• 1-Into the Woods
• 2-Decisions
• 3-Reflections
• 4-The Hunt
• 5-Apprehension

Into the Woods

Oh, shit. Ohshitohshitohshit.

The litany ran through Blair Sandburg's mind as he crashed through the brush, listening for the sounds of pursuit. He'd remarked once to Jim that everyone interviewed for supermarket tabloids after a near fatal accident seemed to have been thinking Dear Lord or God or Help me, Jesus during their moment of crisis. First Ellison had asked him why he was wasting good money on tabloids when they already had a good supply of toilet paper. Then he'd offered his opinion that a lot of them had probably been thinking something much earthier, but that the journalists didn't want to deal with censorship hassles. In Blair's case, at least, his theory was being proven correct.

Was he headed back toward the hunting lodge? It was so damn hard to tell. Every direction looked the same. The moon might be full, but it's beams scarcely penetrated here in the deepest part of the forest.

He wished Jim were here. With his Sentinel powers, Ellison would have no trouble finding the way back to the lodge, or the little bed and breakfast nearby. But Jim wasn't here. Jim was lifting a few tankards in the local tavern. Blair could have been right beside him, choking down room temperature beer and coughing on pungent smoke from ornately carved pipes, if he hadn't gotten that fucking romantic notion to take a moonlit stroll.

Romance. Deadliest fucking concept known to man. An errant branch lashed back in his face as he tried to burrow through a particularly tangled section of brush. He gave an involuntary yelp of pain at the unexpected sting, then bit his lip in dismay.

It wasn't as if he weren't making enough noise already, blundering through the undergrowth. The sound of his pursuer had been, he thought, growing a bit fainter. That single cry could draw attention again. Blair forced himself deeper into the thicket, ripping himself loose from brambles that caught at clothing, and hair, and tender skin. He didn't cry out again, even though he ended up with a dozen bloody streaks on arms and neck.

When he reached the densest part, he crouched low to the ground. He drew his body up into a compact bundle, making himself as small as possible.

Blair tried to quiet his harsh, panting breath, but it felt like
liquid fire in his chest. There was a throbbing ache to go with the stitch in his side, and he thought vaguely that last fall he'd taken had probably busted a rib. He could feel a million different sensations, along with the pain. There was the trickle of cold sweat running down his back, the tickle as a night breeze blew a strand of his long, curly hair across his face. The crumble of the soft, gritty loam beneath his hands.

And the smells: ripe decaying vegetation, a hint of wood smoke apple, they're burning apple wood, and a sour, salty tang that he believed was the smell of his own terror.

His eyes were adjusting to the dark of the heavy cover now, and he could make out tiny details. He hadn't seen nature like this since he was a child. He'd spent idyllic days on his stomach in the grass, examining in microscopic detail the workings of the world at ground level. Now his eyes picked out the delicate veining on the underside of a leaf that trembled before him at eye level.

A hot, coppery taste was filling his mouth, and he spat. The sharp scent immediately assaulted him. Blood. He'd bitten his tongue somewhere along the route of the chase. The metallic taste blended with the lingering acidity of the wine he'd had at dinner.

Blair held his breath for a moment, listening. The night sounds of the forest surrounded him. There were countless subtle rustles. But which were merely branches in the breeze, which were harmless night creatures going about their business, and which might herald the coming of his pursuer?

Blair shivered suddenly, violently. Sensory overload, probably from the adrenalin rush caused by his danger. Dear lord, Is
this what it's like for Jim? This overwhelming wave of sound, taste, smell, vision, sensation, crashing and rolling over him, all day, every day? No, it must be worse for Jim, much worse. His senses were more attuned than Blair's to begin with. No wonder he went a little crazy some time. No wonder he needed Blair to keep him grounded, focused. Blair's respect and admiration for his partner grew in those few seconds when he suffered a pale reflection of what the older man had to go through every moment of his life.

Blair heard a twig snap. Something about this small sound set it apart from the usual forest drone. Something heavy had broken it.

Ohshitohshitohshitohshit. Where are you, Jim? Where are you, man?