Author's Note: Thanks everyone for reading and especially to Cherylann, ErinJordan, EvergreenDreamweaver, and Paulina Ann. And yeah, had to let Fenton get one good wallop in there on ol' Clippy, he deserved it! Happy Memorial Day!

CHAPTER 15

"Is he?" Biff breathed out the question, almost too soft to be heard, fearing to tempt the scene before him. As long as the moment remained uncommitted, there was hope, a flush of success in finding his friend. Joe's face held none of that, though. The pale horror in the blue eyes left the taller boy afraid they'd come too late.

Joe didn't answer, his existence whittled to the six foot strip directly in front of him. He sat flat on the sodden jungle floor; oblivious to the ants crawling around and over him, the stench of rotting leaves, and something else indescribably acrid. His fingers ghosted over welted skin, not quite touching the kaleidoscope of reds and purples, waiting. The simplest of movements would have satisfied him, the faintest rise of ribs or a twitch of eyelashes, but there was nothing, and so he waited.

His vision started to fail, an inexplicable wavering blur. A perfectly understandable phenomenon had he been crying, but of course he wasn't. Crying wasn't for a rescue mission in the jungle. It wasn't for being exhausted, or hungry, or even afraid. Crying was for mourning his brother – the dead, beaten brother sprawled before his knees – and that was one thing Joe couldn't bring himself to do. So whatever marred his vision and shook his frame, it wasn't crying.

Biff slid to knees beside the pair, dropping a hand onto Joe's shoulder. He had no words to offer, only the small comfort of allowing the query to go unanswered. Allowing him another instant as sibling rather than only child, a role Biff wasn't entirely sure his friend would survive. The tremor from Joe vibrated into his hands, absolutely silent in grief.

Hands. Not hand. It took a moment for the distinction to register and even then Biff didn't trust it. He held his breath, stilling himself as much as possible, sorting out the slight tremble radiating from Joe from the motion beneath his opposite hand. A tiny motion, the erratic rhythm quite separate from the definitely-not-crying shudder. He lifted his palm from the elder Hardy's back, gingerly edging it up to the angle of the bruised neck. He'd seen Joe do the same a mere minute ago, but maybe?

There. A thump. A weak, barely detectable flutter. It wasn't at all convincing. It wasn't the sort of thing a panicked brother confronted with devastation might find. It was going to be everything in the world to Joe.

Biff grasped Joe's fingers, tightening his fist when he would have pulled away. He guided the digits back to the feeble pulse, pressing them there and waiting as the first glimmers of stunned relief set in.

"Frank?" Joe's whisper was more prayer than question. "Thank God. I… I thought… Frank?" His fingers moved with purpose now, cataloguing injuries. He rolled Frank over, keeping his spine as straight as he possibly could. A queasy roll assaulted his stomach when the open marks continued around the torso unabated. The right arm slumped downward, clearly out of socket and twice its usual diameter. What the thunder did they do to you, Frank? I don't know how, but I'm getting you out of here. I promise. Just… just don't you die…I thought you had and I… you can't…

Moving away from his brother required a force of will at odds with the mundane act of standing up, but Joe knew Frank needed help, and he needed it right now. "We shouldn't move him, but I don't see a way around it."

The heavy foliage quickly yielded a pair of flexible saplings and Joe set to work with the pocket knife. "I can strip the leaves off these, but we'll need something to make the bottom of a travois. Check the fort. We can use anything made out of canvas or heavy cloth. Oh, and something to tie with and a bigger knife would be good."

A whey-faced Biff returned several minutes later, handing Joe the only supplies that met the specifications. Neither of them chose to acknowledge the source of the materials; the uniforms and bootlaces of dead men.

"Help me lift him." The stretcher assembled as well as circumstances permitted, they eased Frank onto it, Joe sliding the improvised straps around his shoulders. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or alarmed when Frank accepted the movement without so much as a whimper.

"Road's the quickest way out." Joe bit his lip, debating. "We're going to run into troops that direction, no guessing which side, but I think we have to chance it." Biff wouldn't have to stay with us, though… I have to find somebody for Frank, but we could split up, let Biff hide. Yeah, cause splitting up worked out great for Chet.

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"You're going the wrong way."

Joe froze, the soft feminine voice the last thing he would have predicted. He'd strayed a few dozen yards from Frank and Biff, picking the sour orange fruit they'd come to rely on. It wasn't good, but it was wet and available.

The girl crossed in front of him, a tiny form in a wrapped brown skirt, raven ponytail spilling down her back. The linen weave of a loose native styled blouse almost matched the almond skin tone, and leather slippers muffled the path of her feet. At a second look, she was considerably older than he had first guessed, perhaps in her early twenties.

He nailed his eyes to the deep brown ones before him, knowing even a flick might lead her to his brother. They needed help desperately, but to Joe that meant reaching the city where there would be some sort of medical facility. He hadn't expected anyone out here. Was she an obstacle, or a godsend?

"Vous allez la mauvaise facon." She crossed her arms, waiting on Joe to answer.

"The English was better." Joe remained stationary, not certain what to make of her, although somewhat less surprised at the French than he had been at the English. Many of the local islands had been French possessions in past centuries. "And how do you know where I was going?"

"And I thought my French was flawless." There was a hint of amused challenge in her eyes.

"Perhaps, but mine's not."

"English it is, then. And you're still going the wrong way. I saw you on the road before."

That instilled instant disquiet. Before as in just now, or before with Frank… "Maybe that's where I want to go."

