Judgements Page 13

  It took up residence beside him, pacing his movement. Still he ignored it.

  "Man, you are stubborn."

  The fly now had a voice, but it didn't matter. He'd already attempted that battle. He had no energy left for words. Only walking. He had to find his Sentinel. Before the desert claimed them both.

  "You're gonna kill yourself. And for what? Some stupid cop?"

  Eyes fixed on the horizon. Limbs moving through quicksand. Flies buzzing around decaying corpses...

  With a shudder, Blair dropped heavily to the ground, his entire body shaking in fatigue.

  "No one's worth this, man."

  Stubbornly, the exhausted Guide raised his head.

  "Jim is..." he whispered.

  The image of his friend was fixed clearly in his mind. Drawing strength from that vision he pushed himself to his feet. He took one step and then another.

  And fell again.

  Sand filled his mouth and he spat it out, angrily shaking his head. Black spots blossomed in front of his eyes and a choked sob of terror broke free. Straining to see the horizon between the dancing motes, he felt his mind tremble with the knowledge that his body had finally betrayed him.

  Sliding into the waiting abyss, he felt himself drawn backward to lean into the support of Bowden's strong arms. The awareness of that strength held him poised on the brink.

  "Easy, buddy. I've got you."

  "Jim..." Blair poured all the intensity he had left into that single word.

  "Yeah. I know. Don't worry. I'll help you find him."

  "Harvey! Jens! Come in here, quick!"

  The two young men looked at each other in surprise at the sound of Connie's cry. Jens walked over to the closed door that led to their prisoners.

  "I told you to be quiet, Connie," he called out. "Soon as Ben's back, he'll take care of everything."

  "But something's wrong with the cop! I don't think he's breathing," Connie insisted.

  "So what? He's just savin' us the trouble if he's dying," Jens answered, glancing over at his buddy.

  "Maybe we'd better check," Harvey suggested. "Ben's gonna be pissed if he's dead. He was lookin' forward to doin' the cop himself."

  "Shit." Jens nervously wiped his face with his shirt sleeve and paced over to the upended wooden crate that was serving as a makeshift table. Grabbing Jim's gun, he returned to the door. "I'm comin' in. And I've got a gun, so just stay back, Connie."

  With a jerk of his head, he gestured for Harvey to open the door. Hinges screeched as the slatted panel swung inward, revealing the darkness within. Hesitantly, Jens took a step forward. Harvey fell in behind him.

  And they both flew backward, landing on the floor in a tangled pile as Jim launched himself through the open doorway. Using his greater size and weight to his advantage, the detective threw himself on top of the dazed pair. Pain flashed behind his eyeballs and he struggled to deal with the shift from almost absolute darkness to the brightness of the outer room. That momentary delay almost cost him his life. The click of the trigger was his only warning that Jens had managed to raise the gun. Twisting to the right, Jim rolled away, wincing at the explosive discharge.

  He dove back into them immediately, grabbing for the weapon. His momentum carried both he and Jens across the floor. Jim's fingers closed around the barrel and he wrenched the gun out of the younger man's hand. He started to scramble away, trying to get to his feet, when he was tackled by Harvey.

  Driven back against the wall of the shack, Jim managed to turn sideways. With a quick shift in balance, he brought a knee up into the younger man's stomach. The whooshing grunt as air was forced from his attacker's lungs and the heavy thud when he collapsed to the ground were sweet sounds to the Sentinel's ears.

  A noise to his left reminded him of Jens presence and he spun in that direction -- only to take a step back when he was blinded by a shaft of sunlight streaming through the cracked boards of the outer wall. Blinking furiously, he dodged right, hoping to place some distance between himself and the other man.

  Strong hands gripped his shoulders and thrust him to his left. He careened against the outer wall again and heard the distinct thud of fists connecting with soft flesh. Raising the gun automatically, he turned to face what he assumed was a new attacker.

  Surprise washed across his face when he found a man he'd never seen before standing over Jens' motionless body. The stranger looked up and Jim's gaze locked with his. Images of sand, wind and stars flashed through the Sentinel's mind. The eyes that held his were ageless -- filled with peace and violence at the same time.

