Part Three

Steve dived to the side, taking Danny with him. The air was alive with gunfire, and they stayed low, moving fast, plastered to the ground as they crawled for cover. Or Steve crawled. With his hands behind his back, Danny was reduced to trying to hump along with Steve tugging at him, half dragging him. They weren't going to get far like this, but apparently Steve wasn't trying to get far, just get them into concealment. They plowed right into a stand of thick vegetation, flattening themselves to the ground. Danny opened his mouth to ask what Steve hand in mind, but Steve reached out and scooped up some wet earth, smearing it over Danny's face. The cold of the mud silenced Danny. He watched Steve camouflage his own face.

Bushes rustled noisily down the path. Before they had a chance to work it out, they spotted muzzle flash to the left. A rifle opened fire and the second rifle joined in a moment later. There was an animal scream as bullets tore apart the shrubs and low-hanging tree limbs.

Then silence.

They could hear the woman and her remaining henchman thrashing about in the bushes. Abruptly, they started firing again, startling Steve into immobility. A lot of firepower raking through the brush - you had to respect that - but the shooting seemed to be moving in the wrong direction - away from them, and it began to seem that they both were just taking their frustrations out in ammo.

Under the barrage of rifle shots, Steve nudged Danny back into motion, guiding him with one hand locked on his arm. They wove their way through the ferns and bushes, hunched down, stopping every few feet to listen. Steve pulled him down, and Danny knelt, trying not to lose his balance. Steve's hands felt over him, covering Danny's for a fleeting moment, as Steve groped for the cords binding his wrists. Danny could hear the grin in his partner's whispered, "So did you miss me?"

"I thought you were dead," Danny said simply. He couldn't joke, couldn't cover, couldn't pretend it had been anything but what it seemed: the end of everything he cared about.

Steve said calmly, "Yeah, sorry about that." And from his tone Danny knew that Steve at least partly understood what he wasn't saying. "Are you okay? They didn't rough you up too much?"

For a minute Danny couldn't manage his voice. "You shouldn't have come back for me," he got out finally.

"You have the car keys." Steve was working the knots frantically. Strong fingers wriggling and tugging - apparently without luck. "Fuck."

"I can run like this if I have to," Danny reassured softly.

Steve did more picking and pulling and plucking and prying, and finally Danny felt the cords around his wrists loosen and fall away. He shook his hands free, and Steve grabbed up the robe and stuffed it into one of his cargo-pants pockets, which was good thinking since it was hard to know what might come in handy later.

Clenching his jaw against the torture of blood rushing back into his arms and fingers, Danny was dimly aware of Steve's hands rubbing, trying to aid circulation. Steve suddenly pulled Danny into his arms, lowering his head to Danny's. For a moment he was held fiercely. He felt Steve's lips graze his cheekbone, and then Steve had let him go again, turned away.

Danny yanked him back, running his hands over Steve until he found the bullet hole in his jacket. "I knew it. You were hit." His probing fingers found the punctured flask. "Steve… Christ."

"It's okay. I'm fine. A couple of bruises." And Steve freed himself, crawling out of the thicket, moving slowly, stealthily.

Danny followed - shaky with an emotion that had nothing to do with their peril or the pain in his arms and hands. Since Steve now seemed to have a plan, Danny kept silence until they found the place where the trail branched off. In the opposite direction they could hear the crack of sticks and twigs, the echo of voices. Every so often a light flashed through the trees. "It's not going to take them long to figure out we doubled back," Danny warned.

Steve nodded, and started down the sharply descending path. The crack of a rifle split the night. The echo off the mountains made it hard to judge direction. It was possible they had been spotted, or that the woman and her henchman were shooting at something else. To the left there was a clatter of falling stones, a small slide maybe - hard to identify in the darkness. Steve started running - Danny right on his heels.

They sprinted down the crooked trail over the dips and rocks and fallen tree limbs, feet pounding the muddy trail. Steve slithered once, and Danny's hand shot out, steadying him. Danny tripped a few yards further on and Steve grabbed him by the collar before he went tumbling. Both times they barely slowed their headlong rush. The miracle was they didn't break their necks or at least a leg.

They made it down to the bottom and Steve dropped down on all fours, gulping for air. Danny walked a loose circle, giving his burning muscles a chance to recover, trying to catch his breath, listening for sounds of chase. At muffled sounds of distress, Danny turned his head. Next to a small rivulet splashing down into a rocky pool, Steve was on his knees, being quietly sick. Danny didn't blame his partner.

Kneeling, Danny put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "You okay?" Steve nodded, scooped a hand in the water a splashed his face, further smearing the mud and sweat. Danny gave him a moment, rising and scanning the mountainside for the flashlights, for motion, for anything indicating pursuit.

Nothing.

That didn't mean they weren't being followed. Assuming the woman and her henchman didn't give up and go home - and Danny couldn't see how they could afford to do that - they'd expect him and Steve to continue down to safety and civilization, and they'd attempt to cut them off. That's what he'd do in their position.

"We've got to keep moving," Danny said, and Steve nodded, got one knee under and shoved himself back to his feet.

They staggered their way down the canyon, finally taking shelter behind a series of sandy rock formations as the blackness of night began to dull to gray. From this vantage point they'd be able to see in all directions once it turned daylight. But once it turned daylight, they needed to be moving again.

Danny listened to Steve struggle to catch his breath. He thought his inhalations sounded funky: sort of squeaky… wheezy; was the injured lung holding up to the strain? "You okay?" he asked, undervoiced. Steve nodded. Danny's face turned toward Steve. "We could split up. Make it harder for them."

"We're not splitting up." Steve held Danny's eyes with his own. "Never again."

It sounded like Steve had recovered his breath and Danny took care of that by covering Steve's mouth with his own in a quick, hard kiss.

To be continued...