Woot!
Supernatural season 15! Wheeeeee…..now come on CBS, gimme season 3 of SEAL Team.
And FYI, not an expert on GPS and hiking beacons...go with it people!
"Bravo four, report." Jason ordered, standing on rocky, firm ground. Soon, they'd have to move East, more of a precaution than a necessity. They'd have to rely on HAVOC to find them, if possible, a way down to the village - that was, if the village remained. "Bravo six?"
Everyone had heard Trent yell at Clay, but no one, not even anyone from Support had spoken since. All that could be heard over Trent's open mic was static.
"HAVOC?" Jason cursed, the rain had intensified, the wind had picked up and for some reason, with the mountain now moving, visibility had become non-existent. "Do you have eyes on them?"
"Bravo one, HAVOC, Support one. Package secure." Dutch keyed in. "HAVOC, do we have a clear way to transport?"
No one did really. It was a five mile hike and the terrain and ground was simply too unstable for anyone to safely navigate with a mountain of moving mud. But at least there wasn't a sea of mud between Support and transport like there was between Bravo and transport.
"Unless your, uh, package can navigate, rough, uncertain and unstable terrain in the dark." Davis offered. "That's a negative. Bravo, your descent off the mountain is not advised. Support, you need to move East."
"Or be carried." Blackburn added. "Bravo, stay put until we can get you out of there."
They'd come by truck, then hiked because air clearance had been denied.
"Not staying here Boss." Sonny told Jason. Brock nodded. Cerberus stood, tail wagging.
"Woof!"
Dutch conferred with his men and Trent. "Permission to proceed East?"
"Support one? Status of Bravo four and Bravo six?" Jason demanded, sharing a look with his men. Cerberus whined, doggy-shook, sprayed water and mud everywhere. No matter, they were all drenched anyway.
"Yeah, Jace." Emotional if calm, Trent radioed in without thought to using names. "Gonna need you down here."
"SONOFABITCH!" Sonny shouted. "THE HELL?!"
Jason sighed, waved Sonny silent. "Status?"
If Mandy had known Atwal had information she was willing to extract him from his home over, she damn well should have known about a pregnant wife and kid. Trent wasn't going to speak to her for a month.
"We begged a fortune for this technology to track him, here's putting to the test how good it is." Trent said finally. "I lost him."
"Bravo four," Eric began, paused, let off the mic. "That fucking beacon better work under water." He growled to Lisa, who nodded - snow, mud, eh. Avalanche beacon it may be, but it was military grade and transmitting strongly despite the mud and water and debris and rain and wind and...whatever else.
"It does, but..." Lisa sighed. The beacon would transmit a signal even if the GPS couldn't, but it had a limited range and short battery life. "Three hour battery life. Already been an hour…."
"Bravo, be advised, the mudslide has taken out roads, blocked access. Local emergency services are being dispatched to assist villagers." Eric said. "Four, your progress in pursuit of six is severely impeded and not advised."
"I'm going." Trent stated emphatically, dared anyone to deny him permission. Not advised did not mean permission denied.
"Not alone you aren't." Eric stressed. "Sit tight until I can get Bravo to you."
Trent looked at Kenny and Karl, who nodded in answer to his silent question. Dutch sighed, waved them off. His team of six could get Atwal and his family to safety.
"Blackburn, you aren't letting Support handle the package alone, are you?" Mandy asked.
Eric raised an eyebrow. "Dutch has a team of eight, he'll get your package out." He dared her to argue, just stared and dared. She backed down with a nod, though she wanted to inform Eric his team's job was to escort her asset to the Air Base, not chase after their again wayward rookie.
Eric understood, he did. Had Support not been on the mission, Bravo's job and priority would have been the package.
"Team of six." Trent corrected. "Kenny and Karl are with me." He switched his comm off open. "Dutch? You good?"
Dutch would do his job, but yeah, he kinda would rather search for Clay. Wasn't going to happen though, and he knew that.
"Just...what are the chances? Come to escort one man out of a village and it's suddenly wiped out by a mudslide. In Ajloun? Really?" Dutch was shaking his head. "And out of us all, just guess who goes missing?"
"Yeah, well, blame the intel." Karl muttered. "Or lack of it."
Oh, Trent did.
"East it is." Dutch said. "We'll need to scout the ground ahead of us."
"Carry her if you have to. Rig a litter with blankets, a mattress." Trent didn't intend to stay around and help. He wanted to get going.
