Title: The Eye of the Needle
Author: Jasmine2009 (AKA Jasmine)
Post Date: 10/1/2016
Original Date of Story: May 22, 2013
Warning: None
Rating: K+
Universe: NCIS Season 6
Summary: What do you do when you've chased a cold blooded murderer into the mountains, but instead of capturing him, the unthinkable happens?
Chapter 1
A single nod from Gibbs sent Tony and Ziva cautiously down the trail. The sun was low on the horizon and the orange hue of dusk was settling over the forest of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Soon, the canopy of trees would further darken the path, meaning time was of the essence. After three hours of tracking, they were close…very close…
For two days, they had been in hot pursuit of a murderer, and every time they thought they had him, he vanished. Just up and disappeared—without a trace. The first time it happened, Gibbs was irritated; the second time, he became silent; and the third? Well, let's just say it wasn't pretty. He had barked at McGee, glared at Ziva, and head slapped DiNozzo three times! Even Ziva thought the last one was borderline excessive, and definitely too hard, but maybe not totally unwarranted as the team had to listen to yet another story of how he wasn't able to garner any sympathy from having the plague seeing as it left behind no physical evidence. She felt sorry for her partner as he rubbed the back of his head wondering what he'd done to deserve such a hard slap.
But now they had the scum ball, the scent of victory was in the air. He had left the city and headed straight for the hills, and NCIS was hot on his heels. Barring some miracle, Fuzz Duncane was as good as caught, and the team knew it. Maybe even Fuzz knew it. Maybe.
Gibbs ticked his head in the other direction, sending McGee off to the left to thrash his way through overgrown brush. Early spring was the worst time of year to traverse a forest, much less the famed Appalachian Trail. New growth grew faster than the wildlife could eat it down, and treacherous terrain was often hidden under saplings and sinuous ivy and vines, most of which looked poisonous. McGee moved cautiously, believing every leaf to be a member of the dreaded Toxicodendron genus. He half wished Gibbs had sent him up the trail and let Ziva and Tony fight their way through the brush, but that thought never fully developed because he caught his ankle on a vine and fell flat on his face. He laid there a moment before realizing that the forest floor was soften than he would have thought. He popped his head up to see Gibbs staring at him, half worried, half annoyed. McGee gave him the thumbs up signal and pushed himself off the ground, brushed off the debris and continued fighting his way down the mountain.
The trail forked and Ziva and Tony exchanged looks. Sound traveled out here so even a whisper could be heard several hundred yards away. Tony gestured with his hand and Ziva nodded. They split up; she followed the narrow path south while her partner went north up the mountain. She moved stealth like over the rugged terrain, her eyes oscillating, her ears open.
Tony regretted his path the moment he took it. The trail narrowed and the trees gave way to boulders embedded into the side of the mountain, and the rocks jutted up from the ground like shark teeth daring anyone not to trip. Just getting any footing was difficult and he had to lean into the bedrock just to keep his balance. One wrong step could send him over the edge, which looked to be only a three or four foot drop, but looks could be deceiving out here in no-man's land, and he didn't want to find out the hard way just how far a drop it was. He paused long enough to catch his breath and survey his position before continuing his search for the very elusive Fuzz Duncane.
Gibbs knew his team had their fugitive; the man was as good as caught. The only problem was that Duncane had managed to lead his team deep into the woods. The former parking-lot attendant turned murderer hadn't been very good at hiding his tracks, and he wasn't in very good physical condition either thanks to being a desk jockey the past few years, but he had so far managed to elude his pursuers while guiding them further and further away from civilization.
McGee could barely make out Gibbs. Tim tried to stay parallel to him while fighting back the underbrush and avoiding getting tripped up again, all the while staying on the lookout for Duncane, who could easily double back and get behind them, thus escaping once again. He wasn't going to allow that. As he yanked his shoe out of a cluster of creepers, he envied Ziva and Tony, who at least had a trail to walk on.
The path had narrowed for Ziva, too, but it was still relatively clear. She estimated they had maybe thirty minutes before the sun would completely set, and then the cold night air would shroud them like a wet blanket. She was thankful she wasn't currently feeling the cool temperatures yet as the thrill of the capture had her adrenaline rushing. The hairs on the back of her neck raised, and she reached for her weapon at the strange feeling. She knew she was closing in.
