Chapter 13

There was an inevitability to the situation: too much lay between the two men and a reckoning was unavoidable. Steve would almost have welcomed the confrontation if it hadn't been for his father's unconscious presence. With an effort, he increased his speed, although he knew that there was no chance of outrunning his adversary. However, the more cloaking rain between them the better.

A lot would depend on the weapons with which Devlin had chosen to arm himself. Steve almost hoped that his adversary had retained the shotgun because it would be way too easy for the gunman to simply pick them off with a rifle. Intuition told him the former was more likely. This was personal, and Jack wasn't looking for a distant kill. He wanted to see fear in his victim's eyes and, more importantly, he wanted blood.

A small gully offered a manageable path off the road and Steve started to scramble upwards, escaping from the direct line of fire. The ground was treacherously unstable and he slipped and slithered, the additional weight on his shoulders throwing him off his balance and his energy draining faster than air from a slashed tire, despite the adrenaline flooding his system.

He had to find a place to safeguard Mark. His preference would be a locked, but not airtight, vault in the center of a police station at Fort Knox, but he would settle for any secure, concealed location that was sheltered enough so that Mark didn't risk inadvertently drowning in his unconscious state. There were places that met one or even two of these criteria but not all. He climbed up the side of the gully, using roots and branches to pull himself with his free hand, needing to find an area out of the direct flow of water.

An overhanging rock with a mountain laurel growing underneath provided the most promising protection, and Steve gently eased Mark off his shoulders and onto the ground, his weary arms trembling with the effort. He was grateful for the cushioning afforded by the blanket and made sure his father's head was not only comfortable but also out of the way of potential runoff.

The rain pattering on outspread, verdant leaves drowned out all other noise, but Steve kept alert for the slightest indication of movement. He pulled out his gun, checking his ammunition, dismayed, but unsurprised, to find only three bullets left. It didn't matter. He was tired of being the quarry in this chase. This time, he would take the hunt to his pursuer.

His gaze was cold and hard, the warrior replacing the public servant as he scanned the scenery, softening momentarily as he patted his father farewell.

With the weight off his shoulders and both hands free, he was able to move stealthily through the undergrowth, his absolute focus not permitting the intrusion of pain or weakness. He automatically headed upwards, seeking the high ground for combat advantage and better visibility.

Crouched next to an outcropping of rock, the mud besmearing him providing excellent camouflage, Steve might have been an inanimate part of the landscape if it wasn't for the restless searching of his blue eyes and the occasional blinking away of the excess moisture settling over his vision as the rain streamed down his face.

Leaves trembled continuously from the overhead beating and water gathered in increasing volumes, trickles becoming streams becoming cascades, carrying along light debris as it tumbled down the small canyon. Yet there was no sign of Devlin, no motion that indicated a human presence. What Steve could see of the road through the foliage and precipitation was empty, but red warning signals flashed along his nerve endings as every instinct told him that Jack Devlin was nearby.

From his vantage point, Steve could still watch the area in which he'd hidden Mark, making sure that Devlin hadn't unexpectedly circumvented his position to attack from the other side, but he concentrated his attention to the right. His patience was soon rewarded when an anomalous movement in the bushes a gully away caught his attention. A head of black hair peered cautiously out of the undergrowth, and Steve flattened himself further against the rock.

For a few seconds Devlin was in plain sight, the shotgun clasped firmly in his hands easy to identify, before he was hidden by the curve of the hillside. Careful not to dislodge any stones that might rattle down and betray his position, Steve wormed his way across on a path that would intercept Devlin's but slightly higher up the gulch.

The rockier terrain at the top of the gully quickly shifted to a muddier landscape and after crawling through it, Steve was barely distinguishable from the sludge surrounding him. He waited silently, tucked under some brush, his gun upraised, following his adversary's progress by the sequential waving of the foliage in his direction.

Devlin was careless. Perhaps overconfident because of his superior firepower or perhaps too distraught to be sufficiently vigilant, he gave little scrutiny to his surroundings, proceeding onwards perpendicularly across the more open ground of the canyon without hesitation. Soon his back was turned to Steve, an easy and tempting target, offering not only an end to the threat which had been so constant, but also revenge for the anguish and terror inflicted on both himself and his father in the last few days. Yet he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger.

