Chapter 9

"Outpost 2, this is Search Team. Do you copy? Over." Edgerton spoke into the radio, repeating his message, listening to a light crackle of static. As he had predicted, none of their cell phones picked up in the park; they were dependent on the radios. He had stepped away down the trail a few feet to keep from waking Charlie, and as he walked back toward the fire he looked at Don and shook his head. "We're either still too far out, or they don't have anyone at the trailhead right now."

David, Colby and Megan were holding a quiet conversation on the other side of the fire. "What I want to know," David said, looking at Charlie, "is how in the heck did he get away? How did he get out of all that?"

Colby snorted softly in agreement. "It had to be one hell of a Houdini act, that's for sure."

Don stared at his sleeping brother. After Charlie had stopped shivering and drifted off, he had eased out of the sleeping bag, but he hadn't moved from Charlie's side. Megan had finally talked him into eating something, and he choked down a protein bar, hardly aware he was doing it, as he stared at his brother. Charlie's face was still pale, but his lips had returned to a normal color, and he was peaceful in repose. Don dreaded waking him, shattering that peace, but he knew they would need to eventually.

Eventually was now, he realized as he saw Edgerton look at his watch and frown. "It's almost noon," said Ian. "We need to get moving. We have almost a two-day hike to get out of here."

Colby looked at Don. "We need to take a look at his injuries." At his words, Megan rummaged in her pack; she was packing the first aid kit. She brought it over to Don, and Colby stepped over and squatted beside Charlie.

"I'll do it," said Don quietly. He pushed forward onto his knees and laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Charlie." He shook his brother's shoulder gently. "Charlie. You need to wake up."

Charlie's eyelids fluttered, and closed again, then struggled open. He looked at Don in a stupor, confusion on his face.

"Charlie, we need to take care of your cuts," said Don gently. "Just lie still." He pulled down the top of the sleeping bag and gently lifted Charlie's T-shirt. The once clean shirt was already spotted with blood, soaked in some areas. Charlie stiffened, and his breathing quickened, but he said nothing. Don's heart caught again as he looked at the slash marks on his brother's chest, but he realized that Charlie's eyes were on him, and he tried to compose his face. Colby handed Don a clean rag that had been dipped in boiled water, and Don gently started cleaning sticky blood from Charlie's chest, starting near his collarbone.

Awareness of where he was and what had happened was returning, and Charlie closed his eyes, fighting panic. Mansour's face loomed in his mind; he could hear his voice. 'Now you will be marked.' He felt the pressure at his collarbone, felt the knife begin to cut. "No!" he gasped suddenly, pushing Don's hands away, his eyes flying open in terror.

Don stared at him, taken aback. "Charlie, we need to take care of this. These cuts need to be cleaned; you need bandages."

"No." Charlie's voice was strained, and he was breathing heavily. "I'm okay." In an attempt to prove it, he struggled up into a sitting position, yanking down his T-shirt, and folded his arms protectively in front of him. The movements had opened the cuts on his arm, and blood streamed from it, dripping onto the sleeping bag.

Don paused helplessly; then said, "At least let me take of your arm." Charlie sat still for a moment, staring at the ground; then lifted his arm, offering it silently to Don without moving his head.

Don shot a perturbed glance at Colby and Megan, and began to blot the blood on Charlie's hand and forearm, wiping as gently as he could. The cuts became apparent as he cleaned, and Edgerton watched with a frown. This was different, he thought, something they had not seen on the other victims. 'Vertical cuts,' he noted.If they had been on the inside of his forearm, he would have bled to death. He spoke quietly. "How'd you get those cuts on your arm, Charlie?"

Charlie glanced at him, pain and tension in his face; then looked back at the ground. "I did that," he said quietly.

They stared at him, and Don stopped for a moment in shock; then pulling himself together, began to wrap Charlie's wrist in gauze. He wanted to ask him more; desperately wanted to know what his brother had gone through, but he realized that Charlie was on shaky ground at the moment, and so he tried to act calmly, normally, hoping that it would reassure him. He finished with the arm, and tried again. "Charlie, I really need to look at your chest and your feet."

"No," whispered Charlie. He turned a pleading look on his brother, speaking quietly. "I'm fine. I just want to go."

Don sighed and contemplated the first aid kit. There was really no good way to bandage Charlie's chest anyway, not with the small amount of gauze that was left. Parts of the slash marks were very shallow, and were already beginning to close. The wounds needed to be disinfected, but he realized he wasn't willing to traumatize Charlie any further at the moment. Maybe he would calm down later, he thought. "Okay Charlie," he sighed. "On one condition." He handed him a protein bar and some water. "You eat something first."

Charlie nodded silently; shivering as the breeze suddenly kicked up, and pulled the sleeping bag to his chest. He was extremely thirsty, and he downed the water quickly. He had no interest in food, but accepted it as a condition of being allowed to leave, chewing mechanically, as quickly as he could. He was still driven by an overwhelming need to escape; and he fought hard against an irrational urge to jump up and start running down the trail. Instead, he accepted two sweatshirts, jeans and socks from his pack, and put them on, his hands shaking from the adrenaline in his veins and the terror in the back of his mind.

Everyone in the camp looked at his legs and feet, pretending not to; as he pushed off the sleeping bag to put on his jeans. Everyone but Edgerton; he made no pretense, openly staring at Charlie with his eyes narrowed as he put out the fire, making him writhe inwardly. Charlie himself couldn't look at his own legs; they brought back the memories of the night, memories that already lurked frightening close, threatening his grip on sanity. He gasped in relief when he had his boots on, and stood shakily, staggering as a wave of dizziness hit him.

"Whoa, Charlie," Don was there with a hand on his arm, steadying him. "Why didn't you tell me you were getting up?"

"I'm okay," gasped Charlie, as the trail spun, and then righted and settled. "Let's go."

Don peered at him. "Are you sure you're up for this?" Charlie looked at him, the unspoken plea back in his eyes, and nodded. Don stepped back, his eyes still on him, and shouldered his pack.

Megan stepped forward to Charlie and gave him a quick hug. "Didn't get to give you one of these yet," she said softly, and smiled at him reassuringly. "It's gonna be okay, Charlie." He nodded as if agreeing, but the anxiety in his face contradicted his response.

The stepped onto the trail in the same order in which they had started the journey; Edgerton and Megan in front; Don and Charlie in the middle of the group. Charlie moved slowly, stiffly, and Don hovered near him, occasionally supporting him with an arm. Edgerton felt the breeze pick up, and he glanced at the sky, frowning at the clouds on the horizon as they picked their way down the trail.

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Mansour plunged through the forest, breathing ragged, eyes alight with rage and panic. He had returned to the place, only to find him gone; the boy had run off again. He was not allowed to leave; he was marked. Once one was marked, it must be finished. He split the night with a horrible scream of fury and disappointment, tearing around in circles until he collapsed, a froth of spittle on his lips, his eyes glazed.

He lay that way panting, almost catatonic, until the sun began to rise, and he saw the blood on the ground. New hope sprang in his chest, and he had risen, staggering, his eyes seeking the droplets of blood. Now he was following the trail half bent, loping like wolf, breathing heavily. He followed it up the grassy slope, noticing that it was trampled down by several feet. They had found him, he reasoned, and were with him on the trail. No matter. He would find him, and bring him back. He muttered to himself as he ran, a thing possessed. 'He is marked, it must be finished.'

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