Dutch nodded, set three of his men to the task, radioed HAVOC for status on transport.
They stood in the shadows, shielded from view of the other houses, but people were outside, moving around, discovering the only road out of the village was blocked by a sea of mud and debris. Panic and hysteria would soon set in among the locals. Support had to go. They all did.
"Did the village flood? Become buried?" Ray asked. "What about other villages? Ajloun? Anyone coming to rescue them? Gonna need heavy equipment to move that mud. We don't want to be there."
"Still here." Dutch replied. "The flow is behind the last street, might spread out, dunno."
"You can't be there." Mandy chimed in.
"We're not getting off this mountain by going down." Ray replied. "Easiest way for us to go is up."
"Transport is on the other side of the village from where we are." Sonny fumed.
They all knew that, still, no one liked hearing it.
"Air wasn't - isn't approved." Mandy replied. "Local rescue will have flight clearance. Hike East."
"I'll get it." Eric announced firmly, gave Mandy a look. "Not leaving a multi-million dollar team out there."
"They make transport, they can drive out." She shot back.
Eric stared at her, nodded at Davis who gave him a thumb's up. "Support one, proceed with package to transport. Bravo, permission to retrieve Six granted. Sending you coordinates for what appears to be a safe descent off the mountain. You'll have to detour, go up, backtrack, but we'll get you down."
Jason looked at Cerberus who was giving them that 'humans are dumb look'.
"Not waiting." Trent keyed in.
"HAVOC, dog's got something. Coordinates came through, we're on the move."
Support headed towards transport. Trent, Kenny and Karl started to follow the flow of the moving mud. Bravo began to pick their way down the hill.
() () ()
Trent's progress to retrieve Clay with Kenny and Karl? Yeah, so slow going, it barely happened. Too many times, they were forced to divert, stop, backtrack, poke the ground with sticks and still, they were no closer to reaching Clay then they'd been an hour ago when they'd started out.
At least Dutch had informed them Support's progress to transport was moving along quite well with little issues.
"Yeah, Trent, unless you want to just jump in the middle of...of...that," Kenny waved an arm out over the - well, that, "see where the current takes you, we're pretty much stuck here." He offered apologetically.
Trent nodded absently, eyes on his cell phone, switching between the two apps that transmitted the signals from Clay's tracking devices. The beacon would last another hour or so, but it didn't really matter because Clay was above ground. GPS came through strong and clear. So, there was that.
"Sir?" Lisa called for Eric's attention. "Do you see this?"
"What?"
"Clay's GPS. It was steady, then stopped, like he'd stopped moving, now..."
Eric looked over her shoulder. "He appears to be moving awfully fast now." Eric said. "Is that right? Is this supposed to tell us that?"
Lisa nodded. "I don't think the mud could carry him that fast."
"Get Randy in here." Eric ordered someone. He didn't look, knew his orders would be obeyed. "If this technology is shit..."
"Davis?" Trent keyed in. "You tracking him?"
"Yeah Bravo four, we're on it. Stand by."
Randy, Support's 2IC, entered the command center in less than a minute. "Commander Blackburn, Sir?"
"You're the tech whiz. This is your program. Make me understand it." Eric ordered.
Randy nodded, took that as permission to be at ease. He pulled up a chair next to Lisa and sat down. "Right, the GPS, let's see, I can back up, pick up where...see? Here's where he left the village...this, the beacon shows interference by the water...GPS still working fine. That's great, pings off cell towers, can switch to satellite, you need to, technology is awesome, isn't it? Yeah...oh." He stopped typing, was quiet. "Yeah, uh, see this?"
"Yeah, it's why you're here." Lisa snapped, then put a hand on his shoulder in apology. Randy nodded, squeezed her hand. He understood.
"He was picked up." Randy explained. "See, this tells you he's in a moving vehicle."
"Say what?" Eric blurted. "Chopper?"
"No, ground." Randy pointed to the screen. "This would indicate he was airborne. Any coffee?" He was gonna be here a while. "See, it works like this."
"Right." Eric sighed. Things just got more complicated. Bravo was stuck immobile on the ground in a mudslide, the ground all around them unstable and the object of their foot chase was now in a moving vehicle. Just fucking great. Oh yeah, air was definitely needed and he knew just how to get it. "I'll be back."
"Think rescue workers found him?" Lisa asked Randy. "Can't decide if that's a good thing."
