~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part 3
Bobby Hobbes was never one for running from danger. No, he preferred to face it head on and take it
down if at all possible. Strategic retreat he understood the necessity of, but this... this was a
pain in the ass. There had been other occasions in his career when he'd led the bad guys on a merry
chase, usually right into a trap set up by his buddies, his team mates, his partners. This time,
however, he was simply trying to shake the SOB's from his tail. These guys were good. Damn good.
But Bobby Hobbes was better.
"And there is no way in hell Bobby Hobbes is going to leave his partners high and dry," he muttered
aloud.
The cloud cover was reflecting just enough light to allow him to make his way with some semblance
of ease. He wasn't moving fast, but he also wasn't tripping over every stray root, rock, or mystery
object hidden in the underbrush. He knew he should be tired, but the adrenaline was still flowing.
Though it might seem odd, the fun of leading the bad guys by the nose, of tricking them, was
keeping him more than awake enough. Afterwards, he knew he'd collapse and sleep the clock 'round to
make up for it, but for now he was doing just fine.
He hadn't heard the dogs for almost an hour now. A damn good sign that he'd finally lost them.
Wandering up that stream had obviously done the trick. Leading false trails away from the water for
a hundred yards or so in random spots -- being careful to follow his own steps back to the water --
had probably confused the hell out of the mutts and their owners. By sound and his internal
compass, he made his way back to the main river and was following it back up the mountainside,
knowing that eventually he'd end up back near where he'd left Fawkes and Monroe. If he was lucky,
he might even be able to grab a couple hours sleep before hiking back down to where rescue should
be waiting. Through a break in the trees he'd seen the lights of a least one small town, which
meant roads somewhere hidden among the trees. It was just a matter of getting there.
There was a low growl off to his right. Bobby froze, not sure of its source. It might be nothing
more than a fox he had accidentally crossed paths with in the darkness. Sniffing, he caught no
scent -- the light breeze was coming from the wrong direction. He took another step, and the
growling increased, joined by another, deeper voice. Moments later, a third joined in. Then the
baying began. The traditional 'treed' call that would inform the owners that the pack had cornered
its prey.
"Crap," Hobbes cursed aloud as one of the dogs, a big monster for a hunting dog, moved to within
inches of him, forcing him to back away until he bumped up against a tree. No weapons, not even a
god damned stick to beat the beast away from him. The other two moved up alongside their pack
leader and joined in the snarl-fest, which was more than effective enough to keep Hobbes in place.
"Well, looky here. We done gone an' treed ourselves a federal agent. My, my, won't Logan be
impressed."
Hobbes' head snapped up, tracking and then focusing on the owner of the voice as he stepped out of
the darkness and close enough to be seen. With a mental snarl, Hobbes noticed the night vision
goggles the guy was wearing. High quality military ones, not the second- or third-hand rejects that
could be found in issues of Guns&Ammo or Weekend Huntsman. These guys were connected if they had
gear like this. Hobbes tensed, preparing to do whatever he could to get away. His partners, his
friends, were depending on him to stay free. To get them help, or at least get back to them and
keep them alive another day.
The guy must have guessed what Hobbes was thinking. "I wouldn't iffen I was you. These boys have
been trained to take down deserters without doing too much damage."
Hobbes looked from the dogs to the P-90 Army-issue weapon the guy was casually wielding and relaxed
his stance. There would be a better time, a better chance to get away. He slowly raised his hands in
the traditional sign of surrender and watched as the man slowly nodded.
Pulling out a radio the guy spoke softly. "Got 'im. Meet you at R-14 in," he paused, thinking,
"twenty minutes. Out." Reaching in his pocket, he came out with a set of cuffs to which a long
chain was attached. "Don't get any ideas. One word and Beulah here with gladly rip out your throat,
or other tastier body parts." The guy gestured with his gun, making it unmistakable what Beulah's
preferred target was.
Hobbes was stunned to realize the pack leader, the big beast growling at him, teeth just inches
from his crotch, was a bitch. What was it with vicious women in his life lately? At least Claire,
tough as she was, had a soft side. Right now he'd rather be helping her down in the Keep, or even
doing -- ugh -- filing with Eberts in the Archives. He hated it when Fawkes was right.
He didn't argue as his arms were jerked behind his back and the cuffs were snapped about his wrists
uncomfortably tight. Didn't complain when he was shoved violently into motion. Didn't say a word
when the dogs were called off to pant happily at the feet of their handler, munching joyfully on
the treats he handed out. Didn't mention the fact that the guy knew he was a federal agent, which
meant that someone had told them they were coming, and that they might very well have been set up.
Their chances of getting out of this alive had just been halved.
Hobbes wasn't sure how long they stumbled through the darkened forest, but it seemed far longer
than twenty minutes. The only conversation involved curt words to tell him which way to go, and the
occasional snarl of a dog if he seemed to be even contemplating fighting back or trying to escape.
Eventually they joined up with a group huddled about a small fire. A pot of some unidentifiable
food substance was warming over the flames, and Hobbes could smell the coffee that had been brewed
in the cast-iron kettle resting on a rock next to the fire.
"'Ere he is, Logan." The guy shoved Hobbes in the back of his legs, forcing him to his knees. With
his hands behind his back, he was almost forced onto his face, but he kept his balance.
Logan came out of the shadows and stood before Hobbes. "Where did you hide them?" His voice was
smooth, calm, pleasant even, but Bobby didn't buy it for a second. There was something darker under
the friendly tone and charismatic smile. He didn't seem the least bit surprised that Hobbes did
nothing more than look up at him. "You drew us off quite expertly, but we'll find them. And once we
do, we'll have everything we need to get those feds down the mountain to leave us alone." Looking
away from Hobbes, he barked orders. "Head back to where the trail split off and begin searching.
There are plenty of caves in the area. He probably stashed them in one of them. Keep in contact."
The guy who had caught Hobbes handed the length of chain over to Logan and whistled for the dogs.
He and five others, along with a half dozen other dogs, headed out into the night. Logan played
idly with the chain for a moment, watching Hobbes carefully. He moved over to the fire and pulled
out a metal poker that had been sitting among the coals. The far end was a glowing red eye in the
darkness and Hobbes tensed, fearing what was to come. Torture was something he had a little
experience with. He had more than a few scars on his body from previous attempts to get him to
talk. Some had been more successful than others.