Tony stopped, and listened. A sound caught his ear and he tilted his head. There was something up ahead. He pulled his Sig and crept slowly around the rocks, carefully placing his feet as he went. Whoever lay ahead was making muffled sounds, and it was either Duncane or someone else; either way, both scenarios had his senses on high alert and his adrenaline pumping. He slowly peeked around a boulder.
And there he was: Fuzz Duncane, up ahead about forty feet in a small clearing. He wasn't doing anything but standing, staring across a small stream, and talking to himself. Perhaps he was trying to decide if he should cross it now, or wait. He looked exhausted from the last two days of running. This was always the worst time to confront a criminal because they were unpredictable. A trapped, desperate man was capable of most anything, and murder-suicide seemed to be a favorite final act among the wretched.
He took several slow and deliberate steps closer to his quarry, head tilted, gun raised, hands steady, and ready to shout out the pre-requisite announcement of his presence. He planted his feet, inhaled slowly, and yelled, "N.C.I.S. You're under—!"
"—TONY!"
Ziva's voice sliced across his words like a machete through ripe watermelon. He had no time to process the interruption because his ears were assaulted by a blood curdling scream just inches from his head, and then he felt the impact of the bullet. It came with such force that it whipped his body around, and he hit the ground hard as the hot searing metal imbedded itself into his shoulder. He felt nothing and had no time to register how bad it was because the weight of a full grown mountain lion had landed on top of him, thus beginning the fight of his life.
He fought back hard and instinctively, protecting his neck from the fangs that were singularly focused on penetrating his jugular and shaking the life out of him. The animal's breath was hot and rancid; one inch talons ripped at his skin as he grasped handfuls of fur and skin and held on. Using all his strength to protect himself from the wild beast intent on making him its next meal, he paid little attention to anything else.
Ziva rapid-fired three shots with all three hitting Duncane, killing him before he hit the ground. "Tony!" she shouted, turning her attention to the fierce fight just thirty feet away. Unable to get a clear shot at the animal, she sprinted towards it, cursing the vines and rocks that were tripping her up. She aimed her gun, but had about as much a chance at shooting her partner as she did the lion. Grabbing a stick, she began wielding it, striking the animal on its back, but her actions were having little effect.
And then Gibbs appeared, his jacket wide open and charging the animal, shouting and shooting his gun in the air. The lion jerked its head towards him, and then, in a single seven foot leap, jumped off its prey and vanished into the darkness.
Tony dropped his head back, out of breath and not yet feeling the wounds left behind.
"Tony!" Ziva said, throwing herself next to him on the ground. "Tony!" she repeated, for anything she might say other than his name would only serve to alarm him. She scanned his body trying to determine the extent of his injuries, but it was too dark to see anything clearly.
Gibbs followed the mountain lion a little ways just to make sure it had run off, and then checked the pulse on Fuzz Duncane. Dead. Turning his attention towards his agents, he hurried back and knelt down, "How is he?"
Ziva was applying pressure to the gunshot wound. "Not good," she whispered.
Out of breath, McGee raced towards them taking in the scene and piecing it together based on what he'd seen and heard. Still taking in Tony's condition, he asked, "Duncane dead, Boss?"
"Yeah. We gotta move," he said, staring at a particularly deep gash on his agent's neck. "That cat will return."
"My shoulder…" Tony grimaced. "I can't move it."
Kneeling down, McGee touched his shoulder and pulled back fingers red with blood. "You've been shot!"
"Yeah, McQuick! And it hurts!" Tony said through gritted teeth.
"You will be fine," Ziva soothed, sending McGee a sideways glance. "McGee!" she barked, getting his attention. "Give me some bandages."
Tim dropped his pack and started rummaging through it. "Here," he offered, handing over a pre-packaged sterilized gauze pad. Finding his flashlight, he clicked it on. "What happened?" he asked again.
She tore off the wrapper and pressed the gauze to his wound, "We spotted Duncane in the clearing. I could see Tony getting into position, so I moved in closer to provide backup, but when I did, I saw the cougar coming up over the rocks. That is when I yelled to Tony, but Duncane was able to get off a shot, catching Tony in the shoulder. When he went down, the animal attacked."
