---1---
A few feet in, safe from wind and rain, they shared blankets, steering clear of the dayhole, now a driphole. Rainwater had formed skinny, interlacing streams along the floor, flowing further into the cave. Just outside, keeping down, they'd found a patch of ground and sacrificed two rounds to cut the chain and remove the piton so that Charlie was left with six-inch chains on bracelets. They ate, awash in the flash of lightning, honing into the grumble of thunder as it gained momentum.
Staying awake was a challenge. Don would rise every few minutes, scan for Reylott; it kept him on his toes. Charlie was strangely the lucky one because he'd slept for hours, although he had a headache. They talked, but Don felt himself fading.
Charlie couldn't recall the man Don had known in his academy and early Bureau days. While Don had successfully toiled up the FBI hierarchy, Reylott had turned Don into his raison d'être. Bitterness had altered him, Don said, he's younger than me, but bearded, thinner, prematurely gray; I avoided Rey when he tried to contact me-he was a tainted man.
With his fingertips, Charlie traced tiny circles on his forehead. "You're right," he said. "It was dumb. I shouldn't have accepted the water. So was insisting the koi book was a coincidence." He folded a blanket over his legs. "This is my fault."
"You went on instinct, what you know," Don said.
"That what you did? When you considered--not going on?"
Don reflected a moment. "Instinct?" He shrugged. "Yeah, if it's instinct to want to stay with your brother."
"You don't blame me?"
"What? For dying?" Don kidded, gave him a tired smile. " 'Course not. Don't ever think it. The blame's on Reylott where it belongs."
Charlie approved with a single nod, tossing the blanket over Don, telling him to save his voice; it was painful to hear.
Don had something else to add. "I know dad needs me," he said. "He needs you, too."
"The point of no return," Charlie said. "...is where nobody wants to go. I might've done the same thing."
"If anything ever does happen to me, on the job, anywhere, I don't want you to give up."
Charlie said he'd try.
Before lying down, Don advised him to be on alert, on what they might expect, and gave him tips on using the gun. Charlie didn't argue. At dawn, they'd take flight.
---2---
There's nothing worse than waking up in an ex-girlfriend's house. Or with a roiling hangover. Or on a rigid cave floor in a beaten up body, your own. Don was grateful these things were at least not happening all at the same time. He touched his burned arm. Charlie had been busy, bandaging it with a shirt scrap. Hadn't felt a thing.
With the flashlight, Charlie surfaced from within the cave, boots damp. "How're you feeling?"
"I can't move." Don jiggled his arm, gently. "Thanks."
"You should be in a hospital."
"Call the ambulance. I'll drive myself."
"Haven't seen anything but rain." Charlie flicked off the flashlight. "I've been into the cave. It's quite extensive."
"Better to stay here." Don rose, his calves and shins aching. "Reylott knows this territory." He leaned out the opening. Cats and dogs had waned; thunder had passed. Below, the declivity ranged in grade from thirty to forty degrees, a mix of protruding rock formations and cloddy earth, with muddy run-offs spilling into the fifty foot clearing at the base. Beyond that were mature conifers, an increase in shrubbery and underbrush. Their descent would be slippery. Maybe we should wait.
"He could be in China by now," Don said. "He did tell me where you were."
Charlie peeked out. "Then let's bet on the most probable scenario, and get out of here."
Don affirmed and helped Charlie tuck the loose handcuff out of the way, tying it to his wrist with a strip of fabric. They gathered what they had, loading the pack on Charlie, the stronger. Don, the battered, had the .38.
Sprinkles greeted them when they snuck out. While he got his bearings, Don kept Charlie behind the threshold and scanned for movement, signs extraordinary. When satisfied, he led the way. The first section was tricky, required them to clamber over boulders without falling into a crack, or cracking their heads. They shimmied over like crabs, on hands and feet, and after conquering the outcropping, tackled soggy earth.
Charlie immediately skidded, upset by a mud pool that Don had missed. He slid a few feet and collided into Don, tilted sideways because of the pack.
Don was knocked to a ledge. "Careful," he said. Every movement taxed his burned arm and a string of curses were nearly jettisoned from his lips. Containing them, he planted a foot and picked himself up. "Watch where you're going."
"I was. Everything keeps shifting," he said, tugging his boots from the mud.
"All right?" Don said, offering a hand.
"Keep going, I'm fine."
Don worked toward the rocky spaces where it was merely wet, avoiding the topsoil which tended to give way. To do this, in spots, they had to hike back up the hills or horizontally, one leg traversing the higher slope, the other on the lower. When possible, he'd warn Charlie where not to veer off.
They came to a wide run-off, briskly flowing, which split around a tree ten feet below. They inspected it, realized they'd have to remain on this side or cross at some point. Don decided it'd be safer to travel downwards rather than risk being swept away, backtrack if necessary. Unfortunately, they would have to assume a steeper descent, which carried its own perils. Don looked back to the outcropping. They were down about twenty-five feet but it felt like a hundred.
The rain picked up and Don shuffled back and forth, clinging to a sapling, glided on his backside to get down a mushy area. He checked on Charlie. His clothes were muddy, rainwater dripping from his hair, strands pasted to his face.
A shot rang out, shrieking above the raindrops and the bellow of wind in the valley. Don recognized it and collared Charlie, shoved him down, protecting him. There was no cover; they were sitting ducks.
"Where's it from?" Charlie said, frantic.
Don grasped his wrist and hurried him back toward the cave. "Let's get out of here."
Four shots resounded, a few feet to the west.
"Move!" Don said, his voice hoarse, pushing Charlie ahead of him. Several rounds volleyed around them.
They'd labored ten feet when Don lost his footing, flopped to his chest. He regained control temporarily, then lost it and tumbled. Another round pierced the rocks. Charlie shouted for him and Don glimpsed his face, feeling as though he were descending in slow motion. Fifteen feet down, he plunged into craggy rock, striking the front of his head.
He blacked out for an instant, the sum of his aches vanishing. Fighting to stay conscious, he crunched up behind the crag. When he recovered his senses, Charlie was with him, repeating his name, begging him to rise and pick up his feet. After this, he heard nothing else.
Don swayed, blood washed by rain. "We have to go, we have to..."
Snatching his arm, Charlie hauled him away from the crag. They fled upwards, shots sounding intermittently around them. Their boots skidded and they changed direction several times, furiously seeking a quick retreat over disintegrating soil. Rain inundated Don's eyes; cold saturated his pores. Through it, a firm grasp was drawn across his back, keeping him going. Up. One foot in front of the other, sticking to the rocks.
oooooOOOOOOooooo