"I suppose we should start by getting you away from the tree," Charlie suggested. "Should we slide you off the arrow?"

Don gave him an incredulous look. "No, that's not a good idea. Aside from the fact that it would hurt like hell, we need to..." Don swallowed down another bout of nausea, "...Leave the arrow in there. It'll help control the bleeding."

Charlie's eyes widened in shock. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack," Don nodded. "Check it out and see if you can tell how deep it went into the tree."

Charlie moved around to the injured shoulder and softly squeezed Don's right hand. "I don't want to hurt you."

Don gave his little brother a warm smile. "I know you don't, Buddy. It has to be done, though." He nodded encouragingly. "Go on – I'll be okay."

Charlie gulped nervously as he leaned as close to the tree and his brother's shoulder as he dared to get. "I can't really tell from here," he said. "I need you to... I mean, can you..." He met his brother's eyes and barely managed to hold back his tears. "Can you slide away from the tree a little bit? I can't see the arrow with you flush against the tree."

Don took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and, pressing both hands against the trunk, levered himself away from the tree by about two inches. "How's that?" he panted.

Charlie comfortingly squeezed the back of his brother's neck. "That's good." He stuck his face into the open space and carefully slid his fingers into the gap, feeling along the edge of the arrow. He frowned as he studied the entry point, realizing that it was far enough into the tree that he could see no sign of the head. He felt the shaft and was disappointed to discover that it was composed of a sturdy metal compound. "Damn," he swore.

"What?"

"It's in there pretty deep." Charlie met his big brother's gaze as uncertainty filled his mind. "It's metal, so I can't break it off. What should I do?"

"We need to get it out," Don insisted.

"I could try wiggling it loose," the younger man suggested.

"I don't think I'd make it through that without passing out," Don told him. "Wait, I've got Granddad's old hunting knife in my bag. See if you can carve out the wood around the arrow. Then maybe we could pull it out."

Charlie nodded and began rummaging through Don's pack. "I guess I'll stop complaining about you getting Granddad's cool stuff," Charlie said as he found the object he was searching for, as well as a first aid kit. "I would have forgotten to bring it." Carrying the knife and two Tylenol, he returned to Don's side and winced at the lines of pain on his brother's face. "Boy, would we have been in trouble then," he tried to joke.

Don laughed softly as he pressed his head against the tree. "Thanks, Buddy. I needed that."

"It's the least I can do." He picked up the canteen from where it rested on the ground. "Take these pain pills for me. I know they won't kick in right away, but at least they'll be in your system when we get through here." He placed the pills in Don's mouth and held the container to his lips, making sure his brother washed them down with a couple of extra swallows of water. He took a few sips too, before capping the canteen and dropping it back onto the ground. "Ready?"

Don steeled himself in anticipation of the upcoming torture, determined to make this as easy on Charlie as he could. "Yeah," he nodded. "Go for it." As soon as the knife slid between the wood and arrow, it sent a harsh vibration down the length of the shaft, and re-ignited the fire in his shoulder. Despite his best intentions, Don couldn't help swearing in pain.

"I'm sorry," Charlie said tremulously, pausing in his actions to study his brother's face.

"S'okay, Buddy," Don gasped. "Keep going. Don't stop till you're through."

The younger man nodded and returned to the brutal task at hand, sliding the blade along the shaft and slowly chipping away at the wood surrounding it. More than once, he had to blink back tears of frustration, knowing that he was the cause of his brother's distress but understanding that he had to get Don free no matter what.

Somewhere along the line, in an attempt to distract his mind, Charlie thought about where the arrow had come from. A careless hunter who had mistaken them for a deer? But wouldn't the hunter have come to check on his prey, or to help them if he realized what he had hit? Maybe he ran because he was scared? Could someone have shot his brother, realized their mistake, and left them to fend for themselves? Charlie hated to think anyone could be that callous, and then another thought entered his mind. What if it wasn't an accident? What if the shooter had hit what he was aiming for? It seemed unlikely to Charlie, especially since no other arrows had been fired at them. Still, he couldn't stop the uneasy feeling that was starting to spread through his gut...