Tony lulled his head towards the body that lay not more than thirty feet away, and mumbled, "You got him, Ziva?"
She tried to smile, "Yes, I got him."
"That's good…," he whispered, squirming under her ministrations. "…That's good."
Gibbs pulled his phone out of his pocket. "McGee!"
"Yes, Boss?"
"You got any service out here?"
He already knew the answer without even checking, "No. We lost service a couple hours back."
"Damnit," he whispered, flipping his phone shut.
"But," McGee added, "it's intermittent. I noticed there were some places where we had it."
"Where?"
"The last place I remember having any bars was a couple miles back on that ridge."
Gibbs remembered the spot, probably two, two and a half miles back up the trail. Tony could make it; Duncane couldn't. He was going to be dinner for a whole host of critters, big and small, if they didn't do something with his body. He knelt down next to his senior agent and said, "Tony, we're going to get you out of here… hang in there."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"McGee, help me move Duncane's body."
Ziva watched them carry the body up the trail until even the beams of their flashlights disappeared. She returned her attention to her partner. "I have tied off your shoulder. There is no exit wound so the bullet is most likely still in there. How does that feel?"
"It feels like there's a bullet in my shoulder."
"We need to get these wounds cleaned out. I will be right back."
"Hey," he whispered, reaching his hand towards her.
"I will be right back, Tony. I am only going to the stream to wet this rag….I will not be far, nor will I be gone long."
Tony stared up at the night sky and tried to concentrate on the stars. The pain had begun permeating his body and he was having a difficult time just lying down. The ground was hard and the rocks were poking into his body, and no matter which way he turned or what position he took, he simply couldn't rid himself of the incessant pain. He was never going to make it if he didn't try and take his mind off his current problems. He could barely see the sky through the new leaves on the trees, but there were patches of clear, unobstructed views and he stared at the patterns of the stars, trying to count them.
"They are brighter here than in D.C.," she commented, stealing a glance upwards.
He wanted to think of something smart to say, but couldn't. Just swallowing was a challenge, much less forming words and pushing air through his vocal chords.
She gently washed the blood from his face, neck and arms. The slashes were deep and by the amount of blood, some were more than superficial. She bandaged what she could, using up the last of the gauze on several of the deeper punctures. She would have to be content with washing out the other wounds. "The water is cold," she said, passing the time and trying to put his mind at ease. The temperature was dropping, making the water not just cold, but down right icy. She could barely keep her hands in the stream to fill the water bottles.
"It feels good," he replied, suppressing a cough.
She wiped down his forehead and said, "You should drink something."
He shook his head.
"I have some clean bottled water—"
"—How bad?" Tony asked, his voice raspy.
She studied him a beat, sensing a real urgency in his tone. "Not too bad," she said, "I have seen worse at Mossad training camps."
"You're lying."
She wondered how he always knew. Considering they were miles into the Blue Ridge Mountain, and hours away from medical care, with few supplies and fewer supplements, she should tell him the truth. But she couldn't. Instead, she pressed the cold cloth against his forehead and stated, "We will be fine. You will be fine," she corrected. "But right now, I have to get you comfortable. I found a spot closer to the stream that would be better for you to lie on. Can you move?"
"Of course I can move. Haven't you ever seen me dance?"
She rolled her eyes, secretly grateful for the quip. With her help, he sat up. Then, he managed to stand, leaning heavily against the rock, waiting for the head rush to abate.
"Are you okay? Do you need to lie back down?
"No, I'm good." The truth was, he was glad to be off the rocks and sticks that were poking him in the back, but not so sure he could stay upright for any length of time. "Where's your mattress?"
"It is not quite a mattress, but it is better than what you were on." She wrapped her arm around him, hoping he would take most of his own weight.
"Does this constitute you taking me to bed?"
"It does not. I prefer my men not so… bloody."
"I'll keep that in mind."
She was pleased that he made it mostly on his own and leaned him up against a rock next to the stream while she retrieved the packs. A few minutes earlier, she had kicked away the twigs and branches to reveal a small area of moss that was lightly covered in pine needles. She helped him lie back down and his new bed felt a thousand times better than the old one. He noticed her looking down the path and rubbing her arms. "They'll be back soon," he whispered.