"I doubt it." She gestured at the fruit wrapped in the hem of his shirt. "You're picking those to eat, yes?"

"Yes." Can't hurt to answer that one, after all she's from here and if these things are going to make us sick, well, I for one would rather know now…

"If you're searching for food, it suggests to me you'd like to live another day. Which means you don't want to go down that road."

"Why not?"

"The soldiers are down there. Forgive me for saying it, but you don't look like someone they'd care for." She inched a step closer to him, head tilted back to see his face.

"You mean the militia troops, then. I still need to get to town." He decided to take a gamble. "Is there a better way?"

"No. There isn't another road out of the mountains. You should wait until they're gone."

"I'm not sure I can do that. You have a better suggestion?" I need to wrap this up and get back to Frank – without leading her to him.

"Come home with me."

Joe nearly choked. She didn't mean that how it sounded… you know she didn't… "I think I'd better be going, actually. I'll be careful to stay off the road if I hear anyone. Thanks for the tip."

She lowered her eyes, all hint of a smile gone. "I'm sorry, but it wasn't just a tip. You aren't supposed to be here and I can't let you keep going."

"Let me?" Joe's gaze took in the length of her, well under five feet tall and perhaps ninety pounds. "Look, why don't we chalk this up to an interesting interlude and I'll be on my way. I don't see how you're going to stop me by yourself."

"But I'm not by myself – and neither are you." A shrill whistle filled the air, similar enough to the tropical birdcalls to be unremarkable if he hadn't seen her do it. Five other natives stepped out of the undergrowth, the tallest of them pressing a curved blade against Biff's throat.

Where's Frank? This cannot be happening! Not now… Joe held his hands out, palms upturned, making every effort to look harmless. "There's no reason for this. If we're not supposed to be here, that's easily remedied. We want to leave anyway."

She studied his expression, her own taking on a look of regret. "You do, don't you?"

"Yes." Come on… I can see you thinking about it… let us go. Frank can't make it out here alone, and am I seriously supposed to just tell you where he is?

"Then I truly am sorry." She backed away, allowing one of her companions to tie his hands behind him and loop a rope around his waist. Once that was done, Biff was trussed in the same manner. The meager contents of their pockets were handed to one of the other men and the stolen packs distributed.

"I'm Reza." She picked up the end of the six foot rope wound around him and gave a slight tug. "We better get moving; it's a long walk."

Joe dragged his feet, desperately scanning the surrounding scene. All of the men had the long bladed knives; at least two were carrying a gun. Reza was the only woman of the group and seemed to be the only English speaker. He stared hard at Biff, trying to read some inkling there of what had become of his brother. A firmer jerk at the rope forced him to take a step forward.

"No one wants to hurt you." Her voice was oddly sincere.

You already have. Frank's going to die alone and my only other choice is to hand him over. I don't think there's a right answer to this one, Frank… I'm sorry… "Wait."

"Why?"

"We weren't," Joe hesitated, then continued in a rush. "We weren't alone. My brother's here too and I can't leave him."

Reza spoke to the others in words Joe couldn't understand and two of them split from the bunch. "They'll find him unless he's run off somewhere."

Joe closed his eyes briefly, wishing there was a snowball's chance that had happened. "He hasn't. He's injured."

"Badly?"

"Yeah."

She nodded, sensing vulnerability in his answer that hadn't been there before. "We don't want to hurt any of you."

"Yeah, you mentioned that. You'd be a lot more convincing without the pony lead-line, in case you want any pointers on this whole making friends and influencing people thing. If you happen to mean it, though, then let us go. Frank needs a doctor."

"He isn't going to get one running into those troops. Maybe I can help him."

"By putting him on the end of a leash?" Joe couldn't keep the venom from his words.

"I said we were sorry." She turned her back on Joe, gesturing at the others to resume walking. "I've got my own family to protect."

Ten minutes into the walk the others rejoined them, pulling Frank's stretcher behind. Reza didn't fight it when Joe yanked loose, instead accompanying him to his brother.

"You said his name is Frank?" She knelt beside the stretcher, checking a pulse and frowning. She lifted the lax eyelids, expression softening a little when the pupils constricted against the filtered sunlight.

Joe nudged forward, edging his knee against Frank's thigh; the only contact he could manage with his bound hands. "Yeah, he's Frank. I'm Joe." He wanted to scream at her, tell her to keep her hands off Frank, not stumble through introductions. Unfortunately, he couldn't risk it. Somewhere in watching her fingers probe at the various wounds, he realized she seemed to know what she was doing.

"Anak laki-laki's di jelek bentuk." She spoke over her shoulder to one of the older men.

"Kesempatang yang mana pun dia akan hidup terus?"

"Kecil, tetapi mungkin."

"Terbaik untuk melepaskan dia sekarang lalu jika dia tidak mempunyia banyak kesempatang." The largest of those holding them sighed, freeing his revolver from his belt and looming over the travois.

"NO!" Joe had no idea what had been said, but the resigned face of the gunman shook him to the core. He shifted in front of Frank as best he could, pleading words tumbling free. "No, please Reza, no."

She shushed him with a fierce glare. "I'm not the one that wants to do this. He doesn't think it's worth trying to get Frank to the village as sick as he is."

Joe nearly flattened himself over Frank, knowing there was no way either he or Biff could protect him now. "So he just wants to shoot him? Please, don't do this…"

Reza looked between the three young men before her, two frightened and one oblivious, and wondered how it had come to this. "He wanted to shoot all of you, but Topan said no."

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to be continued...