Randy nodded. "Would make sense. Which means, somewhere, he'll end up at a local clinic or aid station." He paused, looked at her, much more comfortable with her now then he'd ever been. "What? Not good?"
Lisa sucked her breath in, shook her head. "I'm not telling Trent that." She shuddered. "You know what he thinks about medical care over here in the Middle East."
Randy gave her a grin, handed her the phone to connect to Bravo's comm's.
***000***
Dr. Omar had long ago given up trying to convince people he had a surname, Dr. Omar he was. Few things shocked him, but the man that had just been carried in to his 'clinic' was an American soldier, and yeah, he was stunned that such a man had been pulled out of the mud. What the hell was he doing here? Not, here in his clinic - after all, they were in the middle of a natural disaster - but here in Ajloun?
Didn't matter, the man breathed, therefore he would receive care. He was unconscious and did not even so much as flutter an eye or twitch a finger as he was quickly stripped of his gear, equipment, helmet and clothes. Everything was piled in a corner and covered with a sheet. Wouldn't do to let others see those weapons. Wouldn't do at all.
Dr. Omar hated guns, hated war, hated violence but he would not deny this man care.
Though, soon, Clay would wish that he had.
The fist-sized, swollen knot on his head behind his right eye proved the helmet had done its job because his skull wasn't split open. He'd likely wake up with one hell of a headache though. Concussions were not something Dr. Omar was familiar with, so yeah, his patient would have a 'bad headache'.
The gaping 'hole' on his hip required stitches - no big deal. Dr. Omar could sew.
Had Dr. Omar known this soldier wasn't in the country alone; known that he had a team and they would soon come looking for him because they wanted him back, he would not have treated this particular patient. American soldiers were not known for their compassion, understanding or patience and oh, they did not like one of their own being taken from them.
But Clay didn't wake up and since Dr. Omar remained unaware of the tracking devices steadily transmitting the signal of Clay's whereabouts, this soldier was about to receive the best care available.
In Trent's opinion, it would be rudimentary care at best. Dr. Omar didn't know it, but once Trent saw the level of 'care' Clay had received and managed to get his hands on the good doc, it would take both Jason and Sonny to pull him off.
Dr. Omar reached for his bottle of antiseptic/disinfectant.
Clay lay quietly, still unconscious.
Dr. Omar generously poured his liquid cure-all directly from the bottle onto Clay's side.
Clay reacted instantly - jerked, flailed, cried out.
Dr. Oman sighed, shook his head. These American's were such wusses. He poured more.
Clay screamed, pulled away. Was held down.
Dr. Omar decided, with all the flailing and crying, to wait before sewing the wound closed.
Clay was stirring, brought around by his body's natural reaction to pain.
A foul-smelling cloth was held against his mouth and nose.
Dr. Omar pushed the edges of the wound apart.
Clay tensed, pushed with a hand, went limp with a cloth-muffled groan.
Dr, Omar paid no mind to blood, dirt, mud, debris, germs, bacteria.
Clay stirred with a yelp at the stinging, sudden burn.
Dr. Omar packed the wound with white-mesh wads of gauze.
Clay passed out.
Dr. Omar left instructions for the wound to be doused with the disinfectant every 15 minutes until the redness abated and left.
***000***
"Chuck," Eric pulled up a chair, sat down, joined Chuck, Greg, Chris, Seth, Matt, Jeff; all members of Bravo Support in the cafeteria at the Air Base. The Tier Two team of Bravo: pilot, co-pilot, driver, mechanic, gunner, medic.
"Commander." Chuck put his fork down, waited.
"CH-47F chopper?" It wasn't yet dawn, but breakfast was being served. Eric helped himself to toast off someone's plate.
"I can fly it," was his response. He could fly anything and he was teaching Greg how to do the same. No hesitation, no doubt, all confidence.
Eric shook his head, how did Jason find these people? Whatever he needed, wanted, required, bam, there it was: pilot, driver, gunner, EOD, doctor, mechanic, computer hacker, dog.
"Howlin' Mad Murdock, eh?" Eric teased, sobered. "How do you feel about stealing one?"
Chuck was quiet. He was being asked unofficially to retrieve Bravo. There was no decision to make. "Gimme thirty minutes."
"No clearance." Eric warned. "Wind, rain, fog."
Chuck nodded. He could fly by instruments alone.
"Landing might be impeded. Mudslides, bogs, quagmire, flooding."