Caught, she reddened and replied, "I know that. I am wondering if I should build a fire."
He swiveled his head up and around. The air was chilly and getting colder by the hour. A fire wouldn't hurt and it would keep curious predators away. But more importantly, it would give her something to do; her worried expression was unnerving him. "Yeah, I think you should. I'm getting cold." He wasn't, but he knew her well enough to know she wouldn't have built one for herself.
That was all she needed to hear and she set about gathering stones, kindling and firewood while keeping an eye down the path for Gibbs and McGee, or any four legged creatures that decided to get curious.
***********************************8
"That should do it until we can come back for him," McGee said, admiring their handiwork even though it wasn't much. They had found a small alcove where two boulders had come to rest against each other. If they propped the body up and folded his legs underneath him like he was sitting, he would fit. Then, they rolled another larger rock over and blocked the opening, thus preventing Fuzz Duncane from becoming a meal to the many hungry predators of the night.
It was more than he deserved considering the way he had murdered Petty Officer Patricia Neal, and Gibbs would have just as soon leave him out in the open to be eaten, but Fuzz Duncane had served his country a decade ago and so deserved some respect.
"How far are we from that ridge?"
McGee looked around. The night was black, but between the stars and the moon, he could see the outline of the mountains around him. "Not too far. I think the ridge is just over that peak there."
"C'mon."
"But that's still a couple miles away."
Gibbs glared, but not the usual glare that displayed annoyance. It was more like a glare from a man who knew something the other man didn't.
"…Which is irrelevant," Tim added. "I'm right behind you, Boss."
It took almost an hour, but with Gibbs setting the pace, it was easy to make good time. Once there, the moon illuminated the ridge. "Do you have a signal?"
McGee shook his head, and started the usual task of walking around while waving his cell phone over his head trying to snatch a wave from the sky.
"Got one, Boss!"
"Can you call out?"
"I can try."
"Call the Ranger's Station. Tell them where we are and that we need a medevac for an injured agent."
McGee speed dialed and listened intently, covering his good ear from noise that didn't exist. After six rings, someone picked up.
"Rangers' Office."
"Ted? This is Agent McGee—"
"—Where the hell are you? I've been trying to call you the past four hours!"
"We've been tracking Duncane—"
"—Did you find him?"
"Yeah, but we need a medical transport for an injured agent."
He could hear the ranger's frustration through the line. "That's why I've been trying to call you!" Ranger Ted Sparks bellowed. "There's a weather system approaching from the southwest that's pretty severe. It's already spawned 13 tornadoes and is dumping hail and rain at a rate of two inches per hour with lots of lightning! We're grounded!"
"You can't be grounded! We have an agent who's been shot and needs immediate medical attention!"
"I'm sorry, Agent McGee, but I've been given the word that—"
Gibbs snatched the phone and said, "Ranger Sparks, this is Special Agent Gibbs. When is the weather going to hit?"
"Later tonight."
"We left Agents DiNozzo and David near a stream about a klick from where Indian Trail forks. Can you get a helicopter there before the weather becomes a problem?"
"I'm familiar with that area, but it's full of rocks and trees. There's no place to land a bird even if we could take off."
"What do you recommend we do!" Gibbs yelled into the phone. "I have an agent who's been shot. On top of a bullet in him, he was mauled by a mountain lion. I need to get him off this range and to a hospital!"
There was no reply on the other end, but Gibbs could hear him speaking to someone. After waiting a full minute, Sparks returned to the phone and said, "Agent Gibbs, I just finished talking to the pilot and he said he'll do it, but he can't get to your man at your current location. You're going to have to move him to a place where Jake can land his chopper. There are two places: the first is a small ridge about three miles east of the stream, and the second is a clearing about four miles north."
"I'm at that ridge now, but my man isn't. We can have him here in about five hours."
"You'll have to do in four, and that's provided the system doesn't pick up speed coming across the Midwestern plains."
"We'll be here."
"Agent Gibbs! If you're not there at precisely 0100 hours, you're on your own."
Gibbs didn't reply for it was anyone's guess if he even heard that last part. He handed the phone back to McGee and had already started down the ridge.