The heated end was moved to right in front of his face, close enough for him to feel the heat
coming off of it, and held there for a long uneasy moment, but Hobbes held his ground, glaring up
at Logan. After a long tense moment, the poker moved and was thrust into a nearby bucket of water.
Hissing, as steam poured up into the cool air. "Pack it up. We're heading back." He focused on
Hobbes. "Then we're going to have a little chat."
The smile he gave Hobbes was more than enough to make him realize that he was in very deep trouble
and that the man before him was completely insane.
Cold. Eyes opening to see dim gray light leaking in about the brush and plants at the cave
entrance, his mind reiterated the previous realization -- damn cold. Shifting, he groaned as the
assorted aches and pains from the previous day awoke anew, only worse, as sore and abused muscles
had stiffened up as well. At some point during the night he'd ended up curled on the hard packed
dirt of the floor, which gave off no warmth at all. Which reminded him again of what had woken him
up -- he was shivering, lacking the warmth that had been there. Shifting slowly, he looked around
for Alex.
"Alex?" he called out in a barely audible voice. Clearing his throat he tried again. "Monroe, where
are you?"
"Right here, Fawkes. Calm down." She pushed her way through the brush and joined him on the floor
of the cave.
"Sorry, you okay?" She wasn't looking so good. The bruise on her forehead had blossomed overnight,
one eye half-filled with blood from the hit she had taken. Her nose was swollen, as was her upper
lip. He could only imagine what her abdomen looked like, or how it must feel.
"Okay, as in alive? That I am. I..." she almost looked embarrassed. "Call of nature, Fawkes." True
enough, but she had also spent a good five minutes leaning against a tree as her stomach tried to
get rid of the water she had forced herself to drink due to severe thirst. She had spent the time
fighting her own natural urges, but in the end had won. The water had stayed down -- for now. "Go
back to sleep. Hobbes isn't back, but he may have holed up for a nap."
But the mention of a call of nature had made him aware of his own needs in that department. "Uh,
Alex...." Damn, this was uncomfortable in several ways. "A trip to the little boys room might be a
good idea for me as well." He expected a tired sigh, or perhaps a look of irritation, but instead
got a simple nod.
Getting slowly to her feet, being very careful about how she moved, she held out a hand to help him
up. Between her help and bracing a hand on the wall, Darien was able to get to his feet. It hurt,
hurt like hell, but he was able to do it. They made their way outside and headed for the nearest
stand of trees.
"You can handle this part, Fawkes, can't you? I am not going to...."
Darien cut her off with a choked laugh. "I'll manage, Alex. The day I need help for this, I better
be on my death-bed." That earned a grin from her -- lopsided due to the swelling of her face --
but a real grin before she wandered off, allowing him to do what was necessary. As soon as that
need was taken care of, he assessed his overall condition. His head hurt, bruised and lumpy where
it had collided with the side of the plane. Headache from the gland, too, but not all that bad of
one. Checking the tattoo, he saw it was still on three, but knew that wouldn't last much longer. He
had a little over a day before he hit Stage Four. If they were still out here by then, they were
probably dead anyway.
His abdomen was a painful ache, reminding him of the numerous occasions he'd been beaten both in
prison and out. It was something he could deal with -- not enjoy, but he could function. His leg
was still a mess. The knee was swollen tight against the cloth of his pants. Testing it, he
gingerly set his foot on the ground and tried to put weight on it. With no luck. His knee screamed
its unhappiness at him and nearly caused him to fall to the ground. "Well, that wasn't all that
smart," he complained at himself.
That's when he heard a shout from Alex. Moving as quickly as he could, hopping from tree to tree,
wishing Hobbes had found him that staff, he stumbled upon a fight. One guy in dark green camouflage
was holding onto the leashes of three dogs, watching the proceedings, while two others were fighting
with Alex. It was obvious to Darien that, although she was doing her best, she was far too injured
to be successful. "Hey!!" Darien shouted, distracting one long enough to allow Alex to get in one
really good punch that knocked the guy to the ground, from where he didn't even try to get up. Guy
number two, however, swung with his rifle, catching Alex in the stomach and driving her to the
ground with a scream.
The dogs were suddenly all around Darien, snarling and growling. No matter how tempting it might be
to at least try and get away, he knew it would only get him hurt more, or worse, get both himself
and Alex killed. So he froze in place, doing nothing more than support himself and watch Alex who
was holding her abdomen as if afraid her insides were going to leak out all over the ground.
"Alex..." He stopped as a two of three guns swung towards him.
"Your bitch will survive," one rancid-looking man commented, then let fly with a vicious kick that
connected with Alex's back.
"Bastard," Alex shouted and tried to get to her feet. That kick had hurt, but it also pissed her
the hell off. Being called a bitch was something she had gotten used to over the years, but she had
the oddest feeling he meant something a little different by it. The guy's next words confirmed this.
"Shut up, bitch. Mind your place, or I'll have your tongue cut out." He kicked at her again, but
never connected. Alex rolled and grabbed the foot as it swung at her. With as much strength as she
could muster, she caught the heel and shoved upwards, causing the guy to go over backwards and land
on his ass with a grunt.
The man who'd been holding the dogs swung with his rifle and caught her on the side of the head,
knocking her to the ground with a yelp.
"Alex!" Darien shouted, wishing he could do something, anything to help her. "Leave her alone."
The guy she'd helped to the ground got to his feet, his look dark. Grasping a handful of hair, he
dragged Alex to her feet. "Girl, you *will* learn your place."
Alex spat in his face.
The wrong thing to do, as the guy proceeded to precisely and methodically beat her. Ignoring the
dogs, who surprisingly enough moved out of his way, Darien hopped over to the guy and shouldered
him aside. Both of them fell to the ground, but it was enough to get him to release Alex, who
collapsed and lay unmoving.
Darien screamed as he landed on his injured knee. The snap he heard scared him, and he hoped it was
just one of the branches of the splint and not something else, but for the moment he was in too much
pain to care. "Leave her alone," he growled out past the pain. The guy he'd knocked down swung, and
Darien was unable to dodge. The fist connected with the bruise on the side of his head and drove
him forcefully into unconsciousness.
