Chapter 6

"Jack! Jack! Where's Jack? Help, help!"

"I'm over here. Hurley, Hurley stop! Calm down. What's going on?"

"Help!"

"Hurley! Enough! What's this- Is that blood? Who's…? This is Kate's bag! Where did you find it?"

"By the stream. Back there. I don't- I ran- I'm sorry."

"No, its ok Hurley. It's ok. You did the right thing. Now you have to show me. John! Ana! Go Hurley, go!"

Sawyer heard the voices outside his tent and shook his head in disgust. Did they think he was that stupid? Fucking amateurs. Bait like that would be insulting if it wasn't so childish. He shook his head again and returned to his handyman project. It was almost done.

After everyone was asleep last night, he had crept out the back of his own tent, slipped into the jungle and gathered up every gun, every bullet, every little thing Charlie had swiped for him and brought it all back here. Then he worked until the early hours digging and bracing a little island-safe right under the boxes that served as his closet. Now, as he listened to Sheriff Jack noisily riding off to Ruse-city with his posse, he made some last adjustments, took a long second to admire his new arsenal, and slowly lowered the piece of metal aircraft skin 'lid'. He pressed the metal down firmly and slid his boxes back on top.

No one would ever suspect something this brazen. Especially not those amateurs outside. Goddamn it, did they really think he was that stupid? Did they think that he would come arunnin' like a fool into their jungle ambush just because they mentioned Kate's name? Despite the open invitation he had given Sayid last night, he was not so keen to get himself tortured that he would allow himself to be played so obviously.

Still, it showed him that the Brothers Grimm had kissed and made up and had decided to come back at him in a united front. If he didn't fall for this ploy perhaps they would try a more head on approach? He straightened up from his kneeling crouch, sat back on his heels and rubbed absently at his aching shoulder. He frowned. Something did not feel right. Perhaps this amateur theatre hour was not for him at all? Perhaps it was for everyone else. A nice little distraction for the masses while Hannibal and his army came back around.

It'll come back around…

Shit!

Sawyer swept away the boxes and tore open his safe.

*They usually don't leave any trail.*

*It's worth a look. Let me ask you something - this whole scenario make sense to you?*

*What do you mean?*

*Think about it. First off, how'd she get away? The woman doesn't weigh 100 pounds soaking wet.*

*She was fighting for her life. People are capable of almost anything...*

*You couldn't get away. You versus Sun, hot oil death match, my money's on you, Sheena.*

*Thanks for your vote of confidence.*

She fought for her life, but he was right: she couldn't get away.

Sawyer figured his chances would be better if he took up position in the Hatch. Get himself nice and cosy in that chair next to the button and not one of them would try anything out of fear for the safety of that damned computer. Could get himself room and maid service. Could hold court and …

But that would mean taking up permanent residence in that suffocating hole in the ground. He hadn't been lying when he told Kate that he didn't like being under there. Too confining. Felt like he was being smothered, caged, and it stirred too many memories that he did not want to go near even in daylight. He bet it would be fucking dark with all the lights out too… Shit.

He'd have to take his chances on the beach. But he would be ready for them all the same and make them come at him out in the open where he could pick them off like flies if need be. Sawyer flipped open the tent flap and peered outside. As predicted, hardly anyone was left – the place looked like a damned ghost town. He breathed out through his nose and hefted his rifle. The nine millimetre in the back of his pants dug into his ass. He stepped outside and sat down on his airplane seat, rifle propped out of sight behind his chair with a convenient ammunition bag, another nine millimetre in his lap, and a brand new novel in hand. Charlie stared mournfully at him from his spot on Outcast Ridge. Sawyer ignored him. He slipped on his glasses, opened the first page and began to read.

Kate stumbled. She tried to reach out to cushion the fall but bound hands were no substitute for unbound and the hood blinded her. Helpless to prevent it, she smacked her face into something woody, tree root?, on the narrow trail and lay there stunned.

"Up!" Her kidnapper hissed. He pulled on her upper arm, managing to get her most of the way up, but her senses were reeling and she couldn't co-ordinate herself to do more than hang there – painfully. God, it had been such a stupid thing to do to go mango picking so soon after Sun had been attacked, but she had needed some space and god help her she just could not stay on the beach. Couldn't bear to be anywhere near… it was too painful even to finish the thought. So she had gone for a long walk to the last of the fruiting trees, telling herself with every step that she wasn't running, that she wasn't fleeing the scene of the crime - that she wasn't falling back into old habits. Telling herself all manner of lies. "Stand up! Up, or so help me I'll shoot you right here!"

Kate didn't doubt it. Her attacker was as scared as he was intent on kidnapping her and she had no trouble believing that he would shoot her if he felt he had to. She scrabbled her boots at the muddy ground, her heart thumping. She had to play for time. It was her only chance.

"Up!"

"I can't. Hit my head. Think I'm going to be sick."

"Then be sick, but get up!"