****************************************8
The fire flickered gently and Ziva warmed her hands. Tony lay in the soft needles thinking about anything but his current condition. He was cold and hot all at once and he shivered in the cool night air. God only knows what bacteria were on the cat's claws that were now coursing their way through his body. And that was just from the attack, his shoulder was a whole other type of pain. Whenever he tried to change positions, it felt like a hot iron was being slowly pulled through it. As a result, he moved very little, something Ziva didn't seem to like.
"You have to keep the circulation going through your body. Can you roll onto your side?"
"I don't want to be on my side. It hurts."
"Well then, how about you lift your legs and I'll put my pack underneath them."
He did as he was told and had to admit that propping up his legs made the strain on his back go away.
"You must be feeling better."
He turned his head towards her, watching her moves. She was down on her haunches, rubbing her hands near the fire. "Why do you say that?"
"Because your voice sounds better," she said softly.
Maybe he wasn't as bad off as he thought. In fact, he even went so far as to think that he might be feeling better. Her words encouraged him and he said, "I think I'll take some water now."
She took the bottle out and opened it and helped him take a couple of sips. Her expression changed back to concern when she felt the heat of his skin. "You are hot."
"Yes, so I've been told. You're not half bad yourself."
"I mean your body temperature."
"Oh."
She studied him a beat. Humor was a good sign, but with Tony, it could also be a bad thing. Worse than a bullet wound was a fever; it could do more harm than the actual bullet. "I'll be right back," she said.
He wanted to object, but she was gone before he could. Besides, he might have been feeling better, but he certainly wasn't equipped with the energy needed to trek out of there. He was slowly being overcome by fatigue, and he let his arm drop to the ground. He closed his eyes and drifted to a place that was far more to his liking: the beach. The heat from the sun seemed to be making his body feel better and, of course, the scenery was always his number one reason for choosing that destination. But then the freezing cold temperature of the water splashed on his face and he jerked awake.
"I am sorry, but we have to keep your fever down," she said, although she didn't look that sorry. She had soaked several rags in the stream and laid them strategically on his forehead, neck, and wrists. He didn't object because they actually felt good. What didn't feel too good was her cleaning his wounds and checking his bandages.
"Do you have to do this again?"
"Yes."
"Well the least you can do is be a little gentler."
"I did not know you liked it gentle."
He smiled at her. It was rare that she played with him on his terms and no bullet or a few scratches were going to make him pass up the opportunity for some verbal foreplay. "I do, sometimes. How about you? How do you like it?"
She leaned in closer and whispered, "I like it all kinds of different ways."
The fire twinkled in her eyes and he felt his stomach flutter.
"Maybe when this is over—" she cut off her own words when she heard the rustling in the leaves. Quickly pulling her gun, she pivoted around, scanning the clearing for anything that was moving. When she spied it, she reached for her flashlight, readied her gun and clicked the bright beam on.
Across the clearing were eight sets of eyes peering at her, frozen by the light. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw what they were and lowered her light. "It is nothing to worry about. It is only a black cat and her kittens."
Tony twisted his head so he could see better. When his eyes adjusted and he actually registered what he was looking at, he quietly said, "Ah, Ziva. Those aren't cats… they're skunks."
She shined the light back at them. She had never seen a real skunk before and it was hard to make out its features behind the brush, but she could definitely see the white strip now that she was looking for it. "What should we do?"
"Whatever you do, don't shoot them."
"I have no intention of shooting a mother skunk or her babies. How do we get rid of them?"
"We don't. The fire is between us, so if we let them, they'll continue on their way. Just don't stop them, or scare them."
Sure enough, after the mammals regained their eyesight, they ambled off. The mother waddled in front, and the three babies huddled close behind. But the earlier moment had been lost and Tony wasn't looking too good any more.
"You want some more water?"
He shook his head once, reserving what energy he had.
She sat down in the moss beside him and wrapped her arms around her legs. "You rest now. You are going to need your strength."
His eyes slowly closed and he lulled his head slightly to one side.
She scanned the woods, looking for anything that moved. She turned her back to both Tony and the fire, knowing that any animal hoping for a meal would come from behind. She waited anxiously for Gibbs and McGee to return.