  "Jim?"

  Without looking away from the old man, Jim held out a hand in warning. Connie stood trembling in the doorway, watching the frozen tableau uncertainly.

  "I am not your enemy, Warrior," the old man said softly.

  Frowning at the odd way the man addressed him, the Sentinel studied the old Indian carefully. Dressed casually, in a khaki short-sleeved shirt and pants, the newcomer radiated a feeling of power and authority. The sun-darkened face told the story of his life in each line and wrinkle. The intense brown eyes and long black hair were vaguely familiar, reminding him of someone he had known... someone he had once trusted.

  But he wouldn't trust easily now. Not with Blair in danger. Mistakes in judgment had led him into this disaster. He was determined not to make any more.

  "It is not a simple thing, to see the truth," the old man said evenly.

  "Deception wears many faces," Jim whispered. "I can't afford to make the wrong choice. Another life is at stake."

  "Your young companion walks the edge. More than your strength is required. Do not let your fears blind you to help when it is offered."

  The words sank in, reaching the core of the Sentinel's awareness. He felt them strengthen his resolve and ease the panic he felt raging inside.

  "How did you ...?" Jim asked softly, lowering the gun.

  "The spirit of a great cat told me that there was a need. So I came."

  The Sentinel stiffened in surprise and he eyed the old man uncertainly.

  There was movement at the door and Jim's attention shifted to the four Indian men who entered and stood flanking the older man like an honor guard. There was a quick flurry of conversation in a language that the Sentinel didn't understand, and then five sets of eyes swiveled in his direction. Four heads inclined in quick, but respectful nods.

  "The time grows short, Warrior. We will guard these while you hunt," the old man said softly.

  Confused, Jim took a step forward. He stopped abruptly as the sound of an approaching vehicle reached his ears.

  "Help comes," the old man said.

  "Who are you?" Jim whispered.

  "My name is Joseph."

  Jim shook his head. "No, I mean..."

  "If the spirits are willing, we will meet again, soon. There will be time for answers then."

  Any further questions were cut off when Dave Heller skidded into the room. Gaze flashing over the occupants and the two still figures on the floor, he gave an audible gasp when he caught sight of Jim.

  "You must be Detective Ellison. I'm Dave Heller, the local Sheriff," he said, walking forward, his hand extended.

  Jim eyed the man warily. If this man was the Sheriff, he was Holland's boss. Could he be trusted?

  Seeing the indecision in Jim's eyes, Heller paused. "I understand your reservations, Detective, but I am here to help. I've spoken to your Captain. Banks told me to tell you he's never letting you and your partner out of Cascade again. Says he can't stand the long-distance worrying."

  A faint smile crossed Jim's face. "Sounds like something Simon would say," he murmured softly. Sliding the gun into the waistband at the back of his jeans, he reached forward and shook the outstretched hand, finishing the introduction. "Jim Ellison."

  "I can see you've been busy in my jurisdiction," Heller said, glancing over at the two unconscious men. "I appreciate that. Just sorry it was necessary." He shifted his gaze to Connie and smil
ed. "Your mom's going to be happy to see you, honey."

  "If it weren't for Jim, I'd be dead," Connie said tremulously. "Ben's crazy, Sheriff. And his father... they were going to kill us when they got back."

  "Got back from where?" Heller was pure business at the flip of a switch. He glanced around the room again and his eyes met Jim's questioningly. "Where's your partner... Sandburg, right? He's here, isn't he? He's okay?"

  "No, Sheriff, he's not okay. We got separated. Holland and his son went after him," Jim replied grimly.

  "Do you know where he is?" Heller's face reflected both anger and worry.

  "They ran into Bowden, Sheriff," Connie interjected breathlessly. "Blair was hurt and Jim convinced Bowden to help him."

  "Hurt? How badly?" Concerned hazel eyes met worried blue ones.

  "Badly enough that even Sandburg won't fight a trip to the hospital this time," Jim said tersely. "He took a bullet in the leg. Holland's son shot him when they attacked us on the road. By the time we met up with this Bowden character, he was running a fever. We need to find him. Before your Deputy and his son do."