Alex screamed, "No!" as she watched Darien get hit. She was still stunned that he'd gone after the
guy beating her. She'd been trying to protect him, maybe keep the trio busy long enough for Hobbes
to arrive, but the brave fool had to decide to defend her instead, and now he was lying on the
leaves and debris of the forest floor, bleeding and breathing harshly.
"I'll warn you once. No speaking unless you are asked a question. Understand?" The guy was pissed
and was fingering the hunting knife strapped to his thigh.
Alex only nodded in response. Alive. She needed to keep herself and Darien alive until rescue
arrived. That was all that mattered.
"Good. Now get up." When she failed to do so, he stepped closer to her.
It wasn't that Alex was trying to challenge him, she was simply in so much pain that getting to her
feet was nearly impossible.
"Get up!"
She tried again, attempting to gather her legs beneath her, but her body rebelled, new bruises
combining with old to sap her strength. "I can't..." she tried to explain, only to see a fist
swinging at her. It connected with more than enough force to send her to join Darien in
unconsciousness. Part of her was relieved -- even though she was no longer truly aware of the world
about her, she was thankful it was all over.
Hobbes stared out the barred window of this elaborate encampment, fuming. These guys were more than
good; they were pros. This was no Waco, no passel of religious fanatics preparing for their version
of Armageddon. These were people recruited, lured, or even bought by this Logan character. Near as
Hobbes could tell, the guy was former military. Though what branch he couldn't be sure, it was a
good bet he was a former black ops member, probably a squad leader. Rangers, SEALs, maybe something
deeper. The military hid a lot of secret squads and covert ops teams.
The buildings were all low to the ground and painted to blend in with the forest surrounding them.
Some even wandered in between trees, built around the trunks instead of removing the trees. Others
had ground cover plants growing on the roofs, making them indistinguishable from the rest of the
landscape when viewed from the air. No wonder the intel on this operation was so off, the only
visible buildings were plants, used for storage only. Built from wood and prefab metal forms,
including one quonset hut, they were the bait, the distraction, and it had worked.
At a guess there were fifty men here, using the term loosely. He'd seen kids barely hitting puberty
carrying around high-end armament and obviously knowing how to use it. He knew there were women and
kids as well, he'd heard them, but hadn't seen any and couldn't judge how many there might be. The
intel they had said twenty women and at least that many children ten or younger.
Turning away from the window, he looked over his current accommodations yet again. It was a box
about ten feet on a side. Concrete walls, floor, and roof. One door of heavy steel, with the hinges
on the outside, and one window, the bars so close together he could just fit two fingers between
them and no more. There was a mattress on the floor -- old, but clean -- and a couple of blankets,
army navy store rejects that would keep him warm enough if he was still stuck here come nightfall.
There was also a small sink with a hand pump, so he wouldn't suffer from thirst, and an oubliette
for those unavoidable bodily functions. Primitive, but he had dealt with worse in his years. This
was almost luxurious by prisoner-of-war standards. His stomach rumbled then, reminding him it had
been a long time since breakfast the previous morning.
He wasn't sure what to do. He was hungry, tired, and angry. He had let his partners down. Screwed
up and been captured, leaving them alone to try and fend for themselves while injured, or perhaps
worse if Monroe's injuries were as bad as he feared. "Damn it."
Well, at least Logan hadn't chosen to have that 'talk' with him yet. Moving over to the mattress,
Hobbes decided that if he was going to have any chance, to be able to even try and escape, he would
need to sleep first. Curling up, he dragged one of the blankets up for a makeshift pillow, squirmed
till comfortable, and then fell into the waiting arms of slumber.
He was jerked out of a most pleasant dream by shouting. Coming instantly awake, he got to his feet
and moved over to the window in time to see an unconscious Monroe being dragged into one of the
other buildings. "Oh, crap." This could not be good. If they had caught Monroe, they must have
Fawkes as well.
As if he had requested it, the door banged open at that moment and his semi-conscious partner was
dragged in and dumped onto the mattress without so much as a word. The two standing outside the
door made a point of training their weapons at Hobbes. He waited until the door had been shut and
audibly locked before moving to Fawkes, who was trying to roll over onto his back and groaning in
pain.
"Slowly, my friend." Hobbes helped him get onto his back and gave him the once-over. The wound on
his head had been reopened and had bled freely for some time, though the blood was now drying. The
splints holding his leg immobile had been snapped at some point and ignored. Probing gently he
found the knee itself in about the same state as before, thankfully. Given the existing damage, it
wouldn't take much effort at all to trash it completely. Moving his hands, he checked ribs and
abdomen getting a moan of pain, but not much else. It appeared that no new injuries had been added.
He stripped off the ruined splints and propped the leg up with one of the blankets under the knee.
"What happened, Fawkes?"
Darien opened his eyes and tried to focus on Hobbes, without much success. The fist to his head had
not helped him a whole hell of a lot in the pain department, and his knee was very unhappy after
he'd not only landed on it, but been dragged through the woods for who knew how long. He'd just
begun to come to as they reached this... this place. Then they'd spilt up him and Alex and tossed
his ass in here. Thank god Bobby was all right.
"They found us." It hurt to talk right now, making his head throb anew with every movement. "They
beat the crap out of Monroe. I did what I could, but..." He trailed off, guilt eating at him.
There had to have been something more that he could have done.
"Fawkes, you did everything you could, I am quite sure." He went to the sink and filled the tin
cup with water, then brought it back for Darien to sip at. "Where did they take her?"
"Not sure. Said something about the 'nursery'." He shook his head, not sure what that meant or
even if he had heard it right. "Bobby, she's gonna get herself killed. Women here are treated like
chattel, property, slaves. Alex is too damn tough to bow down before anyone. One bastard already
threatened to cut out her tongue."
"She's also smart and can play a role with the best of them. She'll be okay, Fawkes." Hobbes looked
out the window at the building that Monroe had been taken to. It was a good bet that all the women
and younger children were housed together. Probably some used for the cooking and cleaning, and all
used for sex with little regard to relationships to the men. He'd heard of communes like this and,
yes, some women came willingly into them. Others, however, were beaten down until they either
submitted or were killed. It made him even more impressed with the woman who had walked down the
mountain to report what was going on.
