Trying to ignore the increasing physical discomfort, Mike practically ran the last few yards to the cage. He could see someone huddled in the corner, curled into a foetal position facing the wall. "Steve…?" he called out as he wrapped his hands around the bars and pulled, but they held firm.

There was no response. He wracked his brain trying to remember what clothes Steve had been wearing in the bar but he couldn't. He took a closer look at the cage; the door was closed and fastened with a large key lock. Frustrated, he pulled on the bars again. "Steve…!"

He glanced over his shoulder towards the staircase; he was still alone. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness even more. He stepped away from the cage and looked around, hoping to find something to use to break the lock. He returned to the stairs, vaguely recalling some things piled near the bottom step.

Holding his breath and trying not to moan, he bent over and started to feel around in the dark. Eventually his fingers touched something cold and hard and he picked it up, moving it into the light: a crowbar. "Yes!" he hissed through clenched teeth as he hurried back to the cage, glancing worriedly at the still unmoving form in the corner as he slid the straighter end of the crowbar between the shackle and the body of the lock.

He paused briefly, anticipating the pain, then threw all his weight down onto the crowbar. As the agony shot through his body, he felt the lock shatter, the momentum taking him hard into the cage. He cried out as his right shoulder and the side of his head connected with the bars, and he dropped to his knees, gasping for breath as, for a split second, everything went black. The crowbar fell noisily to the floor.

Breathing in short sharp gasps, Mike leaned back against the cage as he willed the pain to subside. Gritting his teeth, he turned onto his knees then pushed himself slowly and gingerly to his feet, using the bars for support.

The lock, the shackle snapped in half, was hanging uselessly from the now open door. He pulled on the bars and the door swung towards him with a high, piercing metallic squeal. Within seconds he had skittered across the matted straw-strewn floor and dropped to his knees beside the still unresponsive form.

"Steve…" he breathed again as he gently but quickly reached out and turned the body towards him. Eyes partially open under the matted hair, the grime-covered face of Craig Steen stared vacantly up at him.

Stunned and momentarily crestfallen, Mike pulled the young man into his arms. "You're gonna be okay, Craig," he whispered encouragingly, "I'm a cop… you're gonna be okay…"

Steen began to stir and be blinked several times, as if trying to focus. "Hel… help me," he whispered as he tried to lick his dry lips.

"We will… we will, son," Mike assured him again, "don't worry…" He was glancing around the cage, trying to figure out what to do next. He didn't want to leave the obviously traumatized young man, but he knew he couldn't do this on his own. "I have to go get help," he said quietly, trying to find a confidence he didn't really feel at the moment. "I'll be right back, I promise."

He began to lower Steen to the floor when a hand gripped his arm. "No… no… don't leave me…"

Mike hesitated for a beat, his heart torn by the desperation radiating from the young man, then he very gently pried the weak fingers from his forearm. "I promise you, I'll be right back. It's over, Craig… I promise you… it's over…"

With a whimper, Steen allowed himself to be lowered to the floor and, gritting his teeth, Mike staggered to his feet and crossed to the cage door. He was halfway to the stairs when he heard a soft sound like a whisper. Steen was calling for him, he thought, and he almost didn't stop but something about the sound made him pause.

He froze, holding his breath and cocking his head slightly as he strained to hear the sound again. Nothing. He was just about to take another step when a faint "Mike…" reached his ears.

He spun in the direction of the sound but couldn't see anything; the weak yellow bulb, covered in fly specks, cast almost no light. Unconsciously holding his breath, Mike moved as quickly as he dared across the uneven and hazard-laden floor. He heard his name breathed again as he got closer.

"Oh my god," he heard himself gasp as his eyes finally focused on the figure on the floor in the darkened corner. Steve Keller, his bound hands lashed to a large metal ring bolted to the barn wall, was half-sitting half-lying, his head against the wood as he stared at his approaching partner with wide, almost disbelieving eyes.

"Steve," Mike gasped again as he dropped to his knees, his stunned eyes taking in the unkempt hair, the heavy stubble, the bruised and dirtied face and the haunted but grateful eyes. He reached up and gently put his hands on both side of the young man's face, trying to smile through trembling lips and sudden tears.

"Mike…" Steve chuckled unsteadily, swallowing heavily and closing his eyes in relief.

"I've got you, buddy boy, I've got you," Mike patted the sides of his partner's face then took a deep breath, trying to regain some measure of professionalism. "Ah, let's get you out of here, shall we?" he suggested with a soft laugh as he looked at the young man's bound hands. A thick rope was wrapped several times around his wrists then looped through the large metal ring. Even in the very dim light, Mike could see the bloody chafing on Steve's wrists and he fought to control a sudden flash of anger.

