Chapter 7- Trading Horses
Ward had been traversing the fields back and forth in a grid pattern since the first rays of daylight broke the sky. The heavy rain and winds during the night had all but erased any clues that might have been helpful in locating Fitz, but he was undaunted. It certainly made the job harder, but not impossible. It was only 10:00am but already he had been marching at a steady clip for almost four hours. So far all he had scared up was some nesting birds, a few rabbits, and a cat.
His legs ached from wading through the waist high crops and grass on uneven ground and the humid air was stifling. He took one last look around before deciding to take a quick break to rehydrate and hopefully let his body temperature lower a bit. He wanted to find Fitz, but it wouldn't do either of them any good if he keeled over with heat stroke while searching.
He laid down in the wet red clay soil predominant in the area and smeared some on his face and exposed arms to expedite the cooling process. Clay was an excellent sunblock and bug repellent and in an emergency it could even be eaten to relieve diarrhea or to filter water to drink. When it came to survival, Fitz was almost in the Garden of Eden but Ward doubted he knew this. While it was surprisingly comfortable to lay there and almost tempting to fall asleep after he had bent a patch of tall grass over him for extra shade, he knew he had to remain alert. He hadn't run across any of the monsters all morning, but he knew they were out there. He slowly but steadily sipped water from his bottle and tried to conserve energy while remaining hypervigilant to every sound that drifted across the field.
His eyes flew open when he detected a steady pattern of swishing like several people walking through a nearby field. It was far away and moving away from him, but the speed of motion seemed much faster than the monsters were able to travel. While they moved in a shuffling, almost random manner this was direct, swift, and purposeful. That could only mean there were other living people in the area. If Fitz wasn't with them, maybe they knew where he was or they may have spotted him. Still, he didn't know them and that made them dangerous. If what little bit he witnessed on the road was any indication of their daily existence, he could imagine they may be less than friendly.
He stealthily made his way to the nearby woods to circle around for better cover. In the middle of a green field, a six foot plus tall man dressed in black tactical gear would stick out like a neon sign on the moon, so he crept along the tree line always maintaining a healthy distance yet observing the group. He noted what appeared to be three men, one of whom was armed with a crossbow slung across his shoulder and another with a gun resting in a holster at his hip as well as two women. He could only assume the rest were armed in some way as well.
"Ward," May's voice called with some measure of expediency, "I picked up a signal from Fitz's drone, but I see you're already following it. It's about a half-mile from your present location to the east."
"I see them." He whispered in a low tone. "Fitz isn't with them, though." He was almost glad he couldn't see the expression on Simmons' face, but he had a good idea of what it was.
"If they have his drone, they likely made some sort of contact with him. Might be worth pursuing." May suggested.
"Copy that." Ward nodded as he continued to edge closer to the group. Wearing black and being covered in mud made him much less likely to be seen in the shaded woods, but he was careful not to make too many loud noises by brushing through branches or stepping on sticks with a loud crack. The woods were full of living creatures so some natural noise was to be expected, but it shouldn't sound like an elephant ambling though. He watched and waited patiently because he knew it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long.
"Hey guys, hold up for a minute." Glen called while he apologetically gestured towards the woods. "I have to go do some business."
"Hurry up." Daryl commanded. It looked like he hadn't showered in a decade and Ward had to respect him for that on some level. That was the sign of a man who could live in the wild on his own and do just fine.
As Glen made his way deep into the woods, he called back "Doesn't always work like that, man." An irregular diet sometimes made for irregular pit stops. It was just one more of the new realities that he had come to begrudgingly accept.
Ward silently followed and after a quarter of a mile he began to wonder just how much privacy the guy needed to do his business, but even a blind man could see the body of the black drone he casually tossed into the air like a ball as he walked. He pulled out his night-night gun and made no effort to silence it as he pulled the slide back to load a bullet in the chamber.
Glen heard the clicking sound and stopped in his tracks. He slowly turned to face the attacker with his hands up and a look of fear on his face he couldn't hide.
"Where is he?" Ward asked casually. He didn't want to come off as homicidal, but he did want to emphasize the point he had the upper hand while also modulating his tone to let the guy know he didn't intend to hurt him if he cooperated. It was a delicate balancing act to be sure. "You know who I'm talking about. Where is he?"
Glen swallowed hard and calmly said, "We tried." He felt awful about leaving Fitz to fend for himself, he really did. He even advocated for him as best he could but in the end he was outvoted.