Chuck nodded. He could hover as long as needed for Bravo to load up, no matter the conditions or terrain.
"Don't yet know here I need you to go."
Chuck nodded. Destination never an issue.
Eric stood up. "I don't have official clearance to send a retrieval unit."
Chuck nodded. His trust in Eric and Jason was firm and complete.
"Randy's in Command with Davis, tracking Spenser. He won't be going with you."
Chuck nodded and Eric walked away.
The loyalty to Jason Hayes was astounding. That Jason could find such men was unbelievable, yet here he was, walking away from the proof. He shook his head, kept walking. There would never be a mission, a time, Chuck would ever tell Jason no. If retrieving Bravo meant a chance - however slim - of their survival, Chuck would go. He'd either die trying or return successful.
"Jesus Chuck, I've never flown...I mean...I don't think…it's exfil...unofficial, isn't it?" Greg dug deep, blew his breath out. Right, no wishy-washiness on Bravo. "Why such a big bird?"
"Probably the only one Blackburn could arrange for me to, uh, find." Chuck ate a piece of bacon. "I'd guess smaller crafts are doing rescue trips of civilians."
"Won't we be?" Jeff asked quietly. "We get Bravo back here, we can go help. We'll have the bird."
"Wonder why no one has already taken it to help." Matt said aloud.
Chuck forked some hash browns. They were soggy but had a taste of bacon...yum. "No one to fly it." He answered simply. "Dunno where the Base pilots are...someone here has to be her pilot."
"There's you?"
"Not officially here."
***000***
Clay stirred with a groan...holy fuck...what the hell? He was on fire...he was on a spit, roasting...his whole side burned. Someone should turn him, toast his other side. Shit, he hadn't felt this bad when he'd been blown up! He tried to shift his weight, ease the pressure off his right hip but he couldn't move. Oh right, yeah, he was skewered on a spit.
Not good.
His throat was dry, he wanted something to drink. His lips were cracked, split. He could peel layers of skin from his bottom lip with his teeth, he wanted lip balm. Neither came. He felt wet. Was dirty, dry, itchy...he was used to his wants and needs being seen to, catered to, taken care of. Where was Trent?
Don't panic. Do not panic. Think. Remain calm and think. Remember...
He'd tossed the kid, Trent had caught him and...and...a rush of water and mud had swept him off his feet.
He hadn't wanted to eat mud or swallow water, had spit it out, but he couldn't swim in mud, he'd tried and he'd sunk. No amount of thrashing, kicking, walking or swimming had carried him towards firm ground. When the current had begun to move faster, it was all he could do to keep his head above water, he'd gone with the flow. Haha.
The weight of his backpack, ammo vest, helmet had dragged him down. He'd grabbed for any piece of wood or debris or tree or rock that he passed, hoping to anchor himself to one place while he hung out and waited for Bravo to, you know, come along and pick him up. But no. What he'd managed to grab, either gave way from his added weight or wasn't anchored to anything to begin with.
The falling mountain of muck had to deposit him somewhere, didn't it? There were two major rivers in Jordan. Were they near either of them? The country was land-locked, right? Maybe? Yeah. No, the Dead Sea was somewhere on the border of this country. Right? Dear God, would he be swept out to sea?
And how long would it take for Bravo to come get him? Brock had said they would. Always would. So, he'd wait.
If, you know, he didn't drown or suffocate before then.
There'd been rocks ahead, part of a rocky cliff that weren't going to move. He was either going to slam right into them or divert around them. The choice wasn't his to make.
His helmet was no match for either the force which he was thrown against the rocks, or their sheer size. It did save his life though, taking the blunt of the impact rather than his head.
Mud was in his eyes, up his nose, in his mouth. Despite his efforts, he swallowed it. He hurt, he couldn't see, couldn't breathe...
His eyes were crusty and sore. Felt like they'd been glued, eyelash to eyelash.
He was still, didn't move, just waited. His hearing was slow to return, but return it did. He picked up the hum of voices in a language he knew, but wasn't his. He tried to follow the conversation, but the voices were too distant and too low for him to make out words.
He raised his hands to dig at his eyes but only one hand obeyed his mental command to move – his left. Great.
Was he tied? Chained? Somehow restrained? He forgot about this glued-shut eyes.
He raised his head. Tried to. His neck muscles didn't want to cooperate, his head too heavy for them to hold. His head rested on something that was supposed to be soft, probably was to whoever these people were, but wasn't to him.
