Jack made it to the shed first. It'd taken him longer than expected, having to stop several times as a patrol swept through, but he could see it clearly now, suffused with moonlight, its rickety frame jutting from the ground like a crooked tree. It leaned rather than stood, propped on the outer edge of a wooded glen. The trees were wintered, though, and not much for cover. Jack had to admit he didn't exactly have a plan.
Jack approached the structure cautiously, his weapon drawn. Carefully, he stepped over a fallen log, swinging his flashlight in a wide arc to illuminate the surrounding woods. A pervasive fog hugged the ground making it difficult to see. He tangled his way through the vines and brush, edging along the perimeter until he discovered a window. Jack wiped the grime from a thick pane of glass and peered inside. Even with the flashlight, it was so murky he could scarcely make out basic shapes. He was satisfied, however, that the shed had been in ruin for a long time.
He kicked in the aged wooden door, its rusted latch giving easily and stirring the dust and cobwebs within. Jack surveyed the small shed quickly, taking note of the shelves on the back wall, the numerous farming implement. He settled behind a wooden keg, keeping a clear eye on the window just above him. It was the best strategic position to watch and wait. He could only hope that Tony wasn't too far behind him.
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Nina pulled the keyboard down, swiping her ID on a nearby access panel. The CTU seal appeared on the monitor, washing her face in harsh blue light.
The remote satellite was easy enough to access, though it was a risk, especially in here. It was dark, however, and she was alone. She entered the coordinates for the satellite and activated the infrared imaging.
After a few moments an image materialized, glowing eerily in a sea of black. One person, and they were running.
She zoomed in, her gaze intent, the digital instruments at the edge of her screen calibrating frenziedly. Although the thermal imaging blurred the specific outline of the figure, Nina could see that they were injured; their lumbering gait clearly favored the left side. And they were not alone.
Nina widened the field, revealing other ill-defined heat signatures moving in the same direction. Chasing him. Her eyes flitted between them…predator and prey. She watched impassively as the latter stumbled, crashing to the ground before clambering quickly to their feet once more. It was a quick recovery and not without difficulty given the pronounced limp, but from the practiced way in which he moved, the speed and control apparent despite an obvious injury, there was no doubt in Nina's mind that it was one of the two of them. Jack or Tony. Down there, running for their lives.
She looked at the screen, watching him. She wasn't supposed to care, that wasn't what was asked of her. So it surprised her a little that she did.
Nina withdrew her cell phone and made the call.
-0-0-0-
They were coming. Whatever lead Tony had gained by cutting across the creek was now exhausted. So was he. His breath came in short blasts, his stinging lungs straining against the night air and his own overexertion.
His leg was bad, worse than he would admit to himself, and he was soaked to the waist. The trek through the freezing water had sapped his strength.
In any other situation, walking would've been difficult and running in possible, yet run he did, each contact with the ground setting fire to his nerve endings and nearly stealing his breath. The overgrown field, with its long-forgotten rows now treacherous and covered with grass, proved more of a minefield than some actual ones he'd traversed. It was ridged, with deeply plowed furrows, and Tony's leg seemed to catch every one.
Finally, the land pitched steeply downward and the ground became smoother, but the change in trajectory made his leg scream. Sweat stood in large welts on Tony's forehead, and he was chill. The shed was but a mile away, he knew, but his pursuers were even closer. Absently he wished he'd told Jack he was injured.
Just then, at the crest of a hill behind him and not far enough away, Tony heard the baying of dogs. They'd caught his scent, no doubt, the fresh blood. Their fervent cries rang in the dark. Tony looked around quickly. There was no cover, and with nothing between them but open space, the dogs would be on him soon. He didn't have enough bullets for all of them.
Turning sharply, Tony bounded over a shallow ditch and straight into a thicket. Sharp thorns nipped at his clothes, digging into his flesh in places as he tore away from them. He retrieved a hunting knife from the holster on his leg and began hacking at the dried vines.
He was making progress, but not fast enough. Tony could now hear, above the pursuing dogs, the low whine of an engine.
"Stay where you are."
Jack's voice in his ear was so unexpected it stopped him cold.
"Jack, how—"
"Just stay down," Jack replied evenly. Tony looked around. It took a moment, but he finally saw him through the brush. Had it not been for his training, he wouldn't have. Jack's clothing blended perfectly into the night vista, and his face was smudged with black. Even his hair was dusted darker than the usual blond, taming its luster.
Tony could just make out the shape of him pressed against a tree, a high-powered rifle in hand, aiming at the crest of the hill behind him.
This time Tony did as he was told. He lay flat in the tall grass, listening. He heard the dogs first. They stormed the little knoll, their bristled silhouettes backlit by headlights. Jack dropped one, two, three of them; Tony could here the sharp report of the rifle crack over his head.
And then, a jeep. It bounded over the hill with a mechanical scream, its headlights jittering wildly in the night sky. It was going too fast, though, and rumbled over several of the dogs as it descended the hill, nearly wrecking. The passenger had barely enough time to get off a quick spray of bullets before Jack dropped him, too. His body pitched sideways and tumbled out of the jeep.
Startled, the driver cut the wheel erratically. He fought for control, but momentum and the pull of gravity was too insistent. The jeep flipped, tumbling heavily to rest at the bottom of the hill in a sighing hiss of idling engines and spent exhaust.
Jack sprinted to the site. The underbelly of the jeep was exposed, the tires on the jeep spinning uselessly. He looked into the cab to where the driver hung suspended by his seatbelt. Cautiously, he pulled his head back. The battered face was drenched in blood.
"Jack."
Tony had made it to the edge of the crash site and stood a few yards behind Jack. While his voice was strong, he appeared wobbly and his ashen face shone with a thick sheen of sweat. Jack was stricken. "Tony?" He went to him quickly, inspecting his injuries with urgent, able fingers. "It's not that bad," Tony offered lamely, trying in vain to put more weight on the affected leg as if to prove his point.
"The hell it isn't," Jack said seriously. He took Tony roughly under the arms, wrapping the left one around his shoulder. "We have to move fast," Jack said roughly. "We don't have a lot of time."
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