** This story is in no way related to my other story, Left Behind. I'm working on the sequel to it now.
Elaine P

Blair bolted upright, legs tangled in his sleeping bag. Suddenly wide awake, his heart racing, he blearily looked around the tent trying to figure out what had so abruptly wakened him from his first sound sleep in weeks. The flap to the tent flipped open as Ellison ducked inside, water dripping from his Jags cap and rolling off his gore-tex jacket.

"Chief, you okay? Your heart’s going a mile a minute." The Sentinel shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a hook away from the sleeping bags.

"Uh, yeah…I’m okay, just don’t know what woke me up man. One minute I’m sound asleep and the next I’m wide awake and I don’t know why."

Just then a loud crack of thunder boomed, almost sounding like it was inside the tent with the two men. Blair jumped, wincing at the loud noise, immediately checking on his partner’s reaction. Jim grimaced, but seemed to be okay. He noticed Blair’s scrutiny and grinned wryly.

"Don’t worry about me Sandburg. I’ve been up for a couple of hours and knew the storm was moving in. I dialed down my hearing just in case the storm brought along "fireworks". So, seeing as how you’re awake, you want some breakfast?"

Blair shook his head, rubbed his face and ran his hands across his short curly hair. Even though his hair was longer now than when he first entered the Academy, it was a far cry from the shoulder length tresses of just six months before. Ellison grinned at the memory of his friend’s "visit" to Jim’s barber, then the grin faded as he remembered the events that led to his partner’s attending the police academy. Blair’s expressive blue eyes fastened on his and with a crooked grin observed, "Well, looks like the weather gods have favored us with some great weather for fishing, huh?"

Still grinning, he ducked Jim’s lazy swat aimed at his head, then made himself comfortable in his sleeping bag, relishing the warmth still held by the insulated layers. Jim placed his Jags cap on the edge of the small cooler they kept in the tent and stretched out on top of his own sleeping bag.

"Looks like it’s gonna rain for a while Chief, why don’t you get some more sleep if you’re not hungry." Another loud boom of thunder answered before Blair could open his mouth, so he settled for a quick nod followed by a jaw-cracking yawn. Squirming about for the comfy spot he had occupied just a short time before, he managed to mumble, "Don’t let me sleep too long, ‘kay Jim? Wanna try out that new, I mean traditional..method of…from the….tribe……." and was down for the count.

Jim grinned to himself, then reached over to tug the sleeping bag more securely about his partner’s shoulders. He studied the sleeping man’s face, noting the dark circles under his eyes, stress lines still evident around Sandburg’s mouth and across his forehead. Blair had lost weight while at the Academy, not an uncommon occurrence, but Jim knew his Guide could ill afford to lose too much weight. Jim knew the main reason wasn’t the physical demands of the Academy and most certainly knew it wasn’t the academic challenge of the classes. Blair had pushed himself hard at the Academy, overcoming the ostracism and distrust of many of the cadets, but, even worse, the flagrant way some of the instructors had singled Blair out in classes, especially when dealing with subjects like fraud and vice. Those instructors thought his partner had no business attending the Criminal Justice Academy; had no business in law enforcement after his press conference at Rainier over his dissertation. Blair had quietly, succinctly answered all challenges presented him, leaving the instructors no recourse in light of his knowledge of the material other than to move on to the next topic. Blair never allowed the distractions and stress to sway his determination to quickly finish all the classes deemed necessary by the Cascade’s Chief of Police to again take his place at Jim’s side, this time as his "official" partner.

Jim knew how much the struggle to keep going against such opposition has cost his friend. Jim had driven to Bellevue every weekend he could manage in order to spend time with Blair, saving him from driving back to Cascade to escape the often oppressive atmosphere at the academy. Blair had been shunned by many of the cadets, but the younger man had, to no surprise to Jim, won over many in his classes and made several friends who recognized just how intelligent, sincere and trustworthy Sandburg was, no matter what others said about his questionable "integrity".

Another boom of thunder rolled, but it was not as loud and Jim knew the storm was moving away. He moved to the front of the tent to check, having already noticed the rain had reduced to a sullen drizzle. The wind was picking up and Jim figured it would be another hour or so before it sent the rest of the clouds to crowd up against the Cascade foothills. He moved back to his sleeping bag, stretching out once more, checking on his guide’s breathing and heart rate which reflected a deep, peaceful slumber. Jim had hoped the four- day camping trip would help "recharge" his partner’s "batteries" following his graduation from the Academy and his official swearing in two days before as the newest detective of Major Crimes. An old friend from the army had bought a small cabin on some acreage along the Nooksack River and had offered to let Jim use it any time for a short getaway. The cabin had been damaged during the first big windstorm last year and McLean had never gotten around to finishing the repairs; the roof was still covered by a large tarp on one side. McLean said the fishing was supposed to be great and since the Nooksack wasn’t frequented by the large river rafts that took tourists for a "white water experience", Jim figured it would make for a quiet weekend.

An hour later, he checked outside and saw some areas of blue sky showing through the clouds racing overhead. The wind, on the other hand, had not died down at all and seemed to be building in intensity. Great, just great. We won’t get drenched while fishing, the wind will just keep us busy trying to keep the lines from snagging in the brush and trees. He pulled his jacket and cap back on and went to check on their fishing gear. The wind had knocked the poles over and the small campfire in the pit Sandburg had dug was practically out. Jim repositioned the poles so the wind couldn’t damage them, retrieved the coffeepot which had been tipped over and returned to the shelter of the tent. He set up the small Coleman stove and started a fresh pot of coffee figuring the smell would eventually wake his partner.

Fifteen minutes later a muffled "ummphf" sounded from the lump in the sleeping bag and a curly head emerged. Bleary blue eyes blinked rapidly in the general direction of a fuzzy outline that resembled Jim Ellison, nose twitching as the aroma of caffeine wafted through the tent. Ellison grinned, right on time there partner, knew that would get you up without a struggle. Just then a strong gust of wind rocked the tent, startling Blair clear of the last remnants of sleep. He looked at Jim with raised eyebrows, "Just what weather report did you listen to before we left yesterday? I don’t recall you mentioning anything about ‘occasional thunderstorms followed by gusting winds’, but I might have missed that part."

This time the swat landed on the back of his head just as Jim handed him a mug of coffee. "Just for that Chief, I’ll keep the locations of the best fishing spots to myself." Blair chuckled as he sat up, keeping his legs tucked in the folds of the sleeping bag. Wrapping both hands around the warm mug and inhaling the aroma, he took his first sip just as another gust hit the tent and almost spilled the contents of the mug, startled. Jim got to his feet and checked outside once again; the clouds were flying by overhead, crowding up against those already shoved against the Cascades, the trees along the river were swaying with a few of the smaller trees actually bending at times.

"Chief this doesn’t look so good. Maybe we ought to just pack everything up and head for the truck. If the wind picks up much more the road could get blocked with downed trees and we could really get stuck here." Blair nodded his agreement, quickly drained the rest of his coffee and got to his feet. He pulled on his jeans, shirts and boots, grabbed his coat and gloves and began rolling up his sleeping bag. Jim followed suit, then shut down the small camping stove, emptied the rest of the coffee into a large thermos and packed up the rest of their supplies. Blair shoved the sleeping bags into their carry bags and tied them together. Jim handed Blair a couple of granola bars and an apple, "Here Chief, you need to eat something and we won’t be cooking anytime soon." Blair shoved the bars into his coat pocket and bit into the apple.

The men worked together to get the tent down, hampered by the gusting wind. They gathered up the unused fishing gear and made sure the campfire was completely out, then started back to the truck with part of their equipment, knowing a second trip would be necessary. Ellison led the way to the truck parked about ¼ mile from the spot they had pitched their tent the afternoon before. He was relieved to find no large limbs had broken off and landed on his ‘classic’. It only took a few minutes to secure their first load in the bed of the truck and hustled back to the campsite to retrieve the rest. The wind was still picking up and large tree limbs were cracking under the onslaught as they made their way back to the truck. The wind suddenly shifted and came straight out of the north, toppling a good- sized pine right into their path. Dust and debris flew through the air and both men had trouble seeing and breathing for a minute. After the air cleared, Jim checked around and located a faint path heading in the direction of the truck. "We’ll just head this way Chief, should get us back to the truck, no problem."

Jim led the way once again, clearly seeing the faint path left by deer and other forest residents. Blair grumbled about the tree roots that seemed determined to trip him every few steps but managed to stay with his partner. Ellison kept his eyes on the trees, watching for any that seemed ready to fall and listening for sudden shifts in the wind’s direction. They were moving through a thick bracket of brush when Blair was brought up short with his backpack snagged in the thicket, slowing him down. Jim moved ahead several yards before noticing his partner’s struggle and stopped to allow the younger man to catch up to him. Jim saw a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye and stepped off the path into the brush for a better look; he felt the trap under his foot at the same time he heard it trip.

Blair saw Jim stop and move off the side of the trail, then heard Jim yell hoarsely and fall to the ground. He rushed to his partner’s side as Jim reached for his left ankle, fingers scrabbling at the rusted metal that was embedded in his leg. "Oh, god, Jim, oh no." Blair pushed Jim’s hand aside, "Jim, just wait a minute here, let me see if I can get it open, then you pull your leg out, okay?" Jim nodded and leaned back on his elbows, panting slightly with the pain. Blair grabbed either side of the old trap, pushing down and out with all his strength. Just when he thought it was an exercise in futility the trap slowly began to open and Blair urged, "Jim, when it feels like there’s enough room, pull your foot out. And hurry, man, I don’t know if I can keep this up much longer. Okay?" Jim nodded again, his lips drawn in a tight, pale line, sweat beading on his forehead. Blair pushed with arms beginning to tremble from his efforts, but finding a reserve of strength, locked his elbows and strained to open the trap a bit more, and then Jim was pulling his leg free.
As soon as Jim’s foot cleared the trap, Blair let go and the ancient trap snapped shut once again, blood staining the edges. Jim fell back on the ground breathing heavily through his nose, jaw locked and knotted from the pain. Blair shifted to his side, pulled the pack Jim was carrying off his shoulders and out from under him, then removed his jacket and eased it under the Sentinel’s head.
The young man moved back to the injured leg, pulled his Swiss Army knife out and cut the denim along the seam and gently pulled it away from the injured area. The old trap was designed to crush the limb of the trapped animal; Blair couldn’t be sure but it seemed Jim’s leg was broken about six inches above the ankle. The skin was broken and bleeding from several deep gouges made by the trap and rust was embedded in the wounds, bruising already showing from the crushing pressure.

