The Man Who Would Not Break

Chapter 13

Thank you to all those who are still reading. Thanks also to husband for his assistance with research for this chapter.

Disclaimer: Husband complains he is doing research for free. Had to inform him that we who write this stuff do not get paid. He says as payment for his services he will settle for me learning how to cook. Did I just get dissed?

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The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.

Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms, 1929

No Special Hurry

The wind blowing through the open doorway carried with it the strong smell of smoke and the figure backlit by the now murky light looked to be the Devil himself come from his fiery domain to claim his soul.

Gary Cheney was scared shitless. Voice tight and not as unwavering as intended, he nevertheless managed to spit out the greeting that contained a reminder of times past. "Can't say it's good to see you again, midshipman McGarrett but, oh excuse me, I guess your rank has changed hasn't it? Reward for your treachery?"

McGarrett didn't reply. He stood mutely pointing the carbine at a heart that beat nearly loud enough to hear without a stethoscope.

Trembling but defiant as he kneeled on the floor, Cheney looked up at the man who stood rock steady; finger poised on trigger. They stayed that way, frozen in place for a long minute before Cheney stammered, "What . . . what are you going to do?" He asked the question though he knew full-well his former shipmate's intent.

With what could be called a smile if its effect wasn't one that could have frozen a molten lava flow, McGarrett growled, "What do you think?"

"I . . . I umm . . . ", began Cheney trying to come up with something that wouldn't get him immediately shot. Thoughts raced through his mind in a search for something that could save him until he ultimately realized . . . nothing would. There was nothing he could say to mollify the man with the unflinching glare who, on the exterior, was calm and still as a boulder but, within, was probably vibrating from the need to end him.

Finally, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders to glare back at the man with the gun Cheney said, "You know why I did it . . . don't you?"

The muzzle of the M-16 pointed unwaveringly at his target, McGarrett responded, "I don't care why."

With the certainty he was about to meet his end, Cheney became strangely calmer and said, "You don't know how long I've waited. How long I've wanted to describe to you exactly what your testimony did to me and my family."

"You may as well save it Cheney. Nothing you say now is going to make one damned bit of difference." responded McGarrett, his gaze still fixed unwaveringly on his target.

"It doesn't matter what you do to me now. Nothing matters anymore." There was a short pause and Cheney's own smile; small and brittle appeared as he said, "But of course, you know that feeling now too, don't you Steve?"

The wind now moaned in the background like a chorus of the damned as bits of leafy litter skittered through the open doorway to gather around the tall man's feet. He didn't seem to notice. He never answered the question but his expression was what one adopted just before stepping on a roach.

"Fuck you McGarrett! I know you know the feeling!" screeched Cheney, his composure giving out when faced with his foe's unnerving silence; the panic once more taking hold. "I know you feel the same way I did when Annie died! I wanted you to know what it feels like! I wanted you to hurt the same say I did!"

The calm but chilling response was, "You can keep talking or not. Doesn't matter to me. I came here to put an end to you and nothing's going to change my mind."

"ANNIE DIED BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID!" exclaimed Cheney, cords in his neck standing out with the effort.

"Again, your reasons, whatever they are, don't matter. This only ends one way."

Cheney raged on, "She killed herself because I was in jail and she had no one else! I was in jail and she was alone! I was the only one who could keep her from giving up. Because of you I couldn't be here to save her!"

Face like stone, McGarrett coldly responded, "If your plan was to kill the one responsible for your winding up in jail, you should have eaten your own gun."

"FUCK YOU! I was only trying to make enough money to get us a proper place to live! Annie deserved her own house; not some fucking cabin in the middle of nowhere owned by a man who let us use it because he wanted his son out of the way!"

"I don't fucking care what your motive was Cheney. The drugs you sold killed four people. The only reason you're out of jail now is because your father had enough pull to get you out."

"My father?" snorted Cheney, "He was just another of your casualties McGarrett. Did you know he died right before I was released? I never got to actually speak with him again after I was booked. He never came to see me when I was in the brig. I'm sure he thought it was too humiliating for a retired vice-admiral to be visiting his ne're-do-well son in prison."

"I - Don't – Care." slowly and carefully enunciated McGarrett, "Your family drama isn't of my concern. What was of my concern was to stop you from peddling lethal drugs to fellow shipmates."