*************************************8
McGee was barely keeping pace. Once Gibbs had handed him the phone, he had already started down the ridge. Between the wide path and the moonlight, Tim didn't need to use his flashlight, but he had to admit that he wasn't nearly in as good physical shape as his boss, and now, huffing and puffing, he thought he should do something about that. When this was over, he was hitting the gym. It wasn't his first choice of how to spend his spare time, but he was the weak link whenever the team went into the field, and he knew it. He had been so intent on this new idea that he practically ran into the back Gibbs, not realizing he had pulled up to a stop.
"What's up?" he sputtered.
"Shhh."
When Gibbs crouched down, so too did McGee.
"Wait here."
He'd get no argument on that request. Tim sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree and caught his breath. It was hard to imagine that in a few hours, the weather was going to drastically change. They had to get off this mountain before that time or they were all going to be in trouble. He took a moment to think about his colleague: being shot, and then being jumped on by a mountain lion… he could only imagine what that must have been like, and even now, hours after it had happened, he felt a shiver pass over him.
"McGee!"
Hearing the harsh whisper of his name shocked him back to reality. "Yeah!"
"Keep your voice down. We have company."
"What? What kind?" he said, thinking about the big cat…or a bear!
"Follow me and don't make a sound."
McGee did as he was told and followed his boss. Unfortunately, Gibbs left the path so making progress was slow, but relatively quiet since they were climbing over large rounded boulders. After a few minutes, McGee began to hear voices. His first instinct was to feel relief; perhaps they had stumbled onto some hikers who could help. But taking a cue from his boss, he suppressed his initial elation and just observed. Gibbs signaled with his finger, and they inched their way to the top of the rock. Looking down, they could see three men huddled around a small fire.
McGee blinked, hoping it would clear up his initial confusion for he had just hidden Fuzz Duncane's body and yet here he was staring at someone who looked just like him. But the man couldn't be Fuzz. The only person he could be is Fuzz's older brother, Terrance Duncane. They looked exactly alike only Terrence was bigger, much bigger. Their investigation into Fuzz Duncane unveiled his sibling, and they shared quite a history of crime together, mostly petty and ill-conceived misdemeanors, but crimes all the same. He lived around these parts and made the mountain his home. He didn't recognize the other two men, but they were just as big, and they wore the rugged hats and the same plaid shirts, only in different colors. Even in the darkness of night, there appeared to be a slight familial resemblance among them all.
Gibbs and McGee lay silently on the rock eaves-dropping the conversation below.
"I thought you said he was gonna meet us here," the man in the red plaid shirt said.
"He is, but he don't know these woods like I do, so it might take him a bit longer."
"I'm telling you, I heard gun shots a couple hours ago when I was on the West Ridge over there," the man in the blue plaid shirt said.
"You heard hunters," Terrance mumbled, tired of hearing the same story again from his cousin.
"Those shots didn't sound like rifles. They sounded like pistols."
"What's the last thing he said to you?" red plaid shirt asked.
Terrance remembered the last conversation he'd had with his brother. Fuzz was being chased by NCIS federal agents and they were relentless. He hadn't eaten in two days and hadn't slept in three. "He said he wanted to kill himself a Fed named Gibbs. Said the bastard was tracking him like a damn dog."
"Where'd he say he was gonna meet us?"
"Right here. We've been here before and he likes this spot."
"You don't s'pose they got 'im, do ya?"
"Nah," Terrence said. "He's too smart to get picked up by some Navy Feds."
"The weather's s'pose to get bad later on," red shirt commented. "He'd better show soon."
Terrance looked up at the clear night sky. "They always get it wrong, Tagg. They always saying the weather's gonna be worse than it really is. Fuzz and me, we been out here during one of them so-called storms and we survived it. You just gotta know where the low spots are and avoid 'em."
Gibbs ticked his head, and he and Tim silently inched backwards off the rock. Un-expectantly, Gibbs veered off the path and McGee once again found himself in the thick of vines and overgrown brush. His hands were all scratched from thorny bushes, and he felt himself getting annoyed. Then he thought about his colleague. Considering what Tony was dealing with, he almost felt guilty for worrying about the dreaded three leaf ivy plant or the scratches he was getting from the barbed vines, but he couldn't help himself. He pulled his hands up inside his jacket sleeve and followed as close behind his boss as he could.