"Jim, should I take your boot off now or leave it on? Your leg isn’t swelling too badly and I can’t tell for sure, but I think your leg is broken. I need to get back to the truck to get the first aid kit. Will you be okay until I can get back here with it?"

Jim nodded, then unclenched his jaw enough to speak. "Yeah, Chief, I’ll be fine until you get back. And you’re right, my leg is broken. Leave my boot on, I’ll need it to back to the truck once you get it splinted." Blair got to his feet as another strong gust of wind blasted through the trees out of the north, bringing down several large limbs onto the path they were following. "I’ve changed my mind here Jim. I think you should hang onto me and we’ll both head for the truck now, we’ll work on your leg once we’re in the truck and out of this wind. Much better plan, doncha think?"

Jim reached up his hand to his partner as more limbs came crashing down out of the trees around them. "Much better plan partner. Give me a hand up and we’ll see how fast we can put your plan in motion." Blair shrugged off the backpack he had been carrying. Jim took a deep breath as Blair grabbed his hand and pulled, bringing the older man up to balance on his right leg, immediately moving to his side and pulling Jim’s arm across his shoulders. Jim bit down as pain shot up his injured leg, dizziness making him sway like the trees surrounding them.

"You can’t walk on that leg so I’m gonna get to practice what I learned at the Academy, okay, Jim? Don’t worry, I did it dozens of times until I got it right." Blair grinned at the skeptical look on the older man’s pale face. "Trust me here Jim. I couldn’t have graduated if they thought I couldn’t help my partner." Jim nodded tersely, "I spotted the truck about 100 yards ahead of us to the east right before I stepped in that damned trap. Just stay on the trail and you should spot it with no problems Chief." Blair looked in the direction Jim indicated but saw nothing. He shrugged knowing he would see it when he was much closer. Blair shucked out of his thick coat then gently, efficiently picked Jim up in a fireman’s carry, took a moment to center his partner’s weight, then straightened and started toward the truck, carefully stepping over the downed limbs.

Progress was slow; snails move faster than this, but I can’t hurry. When he stumbled or slipped he heard Jim groan with pain as the injured leg was jarred by the sudden movement. The faint trail was littered with broken limbs and was slick from the drizzle. If that weren’t enough, tree roots lurked in wait to trip him as he negotiated the path, trying to watch for any sign of the truck as he moved along.
Jim tried but failed to keep faint gasps of pain from escaping. The pain in his leg was growing worse; he couldn’t focus enough to keep the dial turned down and as the pain increased so did the nausea that had begun when the trap had broken his leg. He tried to clear his head and breathe through the nausea, but his position across Sandburg’s shoulders prevented a deep breath. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on control, listening to Sandburg’s running monologue as a distraction.

"Man I just don’t know how these kinds of things keep happening. But they usually happen to me, not you. You’d think by now we’d learn not to try to go camping or fishing; at least we’re not running from survivalist psychos or poachers or ex-military types trying to rob trains. You know Jim, now that I’m back as your full time partner, we’re going to wean you off Wonder Burger and take out, okay? I swear you’ve put on at least 25 pounds and that’s just since we left the river. How does that sound, big guy? Fresh veggies, fruit, tofu, lots of salads, all the healthy things in life a Sentinel needs to keep strong and not break his Guide’s back. Course, we could just get back to the loft and never leave again, that should break the Ellison/Sandburg curse, whaddya think?" Blair kept on talking, hoping that his voice would provide a focus for his partner and distract him from the pain.

Blair blinked to clear the sweat from his eyes, then blinked again. He had been concentrating so hard on the path that he almost missed spotting the truck. He slowly shifted Jim on his shoulders, took a deep breath and carefully made for their waiting haven parked only a few yards away. Another and stronger gust of wind hit him head on, causing him to momentarily close his eyes to keep the dirt and pine needles from blinding him. In just that split second his foot caught on a tree root. As he fell he twisted, trying to keep from landing on Jim. Jim felt Blair stumble, then start to fall, and he tried to shove himself off his partner. They both landed awkwardly, heavily and Jim loosed a strangled scream when his injured leg struck the side of a tree as he went down. White hot pain engulfed his leg and his vision blurred around the edges.
He heard Blair yelling at him as if from a great distance, felt cold hands on his face. He looked up at Blair’s face, seeing the fear and horror in the wide blue eyes and tried to tell his Guide it would be all right, he just needed a minute to rest and then they would get up and make it to the truck and head home. But he couldn’t make his mouth work, couldn’t get the words formed to reassure his partner. His eyes slid closed and he slipped into unconsciousness with a sigh.

Don’t panic, stay calm, just stay calm. Okay, okay, I can do this. Jim’s out right now and he won’t be feeling a thing, so all I have to do is get him upright and back into the fireman’s carry and just make it to the damned truck. God! Okay, okay, calm down, just do this and get him out of this wind and rain and to the truck and go get help. Get help for Jim, get help for Jim; not exactly a calming mantra but it served to get him focused. He carefully moved Jim to a sitting position, then pulled him up and across his shoulders. Standing carefully, he locked his knees and shifted Jim’s weight, then moved purposefully to the truck. Reaching the passenger side of the truck, he stopped and leaned against the side for just a second, fumbled for his set of keys and managed to unlock the door. He carefully lowered Jim to the seat, taking care not to jostle his injured leg anymore than was necessary to get him inside. He pulled out an old blanket Jim kept behind the seat and wrapped it around the unconscious man. He secured the seatbelt around his partner hoping it would keep him from slipping down in the seat, then checked the front of the truck to see if it was clear to drive out.

Blair moved to the bed of the truck and grabbed the duffel bag with the first aid kit and the thermos Jim had filled with coffee, then snatched up both sleeping bags. Blair hurried back to the driver’s side and gingerly climbed in, moving cautiously to avoid jostling his partner’s injured leg. He removed the old blanket and folded it into a makeshift pillow to put behind Jim’s head. He gently moved the injured leg onto the seat and placed one of the sleeping bags under it to elevate it in hopes it would help reduce or delay further swelling. He covered Jim with the remaining sleeping bag and repositioned the blanket that had slipped when he had moved Jim’s leg. Jim showed no sign of regaining consciousness, but his color had improved a bit, hadn’t it, since getting him in out of the wind and rain.

Blair opened the first aid kit, finding gauze, tape, hydrogen peroxide, antibiotic cream and a large ace bandage. He opened the sterile gauze and used it with the peroxide to clean the deep, angry wounds left by the old trap. The peroxide hissed and bubbled and Blair poured on more, carefully cleaning the leg after each use, trying to get out as much dirt and rust as he could. After using all the antibiotic cream left in the tube and wrapping a thick dressing of gauze around the injured leg, he then wound the ace bandage around the area, using Jim’s boot to help immobilize the leg against sudden movement.

Closing the kit with shaking hands, Blair realized he had been running on sheer adrenaline for what seemed like days and was nearing the end of his endurance. He knew their supplies were in the back of the truck, but he was suddenly too tired to find the pack with the rest of their food. He settled for pouring himself a cup of the leftover coffee, drinking it down quickly trying to send the warmth through his cold, exhausted body. He leaned his head on the steering wheel for a few seconds, then sat up and straightened his shoulders. He realized he had left the keys in the truck door and it took him a bit to fumble and get them out and into the ignition. He scrubbed his hands across his face, started the engine, checked once more on Jim to make sure he was in a comfortable position, well, as comfortable as it gets for now, put the truck in drive and headed down the two rutted tracks that supposedly passed as a road on the property. He knew it would take some time to get back to the 2 lane road leading out of the Mount Baker National Forest because there was no way he was going to rush and cause his partner any more pain or discomfort than he possibly could avoid.

Ellison was in hell, had to be, couldn’t be in this much torment and not be there. There was an ice pick shoved into his brain right between his eyes and his body felt like it was encased in ice…all except for his left leg. Oh god, his leg…that was where the all consuming fire and pain was centered. He tried to open his eyes to look around and see if the stories he had heard as a boy were anywhere close to the reality of this hell, but his eyelids weighed too much and refused to obey. Maybe it’s a good thing I can’t see this. Do I really want to see that I’m in hell? He tried to concentrate but couldn’t push his thoughts past the cotton batting that had replaced his brain. He gritted his teeth as a lightening bolt of pain shot through his leg as he was bounced against…the truck door? Determined to see where he was, he finally cracked open one eye to see his grim faced partner fighting the steering wheel, knuckles white from the death grip he had on it, fighting to keep the truck on the narrow drive and away from the largest obstacles. Blair swerved to miss a small downed tree, but bounced a wheel through a large pothole and Jim gasped as the pain once again shot through his leg.

Blair heard the faint sound and glanced at Ellison, looking into dull, pain filled blue eyes. At once apologizing, "Jim, Jim, oh, man, I’m so sorry, but there was no way to miss that hole ‘cause there was a tree down in the way. I’m glad you’re awake and I’m sorry too. I can’t stop until I get us out of here. The wind is getting stronger and I’m afraid we’ll get trapped in here and I need to get you to a hospital or emergency clinic or something. There’s some aspirin and ibuprofen in the first aid kit, so maybe I should stop for just a minute and get you some."

