SVS-13: The Mountie Who Fell To Earth by Josephine Darcy, Part 3
 The trip north passed in a blur of images for Blair as he drifted in a drug induced haze. He was only vaguely aware of the plane ride; before they landed he recalled swallowing something -- something that sent him almost immediately back to sleep. He dreamed then of snow, of blinding white wilderness and the loud roar of engines as he raced across some impossibly icy surface. Eventually it was the cold that woke him, the cold and the awareness that someone other than Jim was pressed tightly up against his body. He stirred, tried to shake off the arm that was wrapped tightly around him. "Hey," a disgruntled voice protested. "I'm not like gettin' personal or nothin' here, Sandburg. But I'm cold!" It took Blair a moment to place the voice, and when he finally did, he relaxed. The Chicago cop -- Ray Kowalski. And the embrace, while tight, wasn't intimate -- nothing more than an attempt to share body heat. Aware now of the cold, Blair realized he was also shivering. There was a strange musky scent in the air, and somewhere nearby Blair could hear the oddest mewling sound, like large animals snuffling great amounts of air. He raised his head to look around. They were off to the side in an enormous room -- looked rather like a warehouse to Blair, save that the walls were thick cement. A corridor on the far side looked wide enough to drive trucks through, and near it Blair could see several large ice-terrain vehicles, along with smaller snowmobiles. Large packing crates cluttered another corner of the building. Blair searched out the weird snuffling sound -- he stared in bewildered alarm at the animal pen not far from him. Baleful brown eyes gazed back at him from the body of the largest animal he'd ever seen in his life. The animal was missing a heavy rack of antlers, but still Blair recognized a moose when he saw one -- probably weighed close to a half ton, standing well over two meters high. And behind him stood at least ten of his buddies, all watching Blair and Ray coldly. A quick glance at himself confirmed the sensation that he was well and truly trussed-up. Someone had kindly shoved him into an oversized Artic snowsuit, but his feet and hands were bound tightly. His hands at least were bound in front of him. Ray too was bound -- he must have simply slipped his arms over Blair's head to get them around him. Thankfully, Ray too was wearing a snowsuit; Blair imagined they would both be dead now if they were still in their street clothes. His breath was heavy in the air. "Where are we?" "Don't know. Just woke up myself. I think they gave me somethin' -- tranquilizer or somethin'," Ray muttered. "Damned cold though." A tall blond man stood not far from the moose cage, a high-powered rifle cradled in his arms. He periodically spared Blair and Ray a menacing glance -- obviously a guard sent to watch them. "Moose?" Blair asked, wondering if Ray knew what the animals were doing penned in. "No thanks, I'm not hungry," Ray responded immediately. Despite everything, Blair snickered, barely choking back a laugh. "I meant--" "I know," Ray replied. "But yer guess is as good as mine. Did I mention I was cold?" "Yeah, I think you said something like that earlier," Blair nodded. "Sorry about this," Ray sighed. "Hey, man I don't mind," Blair assured him, guessing the cop was uncomfortable with the closeness. "No, I mean the whole kidnapping-dragged-off-into-the-middle-of-nowhere thing. Probably not an everyday occurrence in the life of an anthropologist," Ray explained. Blair grinned wryly. "You'd be surprised. Besides, it's not your fault." "I shoulda shot 'em," Ray grumbled. "You'd be dead if you had," Blair reminded him. "Maybe," Ray agreed grudgingly. "But I bet I wouldn't be cold. Hey, is it just me, or are those moose starin' at me funny?" Blair glanced over at the animals in question. "Don't know," he admitted. "How are they supposed to be staring at you?" "Good point. You don't happen to know if moose are those... herbi... omni... carn... you know those things that just eat plants and stuff?" "Herbivores?" Blair shrugged. "Don't actually know much about moose. They don't appear to have particularly sharp teeth however. That's a good sign." "If I get turned into moose-food, Fraser will never let me hear the end of it," Ray sighed in annoyance. "Wonder where he is?" Blair could hear equal parts concern and longing in Ray's voice as he spoke, but before he could answer the detective, a heavy door nearby opened and a familiar blond