--

Monroe carefully opened the front door of his cabin and quickly hit the switch to deactivate his security system. He gently laid his bow and arrows on the table in two-room cabin, and walked to the kitchen area. Although he didn't foresee having to hunt down his prey, his father had always taught him 'better safe than sorry', so he loaded a pack with several bottles of water, a few cans of beans, and some jerky. Monroe moved into the bedroom and grabbed his nine-millimeter handgun and a two spare clips, along with a box of shells for his rifle, tossing them into his pack and zipping it closed. He shouldered his pack and rested the rifle on his shoulder as he exited through the front door, making sure to reset his security system.

He quietly hiked around to the back of the cabin where an old, dilapidated looking barn stood. The doors were cracked open and a familiar unpleasant smell assaulted his senses. Gary must be cooking right now, he thought as he poked his head through the open door. "Yo!" he called out.

A blond man wearing a breathing mask appeared from behind an elaborate looking device, and held up a hand. "Give me a minute," came his muffled reply.

Monroe leaned against the outer wall of the barn and examined his rifle, making sure it was in pristine condition. 'A good hunter treats his equipment better than he does his women,' his father's words rang in his head. He smiled as he caressed the shiny barrel, mentally running through the basics of shooting a rifle with efficiency.

"What's up?" Gary – sans mask – asked as he exited the barn. His eyes were drawn to the shotgun and full pack on his friend's back. "Dammit, Ralph. What'd you get us into now?"

"I was only trying to scare them away," Monroe insisted. "But one of them moved into my line of fire."

"That's what you said last time," Gary shot back. "And we had to clean up after that one, too. You have to be more careful, Ralph. This is a good thing we've got going here, but if people keep disappearing on hiking trips in these parts, the locals are eventually going to come up here and check us out. And then where will our operation be?"

"I know, Gary," Monroe said ruefully. "We need to clean this up, and then I swear I'll be more careful."

Gary gave a deep sigh and shook his head. "You've said that before."

"I mean it this time," the sandy haired man insisted.

"You've said that before, too." Gary let a small smile creep onto his face. "It's a good thing we've been friends so long, man. Otherwise I might have gotten fed up with you by now."

"I know, Gary. Don't think that I don't appreciate that." He stood up straight and held the shotgun out to Gary. "Are you going to help?"

"You know I will, but right now I'm in the middle of a batch. Let me finish cooking this one, and I'll join you."

"Okay." Monroe gestured in the direction he would be going. "They're down there by the river. I'll mark my trail for you."

"Okay," Gary nodded as he donned the mask again. "See you soon."

--

"Don?" Charlie called to his brother. The injured man had lapsed into a trance of sorts about halfway during Charlie's struggles with the tree, but he needed him aware now so they could try to get him free. "Don, are you with me?"

"Yeah," the older man grunted. "You done?"

"I think so."

"Think?" Don repeated.

"I know so," Charlie told him with confidence. "I don't know the best way to do this, but I'm thinking I should grab the front and back of the arrow right next to your shoulder and pull. All I need you to do is try and keep your balance. You think you can manage that?"

"I'll have to, won't I?"

"Yeah," the young professor sighed in despair as he grabbed hold of the projectile. "On three?"

Don tried to breathe slow, deep breaths as he nodded. "On three."

"One..." Charlie watched as a mask of courage appeared on Don's face. "Two..." He tightened his grip even as Don's muscles tensed, and his hands grabbed at the trunk. "Three!" Charlie pulled, frowning when the arrow didn't budge. He quickly put all of his strength into it, his adrenaline rising as he felt the arrow slide down a bit. The groan of pain from Don was enough to send a chill down his spine and increase his adrenaline even more, so that the arrow finally tugged loose. Charlie's triumphant feeling was short-lived, however, as his mind quickly calculated that the two men were moving away from the tree too fast to stop their momentum. It was all he could do to twist himself around Don's back in an attempt to cushion the blow as they crashed onto the rocky ground.