The truck eased to a stop and Blair threw it into park and started rummaging in the first aid kit. He spilled out 3 ibuprofen into his hand and poured a small amount of the coffee for Jim. After Jim had taken the caplets, he shook his head and tried to smile at his anxious partner, but it ended up more of a grimace. "Chief, I’m doing okay here….well, not exactly okay, but I’ll make it, you’ve seen to that. Just get us out of here and don’t put any scratches on my truck, got it?" A ghost of a smile flitted across Blair’s face. He could tell how much pain the older man was in, evident from the pale, strained features, the knotted jaw, the ragged breathing. Hoping to distract Jim again, he picked up the monologue he had begun earlier.

He told Jim about his RCW class and the instructor with the monotone voice, the totally unhealthy food choices in the cafeteria and the drill instructor left over from the Marines that put them through their paces on the obstacle course. Jim didn’t hear the words so much as he heard his Guide’s voice, the voice that had pulled him out of….who knew how many zone-outs? The voice that helped him find the dials when his senses spun out of control, the voice that helped him center himself to focus on one sense in order to filter out all the unnecessary input and find the scent or sound that eluded him for whatever reason. Blair’s voice soothed and calmed him and Jim was finding it a bit easier to deal with the pain.

A tremendous gust of wind rocked the truck, much stronger than they had encountered on this so not relaxing weekend camping trip. Blair heard Jim hiss as his injured leg slid across the seat and up against the back of the bench seat. He brought the truck to a gentle stop and turned to offer….. A loud creaking, groaning sound made him turn back to peer through the windshield. Jim’s head snapped up and he yelled, "Get us out of here now Chief!" As Blair’s hand moved on the gearshift, an ominous cracking sound from the passenger side of the truck sounded and everything then seemed to move in slow motion. A giant fir toppled toward the truck landing across the bed and cab of the truck. The massive tree, well over 200 feet tall had succumbed to the winds gusting from the north; the shallow root system failed to keep the ancient tree upright, and as it came down it took several of its smaller neighbors with it. Dirt, leaves, needles all swirled in the air for some time before finally clearing.

Hearing came back first; Blair listened to the wind whistling through the forest, heard the groans and creaks coming from the truck, heard his heart beat pounding in his aching head. He cracked open one eyelid, quickly shutting it against the pain caused by the pale sunlight filtering down through the trees. His let his head fall back to the seat rest, yelped in sudden pain when he hit jagged metal, eyes snapping open. He turned to check on Jim but halted the action when he felt a restriction of movement in his lower rib area. He looked down, astonished to see a tree branch impaled there. He swiveled his head toward the passenger side and bit down on the bile that rose in his throat. Ellison was pinned in and under the top of the truck’s cab; a huge limb had torn through the top of the truck, the metal had curled down and across the older man’s neck and upper chest. Rivulets of blood streamed from numerous shallow cuts on Jim’s forehead, face and neck. Straining to see in the poor light, Blair saw the faint rise and fall of the Sentinel’s chest and slumped back in relief that his partner was still alive. Now he had to figure out how to free himself without doing any more damage and then check on his partner. He fished out his Swiss Army knife and started whittling on the tree branch, taking care not to move it any more than was necessary. Sweat burned his eyes, but he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, afraid to waste any time that Jim might not have.

Thanking whatever deities were watching over them Blair finished cutting through the branch and pushed the main part away from his torso. No mean feat as the entire cab seemed full of fir tree. Blair cut his shirt away from the branch protruding from his side and slumped in relief; there was only minimal bleeding. He experimentally tugged on the branch, surprised when it moved with little pain. Biting his lip he gripped it firmly with both hands and pulled hard.

His vision blurred and a sharp gasp of pain escaped as the wound slowly filled with blood at the branch’s exit. Blair lowered his head and took deep steadying breaths until his vision cleared. He found a bit of gauze left over from dressing Jim’s leg wounds and held it against his side, hoping to stem the blood loss. He felt a faint sense of relief that blood hadn’t gushed out when he yanked out the branch, maybe that meant there was no serious injury, no internal damage.

A faint groan from the passenger side of the truck caught his attention and he forgot about his injury as he watched Jim’s eyelids flutter, then slowly open. He spoke soft words of encouragement hoping Jim would understand as he returned to consciousness.

Ellison became aware of sounds that beckoned to him, urging him to leave the safe, dark void where pain couldn’t intrude. The sound became more insistent, words beginning to penetrate the void, the sound becoming a voice, the voice deep, insistent, commanding, a voice he knew he must listen to. With this awareness came the return of the pain, centered in his leg but joined by new, vicious aches and pains in his head, neck and chest. "JIM, come on man, hear my voice. You’ve got to come back to me now!" Eyes opened and Ellison blearily took in his surroundings, then focused on his partner. "Chief, please, don’t yell. My head feels like it’s ready to explode. And why is there a tree in the truck with us?"

Blair couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped at the querulous tone of Jim’s voice. He hadn’t sounded like that since Conner had challenged him a "see who could hold their beer best" a few months back and had suffered the next day for taking her on. That happy memory faded quickly in face of the seriousness of their situation. "Um, Jim a tree came down on the truck and now we’re kind of, well, trapped in here. Now, I’m going to move around in here as carefully as I can because I need to check you out and the movement is probably going to hurt your leg." Blair unsnapped his seatbelt and shifted from under the steering wheel, getting to his knees on the seat. Jim was watching him, lips compressed into a thin line against the pain caused by Blair’s movements. Blair kept one hand pressed against his side, hoping that Jim wouldn’t notice as he carefully leaned across to check on the injuries caused by the windshield’s shattered glass and the roof’s metal shards where the tree had ripped through. Jim was wedged against the truck door and seat back and Blair hoped he could somehow get to the tool kit Jim kept in the back of the truck.

The wounds on Ellison’s face and neck were, thankfully, superficial, the bleeding already slowing, beginning to clot. Blair shakily undid the buttons on his partner’s coat, praying that he would not uncover something he had neither the training nor supplies to treat. Pushing the coat aside, he opened Jim’s shirt and huffed out a breath of surprise and gratitude upon finding a series of shallow lacerations across the Sentinel’s shoulder and upper chest. He sat back on his heels, ran an unsteady hand over his face and looked over to find Jim’s pain-filled but steady gaze fastened on him. Jim shook his head a bit and offered, "from the look on your face I take it I’ll live but I don’t think I’ll be doing any foot pursuits any time soon, huh?" The blue eyes closed and Blair thought for a minute he had passed out but a tiny smile quirked one side of Jim’s mouth and the older man observed, "okay, Chief, time to execute your brilliant plan to get us out of this little fix."

"Sure Jim, no problem, or as Conner would say, no worries! I’ll just call up SAR and have them send out a chopper and team with extrication equipment. But that’s going to be just a bit of a problem since we agreed to leave the cell phones home because someone wanted to make sure there would be no distractions for our ‘relaxing’ weekend getaway." Blair grinned at his partner’s glare for reminding him of that little decision. "Nah, seriously Jim, I just wanted to make sure you were okay before I get the tool kit out of the back. I figure I can saw through part of this and use the crowbar to pry the truck roof away from you. You just stay here and I’ll work as fast as I can." Jim started to protest, but a raised eyebrow by Sandburg brought said protests to an abrupt end. Jim glared at him once again even knowing his Guide was immune to his patented glare as his partner merely snickered at him.

Blair gingerly turned to the driver’s door keeping his arm pressed against his side. He knew that Jim had to hurting pretty bad to not have noticed the way he was protecting his ribs. He pushed against the door using his left arm and both feet and got the door open a few inches. Propping himself against the steering wheel he again pushed, only stopping when the pain suddenly stabbed through his injured side. Once the pain subsided, Blair again attacked the door, pushing for all he was worth. The door opened a few more inches and Blair decided it was enough to squeeze out. With a few choice words and a lot of squirming, Blair finally found himself on the ground. He popped his head back into the truck to check on his partner, knowing that all the movement had to have caused him considerable pain. Sure enough, Jim’s pallor had increased, his brow creased with lines of pain. "Jim, I am so sorry but there was no other way to get the door opened. Can you get the dial turned down?"

Jim nodded tersely, jaw working to keep the gasps of pain from escaping. He had watched Blair’s struggle to get the door open, determined to stay quiet, though each shift and jolt had caused pain to shoot up his injured leg, head throbbing in his effort to hang onto consciousness. When Blair finally managed to crawl out of the truck, Jim let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes in hopes that the pain in his leg and head would ease. He heard Blair talking to him, but the words weren’t registering. He reluctantly opened his eyes and found Blair hovering anxiously at the partially opened truck door, "Chief, I’m hanging in here. Go on and see if you can get to the tools." Eyes focusing on his partner, he noticed for the first time since he had been injured that Blair wasn’t wearing his jacket and frowned, seeing how the younger man was shivering in the icy wind. "What happened to your coat Chief?"

Blair shrugged, "I must’ve left it back on the trail after you got hurt. Don’t worry Jim, I’ll be fine. Once I start clearing this tree away, I’ll be warmed up in no time. You just rest and let me take care of the rest, okay?" Jim managed a faint grin, closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the seat, feeling exhausted. Blair watched for a few minutes; when the older man’s breathing slowed and evened out with sleep, he moved to the back of the truck. Moving slowly to avoid jarring his injured side, Blair made his way past the tree limbs to where he thought the tool kit would be. Finally spotting the kit under a mass of branches it took him some time to pull it free. Inside he found a small handsaw, the crowbar and a stout tarp. He stood at the back of the truck’s cab and began the arduous task of sawing through the tree limbs trapping his partner inside.

The wind howled and swirled around the young man, sweat pouring down his face, back and chest from his exertions turned icy causing him to shiver constantly. He took no time to wipe it away, kept up the steady motion with the handsaw, having already removed several of the smaller limbs. He now concentrated on the largest limb, the one mainly responsible for wedging Jim inside the truck. Hours had passed, the faint light receding rapidly as night approached. Blair knew he had to finish this one task before retreating to the truck for the night.

Jim was peripherally aware of Blair’s struggles to free him, but couldn’t rouse himself from the pain free fugue he had found when fumbling with the pain dial. His leg was throbbing but it seemed to be from a great distance, his arms felt weighed down and his head too heavy for his neck to hold upright. Concern about his partner pushed against his fog filled mind, but the worry slipped away when pain flared at any attempt to focus. He was warm, too warm but after the struggle against the icy wind earlier that day the heat was most welcome and he hugged his jacket tighter around his torso.