woman stepped out into the main room. Behind her were two of the men who'd confronted Blair and Ray in the parking lot. As she approached, Blair and Ray struggled to a sitting position, Ray releasing his hold on the shivering anthropologist. Jessica Burnheim, looking lovely in a white snowsuit, smiled brightly at the two of them. She stopped in front of Blair, crouching down to look more closely at him. "Blair Sandburg," she greeted with a happy little chuckle. "Welcome to my home." Blair raised his bound hands. "Some welcome." She just shrugged. "Well, I can't have you running away now can I? I've got plans for you -- a Jewish Shaman! What are the odds of someone like you just walking right into my life -- and so lovely!" She reached out to drag her fingernails lightly down Blair's cheek. Blair shifted his face away from her touch. "The spirits do love lovely things." Blair's heart stuttered at her words, and he shot a wary glance at the woman. "The spirits?" She nodded placidly, her eyes gleaming. "Surely you've felt the power here?" she asked. "A Shaman could hardly miss it." She motioned to the great warehouse around them. "This whole place -- it's my place of power." Blair took a blind guess. "You're a Shaman?" She shook her head. "No, not exactly. I actually have had a bit of difficulty in collecting anything so closely in tune to the nature-cycles." "Collecting?" She smiled again. "Yes, I collect power. Any kind of power -- athames, cauldrons, pentagrams, rune stones, bone-dice, fetishes, totems... and now I've got myself a bona fied Shaman and a... what did you call it in your book? A watchman or something...." She glanced happily over at Ray, studying his face. Her smile slipped and she gazed hard at the cop. She stood abruptly and turned to one of the men. "You have his badge?" she demanded, holding out her hand for it. The man nodded and fished the badge out of an inner pocket, handing it over. She flipped it open, staring at the Chicago P.D. emblem, and the name on the identification side. A look of rage reddened her face, and she threw the badge at the man. "You brought the wrong cop!" she shouted. "This isn't Ellison!" She threw her hands into the air and stomped around in a circle for a few moments. "I should have looked at him more closely before we took off. I should have checked!!" She cursed several times, walked back over to the man and hit him across the shoulder. "You brought the wrong cop!" "You said the cop with the anthropologist," he protested. "He was with the anthropologist." "You took the Mountie's partner!" she yelled back. "You kidnapped a Mountie's partner. Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you may have caused us? He won't stop until he finds him!" "How can he possibly find him?" the man protested. "We're in the middle of fucking-nowhere!" "Mounties can track a man across the snow by smell alone," she growled. "And, shit! This means the Watchman is still out there too! A Mountie and a guy with heightened senses!" "Maybe we should just kill them and move on then," the man suggested worriedly. "You'd be better off if you just let us go," Blair told her. "If you kill us, they'll never stop hunting you." "Kill you?" the woman stared at Blair incredulously. "I don't intend to kill you, Shaman. And I sure as hell don't intend to leave here -- I told you this is my place of power." She hit the man again. "Get the other men to stand guard -- and keep your eyes open. If the Mountie shows up, kill him! And kill whoever is with him. Go!" The man nodded, and hurried off. Only the large blond with the rifle remained behind, moving closer to keep an eye on Blair and Ray. Jessica crouched down in front of Blair again. "Oh, don't worry about dying, Blair," she assured him. "I want you very much alive. At least until the spirits get through with you." "What do you mean?" Blair swallowed nervously. She nodded. "The blood of a Shaman -- especially an unusual Shaman like you -- is very powerful. I intend to keep some for myself, for my own little collection of artifacts -- and I intend to sell the rest to various people throughout the world who share my tastes." She reached out to finger a long lock of Blair's hair. "Even your hair and fingernails will fetch a fine price. And when in time the spirits demand something precious and beautiful as a sacrifice, I'll have you to give them. No, you don't have to worry about me killing you -- not for along time to come." Blair felt the blood draining from his face at her words. There was a gleam in her eyes -- a determination -- she was quite serious in her beliefs. "You on the other hand," she glared at Ray. "You, I don't need. Any more than I needed that nosey Mountie. Thanks to him I lost the Cross of Coronado and he nearly ruined my medicine cloak." "So what -- yer just gonna kill me cus I'm not a Shaman?" Ray demanded incredulously. She straightened and stood up. "Yes," she agreed. "Of course, I'll probably wait 'till after your partner is dead. Just in case I need a hostage. Then I'll just grind you up and feed you to the moose." Ray swallowed uncomfortably and glanced over at the moose in question. "What are the moose for?" She smiled at that, her whole expression turning instantly sunny and warm. "Oh, I'm an artist," she explained. "I carve mystic icons out of their antlers. They're really quite lovely -- and they sell for a great deal. Maybe if you're really nice I'll show them to you before I kill you." With that she turned and walked away, pausing only briefly to talk to the tall blond man. "Ivan, make certain they don't move. If they do -- knock them over the head. But don't kill the short one -- I need him alive." She paused then and glanced back at the two men. "I wouldn't try to escape by the way. We're in the middle of the Northwest Territories -- there isn't a town around for hundreds of miles. This is an old underground military storage bunker -- hasn't been used in forty years. No one even knows it's here. If you did escape, you'd just freeze to death. It's twenty below outside." Ivan shifted his rifle in his hands and moved a couple of steps closer to the prisoners as Jessica disappeared back through the opened doorway. "Crap," Ray hissed under his breath. "She's a fuckin' psycho! How does Fraser do this?" "Fraser?" Blair asked uncertainly. Ray nodded. "It can't just be a simple theft case. Or simple murder. Or simple extortion. No, it has to be psycho serial killers, or pirate treasure, or ghost ships or nuclear submarines in the middle of the bloody Artic!" Blair just nodded, able to sympathize. He didn't feel the need to mention however that in his and Jim's partnership, it was mostly he who attracted the weirdoes. "Look, we've got to figure a way out of here before she hurts anyone. She's dead serious about that mystic stuff -- she completely believes it. She'll kill you and she'll drain me dry." "Where do we go when we escape?" Ray asked. "You heard what she said -- we're in the middle of nowhere. You ever been out here before?" Blair shook his head. He'd been to Canada several times -- but he'd never been this far out into the middle of the wilderness. "Fraser and I took a trip out here a few months back," Ray admitted. "Dog sleds and stuff -- he grew up out here. If it weren't fer him, I woulda been dead day one. Out here, if you don't know how to survive -- you don't, simple as that." Blair fell silent, his thoughts on Jim. He couldn't help thinking about the men out there keeping watch for the Mountie and anyone else he might have with him. If he knew Jim, even now the man was on his way to rescue him -- probably with the Mountie beside him. One or two men would be no problem -- Jim would see them long before they spotted him. But what if Jessica had ten or twenty men here in this complex? What if Jim and Fraser decided to take them all on by themselves -- he wouldn't put it past Jim. And somehow he suspected Fraser was cut from a similar cloth -- larger than life, heroic in every sense of the word -- especially judging by the way Ray spoke about him. What if they got themselves killed trying to rescue them? What if Jim died -- alone out there in the snow -- Blair shuddered, fighting back the emotions welling inside him. He didn't think he'd be able to stand that. Ray nudged him gently, moving closer to him again for warmth. "Don't worry, kid," he muttered. "He ain't gonna leave you out here." Blair just nodded. "Does your partner think he's bullet proof?" Ray grinned slightly. "Yeah, he does. He's not though." "Mine too," Blair told him, realizing his assessment of the Mountie was right. Two of a kind. "If anything happens to him..." "You wouldn't wanna go on livin'," Ray finished for him. Blair shot him a startled look, seeing a gleam of understanding in those clear eyes. He realized then that maybe Fraser and Jim had more than just heightened senses in common. Having partners who loved them had to count for something in the grand scheme of things -- and if this really were a place of power, then maybe the spirits would look favorably on the four of them.