Darien sat up and pushed himself back until he was leaning against the wall. "You think so?" He
rubbed the back of his neck, two headaches competing for his attention.
"I know so, Fawkes. She didn't get that fancy-schmancy rating through blackmail alone." He checked
out the limited area he could see, noting where the guards were stationed, noting the satellite
dishes and HAM radio equipment just within his viewing range off to the right. They were very
careful to avoid walking in the few open areas, where they might be spotted from above by planes or
even spy satellites.
"Will they look for us? Or are we on a 'Mission Impossible' here?" Darien lowered his voice and
intoned, "If captured, we will disavow any knowledge of your mission."
"Fawkes, I think you've forgotten how stingy the Fat Man is. At the very least he'll come for the
gland." Hobbes was pleased when that earned a smile from Fawkes. "Speaking of the gland, how're
you doing on the juice?"
Darien held up is wrist to let Bobby see for himself. Two were left green; one had changed while he
was being dragged over the river and through the woods, so to speak. He was thankful he'd been out
cold for most of that; he was betting they'd been less than gentle and that it would have hurt like
hell had he been conscious. "Gonna get nasty soon."
Hobbes nodded and squatted down next to him. "I may have an idea or two that'll even up our chances
a bit, but it'll be risky on your part."
Darien thought about it, knowing Bobby was going to want him to use the quicksilver for whatever
plan he had stirring on the edges of his mind. Unless rescue rode in within the next few hours, he
was headed for a trip to id city no matter what. If he channeled the anger, the hate, the
less-than-pleasant desires towards those holding them, he might just be of some use. "I'll do what
I can."
Hobbes nodded. With the right situation, Fawkes would risk everything to do the right thing. Hobbes
was torn, though. Should they just try to escape and get help? Should they do what they could to
disable and disarm these guys so that when the good guys rode in the fight would be minimal? They
had to get a message out, which meant getting to the communications room.
Getting to his feet he went back to the window. As he watched, Logan appeared from the building
that Monroe had been taken to, along with two other men. After a moment's discussion, they headed
towards the cell he and Fawkes were in. "Company, coming."
Darien didn't want to be a literal sitting duck when they arrived and tried to get to his feet. His
muscles protested and his head swam in a dizzying manner, making him groan aloud and settle right
back into his original position.
"Fawkes, stay put and stay calm. The last thing we need is for these guys to find out about your
little talent." Hobbes moved into a slightly better position, one that would make it obvious to
those coming in he planned on defending Fawkes, come what may. "At least not until we want them to."
Darien nodded in agreement. There wasn't a whole lot he could do, anyway, and quicksilvering right
this second would do nothing more than bring him that much closer to madness. When the door swung
open, two men with guns stepped in first, watching Hobbes carefully. They took up stations to
either side of the door as Logan walked in behind them.
"Well, gentlemen, we need to talk."
"Where's Alex?" Darien asked, before Hobbes got a chance to say anything.
"Agent Monroe is fine for the moment. One of my corpsmen is looking her over. The crash was a bit
harder on her than we planned." He narrowed his eyes slightly watching Darien carefully. "If she
behaves, she'll come to no harm."
"Behaves. Why do I not like the sound of that?" Hobbes commented, knowing it would probably
irritate the man.
"She won't, either, but she'll learn her place soon enough." Logan stepped forward until he stood
less than a foot from Hobbes. "You are going to tell me what I want to know."
"Or what? You'll torture me?"
"No. I'll torture him." Logan waved at Darien, who did his best not to react to the threat. "I
have the feeling you'll protect him, the same way he tried to protect Agent Monroe."
"How the hell do you know who we are?" The question slipped out past Darien's lips before he could
prevent it.
Logan laughed softly. "We've known who you were since the FBI called for your help." When Hobbes
looked at him in confusion, he continued. "When you know all the codes, it's a simple matter to
unscramble the signals."
"Crap," Hobbes muttered. "Then what is all this about? We're just some agents from BWM."
Logan laughed. "I know all about the Agency, and I know he," Logan pointed at Darien, "is something
special. Though, at the moment, I can't see what."
"Look, we ain't gonna help you. Probably can't help you, and Monroe needs to get off this mountain
and to a doctor...." Hobbes was interrupted.
"Then you will do what I say without argument, or I will let my men use her as they wish." Hobbes
glared at him. "She won't fight back all that much, restrained, and we do know how to restrain our
women."
"Damn it, just leave her alone!" Darien shouted at the man.
"How odd. You want to protect her. She wants to protect you. Our contacts gave me the impression
that neither of you cared for her very much." Logan watched both men carefully, but Hobbes made
sure to give away nothing, and Darien got control of himself, knowing he was only helping the
bastard by reacting.
"Who do you think you are, anyway?" Hobbes growled softly.
"We are an embarrassment. A mistake that our beloved government has been trying to *fix* for five
years." He looked from Darien to Hobbes, as if debating how much to say. "If it wasn't for that
bitch..." he snarled, then took a deep breath and composed himself. "You are going to make sure
they leave us alone, or I will see to it your friend here never walks again."
"And I'm telling you there is nothing we can do." Hobbes crossed his arms over his chest and shook
his head. It was entirely possible that the Official might just pull the strings these guys wanted
to get Fawkes -- or at least the gland -- back, but he couldn't let this guy know that.
"Why?" Darien asked quietly from his position on the floor. "What did you do?"
"Our jobs, just like we were supposed to. Only we did them too well." Logan walked around Hobbes
and looked out of the window, at the haven he'd created. "They wanted the perfect soldiers, the
perfect fighting machines for impossible missions. Me and my team volunteered for the program. They
did their little reprogramming and sent us back to work." One hand came up to run through his hair.
"It was year before we were called for a deep cover mission. Before they activated the programming
buried in our psyches. It worked. We became the killing machines they wanted. We did the job and
sent back the intel, leaving no survivors, no witnesses. Civilian, military, adult, child -- it
didn't matter, we slaughtered them. Better yet, we enjoyed it. There was only one problem." He
turned his head to look at Darien. "We survived."
Hobbes had turned about to watch the man. "So? That's usually a good thing."