"How was I to know the stuff was that strong? I don't use that crap. How was I to know those idiots would take too much of it?!" squeaked Cheney

"You could have stopped selling it after that first one but you didn't so someone had to stop you. And because one of the guys who died was my friend, I had to stop you."

"Fuck your friend! Carter was a drug addict! You could have let it be and just minded your own damned business but no! You just had to play the hero and investigate and then notify the master-at-arms! Annie died because of you!"

"I found out who sold the heroin that was killing people. I did exactly what I had to do and would do it again."

"Even if you knew it would kill an innocent woman?" asked Cheney, voice actually choking with emotion.

McGarrett flinched but hesitated only a second before growling, "As innocent as the one you killed?"

"You have only yourself to blame for that. If you'd just kept your fucking mouth shut she'd still be alive. They'd both still be alive!" declared the man still kneeling on the floor, emotions veering wildly between anger and pathos.

There was no answer at all this time and Cheney could see the finger on the trigger of the carbine begin to tighten and steeled himself for it. He knew he was a dead man.

…..

The three men moved silently as possible. Both Ruiz and Tex were surprised at how little noise the compact detective made as he moved through the undergrowth with them. They didn't know that Steve had shown him both by instruction and example how to do just that.

From his former teammate's description, Ruiz already knew the detective was fearless. The night of his arrival McGarrett had described his terrier of a partner as smart, relentless and, despite his constant bitching, fearless. So far, there hadn't even been much complaining from the compact man. Maybe it was something reserved for familia, (or what both McGarrett and Williams had called 'ohana'), Ruiz certainly hoped so.

After another half-mile or so they'd come upon the Toyota left abandoned in the middle of the stream and cautiously approached while looking around for sign the shooter may yet lurking in the thick cover uphill from their position. The SUV looked as though it had been used for target practice.

Danny held his breath as he peered inside it; hoping not to see the body of his friend. It was thankfully empty and more than one of them let out a breath of relief. Upon closer inspection, bloodstains were evident on the seat and they strengthened their resolve to find their brother-in-arms as quickly as possible. Tex was still muttering to himself about failing to warn Steve to pull over sooner as Ruiz gave him a pat on an oversized shoulder in consolation.

Casting for sign on both banks, it was clear there were two sets of tracks to follow up the mountainside. Smoke was now evident all around them. Its pungent haze was beginning to make eyes sting and lungs ache with each inhale and exhale.

Chronic drought had already put the agricultural industry in danger of ruin due to lack of water for irrigation; now parts of the so-called Golden State were in danger of literally going up in flames as well. This threat of incineration wasn't a new one. In the mountains and high deserts it was always the tradeoff for being surrounded by beauty.

They continued their careful trek up the mountainside. With both men separately headed in the same direction, it looked as though one was stalking the other. They all had a pretty good hunch who was hunter and who was hunted. They had to catch up to them and soon.

…

A towering, sap-laden pine with embers blown into its branches smoldered like a fuse for several seconds before catching and immediately being engulfed in flame. Like the textbook pattern of fire in a fuel rich environment, it had finally exploded like a bomb. The sharp report echoed across the narrow canyon and rattled the windows of the cabin. By instinct and trained response, both men hit the floor at the same time.

Before even registering the cause for the concussion, Cheney was on his feet and halfway to the door. The SEAL made a grab for him only to be kicked in the very spot that had taken the earlier hit. Gasping at the sharp pain and vaguely aware of an ominous snap and give at the site of impact, he curled into himself for protection against the heavy boot that had thudded into his ribs.

Cheney, seizing the opportunity, kicked at the carbine and managed to knock it loose from the SEAL's grasp to skitter away across the floor. Without bothering to even take the time to pick it up he was out the door like a shot. McGarrett staggered to his feet, arm clutched to his side as he dashed after him. He wouldn't need a gun anyway for what he was going to do.

Outside, the air was now swirling with smoke and embers. The fire was growing closer. Steve followed Cheney off the porch and across the meadow into the tree line. It would be only a matter of time before the long dry grass they trampled through would burn over in a fiery flash.