Jim managed to call in a few favors, and in the end he and Fraser were able to catch a ride on an army helicopter to the small frozen airport in the middle of the Northwest Territories. Three hundred kilometers northwest of Yellowknife, the airport really was in the middle of nowhere -- possessing a name Jim couldn't pronounce. There was a small trading post attached to the airport, and a larger structure that seemed to function as a community hunting lodge. All three -- airport, post, and lodge -- were run by the same man, a hairy giant named Bull Pendergast. As Jim climbed down from the helicopter, he took a moment to adjust his senses to his surroundings -- it was night, but the brilliant fireworks of the Northern lights brightened the area more than enough for Jim to see. Snow and ice in every direction, they were in a semi-protected valley -- near a frozen lake, Fraser had explained, though Jim could see no sign of it. The thick forest beyond was white and eerie under the flickering colored lights -- the sky clearer than anything Jim had ever seen. He found his gaze drawn inevitably upward to those ribbons of light, quickly becoming lost in their dancing rhythms as his eyes focused farther and farther out into space as if trying to see to the stars beyond. He panicked, feeling a zone approaching and knowing he was Guideless at the moment. He tried to pull back, tried to focus his attention on something else. But those lights were everywhere -- so brilliant, so beautiful... Sharp pain flared briefly through the fingertips of his left hand, his sense of touch flaring up and momentarily dampening his eyesight. He closed his eyes swiftly, pulling his attention back into himself, breathing hard as he yanked himself back from the zone. Then he risked a glance downward, wondering what had caused the pain. Diefenbaker gazed angrily up at him, Jim's glove still held between his sharp teeth. He'd bitten Jim's hand -- nipped at his fingers. There was no blood, but it had pinched, and his hand was swiftly growing stiff with cold from the absence of his glove. He checked his fingers out quickly, and then gave the wolf a thoughtful frown. Diefenbaker just stared back at him, looking thoroughly irritated. Cautiously Jim took back his glove. The wolf made no attempt to stop him. Jim could understand then why it was Fraser spoke so often to the animal -- his expression really did seem to speak volumes. And it wasn't some noble and eloquent communion of man and beast; it wasn't some mystical sending of thoughts, words like 'we must rescue my wolf-brother, I will Guide you in his absence.' No, it was simply a disgusted look that said, "Yo, idiot, Blair's in trouble, pull it together before I bite your ass." Jim just nodded. "Understood," he agreed, and he headed into the trading post after Fraser. Bull Pendergast was sadly lacking in conversation skills. As Jim entered, Fraser was attempting to get as much information from the man as he could. The two Cessnas were stored in the hanger, but beyond that there were no other signs of Jessica Burnheim and her associates. "You must have some idea where they went?" Fraser was asking. Bull just shrugged and shook his shaggy head. His beard looked as if it hadn't seen a blade in twenty years. "Did she have a vehicle here?" Fraser asked. "Yep," he nodded. Then fell silent. "Well, which direction did she leave in?" Jim asked. He shrugged again. "Dunno. Wasn't watchin' very closely." "But you did see her?" Fraser pressed. "Did you see how many men she had with her?" "Looked to be about four," he replied. "Was watchin' my TV." He pointed to the small television set in the corner of the room. An old rerun of 'Bewitched' was playing. "Can you describe them?" Jim asked, hoping he might have seen Blair in the group. "Was wearing snow suits," he explained. "Two were unconscious. That's 'bout all I saw." Jim's eyes widened in shock. "Unconscious? Didn't it strike you as odd that two of them were unconscious?" "Nope," the man shook his head. "Figured they were Americans. Probably drunk." "Drunk?" Jim's eyes narrowed. From the heat coming off the Mountie he suspected the man was blushing in embarrassment. "Yep," Bull nodded. He motioned to the TV. "Been watching this witch show -- only one I get out here. They drink a lot." Jim shot a glance at the TV, where Samantha Stevens was serving highballs to Darren #1 and Larry Tate. He shook his head in disgust and headed back outside. The ground was covered in snow; if they had traveled in vehicles of some sort, there would be tracks around. Fraser joined him a few moments later. "We're about eight hours behind them," Fraser told him. "It was snowing when they left. There won't be any tracks." "Then we'll track them some other way," Jim replied. He headed toward the vehicle hanger. The two of them searched the Cessnas, and there Jim confirmed that one of the passengers had indeed been Blair Sandburg. His scent still clung to one of the seats. From the looks of things they'd had two snowmobiles and a larger vehicle waiting for them. But where they might have taken them, Fraser couldn't guess. To his knowledge there were no nearby structures out here. Jim headed then out to the perimeter of the airfield, scanning the area for anything that might give him some sign of where his Guide had been taken. He dialed his senses up as high as he dared, hating the way the cold