Blair had slipped into an automaton like state, keeping the saw moving down and through the wood, no longer noticing the cold, the encroaching darkness, the cessation of the heavy winds or the clearing sky overhead. He only knew that he had to move the limb away from the truck in order to free his partner and worked on to that end. When the saw tore away the final strips holding the limb together it took the young man a few seconds to realize what had happened. He shook his head to clear it and heaved a sigh of relief. He had vacillated between his desire to get the limb cleared away and his need to check on his partner, his need to hear Jim’s voice and see him in order to reassure himself that the older man was still okay and kept working.

Blair dropped the saw into the bed of the truck then turned to pull the limb away from the roof of the truck. Pulling, yanking, cursing, the heavy limb slowly gave up its hold on the truck and with a loud cracking abruptly broke free. Blair had set his feet against the back of cab to pull and when the limb suddenly came free he fell backwards onto the debris. He was unable to stop the shout of pain when fireworks exploded in his side. Panting, gritting his teeth, he struggled to sit up and wished belatedly he hadn’t been in such a hurry. He managed to get to the side of the truck before he vomited the meager contents of his stomach mixed with bile. The violent contractions caused even more pain in his side, the pain caused more nausea, resulting in a bout of dry heaves. Finally gaining control, Blair pushed away from the side of the truck and slid down and curled on his uninjured side, feeling a warm wetness spread from the wound. He wrapped his arms around his middle, knowing he should move, get back to check on Jim, but he was so tired; just rest for a few minutes, then I’ll get…..Blair slid into the beckoning black void.

Jim was floating in a warm, dry, safe haven, dark and comforting. No pain invaded this place, nothing to worry about, no urgent situations to handle. He knew this wouldn’t’ last, shouldn’t last, there was something…but right now he would enjoy the peace. A muffled shout intruded, calling Jim back to the place where the wind howled and pain overwhelmed. He tried to ignore the sound, settled back into his haven when new sounds invaded, sounds of painful retching and shorts breaths filled with pain. Awareness edged him back, back to where the pain of his injured leg consumed him, where the painful cuts and lacerations made him catch his breath and where he had left his Guide…. Blair!! Totally aware now, all traces of lethargy gone, he strained to hear his partner, strained to see him in the darkness that had fallen while he drifted in a kind of limbo. There, in the back of the truck, he’s having trouble breathing. What happened to him?

Jim pushed himself upright and discovered he could push aside part of the heavy limb that had trapped him inside. He undid the seat belt his partner had left secured about him and gingerly straightened up to peer toward the back of the truck. Blair lay curled on his side, breathing slow and shallow, faint sheen of sweat on his face. Focusing his sight, he groaned when he saw the dark, wet stain spreading across Blair’s shirt. He shifted to open the rear- sliding window of the truck, but it was jammed by debris. Jim took a deep breath then shouted, "Chief!! Chief, can you hear me?" Silence was his only answer. Cursing under his breath, Ellison checked to see if he could get his door open. He found the door was warped by the damage from the downed fir and he knew his only way out would be sliding over to the driver’s side door. He rearranged the sleeping bag under his leg, took off his belt and used it to secure the bag around the injured limb. Jaw clenched with determination and no small amount of pain from his efforts, he started toward the door.

The opening of the partially opened door was far too small for Jim to maneuver his injured leg through. He gripped the steering wheel and the edge of the seat, planted the foot of his good leg against the door and pushed. Tendons protruded from his neck, muscles in his arms and shoulders taut with strain, leg trembled with the pressure exerted. Jim felt he was about to pass out when the door hinges groaned and began to swing outward. He renewed his efforts, consequences be damned. Two inches, three, four inches more, then nothing, the door simply refused to open any further. Muscles twitching from the strain, Jim lowered his head against the seat, breathing through the pain. Okay, get up and get to Blair. He’s hurt and no one else is gonna help you!

Ellison held his breath as he eased himself to the ground. When the world stopped whirling round, he started moving to the back of the truck. Progress was impeded more by his injured leg than the debris surrounding his truck. It seemed to take hours to make his way to the tailgate. Once again he called on reserves of strength he thought long gone, using his arms to push himself onto the tailgate and into the bed of the truck. From there he simply pulled himself, dragging his injured leg propped on top of his good one, until he reached his partner. Blair’s face was icy cold and his breathing was still slow and shallow. Jim pulled his shirts up and tried to examine the puncture wound he found just beneath Blair’s lower ribs. It was still sullenly bleeding, but Jim figured it would eventually stop if Blair stayed still, not a problem at this point since the younger man was unconscious. Jim pulled the shirts back down and held pressure lightly with his hand. Sandburg was shuddering with cold, he was wearing a t-shirt, a thermal henley and a flannel shirt, but the temperature was still dropping and Jim was concerned his partner would soon become hypothermic. He unwrapped his belt from the sleeping bag holding his injured leg and pulled it free. Ellison pulled several of the broken branches and made a cushion of sorts from the boughs, put his good leg on them then placed the injured one next to his good leg and strapped them together with his belt. He had found the tarp Blair had discovered earlier, covered them with the insulated sleeping bag, then pulled the tarp over that.

He wrapped his arms around his partner in a further effort to warm up the young man, again holding light pressure against the wound with his hand. Jim felt his last reserve of energy drain away and, holding to his Guide, slid into an exhausted sleep.

Fog drifted through the forest, blanketing the area in eerie silence. The two men in the back of the truck slept on, worn out from their struggles and pain. The smaller man shifted until he was backed snuggly against the Sentinel’s chest, emitting a soft sigh at the warmth of the contact. The large arms around him tightened even more, the older man holding onto his friend, protecting him even in sleep.

Hours passed, and as the sun broke over the mountain peaks and began to burn away the night’s fog, the forest awoke. Ellison slowly dragged himself from the depths of a dreamless slumber that had been closer to unconsciousness than sleep. And with waking came the pain from his injuries. His leg throbbed and ached with a viciousness that took his breath. His chest and neck stung from myriad cuts and lacerations, his head felt twice its normal size. One arm was numb, the one Sandburg had slept on during the night. Jim tilted his head, focusing on his partner’s heart rate and breathing. Both were slow, but steady, reassuring him that the younger man was resting. He carefully removed his hand from the wound he had held pressure against all night and huffed a breath of relief when no fresh blood appeared. He eased away from his Guide, carefully shifting his injured leg from beneath the sleeping bag and tarp. Dizzy from the effort of sitting up, Jim lowered his head, touching his chin to his chest waiting for the lightheaded feeling to clear. He heard Sandburg moving fitfully, mumbling about ‘cold’ and a faint smile curled his lips at his partner’s grumping. He waited until the younger man had settled back to sleep, then bent to check out his injured leg. He removed the ace bandage, gripped the edges of the denim where Blair had cut it the day before and ripped the material up to his knee.

Gauze removed, he probed the area of the break with trepidation, noting with relief that the swelling, while not reduced, had not worsened with all the exertions of the night before. The area around the gouges made by the old trap were dark red and angry looking with faint red streaks running a short distance from the wounds. While there was infection, it wasn’t bad and shouldn’t be a concern any time soon. Ellison re-bandaged his leg and propped it once again on his cushion of fir boughs. Searching through the debris in the bed of the truck, he spotted one duffel bag and with a little judicious stretching and verbiage, managed to snag it with the fingertips of his left hand. The duffel contained Sandburg’s extra clothing for the weekend, including his old plaid jacket. Digging through the contents he discovered other treasures thanks to his partner’s haphazard packing methods. Two bottles of water and a bag of trail mix along with some dubious looking granola bars. Ellison shrugged, who was he to question good fortune?

Knowing he needed the fluids more than the food, he finished off half of one bottle of the water, then tore open a granola bar. It was rather ancient, but since there was no mold he finished it off in a few bites. Breakfast over, he considered what course of action would be best to get them help. Blair was right when he had jokingly chastised him yesterday, it had been his decision to leave behind cell phones and pagers, anything that would intrude on this little getaway. Jim scrubbed one hand over his head angrily, that line of thinking wouldn’t get him anywhere and he needed to focus on the here and now, not what had already happened. He figured he could fashion a crude crutch from the abundance of limbs in and around the truck and use that to limp back to the main road which was about ½ mile from where they had initially parked the truck, what?, just two days ago. Two days that now seemed like a week or longer. Subtle movement caught his attention and he shifted closer to his partner who was gradually waking.

Blair shifted and started to roll over onto his back when pain stabbed through his injured side, abruptly halting further motion. Eyes opened to find Ellison hovering over him, one hand on his shoulder, worried blue eyes searching his. Great, Ellison in mother hen mode, what did I do this time? He looked down at his side, breath hissing as he remembered the day before, Jim injured and then the tree coming down on the truck. He had been working to get his friend out of the truck when, when…oh yeah, felt like something ripped in my side and then…that’s all, except for being REALLY cold, then I was warm again and, and I felt safe. He looked up at Ellison and shook his head, "how did you get out of there Jim? You were like so wedged in the truck by that tree, not to mention the roof of the truck." Ellison wave his hand is dismissal, "I got out, but only after you got rid of that damned tree limb. There wasn’t that much of the truck roof holding me except over my head and once you got rid of the weight from the tree it wasn’t a factor. You did good Chief, but why didn’t you tell me you were hurt? What happened?"

"Um, I was sort of..uh, well, you see when the tree came down a little branch, just a twig really, poked me in the side but I got it out and when I was moving the limb away from the truck I think I think I probably just pulled a muscle, yeah, just pulled a muscle or something and I felt a little sick to my stomach and since I didn’t eat much yesterday I guess I got a little light headed or something and guess I passed out." The expression on Ellison’s face told Sandburg he wasn’t buying that little obfuscation. Blair sighed and said, "Look, Jim, it’s really nothing. It wasn’t even bleeding much after I pulled it out and I had to do something to get you out, so I did." He shifted to a sitting position, Ellison holding his shoulder to steady him. "Looks like we’re going to be helping each other if we’re going to get out of here, huh Jim? How are you doing, how’s your leg? Man, I had almost forgotten about your leg. Is it okay, are you in much pain?"