She scrabbled some more and then hung there, trying not to cry out at the pain of dangling by her upper arm. She had to slow him down and give them time to find her. She paused. Give who time to find her? Sawyer? Jack? John? Who? Who was left that did not think her either a sap or a liability? Who would even notice that she was gone?

It was unbelievable, what Sawyer had done. Since his return, since he had found himself on the receiving end of everyone's growing affections, she had seen and felt his unease. She had glimpsed flashes of fear and defensive ferocity in his face on numerous occasions, even after they had emerged from his tent that first morning when she had felt there had been some sort of breakthrough. But she had thought, as time wore on and those flashes of feeling never lead to anything more, that what she was seeing was as a result of some sort of wary re-emergence of the man that had been hiding under so many years of hurt and anger. She had decided, foolishly it now seemed, that he had to do this on his own for it to have any meaning, any backbone to it. So she had been content to watch and be ready should the advance suddenly become a rapid retreat. And it had appeared to be working.

She had been so confident of her convictions, that even after Jack had revealed the fate of Sawyer's precious stash, even after he and Sawyer had begun to butt heads once again, she had never expected the feared retreat to actually happen. She had certainly never expected it to happen like it did – so completely and so violently. She hadn't expected to be one of those on the receiving end of his lashing out, as if she was no one, as if she meant nothing to him. And she hadn't even seen it coming.

Maybe she hadn't wanted it see it coming.

And the other castaways? She must look like such a fool or worse. No one had spoken to her this morning, though the beach had been filled with unnerved people just looking for reassuring banal conversation. Even those people she counted as friends, who had been the most accepting of her and Sawyer's new relationship, did not speak to her. Times were uncertain. People were afraid. They were afraid of Sawyer, and by connection they now seemed to be afraid of her.

Or angry at her: like Jack and John.

She had no idea if anyone had even noticed that she was gone. Certainly they had no idea what had happened to her.

"Up! Fuck!" Her captor was growing exasperated and he yanked at her arm. She didn't have to fake the cry of pain. "All right. Two minutes. Two minutes you hear me. Then puking or not you're getting up!" He released her arm and she fell back onto the slippery trail, face down in the mud.

Two minutes. She had two minutes to do something.

"Sawyer, where are the guns?"

"You're in my light."

"Sawyer! Where are the fucking guns!"

"My, my! Such language Doc." Sawyer drawled, looking up from his book to see Jack towering over him, breathing hard.

"Give them to me. Now."

"And just why should I do that? Look at all the trouble I just went to to get 'em? Hell, I know I said y'all needed to come see me to get one, but shit doc I ain't a damned charity. Man's got to make a living." He put his novel down over the gun in his lap and took off his glasses. "Let's see what you're offering first."

"Kate's missing. Looks like some one has taken her. Maybe these 'Others'." Locke interrupted, cutting right to it. Sawyer looked up at him from his lounge chair. The tracker was sweating like one of his boars, covered in mud and twigs and there was an adrenaline charged edge to his voice that Sawyer had to admire. The guy sure could act. Better than old Jacko, standing there snorting through his nostrils like an angry bull. Ana-Lucia and Hurley were sticking to the background: extras in this sad ass movie.

"Didn't you hear what John said?" Jack suddenly demanded. "What the hell is the matter with you? Kate has been kidnapped-"

"I heard." Sawyer said mildly. This was not as much fun as he thought it was going to be. "Heard your little performance earlier too."

"What?"

"I might have dropped out of school at 14 doc, but I'm not an idiot and I been playing this game for longer than you been cutting folks up and stichin' 'em back together." Jack just blinked at him, stunned. "Oh, what? I'm supposed to fall for this crap and come running after you all into them big ol' bushes.

"Why don't I make it real easy for you then? Come on now, where you got Mr Baghdad stashed? Point the way and make sure to tell him to have all his bamboo sticks sharpened to go. I sure do hate to wait. Hope it ain't far though, I didn't bring my running shoes."

"You're insane." Jack finally responded. "You think we're making this up?"

"I know you are." He locked eyes with the other man, staring hard. Game over.

"Forget him Jack." Ana-Lucia suddenly spoke up from the background. She stepped forward. "Leave it. We're losing time. John, you got some knives right?"

"Yes."

"There are enough of us for knives to work in our favour, but if we don't move we're going to miss any chance at all. Come on!" She pulled on Jack's arm. "Come on!"

"You- You're unbelievable." Jack almost whispered, something more than disgust in his voice – something closer to horror. Sawyer frowned, perturbed by the intensity of the act. Jack let himself be pulled backward, but could not seem to break eye contact. Sawyer watched as they headed towards John's tent, and his knife stash.

That was almost too easy, but Jack's last little theatrical flare had seemed too good, like it was…

"Good morning Claire." A familiar voice suddenly said from a distant tent. The words came born by the gusty breeze that was stirring loose grains of sand all along the beach. An accented voice.

