Chapter Five
"Wake up, Doctor."
McCoy awoke and found himself being dragged to his feet.
"What is it?" he said, instantly awake as he felt Spock's worry.
"Bringers."
McCoy blinked in confusion. He had heard Spock's voice, but his mouth hadn't moved.
"Do not speak. Run. I will divert the guards." Roughly, Spock pushed both packs and weapons into McCoy's arms and sent him down the hill towards the river with a single shove.
McCoy began running, his limbs moving as if of their own accord. He had enough control over himself to turn his head to see Spock scaling a tree like some great cat about to pounce. Then he was out of sight. Even the meld seemed quiet.
McCoy ran on.
SMSMSM
Spock was feeling slightly guilty about forcing McCoy's mind into submission, but he hadn't had a choice. Left to his own devices, McCoy would most certainly have acted impulsively and attacked the guards.
Spock frowned. Wasn't that what he was doing?
No. He was being logical. He was ambushing the guards.
Unless this new-found impulsive nature was a result of the meld...
"Damn," Spock said seriously.
SMSMSM
R'Helk nervously adjusted his grip on his energy weapon and glanced into the growing dusk. Nighttime always made him uneasy, but his present fear stemmed from the report that two of the Order had been seen in this location. If he captured them, the information that resulted from their torture might be enough to earn him a promotion to Overseer! He licked his lips as he imagined the benefits the job would entail...beautiful women eager to please him, hero worship and a name that would deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as the leaders of their rebellion.
His thoughts were cut short by the sound of something landing behind him. He turned quickly to see a creature that resembled Ishakra, the night demon of children's tales.
He screamed. "Ishakra!" He said, dropping his weapon and making signs of protection. "Please! Do not eat me!"
The night demon only raised an eyebrow and murmured an unknown term, some curse, R'Helk thought. It touched his shoulder and suddenly his world was dark.
"Fascinating," Spock said again as he let the alien man drop to the ground. He stooped to pick up the weapon and found himself surrounded by Bringers.
Spock's eyebrow climbed upward and without meaning to, he drew a line from the doctor's book.
"Behold, I am the demon Ishakra. Leave now and I...will not eat you," he rumbled, as menacing as the bounds of Vulcan logic would allow.
Their leader was clearly unimpressed. "What would Ishakra need with a weapon?"
Spock managed a sneer. "I am merely laughing at your puny weapons. Ha. Ha ha." He glowered at the man, who did not quite meet his eyes.
"I think this is an Order trick. He's one of them. Just look at those ears!"
"This is...the way I am presenting myself now. Am I not terrible?" Spock momentarily considered gnashing his teeth, but decided against it. Far too unseemly.
"Take him," the leader said.
"Damn," Spock thought again as the butt of a weapon collided with the back of his head.
His last thought before slipping into unconsciousness was of Leonard McCoy...
SMSMSM
A sudden end in the command to run brought McCoy's legs to a complete stop. With a loud curse, he fell to the ground and rolled, finally coming to a rest in a bed of reeds. He lay there, panting and bleeding until he could sit up and examine himself. The increased throbbing in his thigh told him that his wound had reopened. However, the most unsettling feeling came from his left shoulder. He must have dislocated it in the fall.
Wincing, he pulled himself to his feet. The medical pack was tangled around his waist, but Spock's pack was further up the hill. He had the phaser and the three-pronged blade was embedded deep in the earth where his head had rested. Gingerly, he touched a long scrape on the side of his face and came away with blood.
McCoy hobbled up the hill towards a tree. He probed the swelling skin around his shoulder with practiced hands. Only then did he realize he was missing his shirt. He cursed again and moved to lean against the tree. Finding the socket, he pushed hard and heard the sticky pop that accompanies a bone being put back into place.
As a doctor, McCoy was used to the noise - that he had hard it at all meant a clean fix - but to hear it from his own body made his stomach turn.
He tended to his other small cuts and re-bandaged his leg clumsily with one hand. He still needed to stabilize his arm.
He walked back into the reeds and pulled the blade free from the ground. Holding it awkwardly in one hand, he hacked at a few of the soft reeds until they fell. Using his free hand and teeth, he tied them together, end-to-end, until they formed a continuous chain about ten feet long. Doubling it took some spectacular effort, but McCoy was eventually able to make a place in the widest part of the reeds for his arm to rest. A quick pull sent a spasm of pain up it, but once it was secure, he could feel some of the tension escaping him.
It was completely dark, but only now was McCoy beginning to notice how cold he was. He gathered his things and headed back up the hill to try and find a place to hide. Twenty minutes of walking brought him t a tree so heavy and old that it had bent under its own weight and was now caressing the with its flowers.
McCoy wove his way in, mindful of disturbing any wildlife, and sat near the massive trunk. Struggling to make his raging mind calm, he tried to reach out to the other being in his mind.
"Spock?"
There was no answer. Leonard continued calling until he felt like a kitten mewling for its mother. Exhausted, he closed his eyes.
"Spock, where are you?"
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