His words came across the com for all to hear but they rang loudest in Jemma's ears. She felt the very Earth crumble beneath her as she hung her head and stifled a desperate scream. It sounded so final, so certain. They tried- and presumably failed. He might have died all alone and was forever gone and it was her fault. She didn't stop him and she couldn't save him, and she felt like she couldn't live with herself because of it.
The force of the man's words felt like a wrecking ball smashing into Ward, but he had a job to do. People died on missions all the time, it was part of the job and Fitz was an asset like anyone else. He had to think of him in impersonal terms because if he didn't he may not have had the restraint to prevent himself from just killing them all in retribution.
"You S.H.I.E.L.D. too?" Glen asked quietly, looking him over as if he already knew. "He said his people would come for him."
The man's tone wasn't at all mocking, which surprised Ward. It seemed like he was genuinely relieved to see him. "Where'd you get that?" He asked gesturing to the drone in the man's right hand with the barrel of his gun.
"Fitz gave it to us." He answered. "He said he wanted to be able to find us when you had a cure."
Ward narrowed his eyes in confusion. They knew Fitz's name, the agency, had his drone, and knew the purpose of his mission. He left them absolutely no reason not to kill him- he gave them everything they could possibly want. First Fitz ditched his tracker and then he gave away the only real means of finding him to a group of strangers. What the hell was he thinking? Fitz was no field agent but Ward didn't think he'd sing like a canary either.
"Drop it." Came a voice from behind him.
Ward slowly looked over his shoulder to see the crossbow guy with his weapon pointed at his head and an intense scowl on his face. He considered his options and thought compliance was the best way to go, so he brought his hands out to his shoulders and let the gun fall from his hand. "I didn't even hear you." He complimented. He was truly impressed.
"That's how it's supposed to work, ain't it?" Daryl asked in a deep drawl as he gestured for Glen to retrieve the gun. "So what's the story? You some kind of pervert or somethin'?"
Ward scowled and huffed, "Excuse me?" This was turning into Deliverance territory way faster than he was comfortable with.
"Well, you did follow a man out in the woods while he was off to do some personal business. That's pretty odd, wouldn't you say? Had some business of your own to do too?" He asked suspiciously.
"I do as a matter of fact." Ward declared turning toward him, still maintaining his non-threatening posture and tone as best he could. While he no doubt may have been able to neutralize them both, that wasn't what he was there for. Sometimes missions were run on diplomacy rather than total elimination, but he had to play his cards right and keep his options open. "I'm looking for someone I think you may have had contact with."
Daryl regarded him for a minute before deciding to believe him. "Alright then, let's go back and talk business." He invited while he gestured for him to walk back toward the group so Glen could wrap things up. "Less yappin' more steppin'." Daryl was a man who valued solitude and he found people generally talked a lot without really having anything to say. He figured the others could probably tolerate it better than he could.
Daryl and Ward walked in silence while he held his hands up like a prisoner the entire time. No doubt the rest of the team heard what was going on and wisely, they kept quiet because they knew he could handle himself and they couldn't risk the possibility of his captors hearing them talking in his ear. He finally came to a stop when the rest of the group came into sight.
Rick took one look at him and casually launched himself away from the tree he was leaning on as though he wasn't at all surprised by the turn of events. "Where's the others?" He asked in a knowing tone.
"There are none." Ward replied confidently. "It's just me."
Rick nodded with a smirk despite his irritation at the worn out ploy. "I'm gonna stop you there 'cause I've heard this one before." He reached up to the interloper's ear and pulled out the clear com mic with a quick yank before crushing it into the ground with his foot. "Who you talkin' to then if it's just you out here all by yourself?"
"Says he's part of that outfit the other boy was in." Daryl grumbled. It seemed plausible because despite being covered in mud, the guy looked like the epitome of health. People who lived like he and the others did stopped looking like they just left a cycling class sipping mineral water at the gym long ago.
"That right?" Rick asked looking him up and down with something like weary disgust. "He said you'd be out here." He did warn them, but Rick thought there would be more and further hoped to avoid running into them. If it ever came down to it, his side would be outgunned and no match for the agents, however many more there actually were. He was no maniac, he wanted to keep a low profile and avoid confrontation as much as possible but he certainly would defend himself even if the odds were not in his favor. What choice did he have?
"Where is he?" Ward asked in the best congenial tone he could muster. He didn't know if the com could still pick up anything that was being said, but he added, "I just want to recover his body. I have no interest in you or your group here. I came for him and that's all." In an even quieter tone he made one last appeal. "He was a good man and his family deserves a decent burial."