A sharp stabbing sensation launched its way down his spine, and Charlie bit back a yelp as Don came tumbling down on top of him. Dully, through the haze clouding his vision, Charlie saw that Don's shoulder was going to come into contact with the ground, and he desperately reached out to grab him, knowing he wasn't going to be in time. As he watched in horror, the end of the arrow slammed into the ground, causing it to slide forward through Don's shoulder by a good two inches. Something close to a sob was wrenched from his brother's throat, as Don quickly rolled onto his good side. Charlie scrambled to his knees and bent over his big brother.

"Don?" he called as he slipped a hand under his head and supported his neck. He could hear Don's shallow wheezing as he struggled to draw air. "Don! You've got to breathe. Nice and slow. Deep breaths." Alarmed by his brother's lack of response, Charlie lowered his mouth until it was practically touching Don's ear. "Deep breaths," he whispered encouragingly as he lightly rubbed his brother's back. "You can do it." He sighed with relief as his brother started to get his respiration under control. "That's it," he whispered as he placed his other hand on Don's hip to keep him from moving and jarring the arrow again.

After a few moments of silence, during which the only sounds were his painful breathing and Charlie's soothing voice, Don nodded his head. "Thanks. I'm okay now."

"Relatively speaking," Charlie muttered under his breath.

"You need to get a bandage on it," Don told him. "Secure the arrow in place and help to stop the bleeding."

"I know," the younger man agreed." But..." He glanced at their surroundings, that uneasy feeling raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

"But what?"

"I just... I think..." He met Don's gaze and saw the complete trust in his brown eyes. "My gut is telling me something's not right."

"Your gut?" Don raised an eyebrow. "You get gut feelings?"

"Not usually, no. Well, unless it has to do with my work-"

"But you have one now?" Don cut him off, trying to keep him on topic.

"A bad one," Charlie admitted.

"Then grab all the stuff you can carry and let's get moving." At his little brother's surprised look, Don weakly gripped his hand. "I trust your instincts, Buddy."

Charlie's curls swayed as his head bobbed. "Lie still while I gather up the gear." He returned to Don's pack and crammed all of the supplies back inside. He glanced longingly at his pack, but knew there was no way he could carry both packs and help his brother. He raided his pack for food and water and left everything else behind. As he was about to zip up Don's pack, something caught his eye. "You brought your gun?"

"I don't leave home without it," Don told him.

"Thank God," Charlie mumbled. He had only shot a gun once before at the range with his brother, but his uneasiness was increasing by the second, so he slipped the gun and its holster onto his belt. Please don't let me have to use it, he silently prayed.

He returned to Don's side and grabbed his good hand and shoulder. "Come on," he urged as he tugged his brother to sit upright. Charlie knelt and helped Don sling his good arm over his shoulder and then, straining under his brother's weight, shakily stood, lifting his older brother to his feet. He waited a beat while Don fought to catch his breath and then plowed ahead, back toward the tree line, trying to put as much distance between them and the river as quickly as he could.

--

Monroe returned to the same position from which he'd fired his bow, and was surprised to see that the injured man was no longer pinned to the tree. Furthering his disappointment even more was the fact that the uninjured man was leading him away into the woods. Ralph loaded his rifle and peered through the scope at the opposite bank. The crosshairs lined up on the shoulders of the injured man, but he kept losing the target through the trees. Although confident he could inflict a very serious wound, Monroe knew it wouldn't be a kill shot. And the sound of the gunshot might startle the younger man into taking off for help, although he doubted that he would leave his wounded companion behind.

Better safe than sorry, he chanted silently.

Besides, he – with the exception of Gary – knew this terrain better than anyone else, and he was a world-class tracker and a highly skilled hunter. Monroe was confident that he could easily catch up with his prey and make sure he disposed of them properly. He casually shouldered his rifle and began the hike to the river.

TBC