Unable to see, move his head or his right hand, he explored with his left hand: No helmet, no backpack, no ammo vest, no Kevlar…hell, he wasn't even wearing a shirt. Did he have pants? He moved his left leg, his right balked, was able to raise his left knee. No, not tied down. And no pants but his thumb snapped the elastic waist band of his boxer briefs. Well, that was something. At least he wasn't lying here, unable to move one side of his body, naked.
He needed to get up, move. Find...find...well, find something. He rubbed his left arm against an itch. He pretty much itched everywhere. And what was that smell?
Oh look, his watch was still on his wrist. Thank God. Were his pants far away? That should matter. It did matter. Why did it matter?
Some water and maybe a wet cloth would help clear his aching head, go a long way to helping him clear his thoughts and gain some sort of control but neither was offered. It dawned on him that even though he was alone and not restrained, the voices he heard distant, he simply could not get up.
Try as he might, he could not focus, could not concentrate. Could not make himself sit up, get up or even pick his head up. He wanted to, he needed to, but it was beyond him.
Sleep then. Perhaps after some sleep, he would feel stronger, more alert. He had a cell phone and a satellite phone somewhere. A comm's unit. He wasn't alone, just adrift. He wanted something to drink, a wet cloth to sooth his burning eyes and though he managed to moisten his tongue and lips, he could not make a sound. His throat rebelled, burned, screamed, hurt so badly, he gave up.
Christ, he wished he could see clearly. If only his vision would suddenly come into focus...someone was next to him, speaking Arabic, well, okay, he spoke that language: he asked for water, a wet cloth, his pants, his phone...was ignored.
Oh no, Dr. Omar had not left any instructions other than to cleanse the wound on his side with the disinfectant and that was all the fourteen year old girl was going to do.
And no, it didn't matter how many times the man told her no in her own language. Every fifteen minutes, on the dot, she doused him.
Again, Clay was awakened, brought around by fire exploding in his right side. Again, he came to with a scream, flailing at the pain that curled his toes and ran the entire length of his right side. Again, he was left alone in misery. Again, he passed out.
***000***
Bravo was roughly an hour behind Trent. They finally made it to the village and had to decide whether to head for transport and hope they caught Support before they left or trail after Trent in hopes they'd be able to reach Clay.
Sonny put Cerberus on his feet. The dog had gamely trooped on, but once the mud had become knee deep, they'd had to carry him. He immediately began to sniff and smell, Brock let him go, wanted to see what, if anything, he'd find.
"Jay? What you thinking?" Ray asked. They were in constant communication with HAVOC and Trent. "We can probably make transport."
"Yeah." Jason drank water. They were taking a break. People waited on walls, in some cases roofs, helped one another, but in reality, there wasn't really anywhere they could go.
"Jason, man, come on." Ray said quietly. "I want to go after him as much as you do, but look around you. How? Let's get to transport, go back to the Base, we need air."
"Blackburn said he'd get it." Jason said, pulled his phone out, the app was already open and running. "That little blip. The damn arrow. He's like, right there and yet...he's not."
"We'll get him." Ray nudged Jason, nodded at Brock. "What's with him?"
Brock paced, stalked, pivoted, stalked. Cerberus padded patiently beside him, whined sympathetically, nudged his nose into Brock's hand, trotted on.
What now? Jason didn't need anyone's attitude. Brock had been against this mission from the start. Had said so in front of everyone at the briefing. Hell, he'd walked out of the briefing - twice.
"Brock? Something on your mind? Something you want to tell me?" Jason poured water into a collapsible bowl for the dog. "You okay?"
Brock stopped, appeared on the verge of speaking, turned away. He took a few steps but didn't resume pacing, didn't leave. He turned to face his team, turned away, ran a hand threw his hair. Remained silent.
Cerberus though, barked and yipped, told them the whole story in dog-speak. Unfortunately, the only person who understood him, was the same man who already knew the story and wasn't sharing.
Ray looked at Jason, held his gaze. They waited.
"He asked for and received, med leave." Brock said finally, fondled the dog's ears.
"He what?" said Jason.
"You serious?" asked Ray.
"He didn't want to come on this mission. He has an Aunt, Ash's sister, in Kentucky, Doc gave him 12 weeks."
"The hell's up his ass?" Sonny spit out. "The fuck is wrong with that kid?"