Sawyer froze as Sayid suddenly crawled out of his tent, hair sticking up in tufts, clothing rumpled and creased from sleeping in it. The novel dropped into the sand, forgotten, as he watched Claire sit down in front of the tent; watched Sayid reach out to touch Aaron's head where the Australian had him cradled in her lap. The Iraqi sat back, yawned, and scratched his chest.

Oh Christ… Abruptly there was not enough oxygen left in the air. Oh Christ no! He'd fucked up. Jack wasn't lying. For a moment he could not move. Kate: kidnapped. Gone. Taken. Hurt maybe. Maybe dea- A memory of her: in his arms on the bunk bed that first time as he cradled her to his chest as she slept, marvelling at the slender delicate body pressed so close to his. He remembered that first rush of feeling and felt moist heat push behind his eyes.

It would not take much for a man of his size, or even Charlie's, to do some terrible damage to that slight body. Particularly if that man felt he had motive. Jack had said there was blood. So she had fought, like he knew she would, he thought with pride. But it seemed that all she had done was give the bastard motive.

Sawyer's gaze switched to Charlie's tent. He remembered the Englishman's over zealous actions with Sun and wondered briefly if the little bastard had taken to his new sport and made Kate his next victim. Charlie was sitting hunched over his knees, staring out to sea. No. Sawyer knew broken when he saw it and Charlie had begged him not to ever tell Sun what he had done. He had to know that all deals were off if he dared even to look sideways at Kate. And no one was talking to him so he had no chance to conspire this fast with anyone else.

So that left only these 'Others'. Again. Fucking bastards. He'd kill them. Kill every last fucking one.

"Jack! Hold up!" Sawyer bellowed across the sand to where the four would be rescuers were waiting impatiently for Locke to retrieve his knives. He was already halfway across the beach to them by the time they looked up. "How many guns do you think we're gonna need?"

"Who are you?" Kate asked. She had been lying still for nearly two minutes wracking her brains trying to find someway out of this, but could think of nothing. Except perhaps, trying to talk her way out of it. Not one of her strong suits, but she had nothing else left. She had tried fighting, but all that had accomplished was to bloody his nose and her lip and eye.

There was no reply, but her captor was nearby: she could hear him breathing and fidgeting. She could smell his sour sweat through the stench of mud and wet leaves. He smelled of fear. It gave her hope.

"I- I'm Kate. What's your-"

"Shut up!" The sudden screech made her jump and shutdown any hopes she had to engage him, to win him over. The man was just too scared, too desperate. She froze, terrified. "Just shut up. Don't talk."

"Sorry, I-"

"Up! Up!" He was suddenly over her, she could feel his body heat. He grabbed her upper arms and lifted. When he had her on her feet he shoved a hand into her back. She stumbled forward. "Move!"

"My head. I feel faint. I think I have a concussion."

"Move!" Her kidnapper screeched again and she flinched from the hysteria. He shoved again and she staggered forward and went down onto one knee, feigning a dizzy spell. She was taking more than a chance here, the man was obviously desperate to the point of crazed, but if she didn't find a way to stop him then she was finished. She knew it. She went down, face down into the mud, again.

A soft metallic click suddenly came from behind her right ear. Oh god. She shut her eyes, squeezed them tight. He pressed the gun against her head and she felt the tiny pressure like a ton weight. Her breath roared like the ocean in her ears. Her heart boomed.

"Get up." The whisper was a quiet terrifying calm, and slithered into her ear like a snake's hiss. She didn't move. "I know you're faking.

"I'm going to count to three and then you're going to get up or I'm going to shoot you. My orders didn't require I bring you back alive. One." Kate didn't move. "Two." A bird twittered nearby, oblivious to the murder about to happen. She felt like crying, but the tears blocked in her throat. How much had happened since she had come to this place. And now it had come to this. Surprisingly she found herself thinking of yesterday morning, when she had challenged Sawyer to chase her along the beach. That look he had given her: affectionate, heated, playful, just a little bit uncertain, just a little bit dangerous, she had only just begun to learn who he was, but that expression seemed to encapsulate him like no other and she saw him now clear as day. She should never have walked away from his tent last night no matter how hurt and bewildered she was. She should have stayed like she had learned she had to, to invade his personal space and stay there until she could break through that thick skull of his. She should have grabbed him and shaken him. She should have marched back in there this morning and taken him on head to head. She should have-

"Three."

A gunshot echoed faintly across the beach. Every head turned toward the jungle.

"Sawyer wait!" Sawyer heard Jack's yell, but ignored it. He had his bearings now. He didn't need a tracker. Absolute terror gave such power to his muscles that he was plunging into the jungle before Jack's last word had been swept away by the gusty breeze. He tore his own path into the foliage until he connected with the trail that lead to the stream then he turned towards the inland and began to sprint.

Hold on. Hold on, I'm coming baby. I'm coming!

END CHAPTER