Ellison shook his head. Only Sandburg could twist the conversation back around to Ellison instead of answering his questions, avoiding talking about himself, his injuries. "My leg is going to be fine, thanks to you Chief. Now hold still a minute while I check this insignificant scratch of yours." One glance at Jim’s face let Sandburg know his partner was determined to check him out, so he leaned back and waved one hand, "Go ahead big guy. You’ll see it ‘s really nothing to worry about."

Ellison raised the shirts away from the puncture wound. The bleeding had stopped, and he probed gently, checking for signs of internal injury. The area felt warm and slightly swollen to touch and he could see dirt and bits of wood and dirt embedded in the wound. He checked Blair’s forehead, noting it was warm also and his partner’s face was flushed, but his temp was only up a degree or two at most. Lowering Blair’s shirts, he reached behind him finding the other bottle of water. "I want you to drink this Chief, all of it. Yes, all of it," when his partner’s head began to shake in disagreement. "You need the fluids and if you think you can, I want you to eat some of this trail mix. You need your strength if we’re gonna get out of here. I figure we’re less than ½ mile from the main road. Maybe we can flag someone down to get us to a doctor or hospital or something."

Reluctantly Blair took the bottle and began to sip the water, then drank eagerly when he realized just how thirsty he was. Jim watched as the water disappeared, chuckling softly as he watched his oh, so stubborn friend. The younger man heard the chuckle, raising one eyebrow in question, but not stopping until the bottle was drained. Jim handed him the bag of trail mix and watched as a small portion disappeared in a few minutes. He pulled the duffel bag around and produced the old plaid jacket. "Here you go Chief, this ought to help keep you a bit warmer." Blair gratefully pulled the jacket on, thankful he had stuffed it in at the last minute.

"Okay Jim, what’s next?"

"Next, I’m going to see about splinting my leg and then I’m make myself a crutch. I’ll hike out to the road and see about catching us a ride."

"No. No way, Jim. You’re in no shape to be trying something like that. I’ll go. I’ll be able to move faster, make better time. You just stay here and rest and I’ll bring back the cavalry." And with that, Blair struggled to his knees, then to his feet. Jim caught his hand, stopping further motion. "Just where do you think you’re going Chief? You’re in no shape to be traipsing around the woods." Blair shook his head and tugged his hand away. "Uh uh, no way man. You are not going to pull that on me. I’ll be just fine. See it doesn’t even hurt when I’m careful. So, I’m going and you’re staying and that’s final!"

Ellison started to argue, stopped when he saw the stubborn, determined expression on Sandburg’s face. Changing tactics, he offered, "Yeah, but what happens if you get turned around and it takes even longer to get me help? So we should just go together. You can lend me a shoulder so I can keep the weight off my leg and I’ll do the navigating. Deal?" Blair shook his head. "Man you are a real piece of work. Even I can follow the tire tracks back to the road without getting lost, so that argument is moot. You are going to stay here and keep that leg elevated and when I bring back help, you had better be right here. You got that partner?" Jim glared at the younger man, but that glare had never, ever worked on Sandburg. Jim relented, knowing Blair was right, he would slow them down with his injured leg, but he was worried that Sandburg might be injured worse than either of them knew.

"Fine Chief. I’ll be right here, but if you’re not back by tonight, I’m going to come looking for you. Got that?" Sandburg grinned at his friend, knowing how difficult it was for his Sentinel to give up control over any situation. "Got it big guy. I’ll be back before you know it." Blair pulled the sleeping bag and tarp back over to his partner, made sure he had the bag tucked around him. "I’ll head straight for the road, then head west toward Everson. Should run into someone before too long. You’ll be okay?" Ellison nodded and raised a hand to Blair’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Yeah, buddy, I’ll be fine here. You just take it easy and be careful. And remember, if you’re not back by this evening, I’m coming after you." Shaking the younger man, then releasing his shoulder, he gently cuffed the side of Blair’s head. "I’m counting on you partner."

Blair eased himself down to the ground, looked back at Jim, nodded once and headed toward the road. He picked his way carefully around all the fallen debris, taking care not to jar his injured side, keeping his arm pressed against the wound. It was still early morning and he figured that he should reach the main road within two hours, max. He worried that Jim’s leg was hurting him worse than he let on and that the leg was going to get infected in spite of the care he had taken cleaning the wounds. Would Jim be able to maintain control of the dials if he started running a temperature? Maybe he should’ve looked for the first aid kit before he left, he was sure there was some ibuprofen or acetaminophen left. No, he had to get back to the road and get help, that was his first priority and ‘what iffing’, worrying about what he couldn’t prevent was not going to help at all. Jaw set with determination he picked up his pace.

Ellison waited until he could no longer hear his partner’s slow but steady progress before shifting out from under the sleeping bag the younger man had tucked around him. He studied the tree limbs in the truck, selecting several pieces to use as a splint. Working slowly, steadily he soon had the leg splinted using the ace bandage Blair had applied the day before. He left his hiking boot on, using it for extra stability, even if it meant having to cut it off later. He pulled the duffel bag with him as he slid out of the truck bed. Back on the ground he gingerly set his injured foot on the ground, gritting his teeth against the pain shooting up right to between his eyes. Swaying for a moment he waited the world to stop whirling. He had spotted two large, straight limbs near the truck that would work to make a crutch. Snaring the first, he tossed it away when he saw it was partially broken near the far end. The other was a bit farther away and after a couple of painful, hobbled steps, he abruptly sat down, barely managing to keep the injured leg straight out in front of him. Sweating profusely by now, he grabbed the tree limb, frustrated with the continued weakness he felt. Getting to work, he stripped away the smaller branches, grinning when he found there was a natural crook in one end, maybe not the most comfortable, but at least a place to fit under his arm. He could wrap one of the shirts in the duffel bag around that end for padding. Getting to his feet took more time and energy than he thought possible. The limb was about a foot too short for him to stand straight, but it would have to do. He made his way back to the tailgate where he had left the bag and after getting back up into the truck bed, fell back exhausted, exasperated that it had taken so much out of him for such simple tasks. Using his good leg, he pushed himself back to the sleeping bag and tarp to rest, setting his internal clock for afternoon. He knew he needed the rest, especially if Blair didn’t make it back for the evening deadline Ellison had set. He wondered if Blair had made it back to the road, worried that Blair’s wound had started bleeding again or that the younger man had some internal injury that was being aggravated by his efforts. Worries about his partner followed him into a fitful sleep.

Blair was at the point where placing one foot in front of the other was major progress. It was still easy to follow the two ruts that passed for a road on McLean’s property, all he had to do was follow them out to the road, turn west and hope to flag someone traveling to or from Everson for help. He glanced at the sky, noting the sun still shining but more and more clouds were flitting across the blue sky, harbingers of, what else?, rain. A stitch in his left side made walking uncomfortable but the wound had not started to bleed since beginning his little trek and that bolstered his confidence. He wished again that he had borrowed Jim’s watch and that he hadn’t left his pocket watch on the nightstand at the loft. He tried to judge the time but the sun rode lower in the sky this time of year in the northwest, even at noon. Lowering his gaze back to his path, he barely avoided tripping over more downed tree limbs. Keep your eyes down on the ground or you’re going to end up on your face and that’s an unpleasant prospect right now. Just pay attention to what you’re doing, get to the road and find some help. If it clouds up and starts to rain, so what? You can’t control the weather oh Shaman of the Great City.

An hour later found Sandburg looking at the road in amazement and relief. His pace had slowed considerably the last little bit, testament to the increasing discomfort in his side. He took a moment to check the wound, no bleeding but it looked more swollen around the puncture site. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned left and headed west, hoping a car or truck would pass him and soon.

Two hours later the sky was overcast with dark clouds, the wind was again picking up and Blair hadn’t seen the first bloody car on this godforsaken road. Where the hell was everyone? Was this some holiday no one had bothered to tell him about? A holiday that forbid anyone to drive? The stitch in his side had blossomed, aching and jarring with each footfall. He stopped for a minute, wiping the sweat from his face with his coat sleeve, grateful once again that he had brought it and that Jim had found it amidst all the mess in the truck. He wondered again what time it was and how close to evening it was, knowing that Jim would keep his promise to come looking for him if he hadn’t returned by nightfall. Grimacing at the pain in his side, he checked again and found it not only more swollen but that blood was very slowly seeping from the injury.

Shit, shit and double shit! That’s all I need right now. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself. He focused on getting help for his Sentinel, opened his eyes and determinedly headed down the road, waiting for that first vehicle to wave down.

Daylight waning, Sandburg knew something was drastically wrong. It was hours since he’d started walking west and he had seen no one, not the first person or car. His gait was uneven, tired legs somehow keeping him upright and moving forward. He kept his head down most of the time in face of the cold wind. He saw a signpost and wearily gazed upward to read Nooksack River. He squinted down the road and saw the two-lane bridge they had crossed just two days before. In the dwindling light he couldn’t quite make out the other side, being near sighted and without glasses is definitely a disadvantage right now. He stumbled on toward the bridge, hoping he could make the last few miles into Everson, remembering it was only a couple of miles from the bridge to the small town. Hope bolstered his energy level and quickened his step. Halfway across he halted, dismayed to discover the reason for the lack of traffic on the road. The west end of the bridge was damaged, impassable from the windstorm. There were reflective barrels set up to warn drivers of the problem and a sign posted advising a detour 10 miles north was in force until the damage could be repaired. Blair wearily rubbed his face, then started out once again for Everson

Trudging on across the bridge, he cautiously picked his way through the worst of the damage. He was close, very close to getting across when he heard a vehicle approaching from behind. A large 4x4 was barreling down the road, directly at him, headlights on bright. Blinded, Blair raised his right arm, frantically waving to the driver to stop. The vehicle seemed to be picking up speed as it closed on Sandburg. Realizing the driver either couldn’t see him or didn’t care, Blair looked for some place, any place that would be safe, out of the way of the recklessly driven vehicle. He ran for a downed guardrail, hoping it would afford some protection. The vehicle braked suddenly, rear end fishtailing. The 4x4 swerved into a sideways slide, heading for the side of the bridge Blair had gone. Eyes wide, disbelieving, Blair watched the vehicle as it slammed into the guardrail he was hidden behind. Metal shrieking against metal, the violent collision sent the young man tumbling backwards and over the side of the bridge into the icy river, fed by melted snow from Mount Baker.