Shooting a man from behind was too much like murder and both his training and the fundamental human decency so central to his character prohibited such an action. Neither was a warning call the answer; its results would almost certainly be tragic. Either Devlin would succeed in turning in time and it wouldn't take much accuracy for a blast to be lethal for Steve or he would be forced to shoot Devlin, because for the latter to tamely surrender at this point was inconceivable.

An alternative occurred to him and his left hand searched out a sizable rock which he hefted consideringly with the retrospective instincts of a quarterback. The throw was perfectly judged, impacting Devlin's shoulder blade with an audible thud that was almost drowned out by his cry of pain and surprise. The shotgun flew from nerveless fingers, giving Steve the opening he desired. With a few running strides, he launched himself down on the other man, using the momentum gained from his higher elevation to propel Devlin down to the ground.

It was a successful strategy that had often worked for him in the past, but Jack didn't stay subdued for more than one stunned second, turning on his assailant with a snarl and an elbow in the face. Soon the fight had deteriorated into a slug fest as both men unleashed the fury of insults and injuries inflicted on loved ones and self. Steve's wounded shoulder was balanced by the severe bruising he'd just caused with the rock missile, but neither cared about blows sustained, only about inflicting more damage on their enemy.

The mud cushioned much of the violence, punches often sliding ineffectually off slick skin but Steve was aware only of the release of days of pent-up pain and fear, the grief that had settled in his heart and twisted his soul easing with this mindless opportunity for revenge.

Although there was little scientific in his tactics, Steve's training and experience enabled him to get the upper hand and he was gearing up to deliver a decisive blow when he was interrupted by a strange noise, a reverberating pop that seemed to gather volume into an intensifying rumble. Simultaneously the ground seemed to liquefy beneath him, sweeping them both downhill in a flowing river of mud.

"Landslide!" Steve clutched a handful of Devlin's shirt, hauling him bodily sideways as he fought the downward current in an attempt to reach safety. "Come on!" Rocks, bushes and other debris pummeled him as he crossed their plummeting path. Something large, he wasn't sure what, slammed into his arm, tearing Devlin from his grasp. He made a frantic grab to catch him, but his fingers closed on nothing and he caught a last glimpse of the other man's despairing face as the mud swept him away.

Steve slipped under, finding the consistency of the slurry a lot like cake batter -- but not as tasty and with sticks and pebbles thrown in. Black flecks swirled before his eyes as he struggled to his feet, grasping a solid rock to the side. It was enough to allow the mudslide to pass and seconds later he collapsed, coughing and retching, the foul taste in his mouth making him sick and nauseous.

In retrospect, he realised he should have expected such a disaster as the recent torrential rain had saturated the soil, the water loosening it enough to slump down the hill carrying the vegetation and loose rock with it. He'd been lucky to survive the experience. Only the relatively small size of the gully and their location near the top of the slide's inception had allowed him to resist its destructive force.

He sat up gingerly, his eyes scouring the bottom of the hill for signs of life, but now everything was ominously still, even the force of rain seemed to have abated. That was good news since it meant... "Dad!"

The horror was almost physical, striking his nerves like shards of ice, and then he was on feet, racing across the denuded bedrock. The frozen fist of fear clenched around his heart melted slightly as he topped the rise and realised that the mudslide had been localised, confined solely to the gully he'd been in, and the one in which he'd left Mark was untouched. However, the hollow ache in his gut didn't ease until he confirmed his father was unharmed and still breathing. He swayed as tension washed out of him and the exhaustion of intense emotions and too many hours without sleep caught up with him.

There wasn't an inch of his body that didn't throb and ache, but Mark still needed a hospital and the dangers of the area had presented themselves to him with unequivocal clarity so, for the third time that night, Steve hoisted his father onto his shoulders. Despite his desire to vacate the vicinity with all due celerity, he climbed down with meticulous care, anxious to avoid precipitating another landslide.

He was aware that any safety the road offered was purely illusionary as he crossed evidence that his gully hadn't been the only one to spew its contents with lethal force down into the valley, but he had no energy to spare for contemplation of that danger. Every step sent jolts of pain through his frame and the trembling of exhausted muscles, pushed beyond the limits of endurance, were mutating into shudders that tore through his body like a series of intensifying tidal waves, leaving destruction in their wake.

