((Browning belongs to Browning; the BBC belongs to the BBC - just using there names for the story nothing more))
Colorado Springs, Colorado
Frasier Residence – 3:24am
Bare feet silently tread through the damp grass surrounding the simple 2 story ranch house she had called her home for the last 12 years. There was little fear of being discovered, instinctively knowing that her adoptive daughter Cassie was most likely with one or all of the only people that constituted as her 'family' – Major Samantha Carter... Dr. Daniel Jackson... Teal'c.
There's only one person who might not be there... Colonel Jack O'Neill. The last thing she remembered was the sight of him struggling to buy her one more moment and then crumpling to the floor of the alien forest on P3X-666, a smoking wound to his chest easily recognizable in those few moments just before a Jaffa's staff blast struck her in the chest killing her instantly. She hoped that his luck had held out.
Swallowing down regret that was starting to physically make itself known in the back of her throat she moves with purpose towards the small shed at the back of the yard.
Struggling to harvest enough light to see the combination lock with from the overhead streetlamp, her mind recounts her escape from the Academy Hospital. Leaving the grounds had proved easier then she could have dreamed with fate having taken providence upon her.
(Flashback)After leaving the morgue she had followed the length of the corridor to the service elevator; pressing the button and nervously glancing around in the terse moments as the elevator makes is slow journey down to the basement. Holding her breath as the door part, revealing an empty car she ducks in quickly and hits the button for the first floor.
The elevator slowly rises up to the next floor, the door opening on a deserted hallway next to the cafeteria kitchen. Slipping silently into the cavernous kitchen she finds it empty, only the hum of the giant refrigerators and ice machines break the early morning silence.
Moving farther back down the only other corridor besides the door leading to the serving line, the sight of her chariot greeted her like the preverbal light at the end of the tunnel; sitting directly across from the passage that lead from the loading dock to the kitchen was the open back of a delivery van for the Hospital's kitchen.
And as she glanced around the dock, one that looks like it had just finished making its delivery, because several pallets of food are scattered in orderly lines around the dock most of which would conceal her path into the back of the van from anyone watching.
Steeling herself she edged closer to the loaded pallets and glancing towards the loading dock offices. Through the large window overlooking the dock she spots the Staff Sergeant in charge talking to a civilian worker, who she hopes is the driver of the delivery van.
Seeing that their attention is focused on the clipboard held in front of them, she ducks low and makes a dash from the hallway for the pallet of food closest to the van.
Leaning to the side and glancing at the office window she notices that the two men are no longer standing before of the window. As she moves to get a better look the office door starts to swing outward, knowing that this is her one chance at escape she makes her move and dashes into the back of the van, quickly tucking herself between the giant stacks of wooden pallets piled along the van's metal wall.
As she steady's her breathing and listens to the sounds around her, she hears the scrap of metal then the van sways as the rear door is pulled shut followed by the clunking thump of the latch being closed and the snap of a padlock tell her she was not seen.
Leaning forward carefully to examine the van she notices that the drivers' compartment was not walled off from the van's storage compartment, meaning all she had to do was wait for the driver to take his break and she would slip out unseen.
Pulling back into her small hiding spot as she hears the drivers' side door open, the unmistakable feeling that she is no longer alone in the van, the jingle of keys then the roar of the engine follow.
The trip towards the rear Campus gate was a tense one, but once the guard at the gate gave a cursory search of the back the van was waved through, she finally released a tense breath she didn't know she was holding.
Closing her eyes she starts to mentally draft a list for her to do now that she can no long be Janet Frasier...sighing softly she mutters to herself in Ancient Greek 'Well Kallisto... what name this lifetime?'
Having on the fourth try finally gotten the combination lock on the shed open, she steps inside and shuts the door behind her. Groping gently along the right wall her fingers brush against the lip of the storage shelf there and moving around slowly her fingers brush against the flashlight kept in the shed.
Switching it on she moves across the small space towards the back, there upon the bottom shelf was the rubber chest she was looking for. Sliding the large container out and to the floor she pulls off the lid and removes the old sleeping bag she had stuffed on top of the emergency kit that she had kept if just such a situation occurred.
At the bottom under the sleeping bag rested a simple blue backpack and underneath that, a large black metal attaché case.
The backpack though was a recent addition to her 'escape kit', but the attaché had essentially always been her constant companion in one form or another throughout the years.
The case contained all that she needed in order to disappear; several forms of hard currency, temporary documentation that would get her as far away from Colorado as she needed, and finally a 9mm Browning Hi-Power with three spare magazines of ammunition. The pistol was to keep her from 'losing her head' before being able to make it to Denver. Not very honorable, but then there was no honor in losing your head to an eager hunter.
This previous life had been stable enough that she had felt safe keeping her swords in a storage locker in downtown Denver, the keys to which resided in a compartment of the attaché.
Pulling the backpack out first she sets it on the ground and unzips it pulling out a prepaid cell phone still in its display box along with a fully charged battery, and a change of cloths consisting of denim jeans, a sweatshirt and lastly a pair of old tennis shoes.
Setting the flashlight on its side she quickly strips out of the surgical scrub pants and slipping into the jeans then toeing on the comfortable shoes, deciding to leave the scrub top on give how close it was getting to winter in Colorado, and pulls the thick sweatshirt over her head.
Now fully dressed she stuffs the scrub pants into the backpack, pulls the metal attaché case from the rubber tub and returns the sleeping bag inside it, then reseals the lid. Sitting on the top of the container she sets about removing the phone from its packaging and after a few moments has it working, placing a call for a cab to come and pick her up at the corner of her block. Clipping the phone to her hip she gathers up the packaging and stuffs it into the backpack on top of the discarded scrubs.
Turning to the open attaché she takes out a few hundred dollars in both twenties and hundreds, rolling the money up and tucking it into her right front pocket.
She then slips two of the three loaded magazines into her left front pocket; picking up the Hi-Power she pulls back the slide locking it into place, she slaps into place the third magazine into the handle and thumbs the slide release loading the pistol.
Ensuring that the safety is on, she tucks the cold metal frame into her waistband at the small of her back and pulls the one size too large sweatshirt over her waistband effectively concealing it from view. With this last action complete she closes the case with a solid click.
Unbidden her mind likens the click to that of a casket lid being closed for the final time, sighing she oepns the door and sets the case and backpack down on the damp grass outside the shed door stepping out into the yard.
Using the flashlight to examine the inside of the shed to ensure nothing is out of place; assured everything is in its proper place she clicks off the flashlight and returns it to the shelf. Pulling the door shut she pushes the padlock together it with a solid click then spins the dial to reset the tumblers.
Slinging the backpack over her shoulder, she picks up the case and moves towards the corner. Moments later a yellow cab pulls up, opening the back door she slips in and closes the door. Glancing out the rear window one last time, she pauses then turns to the driver and speaks, "Drive."
As the cab pulls away from the small house; another car parked halfway down the opposite side of the block starts up to follow after the cab.
Downtown Denver
Palace Hotel - 3:50 am
A short time later the cab let its passenger out at one of the more upper class hotels in the city. After watching the passenger pay her fare, pick up her sparse luggage and disappear into the lobby; the driver of the nondescript sedan parks his car across the street.
His weathered face is slightly illuminated in the dark driver's compartment as he flips open his cell phone and places a call.
(More to come...and thank you all for your comments and reviews)