Full dark was rapidly descending; the darkness thankfully lightened a bit by a gibbous moon suspended over the canyon. They'd lose the moonlight soon enough and they busied themselves setting up as best as they could. Nick had climbed back up and salvaged what he could from the Denali: the bottled water, some granola bars he had in his glove box- mangled but intact, a grey woolen blanket, the first aid kit, and the Mapquest directions. He clambered back down and joined Grissom seated on a fallen log.
"Dinner is served, sir," he said as he presented the bottled water and granola bars with a mock waiter's flourish. "Sorry. No T-bones or French fries but this'll have to suffice." Grissom accepted the proffered items with a small smile. "This'll do just fine, Nick."
They chewed and drank wordlessly, each taken with their own thoughts on their situation. Nick, of course, was the first to break the silence. "I tried the cell phone, but as I figured, there's no service this deep. In the morning I'll climb up higher to see if I can get reception." Grissom nodded, secretly doubting the young man would be able to climb back up that steep slope. His keen mind was already trying to work out a plan to get them out, but with his bum ankle and the wild terrain, it was going to be tough. "Hand me the Mapquest directions, would you please, Nick?" He reviewed the map that printed along with the driving directions. It appeared that the canyon in the direction they had been driving became more shallow and increased in elevation as it approached the area where the substation was. Unfortunately, it was still very far and would undoubtedly be rough going.
Maybe it would be best to stay put and see if someone comes to get us…
Nick broke into his thoughts. "Grissom. You know, I don't think the Denali's tire blew out on its own. I remember a loud noise before the tire went. You think someone took a shot at the truck?"
Grissom nodded slowly. He had been putting off discussing that added variable. If the sniper saw them come down and escape from the wreckage then they might still be targets. "I think we have to assume that someone might not have wanted us to show at the ranger station, Nick." Damn Hodges! He needed more information and the smarmy lab tech's lame excuse about a bad connection left more than a little to be desired. "Do you have your service piece?"
Nick sighed as he realized it was back up in the Denali's center console. "Yeah, not on me exactly," he said while pointedly looking up at the still suspended wreck. "Anything else you can think of that you want so I can make this my last trip?" he asked with a facial expression half smile, half grimace. He really didn't want to climb back up again; his side was killing him and he came back with more scratches each time.
"Sorry, Nick, but I really think it would be prudent to have a weapon," Grissom said- the unspoken part was that Grissom, of course, couldn't make the trip himself, and even more so, he wasn't carrying his own gun.
Nick allowed the unspoken to remain so and gave his boss a small smile and headed back to the tree. The tree that had saved their lives, and he hated it more with each climb. Reaching up and grabbing the lowest limb he pulled himself back up into the branches with a wince and a flash of pain in his side.
When he returned carrying his 9mm he had to admit, he felt better with it there. He hunkered back down onto the log and collapsed with a sigh. A fire sure would have been nice, but seeing as how neither of them smoked, and he wasn't up to hunting for flint or two sticks to rub together, they would have to do without. He fantasized about using the cigarette lighter in the truck to light something and bring it back down, but he was hanged if he was going back up to the truck and the logistics of such a plan were a bit too much. Besides, wouldn't do to let their 'friend' out there know they were up and about. He glanced over at his boss who was working his ankle around, checking its range of movement. "Hey, Gris. You want me to splint that for you?"
Grissom smiled gratefully at him but shook his head. "I think my boot will keep it supported enough. It's swollen a bit and I laced it up tight. But thank you."
Nick nodded and realized they didn't have much left to talk about for now. He wanted to ask his boss what kinds of plans he was developing in that giant brain of his, but didn't want his mentor to think that he was counting on him to get them out of this. So he slid down and leaned against the log, settling his head back to look up at the stars.
An easy quiet settled over them and neither had spoken for several minutes when Grissom, quite uncharacteristically, was the first to speak. "I'm afraid I've never been good at small talk, Nick," he said without looking at the younger CSI.
Nick smiled.
No shit, Sherlock!
What he actually said though was, "No problem, Gris. You know I grew up in a family of seven kids- including five older sisters. The house was always packed with people. My sisters were always bringing home the boy of the week and my mom who was a PD would sometimes bring home some of her defense clients. Those were some fun dinners, let me tell you. Biff and Chip or Chad or whoever from the local college sitting there making eyes at whichever sister they were dating, with my dad staring daggers at them. Then when Mom would invite her clients to dinner, there would be some barely detoxed junkie at the table. Not really fair to the poor slob. Dinner with The Judge. Just what you want when you're strung out andjonesing." Nick laughed a bit at this point. "My dad would stare at them, then ask them to recite their record, reminding them he could check on it if he wanted to. He'd then ask them if they were happy with where they were in life. What was their life plan? Do you think you get another go around? Life isn't a trial run, son. There are no do-overs." Without realizing it, his voice had slipped down an octave and his Texas accent had deepened, as his voice unconsciously became that of Judge Stokes. "Man, I always felt so badly for the guy. Probably wishing he was back in a nice 10 x 10 cell instead of breaking bread with my old man."
He chuckled then but a bit self-consciously. "Any way, I would usually try to slip out most nights. I'd grab my rifle and my dog, and a book and a flashlight and head out. And I mean Out. As far as I could get. I'd settle down and read for a while. Sometimes I'd fall asleep and I'd catch holy hell from my folks when I'd return at dawn." He smiled gently at the memory. "Point I'm trying to make, Gris, is that I am perfectly content to sit here for the night in silence if that's what you'd prefer. No dog. No book. Got my gun, though!" he laughed.
Grissom nodded in response as he reflected on the snapshot of Nick's childhood he'd just been granted. His own family life couldn't have been more different if he'd been raised by wolves. He thought back to his mom and the long conversations they would have; no words- just a blur of hand movements. His mother's hands would always reveal her current mood. Normal happy mom was a slow and graceful swooping of her slim pale hands, cheerfully repeating those more complicated signs that her just learning young son had difficulty with. Pissed off mom's hands would slice through the air in brusque choppy bursts, and heaven forbid he didn't pick up on what she was trying to say. He actually learned most quickly then; trial by fire so to speak.
He considered sharing these memories with Nick, but realized that while he'd been reminiscing the younger man had apparently fallen asleep. Surprising as they were not normally accustomed to sleeping nights with their late shift work, but maybe not so surprising considering the workout Nick had gotten between rescuing him from the truck and climbing the tree repeatedly. He envied him briefly, then realized that if he slid down and rested his own weary body against the log he might be able to join his companion in slumber. He grabbed the wool blanket and threw half of it over Nick's legs; the other half over his own chilled body and laid his head back.
I'm sure the sheriff will have called someone by now. Hopefully the cavalry will ride in tomorrow and get us out of here.
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Sheriff Green hit the light on his watch. Remembering the contempt in the voice that had answered the phone he figured no one was gonna show up. Damn! He knew his call had been a big waste. Hotshot city slickers couldn't be bothered to show. He'd try Carson City CSI in the morning. Those bodies weren't going anywhere for now. He got into his Wrangler and set off for home, hoping Mrs. Green had finished making her homemade chicken soup. If he was lucky, she had baked a loaf of sourdough to go with it. He was cold and tired and pissed off and gunned the Jeep down the road, never noticing the broken shoulder off to his side in the dark, and headed for home.