"I'd have to agree. This does end NOW!"
The words came not from their captor, but from the woods behind him. The gunman whirled in their direction and Nick reached for the gun in the back of his jeans. Pulling it out in one fluid motion and thumbing the safety off, he aimed and held his stance. The gunman spun around and held his own rifle pointed back at Nick.
From out behind the trees Brass, Warrick, and Sara entered the clearing, guns held pointed at the madman as well. They had come upon the scene and heard enough to figure out what was transpiring.
Four against one. But Nick didn't want this man dead if they could help it. He was obviously not in his right mind, and in his twisted way he was doing what he thought was right.
Brass took another step forward, gun never wavering from its target. "I mean it. This ends now. Put the gun down. Nicky? Grissom? You guys all right?"
"Yeah, Brass. Nice timing. May I introduce you to Saint Francis of Assisi?" Nick said with a wry smile.
The gunman was shaking, rifle still pointed at Nick. "Demons, sent by Lucifer! I was right! As Job was challenged, so am I. Lord, lead my hand! Tell me what you will have me do! I await Your Heavenly command!" He then began to mumble to himself, his ramblings too low to be heard.
Grissom spoke up from his position at the base of the tree. "Saint Francis, you told us that God delivered Jonah from the belly of the whale. God sent an angel to lead Moses and his people from the desert. I believe that these are our angels."
Brass and Warrick raised four eyebrows at this pronouncement. Sara's face was unreadable.
The gunman stopped his mutterings and looked up with feverish eyes. The rifle's aim faltered for the first time since their standoff.
Nick realized there might be only one way to prove they meant no harm to the man. He pulled his gun away from its target, then slowly bent over to place his weapon on the ground, scowling briefly at the pain it elicited. He gradually stood back up and held his hands out at his sides.
The gunman watched Nick's actions, then looked from him to Grissom and back again, disbelief evident on his face. He turned slowly towards Brass and the others. They tightened their grips on their weapons, but waited to see what he did next. He backed up slowly to the edge of the clearing, never taking his gaze off of them. As ready as they were for a sudden act of violence they were taken by surprise when he darted into the thick underbrush to disappear from view. Warrick aimed his gun and began to take off after the retreating figure but Brass laid a hand on his arm stopping him.
"What the hell are you doing, Brass? That psycho was gonna kill these guys! We can't let him run around the woods armed!"
"Rick, you may know Vegas like the back of your hand, but this is his 'hood. I'll radio up to Green and get him and his men to track him. Let's just check on our boys, shall we?"
Sara had already run over to Grissom and was undoing the knot. When he stood she briefly considered a hug, then thought better of it and settled for a big smile.
Nick had a matching smile on his face and heartily shook hands with Brass and Warrick.
"Whoo-boy! That was fun. Man, you guys really know how to make an appearance!"
"What the hell was that all about?" Warrick wanted to know.
"Oh, Man. If I knew, I'd tell you, but that guy was a few cards short of a full deck." His relief and high spirits were contagious and the others found themselves caught up in it.
"You mean a few fries short of a Happy Meal, dontcha?" Warrick asked.
"Nah, man. You know I don't eat Mickie D's."
"Well, if you two are done coming up with clever euphemisms for the mentally ill, I think we should get out of here." Leave it to Grissom to harsh our mellow, thought Warrick.
Brass lowered the walkie-talkie he had just used to call the sheriff. "Green has some men close by. They're coming to get us and lead us back out to the substation."
Grissom, in the meantime, had retrieved his makeshift crutch and was leaning heavily on it. Their adventure had taken its toll on the older man and he was exhausted, mentally and physically. Sara looked at him with concern, but he gave her a small smile. "Twisted my ankle. It's fine."
A short time later three deputies appeared. Brass quickly filled them in on what happened and they each got on their own radios, rounding up the troops.
"Sirs, if you'll just follow us we'll have you out in no time," said a deputy whose nametag read Whitehorse.
Grissom looked over at his team. They had begun processing the scene, professionals to the end. "Nick. C'mon. Let's get out of here."
"Nah- you go on Gris. There isn't much light left and we should get what we can before we lose it. Besides, you must be pretty damn sick of my face by now. You and Sara go. It'll be okay. I've got Brass and Rick and a deputy here in case our friend shows back up."
"Yeah. C'mon Grissom. I never was much of one for camping. Let the boys finish up. We'll go back and have a doc look at your ankle," Sara said, taking his arm gently.
………………………………...
Grissom and Sara followed behind the two deputies and true to their word, emerged at the substation pretty quickly. Grissom was surprised to see how close he and Nick had gotten actually. Made better time than I thought.
They loaded into the deputies' truck and continued past the ranger station, descending from the mountainside on the opposite side from which they had approached. Grissom leaned his head back on the seat and sighed. "I'm completely wiped, and Nick acts like he could do another 24 hours of work. Have I really gotten that old?"
Sara gave a small smile. She never saw him as old. Not even now when he was tired, pale, scratched up, and worn down. "Adrenaline is powerful stuff. When he comes down he'll probably crash harder than you. I'm just glad you guys are safe. New rule at the lab. Hodges can NEVER answer the phone again." This pulled a chuckle from Grissom.
The vehicle came to a stop in front of a small building. A blue and white lettered sign read "Dufurenna Clinic". She helped Grissom out of the truck and into the front room. It could have been an office in any small town building- hardwood floors and a small desk in the corner. The only indication as to its purpose as a waiting room was a padded bench and chair with well-worn copies of Field and Stream and American Hunter piled on a table between them. A man with greying temples in a white coat over a flannel shirt appeared from a back room and introduced himself as Dr. Lawrence. "The deputy radioed ahead to let me know I'd have a guest. Why don't you come on in the back?"
Grissom limped his way to the back examining room and sat up on the table. The doctor gave him a cursory exam, then directed his attention to the injured ankle. "We're pretty low-tech around here, I'm afraid. The clinic exists mostly to take care of tourists with sunburn and hunters with minor bullet wounds. I don't have an x-ray machine, but from the way you describe the pain I'd say it's probably just a sprain. I'll put an air cast on it and you can follow up with your own doctor or ER when you get home. Vegas, right?"
Grissom nodded tiredly. "See, Sara? I told you. Just sprained."
The doctor ducked into an adjoining room and came back with a woman he introduced as his nurse, Sandy. She was a slim but strong looking woman in her 50's with frosted hair and was wearing an oxford shirt with a light cardigan. She busied herself prepping the air cast while the doctor and Grissom talked about what had happened.
"Sounds like quite an adventure," the doctor said when Grissom had finished his tale. "You know, I lived in LA for thirty years. I was an ER doc. Had my share of patching up gang-bangers and pumping starlets' stomachs. Sandy and I came up here to get away from the nuts. I guess we have to move to Antarctica next, eh, Sand?" he said with a laugh.
Sandy smiled at her husband. "You know, the refuge gets pretty heavy with tourists during busy season. I wonder why no one has run across this guy before?"
Grissom smiled. "There's an awful lot of land out there to get lost in. Trust me."
A phone rang in the front room and the doctor excused himself to answer it. He returned to the back with a pensive expression and asked Grissom to tell him exactly what happened in the truck crash.
Grissom re-described the accident, then asked, "Why?"
"Because that was a Detective Brass on the phone. He said your friend Nick collapsed."