Jim opened his eyes to fading blue skies that were rapidly filling with low dark clouds. He cautiously moved his injured leg, hissing as the pain increased. Biting his lip, he slowly sat up and saw that the swelling had gotten worse in spite of the splint and keeping his leg elevated. He opened his hearing for any indication that Sandburg was returning with help, but heard only the sounds of the forest around him. Slowly inching his way from the truck bed he lowered himself to the ground, using his hand fashioned crutches to keep his balance and his weight off his broken leg. Moving slowly around the truck he found the cooler and pulled out two bottles of water realizing he was incredibly thirsty and hot. That’s not a good sign. Ellison leaned over, checked the wound site and found the skin inflamed and tender with angry looking red streaks running up and down his leg from the deepest of the cuts. Great, an infection on top of everything. Sandburg did his best to clean the wound, but it was probably inevitable this would happen.

Squaring his shoulders, he carefully made his way to the truck cab. Rooting through the debris he spotted a small bottle of acetaminophen that had fallen to the floorboard at some point. Shaking out three, he swallowed them down with half the bottle of water. Taking a deep breath, he finished the rest and tossed the empty into the truck, then jammed the pill container into his coat pocket along with the other water bottle. Jim glanced at the swiftly darkening sky and set out after his partner.

Two hours later found him at the edge of the roadway. His leg ached from his toes to his eyeteeth, that is, when stabbing pains weren’t shooting up from the injured limb to the top of his head. His vision had blurred at times and the makeshift crutch had rubbed a raw spot under his arm, in spite of the old towel from behind the truck seat he had used for padding. Resolutely finding the pain dial he again turned it down, realizing he was finding it harder and harder to keep under control, the pain eroding his stamina and concentration. He turned west and started down the road, following his partner’s trail. It was completely dark now and another storm was headed his way. He extended his hearing, listening for traffic, shaking his head in puzzlement when he found no sound of any vehicles.

Stumbling, the crutch once again snagging on debris along the roadside, Jim stopped and wearily lowered himself to the asphalt surface, knowing he had to take a break. The low-grade temperature he had when he first started out had been steadily climbing in spite of taking more of the acetaminophen as he trudged along. Shaking his head he again puzzled over the lack of traffic on the road he traveled. The windstorm had been over hours ago, the rain just starting to return in the past half-hour. Fishing out more of the tablets, he drank thirstily from the remaining bottle of water. His vision had been fuzzing out more and more as he followed his partner’s path, a result of the fever and pain, but he knew Blair had headed toward the small community of Everson, so he simply followed the winding road. He gingerly stretched out his injured leg, grimacing as the simple movement caused shards of pain to shoot up and down. He desperately wanted to lie down and rest for just a few minutes, but knew once he did, he might not be able to convince his tired body to get back up. Maneuvering his way upright took more effort than he cared to admit, his good leg shaking with the strain of holding his weight, even with the aid of his clumsy crutch. Exhaustion leeching his waning strength, he swayed, somehow managing to stay upright. He moved forward slowly, no grace in his movements, all his focus on remaining vertical and going forward, albeit in a shaky crooked line.

Ellison lost track of time, mechanically moving forward (mostly), looking for his partner. He had long ago lost control of the pain dial, his jaw ached from clenching it tight against the groans of pain that wanted to escape every few minutes and his leg had become one raw, open nerve ending that had pain radiating with every step. Sweat beaded in his eyelashes, slid in rivulets from his Jags cap to his shirt collar, cold settled in his joints, heat radiated from his face. Even the cold drizzle did little to cool the fever that had settled in with a vicious tenacity that left him light-headed and unable to think past the point of finding somewhere, anywhere to rest for just a few minutes. His hearing cut in and out, playing tricks on him in the darkness. Just a few minutes before he thought he had heard Sandburg yell, panic coloring the young man’s voice, calling a single word "Jim". He staggered forward one, two steps before succumbing to the all-encompassing pain, unconscious before his head struck the pavement.

Bright lights intruded on his soft cocoon of darkness, pain stabbing through his head. Batting away hands that tried to open his eye again, he rolled, then gasped when the pain from his leg made him forget all about the pain from the light. Panting, teeth gritted against the agony, he fell back against the wet pavement.

"Easy there mister, just take it easy. I need to check you out, see how bad you’re hurt. Try not to move anymore, okay?" The voice came from above Jim who nodded slightly in agreement, especially to the not moving part. Breathing slowly in and out as his guide had taught him, he slowly managed to gain control, enough that he slowly opened his eyes to see the anxious face of a county deputy hovering over him. "Geez mister, how did you manage to get out here with a broken leg? Did you have an accident, wreck your car or something?" Ellison huffed a tired laugh, thinking it should have been so simple. He wearily shook his head, unable to find the energy to speak in response to he deputy’s questions. The deputy moved back to his car and Jim could hear him advising his dispatcher of his location, Jim’s apparent injuries and the need for an ambulance. He lay there, fatigue weighing down his limbs, unable to blink without a conscious effort. A fleeting thought pushed at the edge of his mind, a nagging nudge that he couldn’t focus on enough to grasp the meaning of, sensing it was important, but how it was important he couldn’t discern. "I’ll just ask Sandburg to help me figure it out with one of his relaxation techniques when I get home. Blair knows how to get past this……BLAIR!!!!!

Shifting to sit upright in spite of the agony of his leg, he yelled for the deputy. The startled man dropped his mic and ran to the injured man’s side, urging him to lie back down, that help was on the way…to lie still or he would hurt himself further. Grabbing onto the deputy’s jacket, Ellison yanked his face down to within of few inches of his own and growled "My partner’s out here and I need to find him. Now help me up from here and to your car…now!" The deputy tugged at the hands taloned in the fabric of his coat in vain. Looking at the pale, strained, totally determined face in front of his, the deputy tried to reason with the man. "Look mister, I don’t know anything about anyone else out here. Heck, since the bridge was damaged in the storm, we’ve had all traffic diverted north around Sumas. Now, it’s gonna take the ambulance a while to get here, so let’s just get you into the back seat of my car and out of this weather." Jim shook his head, frustration edging his voice, "You don’t….listen, deputy. My name is Jim Ellison, I’m a detective with Cascade PD. My partner and I were up here to get in a little fishing and we were trapped in my truck when a huge tree came down. Sandburg got us out, then left early this afternoon, trying to get me some help, but I know something’s wrong and I’ve got to find him. Now are you gonna help me or not?" Ellison knew he wasn’t making a lot of sense, but his sense of urgency was clear to the deputy who nodded in agreement. Jim gritted his teeth in anticipation of the pain moving would cause when the deputy’s words sank in. " Wait a minute, you said traffic had been diverted since the storm, why are you out here now?"

"We got a report that a couple of teenagers boosted a truck and were last seen on this road headed for Everson. The caller said they seemed drunk and if that’s the case, what with the bridge closed down, we were afraid they probably wrecked if they tried to get across. The caller said the truck was speeding, roared past his place about an hour ago. You’re lucky we got the call, you might not’ve been found until sometime tomorrow if I hadn’t been out trying to locate that truck." A sense of dread settled over the sentinel, he wondered now if what he had passed off as pain and fever hadn’t actually been his guide calling out for help. More determined that ever, Ellison got his arm around the deputy’s neck and pushing with his good leg, levered himself up, only the deputy keeping him from falling flat on his face for a few seconds. With a bit of swearing and manhandling, the deputy finally got him to the cruiser and settled onto the back seat. The deputy shoved an emergency blanket at Ellison who used it to cushion his injured leg. The car rocked as the deputy settled into the driver’s seat, once again radioing his dispatch to have the ambulance meet them at the damaged bridge. Managing to strap himself in using the center restraint, Jim braced his right arm against the back of the front seat as the deputy raced toward the bridge.

Blair sighed in blissful contentment as the gentle waves lapped around his legs, soothing movements that lulled him toward sleep. He turned his head, searching for the sun’s warmth, needing to feel the heat on his face that was much cooler than his lower body. But instead of soft padding from a lounge chair, sharp edged rocks scraped his face and Blair raised his head, immediately regretting the motion. No sun greeted him, no light at all graced the landscape…or should that be nightmarescape? The warmth he had enjoyed just moments before transformed into numbing cold; Blair realized he couldn’t feel his feet and lower legs at all and the rest of his lower torso was freezing. He heard the roar of water, not gently ebbing waves, no this was the sound of a rain-swollen river rushing over and around large boulders, water tumbling past and over him. His head throbbed, the pain concentrating on the large lump he found behind his left ear when he raised his arms, arms that moved reluctantly in response to his brain’s orders. A sharp pain in his lower side halted any more movement. Searching his memory he found nothing to tell him why he was lying on the riverbank half in, half out of the freezing water.