Ziva heard heavy breathing before she saw anyone, and pulled her weapon. The fire had died down but the moon was still bright, except for when the occasional dark cloud passed in front of it. She crouched down next to Tony and waited. Even though Gibbs came into the clearing first, it was McGee who she heard. He was spent, and he leaned over catching his breath.
Gibbs asked, "How is he?"
"He is running a fever. And he needs a doctor."
Gibbs handed McGee a bottle of water and kicked dirt over the fire. "We're moving out. We have to make it to the ridge in less than three hours."
Ziva remembered the ridge and felt a twang of relief. She said, "That should not be too difficult."
McGee dabbed the sweat off his brow and said, "It wouldn't be under normal circumstances. But we're racing against bad weather and Terrance Duncane."
"Who?"
"Terrance Duncane, Fuzz's older brother. He and two of his buddies are camped between us and that ridge."
"What did you do with the body?"
"It's tucked into a small crevasse between rocks. It should be fine until we can send someone in for it."
"How are we going to move Tony?"
McGee was glad Ziva asked the question, and waited nervously for an answer. Instead, what he got was his backpack thrown at him. He caught it and then watched his boss approach the prone man.
Crouching down, Gibbs placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "Tony?" Feeling the heat emanating from his body, he shook him gently and repeated, "Tony?"
His eyes fluttered open and he nodded, "Yeah, Boss."
"We gotta move."
"Okay," he answered, but it was evident he wasn't quite sure how to go about it.
"Can you walk?"
"Yeah." He answered quickly, forcing the fatigue away. "I just need…just need some help getting up."
Between Ziva and Gibbs, they were able to get him upright, and then to a standing position. He looked surprisingly good given the circumstances. "Where're we going?"
"A couple ridges over. Can you walk on your own?"
Tony took several steps and nodded, "I think so." And then he walked towards a boulder. Once there he leaned heavily against it. "Yeah, I can do it."
"You're gonna have to go faster than that," Gibbs mumbled.
Tony forced a nod, "Got it, Boss."
Ziva filled several empty bottles with water and came up behind him. "I have water if you need it. Do not wait until you fall over to ask for it, okay?"
He looked sideways at her. She seemed a bit curt in her delivery, like she knew something he didn't, but he barely had the energy to start down the path on his own let alone confront her, so he pushed off the rock and followed, while McGee brought up the rear.
Tony tried his best to keep up. Gibbs set a pace that would have been manageable under normal conditions, but not quite so easy for a man with a bullet in him. He didn't want to slow down, but his legs were numb and he was having trouble catching his breath.
From behind, McGee watched him sway. Tim had actually been impressed with how well he was doing, he seemed to be keeping up and holding his own. He was more impressed with the amount of terrain they were covering and thinking that they just might make it to that ridge on time. But just as he was thinking that, he noticed Tony's head lull back and his legs become jelly. Having already sensed something was wrong, Tim hastened his pace and was glad he did because he caught him just as he was going down.
"Take it easy," McGee soothed. "I gotcha."
Tony felt strong hands holding him up. He leaned heavily into the body that had him, thankful that someone was there, but more thankful he didn't have to take another step. "I can't go on…" he whispered.
"I know, I'm just going to lower you to the ground." With little help from Tony, Tim struggled to lay him down gently, not knowing where the gashes and gouges were to avoid. He then placed his backpack under his legs, hoping to aid the flow of blood back to his heart.
Ziva was by his side, wet rag already in hand and wiping down his face. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," he breathed, still catching his breath.
Gibbs studied him. It was going to be a problem making the ridge if Tony needed to stop, or worse, couldn't walk it himself. "DiNozzo, we don't have time for this."
Tony widened his eyes, hearing the tone that gave him pause. It was the same tone his father used on him many moons ago, and it meant business. The only problem was, he wasn't fooling around. He genuinely needed to rest.
"Sorry, Boss," he said, trying to decide which was worse: his father's chastisement or Gibbs'. "I'll be okay. Just…just need a short break."
"Drink something," Ziva said, lifting his head so he could get some water.
He did as he was told, but the water didn't go down too well and he coughed it up. "Just give me a minute. I'll be fine…" he breathed.
