able to use it at that range, and he had his sidearm – he scrambled to his feet. The embankment was too high to jump; he would have to go around and run down.

He turned, hand going to his holster…

Just in time to see the butt of the shotgun smash into his face.