Calling upon his depleted reservoir of energy, he struggled to pull himself further up the muddy, rocky bank, at least far enough to get his legs and feet out of the water. Long minutes later, panting from the exertion, he managed to get his feet out and collapsed face down. Oh god Jim, please come down and wake me from this gosh awful dream and…..JIM!!, Memories flooded back, Jim injured, unable to walk, his trek down the road through the darkness and storm until he reached the bridge and, and…what? How did I get here, what happ…? Come on, think Sandburg, think! He remembered everything up to that point and then, nothing. He moved gingerly to his side, cautiously felt the area of the puncture wound, relieved when his hand did not encounter warm, sticky blood. Maybe whatever it was that had happened to him hadn’t done any further damage there. Knowing how bad it was going to hurt, he took long, calming breaths before shakily climbing to his cold numbed feet. He could barely see the river’s bank in front of him, much less if there was an easier way up and out. Blair set one foot against the bank, lifted both wooden feeling arms up and started the arduous task of climbing to the top of the bank. Pain knifed through his side, the lump on his head made him feel off balance, but he didn’t stop, kept climbing, chanting silently "gonna get up, find help for Jim. Gonna get out, find help for Jim." Sandburg blinked through the sweat stinging his eyes, stunned to find himself at the top of the bank, a good fifteen feet above the river. Struggling to his feet he clumsily turned in a circle, aware he had no idea which way led to the road. Groaning in frustration, he stumbled to a large tree, leaning against it while trying to think past the pounding in his head and ignore the growing pain in his side. Sandburg, you have got to get it together here! Now just try to think, the river runs, runs ‘a river runs through it’, ‘the river runs deep’…stop that! Would you just concentrate here? Think, you know this, you…oh yeah, the river would have swept me downstream, so I need to follow the river upstream. And with that he pushed away from the tree to check the river, squinting down in the darkness, wishing again for just a few minutes of sentinel senses. Judging from the sound below him, he turned left and began following the river back, please god let this be in the right direction, to the road.

The deputy knew the area well and had little trouble getting them swiftly to the bridge. The cruiser’s headlights cut through the murky weather and lit up the abandoned truck on the far end of the bridge. The front of the truck hung over the edge of the bridge, both doors to the cab wide open. The deputy climbed out, flashlight in hand to check for victims. He turned, startled, when Jim started climbing out of the back seat. "Wait a minute there detective, just stay put for a few while I check around for those kids, okay?" Jim shook his head, jaw set, determined look on his face. "My partner set out this direction hours ago and we didn’t see any sign of him on the way here. You gotta understand deputy, Sandburg is a trouble magnet; if there’s trouble anywhere in a 5 mile radius, it will find him." Jim struggled to his feet, crutch under his left arm, deputy hovering at his right side, somehow knowing nothing he said would change the detective’s mind. Together they approached the truck, checking the open driver’s door for any sign the teens might still be inside. Both men sighed in relief when they found no one inside, just a couple of empty beer cans.
The deputy swung his flashlight around, searching for any sign of the kids, hoping they were nearby in case either of them was injured. He started toward the back of the truck when Ellison grabbed his arm, "Look there, at the edge of the bridge!" The deputy swung the light back around, searching for whatever had caught the detective’s attention. Ellison headed for the twisted metal near the front of the truck, metal that had once been the side of the bridge.
Maneuvering around the scattered debris, he lowered himself carefully and plucked a piece of fabric from the jagged edge, brought it to his nose, inhaling the familiar scent of his guide. He caught the plaid cloth from his partner’s coat inside his clenched fist, panic momentarily overwhelming him. Closing his eyes against the pain, the exhaustion and worry, he tipped his head back, letting the cold drizzle strike his upturned face. Where are you Chief?
The deputy moved behind the injured man who was visibly swaying, knowing he was close to collapse. Strobe lights pulsed through the darkness from a distance; the ambulance was approaching the bridge. The deputy placed his hand very carefully on the detective’s shoulder, feeling the shudders coursing through the big man’s body. Ellison slowly turned, droplets running across his pale features and the deputy wondered which were from the rain and which were from his eyes.

The ambulance came to a stop at the undamaged end of the bridge, the paramedics distrustful of the damaged structure to safely support another vehicle. The deputy gently gripped Ellison’s right arm and turned him toward his cruiser. Satisfied that the teens were nowhere around the wrecked truck, he helped the injured detective into the back seat again and drove them to the waiting ambulance. Jim was aware of the paramedics checking his leg, face, neck and chest. Allowed them to check his blood pressure, temperature and pupil reaction.
After checking with the hospital, they started an IV and immobilized his injured leg after cleaning the open wounds. But when one of the paramedics tried to take the scrap of cloth from his clenched fist, the Sentinel reacted. Ellison shoved the man away, then pushed up off the stretcher and lurched to the open doors of the ambulance. The second paramedic followed, protesting, trying to stop the injured man from getting out. Ellison swung around, pinning the man with a glacial blue gaze. "My partner is out there, he’s injured" he ground out, "and I have no intention of leaving here without him right beside me in this ambulance. You got that?" The paramedic quickly nodded his understanding, thinking to himself that he was lucky to still be in one, uninjured piece.
Ellison dismissed him summarily, then distractedly removed the IV from the back of his left hand. Staring out across the bridge to the place where he had found the piece from his Guide’s old plaid coat, he swallowed heavily. He knew he needed to get out there and find his partner as soon as he could, aware he was close to collapsing from his injuries. Ellison clumsily made his way down from the back of the ambulance before suddenly slumping down on the bumper as the world went tilt in a slow whirl, excruciating pain enveloping his leg. He noticed the deputy kneeling in front of him, but couldn’t make out what the man was saying. He tried again to get to his feet, but the night abruptly grew darker and darker and he succumbed to the pain, the exhaustion, not hearing the deputy yell or feel the deputy’s arms catch him as he fell into the void. Blair stumbled again; roots kept rising from the ground to trip his tired, frozen feet and wondered if nature had conspired against him and his partner.Maybe it’s trying to tell us to stay in the city? Well, geez, think about what happens every time we try to "get back" to nature .
The tired young man thought about the kayaking trip they had planned when Simon had his high school reunion. Well, nature didn’t have much to do with that one, except going 40 miles in the wrong direction. Oh, good one to remember Sandburg. Especially when you’re trying to find the road in the dark by following a river! Other memories flitted through his mind; Quinn and the mountain men when Quinn took Simon captive, the quiet weekend visiting Jim’s Coast Guard cousin, the little fishing trip when he and Simon followed Jim. Oh, yeah, don’t forget going fishing and catching poachers instead. Yep, it seems that Mother Nature is trying to tell us something. Stay Home! I’m telling Jim as soon as he’s better, no more camping or fishing trips. If he wants to get close to nature for a quiet weekend, we’re going someplace warm…with lots of sand and surf and palm trees and tall women with long auburn hair in skimpy little bikinis. Oh yeah, that’s better. Keep those good thoughts coming there Sandburg.
Envisioning himself on that warm beach distracted him from the ever-increasing pain in his side and head. Blair kept one hand stretched out in front of him to keep from bumping into trees as he kept plodding forward, peripherally aware of the river to one side, guiding him back, hopefully, to the road.

How long have I been following this river? Hours, days? I think this is taking longer than the Lewis and Clark expedition. Well, maybe not, but I sure could use the help of Pocah…no wrong story. That was Virginia and Captain…something. I need Saca…Sajaca…..the Indian gal who pointed Lewis and Clark in the right direction. Sandburg leaned against a tree and lifted his hand from his injured side, the hand that was wet with a warm, sticky substance. The young man knew his side had been bleeding for a while now, he’d just been ignoring the fact, knowing there was nothing he could do about it right now, knowing he had to keep moving, his friend needed help and he was the only one who could get him that help. Then he remembered Jim’s final words, that if Blair wasn’t back by dark with help, he was coming after him. With a groan, Blair pushed away from the tree, knowing that the older man meant every word, now worried that Jim was out there in the dark, trying to find Blair, broken leg and all. Once again he followed the river, praying to any and all gods who would listen for a little assistance here.

Blair was finding it so difficult to put one foot in front of the other now. His feet were so heavy; he must’ve stepped into some really heavy-duty mud somewhere along the way. He thought he should stop and wipe the mud off his boots, but somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that stopping would be avery big mistake. So, he kept moving forward, focusing on finding the road, finding help for Jim, finding a huge tub full of hot water and a big bed covered in a dozen thick comforters. Forget the beach; forget the bikinis, what I wouldn’t give for a hot bath or shower right now. ‘Cold and wet is my world’, maybe I should have it tattooed on my forehead or maybe make it my family crest motto?
Blair knew his thoughts were skipping around like the rain hitting the puddles all around him, but he did manage to hold on to one thought, finding help for Jim. His side no longer hurt, it was waaayyyy past hurting. His head felt strange, heavy yet light at the same time, his legs were numb from the cold and exertion of lifting his so very heavy feet for so very long. And still moved on, because he needed to find help for his partner who was out there in the dark and the rain and the cold looking for him, because he was following the river back to the road to get help for Jim. The thoughts circled through his aching head, vision fuzzed in and out of focus. Mind on track for another round of ‘get Jim help’ he was astonished when he found himself bouncing off a split rail fence that enclosed the yard of a two story log house. Blair sat on the soggy ground, open mouth catching rain, just staring at the warmly lit house in front of him. Finally closed his mouth and his eyes tightly, convinced it was an illusion, that due to the blow to his head while in the river he had finally reached the hallucination stage of the evening. Warily he opened one eye. Huh! It’s still there, maybe it is real. Lights are on, somebody please be home!
Struggling to his feet once again, he held onto the fence rails as he moved around, searching for the gate. Blair struggled with the gate’s latch, cursing the stubborn catch, almost sobbing in relief when it finally gave way and the gate swung inward. Blair had taken in a deep breath, getting ready to call for help when a dark shape raced from the front porch straight for him. The yell caught in his throat and he turned to run back to the gate, desperation and fear giving him an extra burst of adrenaline he thought long ago depleted. But even that didn’t help him; the large dog knocked him off his feet and Blair landed awkwardly as he tried to avoid hitting on his injured side. Breath knocked out of him, the dog, make that very large, massively large dog, stood on his chest, head lowered toward his face, growling in warning. The dog sniffed him cautiously, then lifted his massive head and barked twice. The front door opened, spilling more light onto the porch along with several people. Blair kept his gaze locked on the dog, not wanting to make any kind of move that would provoke the beast, just hoping the owner was among those coming from the house’s interior and would rescue him.