"He's had a pretty rough year Sonny. What he's lost? Who?" Brock said defensively. "He, uh, feels...I dunno. He's tired, thinks we get mad at him, always yell at him. He talked about standing down." Ray winced, they all caught it, let it go. "A string of missions in a row were all Mandy pet missions. He got hurt on every one and he feels she used him because of his language skills. I couldn't deny that, 'cause she did."
"We're right here! Talk to us!" Sonny groused. He wanted to bellow, but...yeah, not the place.
"I'm on that." Jason said. "Already talked to Blackburn, she's going on an intel mission that won't include us."
"For how long?" Ray asked.
"Six months."
"Wow." Ray hadn't expected that. Jason was partial to Mandy.
"He heard about JoJo's. I told him, we would never not go get him." Brock said. "We would always have his back, and now, first mission out, he's out there and we're...we're not."
"We're going, just delayed." Ray said. "These people Brock..."
"Aren't our problem."
"Brock, come on." Ray said. "His beacon is still transmitting, we know where he is..."
"But is he ok?" Brock countered. "He's outside, wet, cold. Could be hurt, we don' know."
"Bravo, be advised, the local emergency rescue efforts have taken anyone found to a clinic set at the following coordinates." Lisa came over comm's. "Both Six's beacon and GPS tracker pinpoint him at that location."
"That's good, right?" Sonny said dubiously to Jason. Trent's horrified gasp and curse heard over comm's told them just how not good it was. "No? What?"
"How many friggin' times have I said it?" Trent snapped irritably. "Medical care over here is barbaric."
"What's the worse they could do?" Kenny asked, just 'cause, you know, he could.
"Kill him." Trent retorted.
"Bravo, stand by." Lisa said. "There is no safe way for forward progress. You're going nowhere."
"Bravo one." Eric added seconds later. "We have a lock on your current location. Chuck's eta is twenty mikes. Bravo four, stand by for retrieval after Bravo."
"Roger that." Jason ordered. "Have him bring that interpreter."
"You and me." Sonny waggled a finger between him and Brock. "This ain't over. We're gonna have a chat about what all the kid blabbed to you. No beer involved."
Brock nodded, eyes locked with Ray.
***000***
She came at him again...so small, such a frail little thing and Clay couldn't even roll away from her or raise a hand to stop her.
Every Single Fucking Time he managed to gulp his breathing into a normal rhythm, stop panting, stop screaming...she was back and tortured him all over again.
Either she didn't understand his rasped words: no, don't, stop, please, spoken in her own language or he was speaking English. Or maybe she was made of stone and capable of ignoring his begging. Hell, maybe he wasn't even speaking at all. He didn't know anymore. He was so thirsty, his throat so dry and raw, he was disoriented. He wanted - needed - water.
But that spoken request was ignored as well.
He felt her hand on his chest, tensed. Knew what coming, tried to take a deep breath, couldn't...breathing hurt and he was panting again, his chest heaving while his lungs struggled to take in air...and then he was screaming again as his side was lit on fire.
***000***
Picked up, flown and dropped off at the location where Clay's transmitters pinpointed his exact location, Bravo and Support, minus Chuck and Greg spread out and took the 'clinic'.
People were everywhere, either waiting their turn to see the doctor, searching for family or just taking refuge in a safe place. Help would soon arrive. Humanitarian aid workers would soon be there, Blackburn had assured Bravo. Part of the deal for being allowed to 'steal' the chopper was to lend Chuck and Greg to the relief efforts once all Bravo was safely at the Air Base.
Leaving Trent behind to help the doctor until the relief workers arrived wasn't an option when Trent wanted to, you know, murder the poor man. That was, if they ever found him. However, Jeff and Support would remain to aid the medical staff at the clinic.
"Jesus Christ." Ray muttered.
He knew they must look a sight to these scared, stressed, traumatized people. They were in full gear, carrying guns, wearing helmets, wet and muddy, looked very large and intimidating with a raving dog, but really, there was no need to shrink back in fear or cower with their heads covered. Really.
"This way." Sonny said, cell phone in hand. "Not too far now."
"God, hope to hell they didn't separate him from his clothes." Brock muttered, Cerb on a leash barking his head off. He kept trying to go faster than Brock could go through the throng of people.
"Let him go." Jason ordered. Brock hesitated, then unclipped the leash.
Cerb started off at a dash, stopped, looked back, barked.
"Go!" Brock waved him on. "Find Clay."
Cerberus was gone before Brock finished saying Clay's one-syllable name.