Logan snorted. "Yeah, you'd think. But it left them with a dilemma. You see, they'd figured out how
to program us, how to make us be all that we could be, but they hadn't figured out how to turn us
back."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part 3
Bobby Hobbes was never one for running from danger. No, he preferred to face it head on and take it
down if at all possible. Strategic retreat he understood the necessity of, but this... this was a
pain in the ass. There had been other occasions in his career when he'd led the bad guys on a merry
chase, usually right into a trap set up by his buddies, his team mates, his partners. This time,
however, he was simply trying to shake the SOB's from his tail. These guys were good. Damn good.
But Bobby Hobbes was better.
"And there is no way in hell Bobby Hobbes is going to leave his partners high and dry," he muttered
aloud.
The cloud cover was reflecting just enough light to allow him to make his way with some semblance
of ease. He wasn't moving fast, but he also wasn't tripping over every stray root, rock, or mystery
object hidden in the underbrush. He knew he should be tired, but the adrenaline was still flowing.
Though it might seem odd, the fun of leading the bad guys by the nose, of tricking them, was
keeping him more than awake enough. Afterwards, he knew he'd collapse and sleep the clock 'round to
make up for it, but for now he was doing just fine.
He hadn't heard the dogs for almost an hour now. A damn good sign that he'd finally lost them.
Wandering up that stream had obviously done the trick. Leading false trails away from the water for
a hundred yards or so in random spots -- being careful to follow his own steps back to the water --
had probably confused the hell out of the mutts and their owners. By sound and his internal
compass, he made his way back to the main river and was following it back up the mountainside,
knowing that eventually he'd end up back near where he'd left Fawkes and Monroe. If he was lucky,
he might even be able to grab a couple hours sleep before hiking back down to where rescue should
be waiting. Through a break in the trees he'd seen the lights of a least one small town, which
meant roads somewhere hidden among the trees. It was just a matter of getting there.
There was a low growl off to his right. Bobby froze, not sure of its source. It might be nothing
more than a fox he had accidentally crossed paths with in the darkness. Sniffing, he caught no
scent -- the light breeze was coming from the wrong direction. He took another step, and the
growling increased, joined by another, deeper voice. Moments later, a third joined in. Then the
baying began. The traditional 'treed' call that would inform the owners that the pack had cornered
its prey.
"Crap," Hobbes cursed aloud as one of the dogs, a big monster for a hunting dog, moved to within
inches of him, forcing him to back away until he bumped up against a tree. No weapons, not even a
god damned stick to beat the beast away from him. The other two moved up alongside their pack
leader and joined in the snarl-fest, which was more than effective enough to keep Hobbes in place.
"Well, looky here. We done gone an' treed ourselves a federal agent. My, my, won't Logan be
impressed."
Hobbes' head snapped up, tracking and then focusing on the owner of the voice as he stepped out of
the darkness and close enough to be seen. With a mental snarl, Hobbes noticed the night vision
goggles the guy was wearing. High quality military ones, not the second- or third-hand rejects that
could be found in issues of Guns&Ammo or Weekend Huntsman. These guys were connected if they had
gear like this. Hobbes tensed, preparing to do whatever he could to get away. His partners, his
friends, were depending on him to stay free. To get them help, or at least get back to them and
keep them alive another day.
The guy must have guessed what Hobbes was thinking. "I wouldn't iffen I was you. These boys have
been trained to take down deserters without doing too much damage."
Hobbes looked from the dogs to the P-90 Army-issue weapon the guy was casually wielding and relaxed
his stance. There would be a better time, a better chance to get away. He slowly raised his hands in
the traditional sign of surrender and watched as the man slowly nodded.
Pulling out a radio the guy spoke softly. "Got 'im. Meet you at R-14 in," he paused, thinking,
"twenty minutes. Out." Reaching in his pocket, he came out with a set of cuffs to which a long
chain was attached. "Don't get any ideas. One word and Beulah here with gladly rip out your throat,
or other tastier body parts." The guy gestured with his gun, making it unmistakable what Beulah's
preferred target was.
Hobbes was stunned to realize the pack leader, the big beast growling at him, teeth just inches
from his crotch, was a bitch. What was it with vicious women in his life lately? At least Claire,
tough as she was, had a soft side. Right now he'd rather be helping her down in the Keep, or even
doing -- ugh -- filing with Eberts in the Archives. He hated it when Fawkes was right.
He didn't argue as his arms were jerked behind his back and the cuffs were snapped about his wrists
uncomfortably tight. Didn't complain when he was shoved violently into motion. Didn't say a word
when the dogs were called off to pant happily at the feet of their handler, munching joyfully on
the treats he handed out. Didn't mention the fact that the guy knew he was a federal agent, which
meant that someone had told them they were coming, and that they might very well have been set up.
Their chances of getting out of this alive had just been halved.
Hobbes wasn't sure how long they stumbled through the darkened forest, but it seemed far longer
than twenty minutes. The only conversation involved curt words to tell him which way to go, and the
occasional snarl of a dog if he seemed to be even contemplating fighting back or trying to escape.
Eventually they joined up with a group huddled about a small fire. A pot of some unidentifiable
food substance was warming over the flames, and Hobbes could smell the coffee that had been brewed
in the cast-iron kettle resting on a rock next to the fire.
"'Ere he is, Logan." The guy shoved Hobbes in the back of his legs, forcing him to his knees. With
his hands behind his back, he was almost forced onto his face, but he kept his balance.
Logan came out of the shadows and stood before Hobbes. "Where did you hide them?" His voice was
smooth, calm, pleasant even, but Bobby didn't buy it for a second. There was something darker under
the friendly tone and charismatic smile. He didn't seem the least bit surprised that Hobbes did
nothing more than look up at him. "You drew us off quite expertly, but we'll find them. And once we
do, we'll have everything we need to get those feds down the mountain to leave us alone." Looking
away from Hobbes, he barked orders. "Head back to where the trail split off and begin searching.
There are plenty of caves in the area. He probably stashed them in one of them. Keep in contact."
The guy who had caught Hobbes handed the length of chain over to Logan and whistled for the dogs.
He and five others, along with a half dozen other dogs, headed out into the night. Logan played
idly with the chain for a moment, watching Hobbes carefully. He moved over to the fire and pulled
out a metal poker that had been sitting among the coals. The far end was a glowing red eye in the
darkness and Hobbes tensed, fearing what was to come. Torture was something he had a little
experience with. He had more than a few scars on his body from previous attempts to get him to
talk. Some had been more successful than others.