"George, George, get off him. George!! I said get off him, now!" The dog lowered his head once more, sniffed then moved back and off Blair’s chest. The young man lay very still, not trusting the dog or the dog’s owner at the moment. An elderly man leaned over Blair and asked, "What the dickens are you doing out here on a night like this?" As if not expecting an answer, he reached down to Blair to pull him off the ground. Two other men, almost as old as the first, grabbed hold of Blair’s other arm and together managed to get Blair on his feet. He looked at the men, then at the dog waiting behind them, looked back at the eldest of his rescuers, "I need to use your phone if that’s alright? My partner’s hurt, and I need to call for help. I..uh….my….. fren…" Blair slowly sank to his knees in spite of the men’s attempts to keep him upright. Blair squinted at them, "Please, Jim..trap…..river an’…..,"and pitched headlong into beckoning the blackness.

Jim blinked slowly against the harsh interior lights of the ambulance, felt the stretcher beneath him and heard the engine starting up. Wearily he pushed himself to a sitting position, aware that the paramedic had restarted the IV in the back of his left hand. He looked at the paramedic, this time seeing the name tag ‘Roberts’. "Where is Sandburg?" Roberts looked puzzled, then understanding dawned in his eyes, knowing the detective was referring to his partner he had been so adamant about finding earlier. "I don’t know about him, but I do know the deputy has radioed in for a search team to help find him. Now you need to lie back, we’ll be taking you in to the closest doctor, who’s at a clinic in Everson. Unfortunately, we have to take the long way around, so it’ll be at least 30 minutes before we’ll get there."

Jim shook his head slowly but decisively, no way was he leaving until Sandburg was located. "I thought I made myself clear earlier, I’m not leaving until I find my partner. Now help me out of this rig and get the deputy." Roberts shook his head at the brusque tone, "Nope, you’re not getting out of here and doing anymore damage to that leg. You stay here." He held up his hand to forestall Ellison’s protests. "I will go get the deputy and let him fill you in on what’s going on, but you will stay in this ambulance and you will lie here and rest until I do. You got it?" He barely suppressed a grin when the detective grudgingly eased back down on the stretcher with a curt nod of agreement. I wonder how many crooks simply start talking when he turns that glare on them? Good thing I’m married to Angela; I see that same look turned on our boys and it works every time! Roberts advised his partner that he was going to check with the deputy before they could leave.
He turned back to Ellison who shifted restlessly on the narrow cot, pain etched on his face flushed with fever, breathing shallow and raspy. Roberts gently shook his shoulder, pain filled eyes focused on his, "Just tell the deputy I need to talk to him, need to find Sandburg before…" An onset of coughing interrupted his plea, the motion jarring his broken leg with a vengeance. Roberts checked the IV again, then exited the side door of the ambulance, stepping out into the cold rain whipped about by the swirling wind.
He hurried over to the deputy’s car and filled him in on Ellison’s refusal to accept further treatment until his missing partner was found. Both men hurried back to the ambulance, climbed in and settled on the bench alongside the stretcher. The deputy started to fill Jim in on what had transpired when his portable radio crackled to life. "Dispatch calling unit Lincoln 5 - 8, copy?" "This is Lincoln 5 - 8 dispatch, go ahead with your traffic."

"Received a call from Mr. Evans at 583 Old River Road. He advised finding a male subject on his property, subject is injured and advised Mr. Evans that he was looking for help for his injured partner, something about being caught in an old trap." Ellison shot straight up on the cot during the transmission, hope shining in his eyes, the pain from the sudden movement dismissed in light of this development. "Copy that dispatch, can you advise of the subject’s name at the River Road location?" "Lincoln 5 - 8 be advised the name is possibly Sandefur. Mr. Evans advised the subject was not quite, uh, coherent at the time of the report." A wide grin broke out across Ellison’s face as he turned to the deputy, "Yep that’s my partner. How soon can we get there?"

Roberts helped the stubborn detective down from the back of the ambulance, keeping an arm around the injured man’s waist and his weight off his broken leg. Jim barely noticed he was so focused on just getting inside to his friend. He had won the argument on the ride to the house on Old River Road; no way he was lying in the back of this rig while everyone else went inside to check on Sandburg. No sirree, not this Sentinel. But the sight that greeted his searching gaze startled Jim, and the others into silence. Blair was lying on the couch, covered in a mountain of blankets, facing the roaring fireplace. Three men sat around a card table, evidence of an abandoned game lying on the surface. But what halted any attempt at conversation was the, the, well, it looked kind of like a dog, that was half sitting beside the couch and half lying on top of the sleeping (unconscious?) young man. The massive head had raised off Sandburg’s chest when Jim, the deputy and the paramedics entered the front door, a low rumble sounding from the deep chest. Mr. Evans, the oldest of the men sitting at the card table got up and walked over to shake their hands. "Sure am glad to see you folks, that youngster’s been more than a handful, let me tell ya. He came around when we were carrying him inside the house. Thought we’d never get him settled down, then George there took over." He nodded his head toward the canine who had once again lowered his head to rest it on Blair’s chest. "Yep, George just backed him up to the couch, then kinda laid down on him. He kept on babbling about his injured buddy, but I guess that would be you, huh sonny?" aiming a meaningful look at Jim’s leg.

"What the hell kind of dog is that? Did he hurt Sandburg?" Jim took a few cautious steps toward his partner, but stopped as soon as ‘George’ turned his head to stare at him. Blair spoke softly, "He’s an Irish Wolfhound, Jim. I’d be careful about how you speak to him, his feelings are easily hurt." Blair peeked over the massive dog, eyes twinkling with mischief. Jim shook his head, "Wolfhound, huh? Well, you think ‘George’ there will let the medics take a look at you?" "I don’t know Jim, I think he’s pretty comfy here. I know I haven’t been this warm in a loonnnggggg time!" Blair turned his attention to the gentle giant, "Whaddya say there ‘George’? Can you get down and let me check on my buddy over there? Who by the way, shouldn’t be standing on that leg," this last said with a frown.

Simon chewed on his cigar has he strode down the unfamiliar hallway of St. Joseph’s Hospital, looking for room 470. He had driven to Bellingham after receiving a call from the local sheriff’s office advising him that two of his men were injured and had been shipped there after a local doctor had checked them over at an emergency clinic. Approaching the room, he could hear Sandburg’s voice raised in indignation, "I did so find help for us, it’s not my fault I had to take the long way around to get to it. I sure as heck didn’t want to get knocked off that bridge…hey, did they ever find those two kids who stole that truck?"

Simon grinned when his best detective wearily answered, "Sandburg, I told you already, the kids were found hiding in the brush near the bridge the next morning. And yes, you did find help, but only after I found help first. Now will you please pipe down, I’d like to get a little sleep here." "No way, man! You did not find help, help found you, I talked to Deputy Royce myself while you were in x-ray. So, I did find help for us, even if it was a little late. And just so you’ll know, the next time you decide we’re gonna take a few days for a nice, quiet little getaway, I’m signing up for extra shifts! No way am I ever going out camping, hiking, fishing, whatever around here again. You attract trouble way too easy." Before the indignant Sentinel could respond, his guide continued, "But if you’re into the surf and sand scene, I might be talked into a taking a few days to head someplace warm. Where the beaches are sandy, not rocky, where the women can actually wear a bikini and not freeze to death in 5 minutes flat." Blair yawned, a giant jaw cracking yawn, then continued, "Tall women with long, curly auburn hair and big blue eyes and.."

Simon decided to rescue his friend from the rest of the young man’s vacation fantasy, "Sandburg!" Said young man turned in his bed, startled blue eyes widening before a huge grin split his face. "Hey Simon, how ya doing? Did you come all the way up here to check up on us? Well, lemme tell ya, Jim’s not ever planning days off for us again. Did you hear what happened to us? Jim’s truck is like toast, but he’s still going to try to get her fixed again, can you believe it? And I found a new friend, ‘George’, he’s like the biggest dog you’ll ever want to see." Simon lifted a hand to halt the rest of the epic, which he was sure would last at least the next hour or so. "Sandburg, please. I wanted to ask how you’re doing, but I can hear that you’ll be fine."

Turning to Ellison who was lying propped up in bed, casted leg atop several pillow, trying to smother a grin with one hand, he posed the question. "Are you getting any rest being in the same room with him?" nodding his head at Sandburg who had an insulted look on his face.

"Yeah, Simon, actually I am. You see I just kind of tune him down and the background hum puts me right to sleep." A loud ‘humph’ came from the other bed as Jim continued, "He’s not so bad, Simon," he turned serious for a moment, "if it hadn’t been for him, I’m not sure I’d be here right now. Did you speak to the doctors?" Simon nodded his head affirmatively. "Well, Mr. Stubborn over there walked for miles trying to find help with a puncture wound that had just missed his small intestines. As it was, he had lost a lot of blood by the time old Mr. Evans found him, well I guess I should say after ‘George’ found him. He’s just lucky he didn’t need major surgery when they got him here to the hospital. And thanks to his hard head he didn’t have too severe a concussion from his meeting with a boulder in the middle of the river. And I guess I should thank ‘George’ that Sandburg didn’t have any ill effects from hypothermia."

Blair was shaking his head, opening his mouth to disagree with Jim, when Simon interrupted again, "Uh, uh, Sandburg. I spoke to the doctors before I came in here and from what they tell me you’re both very lucky. What with your injuries, not to mention a certain hard headed detective who walked those same miles with a badly broken leg and a fever that’s turned into a dandy case of pneumonia, well, I’m just surprised either of you have the energy to lie here and argue about who got who help and where you’re going on your next days off. Well, gents, let me put your minds at ease. It’ll be a month of Sundays before your next ‘days’ off and I’m quite sure there will be quite a backlog of paperwork for you to catch up on when you’re out of here and back to work."

Ellison glared at the captain at the mention of the hated paperwork while Sandburg fairly bounced on the bed in indignation. Holding up his hand to stop the anticipated protests from both men, Simon turned toward the door, "Oh, just so you’ll know, Mr. Evans called and said he would be happy to bring ‘George’ by for a visit when you two are back home at the loft. Oh, and just which one of you is ‘Sonny’?

The End

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