Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or anything affiliated with NCIS.
A/N: Hi! Welcome to my latest fic! Just a few quick things before we begin:
1) This story just kind of popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone. I've finished it completely, know exactly how it's going to play out and end.
2) Because it is already finished, I will be updating every few days. Probably not everyday as I'm really busy with work lately, but every few days.
3) There are no relationships in this story. None at all.
4) I don't wish to offend anybody, so if you're in a cult, I'd recommend you not read this. I do bash a bit on cults, however, there is no bashing of any major or minor religion. That's not my style.
5) Not all of the chapters will be long. Some are, in fact, very short, but as I will be updating on such a regular basis, there is no need to fret about chapter length. There won't be much time between updates!
Read and Enjoy!
Chapter 1
A Desperate Attempt at Escape
He was running as fast as his long legs would allow him. He jumped over tree roots and the gnarly bare branches of bushes that had not survived the harsh winter months. Fallen trees caused him to take detours, holding him back and taking up time he didn't have. His lungs ached as he gasped in the frigid winter air, and puffs rolled away from his face with each breath that he let out. He was panting, fighting to move faster and faster, but he knew it was useless. He was going to fail.
The barking of dogs could be heard over the pounding of his heart against his ribcage. They were getting closer. He could hear gunshots, and shouts coming from behind him, and he urged his legs to keep moving. He just had to keep moving. But it was so cold. His lungs couldn't take much more, and his legs were burning. Despite the cold temperatures, sweat was beaded on his forehead and soaking through his shirt.
Hope was leaving him quickly, but a bullet tearing through the air just inches from his body renewed his vigor. He wasn't going to quit. He wasn't going to let them take him without a fight. He'd been working tirelessly for weeks to get out of the hell hole they'd created for him, and while they kept advancing on him quicker than he could move away, he wasn't going to go down without trying his damn hardest to get away.
There had to be safe haven somewhere. He didn't care if it was a freeway, or an old abandoned cabin- he just needed some kind of sign that he wasn't screwed.
Another bullet shot past him, striking the decaying trunk of a long dead pine tree. They were getting closer. They were almost on him. Where could he go? How could he get away from them? There had to be something. This couldn't be how things were going to turn out. This couldn't be the end for him.
He refused to stop running as he angled off to the right and scanned the area for help. Up ahead he spotted a large pine with branches just low enough that he might have a chance at climbing it. It was his only choice. He couldn't keep running. He was already losing speed. If he could just manage to get up that tree, he might have a chance.
He used the momentum from his already quick pace to launch himself in the air and grab the lowest of the branches. With weak arms, he fought to pull himself up, not stopping to celebrate when he managed to swing his legs over the think branch and reach for the next. He continued climbing as quickly as he could until he deemed himself to be far enough up.
Trying to calm his ragid breathing, he clutched a branch so tightly that had his hands not already been devoid of color, his knuckles would have been white from the pressure. He scanned the area, listening intently for the sounds of his pursuers, but there was nothing but silence.
Stretching out around him were the branches of pine needles covered with snow. If possible, it was even colder in the tree than it was on the ground, but he didn't allow himself to think about that. His comfort was not important. Evading capture was of the upmost importance, and he'd be damned if an intolerance to cold air was going to get him caught and sent back to that prison he'd just escaped from.
Suddenly the area below him was full of voices.
"He went this way!" One man cried, but another contradicted by saying, "no, he went that way!"
The dogs were barking, and he did everything in his power to calm himself down. If he panicked, they would find him. He just needed to remain calm. He could do it. This wasn't the first time his life had depended upon keeping his head collected. He was a trained federal agent. He could handle stressful situations. To try to take his mind off of his impending doom, he glanced skywards.
Through the dense mass of pine needles and branches, he could make out a full moon and bright stars in the sky. As the wind blew, the moon came and went, casting him in and out of darkness in an eerie way. He tried to imagine that he was on the moon instead of in that tree. On the moon he would be safe. There wouldn't be a crazy mob chasing after him. Things would be peaceful and calm and he'd have no worries.
Lost in his thoughts, by the time he noticed the creaking of the branches, it was too late. A strong hand clamped down on his ankle. Since running hadn't helped, he turned to fighting. They weren't going to take him without a fight. He'd rather have one of them shoot him.
He pulled and shook his ankle with all of his might, frantically trying to get the man to let go of him, but it was no use. His fingers were too cold, his muscles to spent. He felt himself being dragged down, his fingers slipping from the branch he clung to for dear life.
God, no, his mind screamed as he began to fall. Please let me die. Please, God, please. Please don't let me survive the fall.
He hit the ground with a sickening thud. Stars danced in front of his eyes.
If there was a God, he sure hadn't listened to him.
The men who had been chasing him descended upon his spent and broken body. They grabbed at his arms, hauling him off the ground and forcing him to his feet. Just as they began to pull him in the direction they'd come from, he lost consciousness, descending into a void of blackness. He welcomed the reprieved.
NCIS
He woke up to a pounding headache and limbs that felt like lead weights. He recognized the room he was in without having to open his eyes. It was the smell of the place that gave it away- a musty, old smell with an underlying stench of rot and decay that made his stomach roll. He had to fight to keep his gag reflex from dispelling the meager amount of nothing in his stomach.
"Why did you run away like that?" A soft voice asked from beside him, and he groaned. "We were all so worried for you, Anthony. You could have died."
He didn't tell her that he'd rather be dead than in her company. He'd given up his rebellion a long time ago, opting to remain silent. This frustrated some of his keepers, but the others paid no attention to him. This young woman kept talking as if they were having a conversation.
"You're going to be okay. The doctor patched you up as best he as he could. It's just a waiting game now. We hope that you will get better. We love you."
Mentally, he scoffed. They loved him?
"We're going to take good care of you, so I don't want you to worry about a thing," she reached out a hand and stroked his dirty hair. "You took quite the fall from that tree, but we're not going to give up on you. You're ours, and we'll make sure you come through this. Get some rest. If you need anything, I'll be right here."
He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to disappear into nothingness. He wanted to die. He'd have given anything to die.
The young woman drew her hand back, and he heard her stand up from the chair he knew was by his bedside. Her footsteps were soft as she made her way across the room. He thought that she was leaving- hoped that she was- but she stopped before she got to the door, and spoke softly to somebody whose voice he quickly recognized.
"He's doing well," she said.
"He needs to gather some of his strength back. We cannot offer something so frail and weak," a stern, male voice responded.
"I am quite positive that he'll be ready for the ritual. Its two weeks before the new moon. He has plenty of time to recover," she assured the man.
"I'll keep you at your word, Sister Agatha," the man said, and heavy footsteps signaled that he was walking towards the door. "It's too late now to find another. He's our only option, and this is our only chance."
"He is going to work," Sister Agatha promised.
She returned to sit beside him when the door snapped closed, and she stroked his hair back as she whispered to him. "This is a very important time, Anthony. You're going to save us. It's an honor to be chosen. You need to focus on getting well. Running off into the forest almost ruined everything. If you rest here and do as I say, everything will be fine. We have two weeks to prepare you for the sacrifice."
A/N: So what do you think? Interesting? Terrible? Let me know in a review!