The heated end was moved to right in front of his face, close enough for him to feel the heat
coming off of it, and held there for a long uneasy moment, but Hobbes held his ground, glaring up
at Logan. After a long tense moment, the poker moved and was thrust into a nearby bucket of water.
Hissing, as steam poured up into the cool air. "Pack it up. We're heading back." He focused on
Hobbes. "Then we're going to have a little chat."
The smile he gave Hobbes was more than enough to make him realize that he was in very deep trouble
and that the man before him was completely insane.
Cold. Eyes opening to see dim gray light leaking in about the brush and plants at the cave
entrance, his mind reiterated the previous realization -- damn cold. Shifting, he groaned as the
assorted aches and pains from the previous day awoke anew, only worse, as sore and abused muscles
had stiffened up as well. At some point during the night he'd ended up curled on the hard packed
dirt of the floor, which gave off no warmth at all. Which reminded him again of what had woken him
up -- he was shivering, lacking the warmth that had been there. Shifting slowly, he looked around
for Alex.
"Alex?" he called out in a barely audible voice. Clearing his throat he tried again. "Monroe, where
are you?"
"Right here, Fawkes. Calm down." She pushed her way through the brush and joined him on the floor
of the cave.
"Sorry, you okay?" She wasn't looking so good. The bruise on her forehead had blossomed overnight,
one eye half-filled with blood from the hit she had taken. Her nose was swollen, as was her upper
lip. He could only imagine what her abdomen looked like, or how it must feel.
"Okay, as in alive? That I am. I..." she almost looked embarrassed. "Call of nature, Fawkes." True
enough, but she had also spent a good five minutes leaning against a tree as her stomach tried to
get rid of the water she had forced herself to drink due to severe thirst. She had spent the time
fighting her own natural urges, but in the end had won. The water had stayed down -- for now. "Go
back to sleep. Hobbes isn't back, but he may have holed up for a nap."
But the mention of a call of nature had made him aware of his own needs in that department. "Uh,
Alex...." Damn, this was uncomfortable in several ways. "A trip to the little boys room might be a
good idea for me as well." He expected a tired sigh, or perhaps a look of irritation, but instead
got a simple nod.
Getting slowly to her feet, being very careful about how she moved, she held out a hand to help him
up. Between her help and bracing a hand on the wall, Darien was able to get to his feet. It hurt,
hurt like hell, but he was able to do it. They made their way outside and headed for the nearest
stand of trees.
"You can handle this part, Fawkes, can't you? I am not going to...."
Darien cut her off with a choked laugh. "I'll manage, Alex. The day I need help for this, I better
be on my death-bed." That earned a grin from her -- lopsided due to the swelling of her face --
but a real grin before she wandered off, allowing him to do what was necessary. As soon as that
need was taken care of, he assessed his overall condition. His head hurt, bruised and lumpy where
it had collided with the side of the plane. Headache from the gland, too, but not all that bad of
one. Checking the tattoo, he saw it was still on three, but knew that wouldn't last much longer. He
had a little over a day before he hit Stage Four. If they were still out here by then, they were
probably dead anyway.
His abdomen was a painful ache, reminding him of the numerous occasions he'd been beaten both in
prison and out. It was something he could deal with -- not enjoy, but he could function. His leg
was still a mess. The knee was swollen tight against the cloth of his pants. Testing it, he
gingerly set his foot on the ground and tried to put weight on it. With no luck. His knee screamed
its unhappiness at him and nearly caused him to fall to the ground. "Well, that wasn't all that
smart," he complained at himself.
That's when he heard a shout from Alex. Moving as quickly as he could, hopping from tree to tree,
wishing Hobbes had found him that staff, he stumbled upon a fight. One guy in dark green camouflage
was holding onto the leashes of three dogs, watching the proceedings, while two others were fighting
with Alex. It was obvious to Darien that, although she was doing her best, she was far too injured
to be successful. "Hey!!" Darien shouted, distracting one long enough to allow Alex to get in one
really good punch that knocked the guy to the ground, from where he didn't even try to get up. Guy
number two, however, swung with his rifle, catching Alex in the stomach and driving her to the
ground with a scream.
The dogs were suddenly all around Darien, snarling and growling. No matter how tempting it might be
to at least try and get away, he knew it would only get him hurt more, or worse, get both himself
and Alex killed. So he froze in place, doing nothing more than support himself and watch Alex who
was holding her abdomen as if afraid her insides were going to leak out all over the ground.
"Alex..." He stopped as a two of three guns swung towards him.
"Your bitch will survive," one rancid-looking man commented, then let fly with a vicious kick that
connected with Alex's back.
"Bastard," Alex shouted and tried to get to her feet. That kick had hurt, but it also pissed her
the hell off. Being called a bitch was something she had gotten used to over the years, but she had
the oddest feeling he meant something a little different by it. The guy's next words confirmed this.
"Shut up, bitch. Mind your place, or I'll have your tongue cut out." He kicked at her again, but
never connected. Alex rolled and grabbed the foot as it swung at her. With as much strength as she
could muster, she caught the heel and shoved upwards, causing the guy to go over backwards and land
on his ass with a grunt.
The man who'd been holding the dogs swung with his rifle and caught her on the side of the head,
knocking her to the ground with a yelp.
"Alex!" Darien shouted, wishing he could do something, anything to help her. "Leave her alone."
The guy she'd helped to the ground got to his feet, his look dark. Grasping a handful of hair, he
dragged Alex to her feet. "Girl, you *will* learn your place."
Alex spat in his face.
The wrong thing to do, as the guy proceeded to precisely and methodically beat her. Ignoring the
dogs, who surprisingly enough moved out of his way, Darien hopped over to the guy and shouldered
him aside. Both of them fell to the ground, but it was enough to get him to release Alex, who
collapsed and lay unmoving.
Darien screamed as he landed on his injured knee. The snap he heard scared him, and he hoped it was
just one of the branches of the splint and not something else, but for the moment he was in too much
pain to care. "Leave her alone," he growled out past the pain. The guy he'd knocked down swung, and
Darien was unable to dodge. The fist connected with the bruise on the side of his head and drove
him forcefully into unconsciousness.