"He may not be dead." Maggie spoke up. "He might be, but we don't know. We did what we could for him but last we saw him he was still alive." She too felt guilty, but they gave him the best shot possible at survival. They did everything but stay with him, which maybe they should have done but in reality couldn't.
A new sense of urgency sparked in Ward's blood. "Where is he?" He asked again, this time with a little less patience. If there was even a small chance Fitz was still alive, he would take it.
Rick's eyes were absolutely stone cold hard. Maggie was right. Maybe the guy wasn't dead or maybe he was, but after all he had done so far to keep his group safe he may not even notice a little extra blood on his hands. "That depends." He responded with a raised eyebrow. "How do we know you won't call in your buddies and kill us after we tell you?"
Ward took one look at the group and realized he was holding a pretty solid bargaining chip. "You don't, but as a good faith gesture I'll offer you something you can use. In my back pocket I have a pack containing several doses of heavy antibiotics and painkillers. My guess is you don't have many medical supplies and something like that would be a lifesaver. All I ask is you give me one of each in case he's still alive and you can have the rest."
"We're keepin' that fancy gun we got off you too," Daryl informed him, "to replace the one we left with him."
Ward felt like he was being mugged and wanted to roll his eyes, but he was grateful they tried to give Fitz some provisions despite what little they apparently had for themselves. "Fine." He acquiesced. "But let me explain. It's not your typical firearm. It was specially designed by Fitz to use incapacitating but non-lethal ammunition." He fished around in his tactical pants and pulled out the blue dendrotoxin icers and handed them to Carol who had come to collect his offerings. He really hated to part with his night-night gun, but maybe this time Fitz could actually make one for him one ounce lighter as he previously requested. Not because it had to be, but simply out of retribution for putting him through this shake-down. At this rate he would be lucky to walk away with his underwear.
Carol opened the pouch and removed one syringe of each color and handed them to the tall man. There were several in the bag and would no doubt come in handy. Very often, just as in the wild, a person who became injured or weak was the one to be culled from the herd and the contents of the pack may just save a life.
"We good?" Ward asked with a squint. The leader of the group may have been something of a con artist, but there was also a clear trait of integrity. Some people are bad because they have to be and he certainly identified with that. "Now where is Fitz?"
Rick nodded and placed his hands on his hips because a deal was a deal. He hated to resort to extortion, but he had to do everything he could and take advantage of every opportunity he could because survival was a dirty and uncertain business. "There's a small barn about a mile and a half northwest of here. The doors are braced from the inside and he's alone with a gun." His usually steely eyes softened a bit as he looked to the ground. "One way or another you'll find what you came for."
Ward got the hint and felt a little disgusted that the man seemed completely indifferent about the life of someone who it seemed tried to help them as much as they did by giving them everything he had as well as a potential lifeline via a cure. Granted he was a bit more biased because he knew Fitz better than they did, but he would have thought any such gesture of cooperation or goodwill in this hellhole would be worth its weight in gold. He wasn't lying when he said Fitz was a good man. Painfully awkward and sometimes a little prickly perhaps, but he cared deeply about his job, his teammates, and apparently others in general.
He wanted nothing more than to retrieve the com from under Rick's foot, but he knew better than to push his luck. "One more thing," he said finally letting his aching arms drop to his sides, "how do I know you won't shoot me in the back as soon as I walk away?"
Rick casually tucked the night-night gun into the back of his waistband and flippantly replied "I guess you don't, do you?" Of course he wouldn't do such a thing. If he was going to kill a man he would do it face to face, but it was just one more assurance he could make use of that the man wouldn't be any further trouble to them.
"I'm no threat to you." Ward reasoned. "You have all the weapons."
"I doubt that." He squinted. He used to be a sheriff and he knew just by looking at the guy he was either ex-military or SWAT type, meaning he could make a weapon of any and everything including his bare hands. "All the same. I'll determine what's a threat and what's not." He leveled coolly. "Now if I was you, I wouldn't waste much time in thinkin' 'cause the longer you stand there debating, the less chance there is you'll find him alive. Either 'cause walkers got to him, he turned, or he put a bullet in his head."
Ward sighed heavily as he turned to go. At least now he knew what he was dealing with even if the odds were stacked against him. As he took off at a moderate jog across the field, the high grass tangling and ensnaring his legs as he tore through, Carol's voice called "Good luck!" It wasn't the typically blithe formal tone people most often used out of social custom, but it sounded sincere and it gave him just that little extra push to run as hard as he could.