Gibbs shook his head; there weren't any minutes to give him.
McGee reached under his shoulders and began to lift him up, "You'll have to take your minute on the trail, Tony. We have a bird to catch."
With Ziva's help, they got him back on his feet and moving. McGee stayed closer to him this time and steadied him when the terrain got rocky and he struggled with keeping his balance. Gibbs watched his team, and worried. There were only a few moments where Tony seemed to be better and didn't appear to need much help, but he pressed his arm closely to his chest, and he was stiffer than when they'd first started out.
On more than a one occasion, Tim actually caught him just before he went down. He would lean heavily on Tim a minute, resting, and then start off again. McGee had to give him credit. He was doing much better than he'd imagined. Hell, if the tables had been turned, he was positive they'd be carrying him out, but Tony was in good physical shape and had endurance, and that's what was keeping him going.
Gibbs pulled up and crouched low on his haunches. Ziva came from behind, "What is it?"
"We're getting close to Duncane's camp." He paused long enough to look back. His expression said it all.
"Gibbs, he is doing the best he can," Ziva said, hoping it didn't sound as curt to him as it did to her.
But it must have because he glared at her. 'The best he can' wasn't good enough to keep his team alive. The clouds were rolling in, offering them cover of darkness, but time was running out. At the rate they were moving, they weren't going to make it to the ridge in time, and if they missed that, then what? They'd have to find shelter and wait out the storm all the while keeping Tony alive; equally unpleasant prospects.
Tony dropped down next to a tree, panting hard.
McGee held onto his jacket, making sure he didn't fall forward, and then leaned him back against it. Satisfied he was supported, he moved up. "What's up, Boss?"
"How is he?"
"Tired. We must be getting close to where Duncane is."
"Yeah," Gibbs answered, his mind a speedway of thoughts.
"I gotta lay down…" Tony mumbled, fighting the nausea.
McGee backed away and realized that Tony didn't have the strength to move himself. Grabbing his jacket, he slid him sideways and then held his head and let gravity take him down to the ground. Tim pushed his pack under his legs again and tried to clear some rocks and debris that were making up his mattress. But moving him was tedious. When touching him, Tim had to choose between the side with a bullet or the side with the deep claw wounds and gashes. Both injuries didn't like to be messed with and they definitely didn't like the fabric or the dirt being rubbed against them.
Gibbs studied his agent, immediately noticing his pale complexion when the moon shone through the clouds. A red flag went up in Gibbs' head and he inched forward, shining his flashlight on Tony. All three saw the problem at the same time. His chest was covered in blood. His shirt and jacket were glistening from it.
Shocked by what she saw, Ziva whispered, "Tony! You're bleeding again." She peeled back the bandage to get a better look at the wound. It was hot, and ugly. And Tony was sweating. She tore off a piece of his shirt and rolled it into a thick pad, applying pressure to the hole.
"Hey!" he gasped, feeling like the bullet had been turned into a hot molten piece of coal.
"Keep your voice down," she admonished. "There are some men around here who would like nothing more than to see us dead, and we do not want them finding us."
Finally, something other than his pain to focus on…his head cleared just long enough to ask, "Who?"
"Fuzz Duncane's brother," McGee answered. "They're camped up the trail a ways and you know as well as anyone that sound travels out here."
"They?" he asked. He may have a fever, but he still caught little nuances. "Who's with him?"
She shook her head, "We do not know. Two other men."
Gibbs sensed something was nearby, and turned around to look. He'd only used his flashlight minimally, and he desperately wanted to click it on, but he couldn't risk it. It was McGee who confirmed his gut.
"Do you hear that?"
Ziva pulled her weapon as Gibbs brought up his gun, ready to shoot if necessary. But they never saw anything. Instead, they heard a low guttural growl, and just as their brains were registering the source, their ears were assaulted by a blood curdling scream. It took every ounce of power Ziva had not to empty her magazine, but she held steady, along with her boss and McGee, waiting and aiming their weapons into the blackness around them.
The mountain lion had returned.
NOTE: Please let me know what you think. I have much of the story written, but it's taken awhile to ensure the time sequence makes sense. Shouldn't be too many plot holes with this one, but if you find something, let me know. If you comment, thank you for taking the time! ~~Jasmine