Alex screamed, "No!" as she watched Darien get hit. She was still stunned that he'd gone after the
guy beating her. She'd been trying to protect him, maybe keep the trio busy long enough for Hobbes
to arrive, but the brave fool had to decide to defend her instead, and now he was lying on the
leaves and debris of the forest floor, bleeding and breathing harshly.
"I'll warn you once. No speaking unless you are asked a question. Understand?" The guy was pissed
and was fingering the hunting knife strapped to his thigh.
Alex only nodded in response. Alive. She needed to keep herself and Darien alive until rescue
arrived. That was all that mattered.
"Good. Now get up." When she failed to do so, he stepped closer to her.
It wasn't that Alex was trying to challenge him, she was simply in so much pain that getting to her
feet was nearly impossible.
"Get up!"
She tried again, attempting to gather her legs beneath her, but her body rebelled, new bruises
combining with old to sap her strength. "I can't..." she tried to explain, only to see a fist
swinging at her. It connected with more than enough force to send her to join Darien in
unconsciousness. Part of her was relieved -- even though she was no longer truly aware of the world
about her, she was thankful it was all over.
Hobbes stared out the barred window of this elaborate encampment, fuming. These guys were more than
good; they were pros. This was no Waco, no passel of religious fanatics preparing for their version
of Armageddon. These were people recruited, lured, or even bought by this Logan character. Near as
Hobbes could tell, the guy was former military. Though what branch he couldn't be sure, it was a
good bet he was a former black ops member, probably a squad leader. Rangers, SEALs, maybe something
deeper. The military hid a lot of secret squads and covert ops teams.
The buildings were all low to the ground and painted to blend in with the forest surrounding them.
Some even wandered in between trees, built around the trunks instead of removing the trees. Others
had ground cover plants growing on the roofs, making them indistinguishable from the rest of the
landscape when viewed from the air. No wonder the intel on this operation was so off, the only
visible buildings were plants, used for storage only. Built from wood and prefab metal forms,
including one quonset hut, they were the bait, the distraction, and it had worked.
At a guess there were fifty men here, using the term loosely. He'd seen kids barely hitting puberty
carrying around high-end armament and obviously knowing how to use it. He knew there were women and
kids as well, he'd heard them, but hadn't seen any and couldn't judge how many there might be. The
intel they had said twenty women and at least that many children ten or younger.
Turning away from the window, he looked over his current accommodations yet again. It was a box
about ten feet on a side. Concrete walls, floor, and roof. One door of heavy steel, with the hinges
on the outside, and one window, the bars so close together he could just fit two fingers between
them and no more. There was a mattress on the floor -- old, but clean -- and a couple of blankets,
army navy store rejects that would keep him warm enough if he was still stuck here come nightfall.
There was also a small sink with a hand pump, so he wouldn't suffer from thirst, and an oubliette
for those unavoidable bodily functions. Primitive, but he had dealt with worse in his years. This
was almost luxurious by prisoner-of-war standards. His stomach rumbled then, reminding him it had
been a long time since breakfast the previous morning.
He wasn't sure what to do. He was hungry, tired, and angry. He had let his partners down. Screwed
up and been captured, leaving them alone to try and fend for themselves while injured, or perhaps
worse if Monroe's injuries were as bad as he feared. "Damn it."
Well, at least Logan hadn't chosen to have that 'talk' with him yet. Moving over to the mattress,
Hobbes decided that if he was going to have any chance, to be able to even try and escape, he would
need to sleep first. Curling up, he dragged one of the blankets up for a makeshift pillow, squirmed
till comfortable, and then fell into the waiting arms of slumber.
He was jerked out of a most pleasant dream by shouting. Coming instantly awake, he got to his feet
and moved over to the window in time to see an unconscious Monroe being dragged into one of the
other buildings. "Oh, crap." This could not be good. If they had caught Monroe, they must have
Fawkes as well.
As if he had requested it, the door banged open at that moment and his semi-conscious partner was
dragged in and dumped onto the mattress without so much as a word. The two standing outside the
door made a point of training their weapons at Hobbes. He waited until the door had been shut and
audibly locked before moving to Fawkes, who was trying to roll over onto his back and groaning in
pain.
"Slowly, my friend." Hobbes helped him get onto his back and gave him the once-over. The wound on
his head had been reopened and had bled freely for some time, though the blood was now drying. The
splints holding his leg immobile had been snapped at some point and ignored. Probing gently he
found the knee itself in about the same state as before, thankfully. Given the existing damage, it
wouldn't take much effort at all to trash it completely. Moving his hands, he checked ribs and
abdomen getting a moan of pain, but not much else. It appeared that no new injuries had been added.
He stripped off the ruined splints and propped the leg up with one of the blankets under the knee.
"What happened, Fawkes?"
Darien opened his eyes and tried to focus on Hobbes, without much success. The fist to his head had
not helped him a whole hell of a lot in the pain department, and his knee was very unhappy after
he'd not only landed on it, but been dragged through the woods for who knew how long. He'd just
begun to come to as they reached this... this place. Then they'd spilt up him and Alex and tossed
his ass in here. Thank god Bobby was all right.
"They found us." It hurt to talk right now, making his head throb anew with every movement. "They
beat the crap out of Monroe. I did what I could, but..." He trailed off, guilt eating at him.
There had to have been something more that he could have done.
"Fawkes, you did everything you could, I am quite sure." He went to the sink and filled the tin
cup with water, then brought it back for Darien to sip at. "Where did they take her?"
"Not sure. Said something about the 'nursery'." He shook his head, not sure what that meant or
even if he had heard it right. "Bobby, she's gonna get herself killed. Women here are treated like
chattel, property, slaves. Alex is too damn tough to bow down before anyone. One bastard already
threatened to cut out her tongue."
"She's also smart and can play a role with the best of them. She'll be okay, Fawkes." Hobbes looked
out the window at the building that Monroe had been taken to. It was a good bet that all the women
and younger children were housed together. Probably some used for the cooking and cleaning, and all
used for sex with little regard to relationships to the men. He'd heard of communes like this and,
yes, some women came willingly into them. Others, however, were beaten down until they either
submitted or were killed. It made him even more impressed with the woman who had walked down the
mountain to report what was going on.