stung his lungs as he breathed. But Fraser had been right -- the tracks were gone; sight wasn't going to help him much here. Scent was about all he had to go on. And then he caught something faint, so faint perhaps only microscopic traces of it were left in the air or on the snow itself -- Jim caught the whiff of engine oil. He followed it briefly, sniffing the air -- it led off to the west in a relatively straight line -- a track, a direction, something at last to go on. "Fraser!" he yelled, summoning the Mountie who had still been searching the hanger. Fraser ran out to join him. Jim pointed into the trees. "They went that way," he informed the man. Fraser frowned, gazing off in the direction Jim had pointed. He crouched down in the snow, his eyes roaming over the unmarked snow at their feet. He brushed at some of it with his gloved hand, scooping away several layers. Then finally he scooped some of it up and lifted it to his mouth, tasting it briefly. His eyes widened and he glanced up at Jim. "Engine oil," he exclaimed. "You can smell it?" Jim just nodded. "I can follow it too." Fraser didn't even bother questioning him. He just nodded in agreement and stood up. "I'll get us geared up then." "We heading out on foot?" Jim asked. He hadn't seen any other snowmobiles in the hanger. But Fraser shook his head. "I called ahead, had some friends of mine drop by some supplies from the local RCMP station. They're waiting for us in the lodge." Curious, Jim followed him back toward the lodge. Off to one side of the building he saw two large sleds, and inside the lodge, curled up in front of a roaring fire were twelve thick furred dogs. "You ever done any sledding, Detective?" Fraser asked as he summoned the dogs with a whistle. "Actually, yes," Jim admitted, catching the Mountie by surprise. The man stared at him in amazement. Jim just shrugged. "My brother and I once thought it might be fun to race the Iditarod when we were kids. My dad sent us to a sledding camp -- that pretty much cured both of us wanting to do the Iditarod, but I did learn how to run a sled team." "Good," Fraser nodded, pleased. "That will save us some time then." He motioned toward a pile of supplies waiting for them on a heavy wooden table. "There should be weapons, food, clothing and camping equipment in there. Let's get the sleds packed -- we have at least another five hours till the sun's up, but we can get ready." He began going through the supplies. "It's bright enough," Jim argued, not willing to wait five hours more. Blair had been gone too long -- there was no telling what might have happened to him. Fraser paused and turned around, studying Jim's determined face. "Just how well can you see, Detective?" He was certain Blair hadn't actually said anything to Fraser about his heightened senses, nor had he said anything about Sentinels. He was also fairly certain that Fraser knew nothing about the infamous press conference -- it had made the national press wire, but somehow he suspected the Mountie didn't really keep up on media events. But Fraser was a cop, and he obviously had some passing acquaintance with heightened senses himself -- and right now Fraser's knowledge of the area and the environment might be all that stood between Blair and death. At some point, he just had to take a leap of faith. "It's as bright as day to me," Jim admitted. Fraser's expression hardened. "There's a thousand different ways to die out there." "I'm not lying," Jim insisted. "And you know it." Fraser just nodded. "It's dangerous. But if you're willing to risk it, so am I." "Then let's get going." Resolved, the two of them headed out to pack up the sleds.
Beneath the Northern Lights, they followed the trail of engine oil into a dark icy wilderness. Even dressed as they were in heavy Artic gear, Jim found himself dialing down his sense of touch to stave off the cold. He didn't like to think of Blair out here -- couldn't imagine how the anthropologist might be coping with the cold. But Blair had survived so many other terrible things -- he would make it through this too. He had to.
 He'd been a boy the last time he'd driven a dog sled, but as Fraser assured him, it was rather like riding a bicycle. The knowledge was there in his bones; it came back to him with practice. But already he could feel pain in muscles protesting against the bizarre use. He had always kept himself in top shape -- but here, between the altitude change, the extreme cold and the effort of traveling across snow and ice, he was pushing his body harder than it was used to. Still he'd promised the Mountie he'd match him step for step, and he wasn't going back on his word. They paused eventually to rest the dogs, and Fraser quickly lit a fire so they could thaw out their hands and feet before moving on. The Mountie offered him a couple of small cereal bars and some Pemmican, which he ate with a grimace, dialing down his sense of taste. The winter sun was finally appearing and the temperature had risen fractionally. But Jim knew the daylight wouldn't last long. In some respects he was glad of that -- he could see fine, and he suspected Fraser could also. But Jessica's people would be severely handicapped even with the Northern Lights over head. "How well can you see, Fraser?" he asked the man, finally deciding it was time to put the question of the man's senses to rest. "Not as well as you, I suspect," the man