With the new spurt of adrenaline surging through his battered body the reawakened pain was set aside. Steve, confident of his ability or perhaps just wanting to prolong Cheney's terror, didn't seem to be all that hurried as he coursed after he prey in an easy stride while Cheney ran in a frantic scramble; stumbling over objects in his path, mouth open in search of oxygen as well as expressing unuttered terror.

…..

They ran for what seemed miles through the dense undergrowth. Danny swore loudly as a branch whipped across his face; its sharp sting making his eyes water but not making him hesitate. He wasn't going to lose his friend. If they didn't catch up to him soon, Danny was certain Steve would complete his mission. That would inevitably make necessary the decision whether to ignore what Steve had done or bring him in. The detective's chest constricted at the thought of having to make such a choice.

They had only a small amount of time before it was no longer safe to be here. Though the wind had shifted once again and smoke and embers were now blowing in their direction, the fire appeared to be a far enough distance away to give them time to make it back to the truck. Tex softly swore a blue streak as a still glowing cinder had alighted on the back of his neck where he slapped at it before Ruiz cautioned him to be quiet.

They were now approaching the wooden structure that had a small flower garden planted before it. On its porch sat a white-painted rocking chair. The front door stood open.

Nodding at one another in silent understanding, Ruiz took point and, barrel first, burst into the cabin followed closely by Tex and Danny.

They immediately saw it was empty; signs of a struggle evident in an overturned chair and the carbine lying on the floor in the corner.

"Shit!" exclaimed Ruiz, taking in the disarray.

"We're too late dammit!" cried Danny

Tex had knelt on the floor to inspect a dark stain that had soaked into the wooden flooring. It had been left behind in the spot where Steve, unbeknownst to them, had lain only minutes earlier. "We got blood over here." announced the big man.

"From what we saw in the car, it's most likely Steve's." muttered the detective running his hand through his sweaty hair. "Dammit! I just knew the idiot would get himself shot before this was over!"

"Well, he's still alive and we can't be that far behind." said Ruiz, "Let's get going."

On his way toward the door, Danny glanced over to spot the array of photos still on the table top. Stepping up to it for a closer look, he could see the photos were of Five-0's ohana with one that had been separated out from the others. Picking it up, a chill rolled through him right before it was replaced with the heat of anger. It was of his Gracie and had been taken in front of her school with a couple of her classmates beside her. A circle drawn with a red sharpie surrounded his daughter's innocent young face.

He held the photo up to show his two allies while announcing through clenched teeth, "That's my daughter! If Steve doesn't kill that bastard, I will."

The two nodded in understanding as he tucked the photo into his pocket, checked his gun, shouldered his pack and rushed out the door; two extra-large SEALs behind him.

…..

Smoke growing thicker by the minute, Cheney ran as though the devil was on his tail but it wasn't true. When Steve caught him, and he would, the punishments of Hell would be the least painful alternative. Gary Cheney was a dead man and he knew it.

…

The burst of adrenaline was wearing off and he could feel the burning ache in his side. His eyes and lungs were stinging from the smoke that now enveloped them and seemed to be growing ever thicker. He could hear forest creatures crashing through the undergrowth as they sought safety from the obviously growing fire.

After a few more yards, he stopped to catch his raspy breath and was doubled over in a fit of coughing as a dismaying coppery taste flooded his mouth. He spat it out and wasn't surprised to see blood streaked saliva. This wasn't good.

Stopping behind a thick pine, he lifted his shirt, as he finally took the time to inspect his wound. It was a deep furrow along a rib and was now bleeding again. He had no supplies to patch it up with but he'd have to do something if he wanted to stay on his feet long enough to catch Cheney. He'd come too far to fail. He had to keep going.

Shedding the cotton chambray over-shirt, he tore off its sleeves and folded them into thick pads which he pressed onto the wound, hissing in pain at the contact. The first one quickly soaked through and he applied the other over it. He then managed to pull his belt out of its loops and used the leather strap to secure his makeshift bandages in place. As he cinched it, almost crying out when he pulled it tight enough to help staunch the flow of blood, the pain made him nauseous and dizzy.

He couldn't stop now. As long as he drew breath, he wouldn't let Cath's murderer get away. Waiting a brief moment for his head to clear, he lurched away from the tree and staggered on.

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Lots more whump to come.

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