Darien sat up and pushed himself back until he was leaning against the wall. "You think so?" He
rubbed the back of his neck, two headaches competing for his attention.
"I know so, Fawkes. She didn't get that fancy-schmancy rating through blackmail alone." He checked
out the limited area he could see, noting where the guards were stationed, noting the satellite
dishes and HAM radio equipment just within his viewing range off to the right. They were very
careful to avoid walking in the few open areas, where they might be spotted from above by planes or
even spy satellites.
"Will they look for us? Or are we on a 'Mission Impossible' here?" Darien lowered his voice and
intoned, "If captured, we will disavow any knowledge of your mission."
"Fawkes, I think you've forgotten how stingy the Fat Man is. At the very least he'll come for the
gland." Hobbes was pleased when that earned a smile from Fawkes. "Speaking of the gland, how're
you doing on the juice?"
Darien held up is wrist to let Bobby see for himself. Two were left green; one had changed while he
was being dragged over the river and through the woods, so to speak. He was thankful he'd been out
cold for most of that; he was betting they'd been less than gentle and that it would have hurt like
hell had he been conscious. "Gonna get nasty soon."
Hobbes nodded and squatted down next to him. "I may have an idea or two that'll even up our chances
a bit, but it'll be risky on your part."
Darien thought about it, knowing Bobby was going to want him to use the quicksilver for whatever
plan he had stirring on the edges of his mind. Unless rescue rode in within the next few hours, he
was headed for a trip to id city no matter what. If he channeled the anger, the hate, the
less-than-pleasant desires towards those holding them, he might just be of some use. "I'll do what
I can."
Hobbes nodded. With the right situation, Fawkes would risk everything to do the right thing. Hobbes
was torn, though. Should they just try to escape and get help? Should they do what they could to
disable and disarm these guys so that when the good guys rode in the fight would be minimal? They
had to get a message out, which meant getting to the communications room.
Getting to his feet he went back to the window. As he watched, Logan appeared from the building
that Monroe had been taken to, along with two other men. After a moment's discussion, they headed
towards the cell he and Fawkes were in. "Company, coming."
Darien didn't want to be a literal sitting duck when they arrived and tried to get to his feet. His
muscles protested and his head swam in a dizzying manner, making him groan aloud and settle right
back into his original position.
"Fawkes, stay put and stay calm. The last thing we need is for these guys to find out about your
little talent." Hobbes moved into a slightly better position, one that would make it obvious to
those coming in he planned on defending Fawkes, come what may. "At least not until we want them to."
Darien nodded in agreement. There wasn't a whole lot he could do, anyway, and quicksilvering right
this second would do nothing more than bring him that much closer to madness. When the door swung
open, two men with guns stepped in first, watching Hobbes carefully. They took up stations to
either side of the door as Logan walked in behind them.
"Well, gentlemen, we need to talk."
"Where's Alex?" Darien asked, before Hobbes got a chance to say anything.
"Agent Monroe is fine for the moment. One of my corpsmen is looking her over. The crash was a bit
harder on her than we planned." He narrowed his eyes slightly watching Darien carefully. "If she
behaves, she'll come to no harm."
"Behaves. Why do I not like the sound of that?" Hobbes commented, knowing it would probably
irritate the man.
"She won't, either, but she'll learn her place soon enough." Logan stepped forward until he stood
less than a foot from Hobbes. "You are going to tell me what I want to know."
"Or what? You'll torture me?"
"No. I'll torture him." Logan waved at Darien, who did his best not to react to the threat. "I
have the feeling you'll protect him, the same way he tried to protect Agent Monroe."
"How the hell do you know who we are?" The question slipped out past Darien's lips before he could
prevent it.
Logan laughed softly. "We've known who you were since the FBI called for your help." When Hobbes
looked at him in confusion, he continued. "When you know all the codes, it's a simple matter to
unscramble the signals."
"Crap," Hobbes muttered. "Then what is all this about? We're just some agents from BWM."
Logan laughed. "I know all about the Agency, and I know he," Logan pointed at Darien, "is something
special. Though, at the moment, I can't see what."
"Look, we ain't gonna help you. Probably can't help you, and Monroe needs to get off this mountain
and to a doctor...." Hobbes was interrupted.
"Then you will do what I say without argument, or I will let my men use her as they wish." Hobbes
glared at him. "She won't fight back all that much, restrained, and we do know how to restrain our
women."
"Damn it, just leave her alone!" Darien shouted at the man.
"How odd. You want to protect her. She wants to protect you. Our contacts gave me the impression
that neither of you cared for her very much." Logan watched both men carefully, but Hobbes made
sure to give away nothing, and Darien got control of himself, knowing he was only helping the
bastard by reacting.
"Who do you think you are, anyway?" Hobbes growled softly.
"We are an embarrassment. A mistake that our beloved government has been trying to *fix* for five
years." He looked from Darien to Hobbes, as if debating how much to say. "If it wasn't for that
bitch..." he snarled, then took a deep breath and composed himself. "You are going to make sure
they leave us alone, or I will see to it your friend here never walks again."
"And I'm telling you there is nothing we can do." Hobbes crossed his arms over his chest and shook
his head. It was entirely possible that the Official might just pull the strings these guys wanted
to get Fawkes -- or at least the gland -- back, but he couldn't let this guy know that.
"Why?" Darien asked quietly from his position on the floor. "What did you do?"
"Our jobs, just like we were supposed to. Only we did them too well." Logan walked around Hobbes
and looked out of the window, at the haven he'd created. "They wanted the perfect soldiers, the
perfect fighting machines for impossible missions. Me and my team volunteered for the program. They
did their little reprogramming and sent us back to work." One hand came up to run through his hair.
"It was year before we were called for a deep cover mission. Before they activated the programming
buried in our psyches. It worked. We became the killing machines they wanted. We did the job and
sent back the intel, leaving no survivors, no witnesses. Civilian, military, adult, child -- it
didn't matter, we slaughtered them. Better yet, we enjoyed it. There was only one problem." He
turned his head to look at Darien. "We survived."
Hobbes had turned about to watch the man. "So? That's usually a good thing."
Logan snorted. "Yeah, you'd think. But it left them with a dilemma. You see, they'd figured out how
to program us, how to make us be all that we could be, but they hadn't figured out how to turn us
back."
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