  "My squad's out front."

  Heller turned back to Joseph and gave him some quick instructions. Connie grabbed Jim's arm and stared up at him anxiously.

  "Ben's killed before, Jim. I can't prove it, but I'm sure of it. Be careful."

  The Sentinel patted her hand and gave her a brief smile. Catching Heller's nod, Jim followed the Sheriff out to his car and slid into the passenger seat. Dave cranked the cruiser to life and headed out onto the highway.

  "When you ran into Bowden, did he have his bike or his jeep?" he asked, handing Jim a bottle of water.

  "A trail bike. Looked like it had a range of about fifty miles."

  "More like thirty in the shape it's in," Heller mumbled. "He was probably out camping. He does that a lot. He probably took your partner back to his place. Any chance you'd recognize the spot you met him? We can cut cross country from there. Save some time. "

  "I'll recognize it," Jim said firmly. He sat quietly for a few minutes, sipping at the water, letting the soft streams of cooled air flow over him as the air conditioner in the car hummed to life. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, and filled with apprehension. "How well do you know this guy Bowden, Sheriff?"

  "Bowden's a good kid," Dave said quietly. "Keeps mostly to himself. He's been out here about four years. Grew up in a pretty rough neighborhood in New York City."

  "That where he learned to hate cops?"

  Heller shot a quick look at Jim and then focused his attention back on the road.

  "Could be..." Dave admitted. "Look, if you're worried that he'd do something to your partner, you can relax. Bowden never would have gotten involved if he didn't intend to help him."

  "I hope you're right," the worried Sentinel whispered, turning his attention to the passing landscape.

  The throbbing in Blair's leg had become a leaden pounding that coursed through his body and left an echo in his skull. It was an annoying counterpoint to the faint buzzing which still filled his ears. They'd found the spot where they had left Jim, but there had been no sign of the older man. Bowden had ordered the anthropologist to rest while he hunted for tracks. Sipping from a water bottle, Blair leaned heavily against the side of the bike, scanning the horizon anxiously.

  "Any luck?"

  "I can't find any kind of trail leading away from here, Blair. He must have headed back to the road." Bowden rose to his feet and wiped the palms of his hands on his pants.

  "The road?" Blair turned to look at the other man, his concern clearly written on his face. "Are you certain? I mean, not to malign your tracking skills, but I'm not sure even Jim could pick up a trail through this stuff."

  "You mean there's something that 'supercop' can't do? I'm amazed."

  Blair frowned, concentrating hard to make sure he understood the words, and then shook his head in annoyance.

  "I didn't say he couldn't do it, Bowden, I just --"

  "Give it a rest, Blair. I was just kidding. Mostly, at any rate. Guess old habits, and prejudices, die hard. It just surprised me to hear you admit that maybe there was something your friend couldn't do. Not giving up are you?"

  "No way, man. I'd never give up on Jim, just like he'd never give up on me," Blair declared adamantly. "He is the best, Bowden. Being a cop is only part of who he is. There's a lot more..."

  "I know, I know," Bowden grinned, raising his hands in surrender. "You've managed to convince me, all right?"

  "Too bad I was so out of it before," the young Guide muttered, the pain of his failure to protect his Sentinel stabbing like a knife into his heart.

  "Wouldn't have mattered, Blair. You could have talked a blue streak and it wouldn't have done any good. I wasn't ready to listen," Bowden admitted quietly.

  The anthropologist nodded absently, recognizing the truth of the other man's words. His gaze swung toward the highway.

  "When you ... when we left him... he could see, couldn't he? I mean, his vision must have been back on-line if he walked out of here, right?"

  "He looked right at me, Blair. How else could he have done that if he couldn't see?"

  Blair closed his eyes and shook his head tiredly. How else? Man, he's a Sentinel. He could have smelled you a mile away, heard your breathing from twice that distance...

  "Shit!"

  Blair's eyes snapped open and he looked at Bowden in surprise. There was a definite expression of fear on the man's face.

  "What --?"

  "Get on the bike, Blair. NOW!" Not waiting to see if he understood, Bowden suited actions to words and pulled the startled anthropologist up behind him, kicking the cycle to life.

