Lost
Prologue
Early April in Inyo County, California, can mean many things; snow, ice, freezing rain, or just plain rain. It all depends on where you are. If you're below the thousand foot elevation you could be having sunny, warm days, with flowers blossoming or at least beginning to flower. If you're above three thousand feet there may still be snow. Inyo County runs from desert right on up to the snowy caps of the Sierra Nevada.
Today there was a combination of freezing rain and snow around the four thousand foot level. Anywhere above that level was just snow. Freezing rain happens just around thirty three degrees so the weather merits winter jackets, mittens or gloves and warm winter boots.
Special Agent Jamie Ortiz of NCIS was not prepared. He wore a light weight sweat shirt that he'd stolen from one of the men who'd captured him. He thought about those men as he raced down the hill towards the nearest town, Bishop, California. He'd been taken by a paramilitary group six days ago and held up the hill in a cave where he'd endured starvation, lack of water and daily beatings. This group had been stealing radar equipment and munitions from the Naval Air Station outside of Fallon, Nevada just over the California border for the last six months. He and his partner, Special Agent Henry Davis, had located the group driving out of Fallon with a truckload of stolen goods and tried to stop it. Davis lay dead along one of the roads that lead to the hills above Bishop and this group's hidden transfer station. His job now was to escape, get help to close this operation and to bring his partner's body back home to his wife and family.
He stopped to take a few deep breaths before pushing on down the slope. His hands were bitterly cold with no gloves and the boots on his feet were soaked through. He needed to keep moving but was finding it harder and harder to do so. The cold and dampness were adversely affecting what little reserves his body had left. He took a moment, then shook it off and pushed down the hill against his pain, the cold and his hunger.
He'd just begun to think he'd escaped from them when he heard voices yelling back and forth up the hill towards the encampment. The men who'd taken him were coming after him and they weren't all that far behind. He'd have to find a place to hide but didn't think it was an appropriate use of his time at this point. His being wet and cold had begun to play against him so he kept heading away from them.
The voices behind him grew louder and Jaime knew his time was running out. He needed to find a way to escape from them so he pushed on against his fatigue.
The river bank came up so abruptly that Jaime nearly fell in, face first. He needed to find a way across that frigid body of water. Looking for a way now would slow his escape and that wouldn't help his predicament or find Henry's body.
A gunshot caught his shirt sleeve and the pain raced through him like someone had poured red hot liquid into his veins. The punch from the bullet caught him and almost toppled him in the river once again. He caught his balance, ducked down and crept further down the river bank. He felt his energy level dip even more. He looked at his arm only to find the sleeve of his sweatshirt soaked in his own blood. He heard the rustling in the semi-dry leaves as his pursuers moved slowly through them and the remnants of snow that had fallen over the last few months. They were trying to herd him to where they wanted him and he fought that. As he moved down the bank he found a niche between two huge pieces of granite and as he squeezed himself into it he hoped it was enough to keep him hidden from those who followed him. Jaime didn't hold out any great hope but with his energy ebbing due to the cold and blood loss, thought that it would be his only chance.
He crammed himself further into the crevice and began the wait. He was extremely cold and the freezing rain wasn't helping. Perhaps it was slowing his bleeding but to him it wasn't by much.
A man's voice, almost directly behind him, shouted to his people to leave. "Let him go…the temperature is going down below zero tonight and a lot of snow…he'll freeze to death out here." He gave a vicious laugh and again called off his people. Jaime knew exactly who that was; John Crandall, the leader of this group. He'd taken great pleasure in the daily beatings. Jaime wanted so badly to get healthy and come back to take him down.
Jaime began to feel that they thought he'd gotten a lot further and they'd missed him so he stayed in his crevice and listened while his pursuers moved back up the hill. He hoped that by staying where he was he would gain the advantage and then be able to make his way downstream and into town.
After two hours, a catnap or two and much shivering, Special Agent Ortiz rose, cautiously exiting his hiding place and made his way down steam. He moved slowly and with difficulty, staying coherent enough to stay on the path next to the river. He fell once, knocking his bloody arm against the ground. The pain was so intense that he blacked out. How long he lay on that wet riverbank he didn't know. He felt that he'd become feverish but the cold in the air kept him from feeling even that small amount of warmth even with all the shivering his body was doing.
He rose from the wet mud and began to move forward again. He walked for what he felt was quite a while and then to his wonder a bridge appeared out of the mist from the river. He felt saved. He lost all caution and began to run towards it. As he bolted toward the bridge a shot rang out from up the hill. The bullet hit him squarely in the back knocking him forward. As he fell into the river where he and the ice in the water would float downstream together he heard John Crandall's laughter ring out behind him.