As Joe slid out of the chopper and into the air he was sure this time he was done for, but fate had other plans for the youth. Joe saw the lake beneath him and managed to turn so he would hit feet first. He only prayed the lake was deep and his drop wasn't too high.
The speed with which he fell carried him deep into the lake. When his momentum stopped, he forced himself to relax. He floated to the top and took in fresh air, thankful he had remembered to take a deep breath before hitting the water.
He floated on the surface for some time, unable to swim because his hands were still tied firmly behind his back. The rope which had bound his ankles still clung to him but it was loose. Joe's fear now was that the rope would get snagged and he might be pulled under.
Eventually, he came to the shore. It wasn't long before he felt wet sand on his back. Joe twisted and rolled over a couple of times. He lay still, gloating in the fact that he was still alive.
Giving a silent thanks to God, Joe began working on kicking the ropes from his ankles. This done, he got to his knees and then his feet. He made his way toward the edge of the woods where he saw a group of rocks. He leaned back against these and began rubbing the rope around his wrists against the rock. By the time Joe finally managed to break free, he had dried considerable in the early afternoon sun.
He sat, rubbing his wrists, wondering where he could find something to drink. He needed to get out of here and back to civilization so he could contact the Network but he knew in this humid weather, with a temperature of at least ninety-five degrees, he would have to have water before setting off. Too, he thought, waiting until later in the evening before leaving would also increase his chances of making it into a populated area.
He got to his feet and headed into the brush. A little over an hour later he found some fresh water seeping from some rocks. Wahoo! Joe shouted silently. Love those high water tables! He drank his fill, wishing he had something to put the water in to take with him.
He had no idea where he was at except it still had to be in the US, probably even still in New York. He had the bad feeling he had fallen into a lake in the Adirondacks. If so, no matter which way he went, it could take some time to reach civilization. But, if he kept on a straight path, or as straight as he could, he was bound to get out of there. He continued on his north-eastern course.
Less than fifteen minutes later, he heard what sounded like trail bikes. Unsure of who might be on them, he climbed a tree and watched as they neared, then passed, beneath him, seemingly searching for something.
He thought about attracting their attention but something urged him to keep silent. After they passed, Joe headed back to the lake in their trail. As he neared, he could hear the words of one as he spoke on a two-way radio. Joe crouched down to listen.
Joe's eyes narrowed. In the tree he had had a niggling suspicion these bikers were Assassins. He had been right. Apparently, they had been looking for his body and instead, had found the ropes which had bound him as well as his prints in the sand just above the water line.
They knew he was alive now and they would be hunting him. Obviously, they had a camp nearby. Frank was most likely being held prisoner there. He was fairly certain Frank was still alive, otherwise they would just have killed him instead of taking with them.
Joe now had two problems: keep from being captured and rescue Frank....and the Gray Man, Joe amended wryly as an afterthought.
He remained where he was and watched as the men arranged to search the area. They assumed he was no longer near the small beach by the lake and decided to begin their search further from shore. One man would remain behind to coordinate the search.
Soon, all but the one man had departed. Joe hadn't been careful on his trek, never suspecting he would become prey, and knew it wouldn't take long for the men to trace his journey to the tree and back. He had to act fast. Fortunately, the beach was small and it would take only seconds to reach the man. If only he would turn away.
Joe waited, chaffing with anxiety, afraid someone would return before an opportunity arose. Finally, the man turned away. Joe wasted no time. He sprinted across the open space and crashed into the man, sending his radio flying from his hand.
The man reacted faster than Joe had anticipated. He elbowed Joe in the shoulder then followed through with a backhanded punch to Joe's right cheek. Joe's grip on his opponent loosened a bit and he was quickly rolled off and onto his back. Before Joe could be pinned, he brought his right leg up and kicked the man in the side. As he groaned and sank back down to the ground, Joe used both legs to lock the man's head in a scissor move. But his foe applied pressure points to the backs of Joe's knees and was quickly released.
Both leapt to their feet in battle stances. Joe took the first swing but was quickly blocked. He grunted as a fist landed in his stomach. Joe retreated two steps and blocked the next two blows. Using a move he had seen on a paid infomercial, he gave one thrust with his left fist, a jab with his right, and immediately side-kicked with his right foot.
His opponent went down. Joe stepped in to take another swing at the man's jaw but before he could, the man's face jerked and he swallowed. Joe lowered his hands as the man fell face down, dead.
Joe bit his bottom lip but set about his business. His survival and Frank's rescue foremost in his mind, he took what he needed form the deceased Assassin. A canteen, the man's belt, a compass, a pack of cigarettes, a bandana, a pocket knife, and a pair of binoculars. Before leaving the area, he grabbed the two-way radio, gun and map which had been left on one of the rocks. He wrapped the canteen and binoculars around his neck, clipped the radio to his belt, buckled the man's belt around his waist, and stuffed the other items he had taken into his pockets.
