A/N - Sorry it's a short one ... but hopefully will tide you over! I have a nasty cold while I'm writing this so some of Jen's pains are coming from personal ache. Praise the Ancients for Nyquil!! :) - Nika
The minute the door closed, Jen fought off the covers and stood up.
She immediately regretted her sudden upright placement when the room spun sideways and she ended up back down on her tailbone. Two more tries and she finally had her bare feet beneath her. The wooden floor was cold against her toes and she shuddered.
With a prayer to whoever might be listening, she took several deep breaths and attempted to calm her racing heart. Blood pounded behind her skull and she jammed her fingers against her temple, willing it to stop hammering long enough to let her think.
God, she really needed to think.
No sounds came from the other room, so she decided to start there.
With a calming breath she stepped forward, leaning heavily against the wall next to the curtained archway. Trembling fingers reached for the edge of the cloth, angling it away from the frame so she could peer past.
Empty.
She pushed the curtain further away and leaned into the room.
They were gone. They were all gone.
She moved about, her mind trying to comprehend what her eyes were seeing. Wet uniforms hanging next to the fire. TAC vests still draped across the back of the chairs. Bowls of - she stuck her finger in the thick vegetable mixture – cold soup on the table.
But the most surprising of all?
Weapons. Standing in the corner.
They would never have left her alone for one, but more importantly, they would never have left their weapons. Not if they had anything to say about it.
Nightfall.
Jen moved towards the window, then hesitated. It was still daylight. It was still storming. She had until nightfall. But what happened at nightfall? And where were they? How far could you go in a hurricane? How could she have not heard anything?
Oh lord. What to do? What to do?
She sank into a chair, dropped her head into her hands, and closed her eyes. As long as she didn't move, the pounding in her skull abated enough and she could remain partially coherent. In the back of her mind, a little girl wanted to just crawl back under the blankets and be sick. To just close her eyes and ride it out and hope that it was all a bad dream. To have Mom bring her crackers and ginger-ale. Lay cold fingers across her warm forehead. Blankets on the couch while watching cartoons.
Jen took a deep breath, and blinked open her eyes. Rubbing her temples she stared at the three P90's.
She needed to find them. And she needed to do it fast. But how?
Damn it, she was no good at planning spy missions!
Okay. Okay. She was it. She was the only one. She was all they had. She needed to… needed to what? How could she figure out where they were? Maybe if she could find out who took them… and follow them… and then… oh sure Jen, yeah that works all fine and dandy in Hollywood.
Hollywood.
She lifted her head.
Well, none of these people would have seen any…
But then… okay… so how to make someone lead her there? Make them think they were already gone? But how would they believe that?
Would the people who took them come back? Rescue would surely come… but when. How soon? Could she?
Her head lifted and she slowly looked around the room, the edge of an idea forming. Rain pelted the windows and she stared at the drops of water sliding down the glass.
If she had to go outside…
She looked down at the roughly hewn smock she was wearing. No good.
Standing slowly, she moved into the back room, and dug through the narrow dressers. After a few moments she'd managed to cover herself with a heavy woolen dress, then added a hooded cloak that would hide her head and face from the rain – and any observers.
She sat on the edge of the small cot and struggled to pull on her wet boots. Standing up slowly, she winced as her toes sloshed in the water that was still pooled inside.
Turning, she picked up the blanket off the bed, picked out a long cloth belt from the wardrobe, and moved back into the front room.
Spreading the blanket out on the table, she stacked the P90's and M9's into the middle, then rolled the blanket tightly around them. Using the cloth belt, she secured the ends of the blanket. Carefully lifting her parcel, she judged the weight. It was heavy, but the ties should hold.
Slinging the belt over her head and shoulder she braced against the sudden pull against her back.
She piled the three TAC vests one on top of the other, and bent to scoop them up against her chest. When she stood, the cloak fell down over her arms, hiding them from view. It would have to do. As long as she didn't need to use her arms.
She was halfway across the room when she stopped.
She couldn't just waltz out the front door.
Okay. Think Jennifer. Think.
There was a window in the bedroom.
She headed back into the back room and set the vests onto the floor. Unlatching the window she raised it, a blast of cold air crossing her midsection. Rain splashed on the window frame as she squatted and slowly stuck her head out. The window opened into a small alley that ran between the houses. The side of the house faced the back wall of another small dwelling. She could leave unnoticed.
Dropping first the vests, then the blanket strapped weapons out the window and onto the muddy ground, she was about to step through the narrow opening when she suddenly realized she'd be leaving without any trace.
Anything she could leave behind could be cleaned up. Water wiped, and bowls removed. Their wet uniforms could easily be hidden or destroyed, and no one would have any idea they'd ever been there.
And they would come.
She needed something… a note… a sign. Someplace visible. Something they'd understand.
Something unrecognizable to the villagers.
Standing in front of the open window, with rain spattering against her stolen cloak, she stared around the room, looking for something. Anything.
Her eyes landed on a large yellowy waxed candle, its tapered sides twirling up and ending in a large wick. She blinked and stepped towards it. It would work in the movies, wouldn't it?
Nodding to herself, she headed back into the front room, hoping they'd see it. Hoping they'd understand. Hoping she'd remembered the order correctly.
A moment later she returned the candle, stepped through the opening, picked up her bundles and disappeared into the stormy afternoon.