  "Bowden, what the hell... is going on?" Grimacing at the shaft of pure fire that shot through his leg at the unexpected movement, Blair fumbled for a tighter grip on the other man's shirt. The trail bike swayed unsteadily, and he gulped back another gasp of pain.

  "We've got company!" Bowden yelled back.

  Blair risked a quick glance over his shoulder. Behind them he could see the familiar shape of what had to be a patrol cruiser -- bubble lights and all. He pounded on Bowden's back urgently, screaming at the top of his lungs.

  "Bowden, that's a squad car! You hear me? That's help, man! You gotta turn us around."

  In answer, the man pumped the gas, increasing their speed, still headed in the opposite direction from where Blair wanted to go.

  "What are you doing?" the frantic Guide shrieked into his ear.

  "Getting our butts... yours in particular... outta here," Bowden snarled back.

  "Damn it, you promised me --"

  "Just shut up a minute, Blair! And hang on!"

  The words were distorted, but it was the same tone that Jim used whenever he reached the point of no-return in arguing with his headstrong partner. It was typically a signal that things were about to go from bad to worse. Blair hung on tight as Bowden drove the cycle down a steep incline, cutting across to the base and heading toward an even rougher stretch of ground.

  "They won't be able... to follow through here... so easily..."

  What he understood of Bowden's breathless explanation left Blair even more confused.

  "I don't understand! Why are we running from them when they can help?"

  "That's not... the Sheriff... it's the Deputy's squad..."

  "So? Like it makes a difference here? Come on, man, turn around. I'm not playing this game with Jim's life in the balance," Blair howled angrily.

  "The deputy's name... is Bob Holland... He's got a son... named Ben..."

  Eyes going wide in shocked comprehension, Blair stared back over his shoulder. For a moment, the dust trail behind them cleared and he got a good look at the driver, and, more importantly, the young man in the passenger seat.

  Raising his voice, Blair tried to make himself heard over the roar of the engine. "If the deputy's half the loony tune his son is, we're in deep trouble... can't you go... uhhhh... any faster, ma
n?"

  "We're about... topped out..." the other man called back. "I'm gonna try... to lose them... in here..."

  Blair took a look ahead and saw what looked like the obstacle course from hell. Before he could debate the advisability of the choice, they were already in the middle of it. All Blair could do was cling to the back of Bowden's shirt. He gripped the seat with his right leg and tried to shift his weight with each swerve of the bike. His left leg was useless, the muscles abused beyond the point where he had any strength remaining in them.

  "They're headed around the far side," Bowden yelled. "That'll gain us a few minutes."

  Unable to speak, Blair tied to squeeze the other man's arms to communicate his understanding, but his strength was failing rapidly. He closed his eyes and focused all his energy into just staying on the bike as Bowden guided it through a series of eroded stream-beds. Stones skittered away from the churning tires, and sand slewed in all directions.

  Suddenly the bike seemed to hang in midair, and then it hit the ground with a bone jarring impact. The sheer, blinding force of the pain exploded through Blair's body and everything went numb. He was falling...

  Dazed, Blair struggled to raise his head. He was laying on his side on the sun-baked ground. A dozen feet away, he could hear Bowden cursing at the bike, frantically trying to start it. Blair managed a quick look over his shoulder and swallowed hard when he saw the cruiser gaining on them.

  "Get out of here, man. I'm the one they want," Blair called out. "Go find Jim."

  "They'll kill you if I leave you here," Bowden answered, dragging the bike around and pounding on the seat in frustration.

  "And the desert will kill Jim if you don't find him," Blair replied desperately. "Go! You're the only chance either one of us have, man. Tell Jim what happened. He'll know what to do."

  Cursing, Bowden finally kicked the bike to life. He took one look at the deputy's car racing toward them and then his gaze flashed back to meet Blair's for just an instant. With a terse nod, he gave the bike a shove and tore off.

  Searching for anything he could use as a weapon, Blair scrabbled in the sand. His fingers closed on a fist-sized rock and he clutched it desperately. Determined to meet his attackers on his feet, he pushed himself upright just as the squad skidded to a halt in front of him.