Conscious only of the need to keep moving, he was unaware of the car approaching up the road until it stopped in front of him. He gazed at the barrier uncomprehendingly, unable to identify it either as salvation or as a threat. However, he recognised the incredulous voice that emanated from the figure that exited the vehicle.

"Steve!"

For his part, the only thing Jesse could recognise in the drenched, mud-smeared individual staggering down the road was the physique. He stared in an amalgam of relief and horror at his bedraggled friend, not even trying to guess at the ordeal that had brought him to such a clear state of exhaustion.

As he hurried forward to help, Steve lowered the equally disheveled figure he'd been carrying to the ground, falling on his knees beside him. "Thank God, Jesse. Please help him!"

Jesse's focus had been entirely on Steve, but as the rain fell on the muddy face revealed atop the soaked, filthy blanket, the water washing the gaunt features, a burning chill of dawning realisation spread through his limbs. Disbelief and shock consumed him at the sight of the face he'd never expected to see again.

"Oh my God, Mark!" His breath hitched in his chest, paralysis holding him captive for several seconds. The utter stillness of the limp body instilled in him the fear that the help for which Steve was pleading was too late and his hand trembled uncertainly as he reached out, fumbling with suddenly numb fingers. "He's alive! Oh God, I don't believe it, he's really alive!"

His eyes flooded with moisture, a profound and amazed gratitude spilling over into joy and he moved closer, hands searching carefully for causes of Mark's unconscious condition, first checking for a possible head wound.

"He's been drugged." Steve's voice was oddly small and lost for so big and strong a man and while his fingers kept moving, Jesse switched his gaze to check out his friend. What he saw alarmed him considerably. In the few places the rain had rinsed away the ingrained dirt, blood and bruises stood out starkly against the white pallor of his face and if the tears in his clothes at all corresponded to equal damage to the flesh beneath, as was his best guess, Steve needed medical help as much as his father. Perhaps most disturbing was the glassy look within his eyes from the pain and shock that dominated their unfocused depths.

"Steve, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Steve responded rather impatiently, dismissing the question as irrelevant although in Jesse's opinion he was probably as far from fine as a person could get while still being able to answer the question. However, this wasn't the time for pushing the issue and the doctor continued his examination.

"He's cold, mildly hypothermic. I've got a dry blanket in the car to replace this one."

Steve didn't move as Jesse returned to his car. The true drain not only on his body but on his soul was just beginning to hit. Only the sheer stubbornness that had carried him this far, bolstered by the need to know his father would be okay, was keeping him upright in blatant denial of gravity and his own complete exhaustion.

He helped Jesse wrap Mark in a bright red cover then maneuver him into the back seat of the car, crawling in to support him and make him comfortable even though he was unconscious. Steve's body was so tired, in such desperate need of rest, that it simply refused to relax, fine tremors coursing unremittingly through overtaxed muscles. As the car bounced and jolted down the pot-holed road, he cushioned his father against the jarring motion, holding him steady against his good shoulder.

Jesse fought the car as it fishtailed through another shallow mudslide, trying to find the right balance between urgency and caution. Despite the worry he felt for both friends, there was an upwelling of joy in his soul, bubbling and tickling inside as his universe, which had been so off-kilter, righted itself.

With one hand he fished out his cell phone and hit the speed dial, relieved when the call went through. The poignant cry uttered by Amanda when he related the good news echoed in his heart, bringing an involuntary smile to his face but it slipped away quickly as he explained the current situation. She promised to have things ready for their arrival at the hospital and Jesse disconnected. He contemplated calling Captain Newman, but since he had no idea what had actually happened that night and didn't want to get Steve into more trouble, he desisted. His friend was in no condition to be answering questions about his recent activities.

Swerving to avoid what looked like a miniature meteor crater in the road, he glanced anxiously in the rearview mirror to check on the status of his passengers. From this angle he couldn't see if Steve's eyes were open but the tension sheathing his form left Jesse in no doubt as to his level of consciousness. There was something about the way he was holding his father -- in an embrace so fiercely protective that no hurt would dare try to penetrate it -- that brought a lump to Jesse's throat.

He owed his friend an apology and he'd never in his life been so happy to be wrong. It was a miracle that Mark was alive and Steve's battered condition attested to the fact that he was the miracle worker. They weren't out of the woods yet, but at least light was visible through the dense foliage.