Next he grabbed a branch and swept way his prints in the sand and took off into the brush, aware that in mere minutes he would become the ultimate game.
The speed with which he fell carried him deep into the lake. When his momentum stopped, he forced himself to relax. He floated to the top and took in fresh air, thankful he had remembered to take a deep breath before hitting the water.
He floated on the surface for some time, unable to swim because his hands were still tied firmly behind his back. The rope which had bound his ankles still clung to him but it was loose. Joe's fear now was that the rope would get snagged and he might be pulled under.
Eventually, he came to the shore. It wasn't long before he felt wet sand on his back. Joe twisted and rolled over a couple of times. He lay still, gloating in the fact that he was still alive.
Giving a silent thanks to God, Joe began working on kicking the ropes from his ankles. This done, he got to his knees and then his feet. He made his way toward the edge of the woods where he saw a group of rocks. He leaned back against these and began rubbing the rope around his wrists against the rock. By the time Joe finally managed to break free, he had dried considerable in the early afternoon sun.
He sat, rubbing his wrists, wondering where he could find something to drink. He needed to get out of here and back to civilization so he could contact the Network but he knew in this humid weather, with a temperature of at least ninety-five degrees, he would have to have water before setting off. Too, he thought, waiting until later in the evening before leaving would also increase his chances of making it into a populated area.
He got to his feet and headed into the brush. A little over an hour later he found some fresh water seeping from some rocks. Wahoo! Joe shouted silently. Love those high water tables! He drank his fill, wishing he had something to put the water in to take with him.
He had no idea where he was at except it still had to be in the US, probably even still in New York. He had the bad feeling he had fallen into a lake in the Adirondacks. If so, no matter which way he went, it could take some time to reach civilization. But, if he kept on a straight path, or as straight as he could, he was bound to get out of there. He continued on his north-eastern course.
Less than fifteen minutes later, he heard what sounded like trail bikes. Unsure of who might be on them, he climbed a tree and watched as they neared, then passed, beneath him, seemingly searching for something.
He thought about attracting their attention but something urged him to keep silent. After they passed, Joe headed back to the lake in their trail. As he neared, he could hear the words of one as he spoke on a two-way radio. Joe crouched down to listen.
Joe's eyes narrowed. In the tree he had had a niggling suspicion these bikers were Assassins. He had been right. Apparently, they had been looking for his body and instead, had found the ropes which had bound him as well as his prints in the sand just above the water line.
They knew he was alive now and they would be hunting him. Obviously, they had a camp nearby. Frank was most likely being held prisoner there. He was fairly certain Frank was still alive, otherwise they would just have killed him instead of taking with them.
Joe now had two problems: keep from being captured and rescue Frank....and the Gray Man, Joe amended wryly as an afterthought.
He remained where he was and watched as the men arranged to search the area. They assumed he was no longer near the small beach by the lake and decided to begin their search further from shore. One man would remain behind to coordinate the search.
Soon, all but the one man had departed. Joe hadn't been careful on his trek, never suspecting he would become prey, and knew it wouldn't take long for the men to trace his journey to the tree and back. He had to act fast. Fortunately, the beach was small and it would take only seconds to reach the man. If only he would turn away.
Joe waited, chaffing with anxiety, afraid someone would return before an opportunity arose. Finally, the man turned away. Joe wasted no time. He sprinted across the open space and crashed into the man, sending his radio flying from his hand.
The man reacted faster than Joe had anticipated. He elbowed Joe in the shoulder then followed through with a backhanded punch to Joe's right cheek. Joe's grip on his opponent loosened a bit and he was quickly rolled off and onto his back. Before Joe could be pinned, he brought his right leg up and kicked the man in the side. As he groaned and sank back down to the ground, Joe used both legs to lock the man's head in a scissor move. But his foe applied pressure points to the backs of Joe's knees and was quickly released.
Both leapt to their feet in battle stances. Joe took the first swing but was quickly blocked. He grunted as a fist landed in his stomach. Joe retreated two steps and blocked the next two blows. Using a move he had seen on a paid infomercial, he gave one thrust with his left fist, a jab with his right, and immediately side-kicked with his right foot.
His opponent went down. Joe stepped in to take another swing at the man's jaw but before he could, the man's face jerked and he swallowed. Joe lowered his hands as the man fell face down, dead.
Joe bit his bottom lip but set about his business. His survival and Frank's rescue foremost in his mind, he took what he needed form the deceased Assassin. A canteen, the man's belt, a compass, a pack of cigarettes, a bandana, a pocket knife, and a pair of binoculars. Before leaving the area, he grabbed the two-way radio, gun and map which had been left on one of the rocks. He wrapped the canteen and binoculars around his neck, clipped the radio to his belt, buckled the man's belt around his waist, and stuffed the other items he had taken into his pockets.
Next he grabbed a branch and swept way his prints in the sand and took off into the brush, aware that in mere minutes he would become the ultimate game.