He rose slightly on his knees and leaned closer to the wall. It didn't take long to figure out there was no way he could loosen the knots with his bare hands; he was going to have to find something to cut through the thick rope. The crowbar wouldn't work; he needed something sharp.

With a encouraging grin, he stared into Steve's eyes. "I've got to find a blade or something to cut through these ropes. I'll be right back, I promise."

Steve nodded, then watched as his partner pushed himself slowly to his feet and moved away. The older man did a good job of masking his discomfort as he crossed back towards the stairs. He tried to remember if he'd seen anything with a sharp blade but nothing came to mind.

He searched the area around the staircase as best he could but found nothing suitable. He paused, trying to think of what he could use, then remembered seeing what he thought were some farm implements hanging from the walls in the barn above.

With a glance back towards the darkened corner where his partner was tied, he started up the stairs. He was beginning to get a handle on the constant pain, he thought almost idly, as he slowly ascended the stairs, once again having to stop to let his eyes adjust to the dark.

It didn't take as long this time and he quickly began to make out the shapes of farm tools hanging from hooks along one wall. He moved to them quickly and began to look for something with a sharp edge. There was nothing he could see that bore even a passing resemblance to a blade. Finally his eyes settled on what looked like a small scythe.

He took it off the hook and carefully ran his left index finger along the blade; even with a thin layer of rust it was sharp. Satisfied, he almost jogged back to the stairs and returned to lower depths. He made his way over to Steve, who was staring at him with almost palpable relief.

With a warm but worried smile, Mike knelt close to the wall. "I'm gonna need a little slack," he said apologetically, "you're gonna have to try to raise your hands a little. Sorry."

Trying not to wince or groan, Steve struggled to sit up a bit straighter and lift his hands. Mike wanted to help but knew he didn't have the strength right now and didn't want to give away the fact that he wasn't a hundred percent. Eventually Steve managed to get some space between his hands and the wall.

Mike leaned over him, put the edge of the small scythe against the rope and began sawing it back and forth. The edge of the blade started to cut into the thick rope but Mike knew it was going to take time. He hoped they had enough. He still didn't know what was happening up at the house. He realized he hadn't heard any more shots, but that really didn't mean anything. He was hoping and praying that his colleagues were all right and everything was under control.

Concentrating on the rope, he didn't notice Steve staring at him until he heard the familiar voice. "Are you okay?"

The blue eyes briefly flicked the younger man's way, registering the hooded green eyes staring at his still bruised and swollen face. He smiled reassuringly. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me." His attention went back to the rope. "How are you doing?"

Steve almost smiled. "Better now that you're here," he managed to get out through clenched teeth. He took a deep breath. "How's Craig?" he asked quietly, trying to nod towards the cage in the far corner.

Still working on the rope, Mike tilted his head with a facial shrug. "He's alive," he whispered and saw the younger man nod. "Can you raise your hands a little higher?"

Groaning slightly, Steve managed to shift his weight and lift his hands.

"Good, good."

"You're, ah… you're not here alone, are you?" Steve's tone was tinged with both awe and worry.

Mike managed a distracted smile, shaking his head slightly. "No… No, there's a bunch of guys with me… Roy, Norm, Dan, Sheriff Manley and his deputy and some other guys…"

"An army?" A gentle chuckle.

"Yeah… an army."

Mike shifted position so he could get a better angle at the rope. The blade was almost halfway through.

"I thought they stabbed you," Steve said quietly, his voice sounding scared and far away.

The sawing motion against the rope lost it's rhythm momentarily and Mike glanced down. "I'm fine… obviously. I wouldn't be here otherwise, right?"

Steve stared at him without moving for several seconds. "Right," he echoed softly.

His attention fully back on the rope, Mike smiled. "Almost done."

Steve attempted to raise his hands a little higher once more. It hurt like hell to do so but he needed to try. Mike shifted position again to get a better angle.

They both froze when they heard the sound of a footfall from the direction of the staircase. Tensing, Steve's eyes shot in that direction. Mike stopped sawing, glancing over his shoulder, then turned slightly.

Both of them could see the black silhouette of a tall, thin man standing on the bottom step, looking around the cavernous room. Roy? Mike thought as he started to open his mouth to call out to him.

The stranger's right hand came up and there was a brief glint of light off the extremely long barrel of a revolver, which suddenly turned in their direction.

Mike spun back towards the wall, throwing himself in front of Steve, reaching above his partner's head to grab his hands and yank them down. The rope snapped apart and they tumbled as one to the ground as a deafening roar tore through the air.