admitted honestly. "It's bright enough for me. But not like daylight." "Can you smell the engine oil?" Fraser shook his head. "I don't think even Diefenbaker can smell the engine oil." He shot a glance at the wolf in question -- Diefenbaker had been leading Fraser's team, and was now curled up with several of the other dogs. "But I could taste a trace of it in the snow. My sense of smell is better than normal -- but not like yours." "And your sense of taste?" "Heightened," he admitted. "But a lot of it is also a learned trait." "Hearing?" "Better than Diefenbaker's," Fraser grinned at that. "Of course he's deaf." He shook his head. "Heightened also. But not to the point where I could hear a heart beat or something like that. Can you?" Jim nodded, and Fraser's eyes widened in amazement. "Do you have a heightened sense of touch as well?" the Mountie asked. "Yes," Jim replied, surprised at himself at feeling no true relief at Fraser's admission. He wasn't a Sentinel -- Jim ought to be thankful that there was no chance of a repeat of the Alex Barnes fiasco. And yet all he could think at the moment was that another Sentinel would improve Blair's chances of survival. "The Inuit have a word for people like you," Fraser told him; he stated something in a language Jim did not recognize. "Translates to something like Tribal Guardian." "A Sentinel," Jim offered. Fraser nodded. "Yes, a Sentinel. That's what Blair calls you -- what he thought I might be." Jim looked up at him in surprise. He knew the only time Blair had spoken those words out loud was that night in the tent. He had been right -- Fraser had been able to hear them. He stared defiantly across the fire at the man. But Fraser just smiled sadly at him, and there was something painful and empty in his eyes that immediately made Jim regret all the anger he'd felt toward the Mountie. "You're a lucky man, Jim Ellison. I'd give anything to be loved like that." He stood abruptly and went to check on the dogs. But Jim couldn't let it go at that. "Then maybe you ought to take up dancing," he suggested. Fraser gasped and turned around, his handsome face pale as he realized that he hadn't been the only person who'd overheard a conversation that night. He shook his head in denial. "He wouldn't... he doesn't..." Jim just shrugged. "You never know unless you ask."
Night had set again by the time they found the underground compound Jessica Burnheim and her people were hiding in. From an overlooking ridge Jim and Fraser stared down at the only entrance into the compound -- an opening large enough for a truck to drive through-- but it was hidden beneath the trees and the snow. Even a plane flying overhead wouldn't spot it. Two men stood on either side of the entrance, both nearly invisible in white snowsuits, both armed with automatic weapons. They stayed just inside the protected entrance of the facility, out of the wind, but they were clearly visible to both the Sentinel and the Mountie. "I've heard of these bunkers," Fraser admitted. "They were built in the fifties after the war. Supposedly they were supply depots for the military. But they were abandoned -- too much work to maintain." Jim had his sense of hearing dialed up as high has he could; he was focusing on the compound, trying to weed out all the extraneous sounds. But something odd was interfering. "There's ten... maybe twelve people down there," he announced. "But there's something else... animals I think. Large animals... heartbeats are too strong to be human." Fraser was staring at him incredulously. "I knew your hearing was better than mine, but do you mean to tell me you can actually hear their heartbeats from this distance?" Jim nodded, still focusing. He smiled then. "One of them is Blair." He breathed a silent prayer -- his Guide was still alive. The heartbeat sounded steady and strong. "You can distinguish an individual heartbeat? Can you tell if Ray--" "I'm sorry." Jim shook his head. "I didn't imprint him. I have no basis for comparison. But Blair's alive and healthy -- I'm sure Ray is fine too." He wished he could offer the Mountie something more than that -- the worry in the man's eyes was painful. But Fraser immediately focused himself on the job at hand. "So besides these two we'll have eight others to subdue inside the compound. Should be easy enough." Jim shot a glance at the Mountie. Judging by his expression, the man appeared to be serious. "Piece of cake," he agreed, suspecting suddenly that this man just might actually be crazier than he was. "Well, then," Fraser nodded. "I'll take the man on the left, you take the man on the right." He handed Jim one of the tranquilizer rifles they'd packed, carefully loading his own. Jim just nodded grimly and followed suit. Near as he could see, there was only one way into the compound, and it looked like he and Fraser were going to go in guns blazing. Beside them, Diefenbaker practically vibrated with excitement. The two men raised their guns in unison, sighted, and fired.
Huddled together for warmth, Blair and Ray managed to get a couple of hours of sleep. When they awoke Ivan was still standing guard over them, but the man looked somewhat the worse for wear -- tired, and weary of the assignment given to him. Upon seeing Blair watching him, he tossed both him and Ray a couple of granola bars, indicating that they should eat them. "You know, Ivan," Ray began conversationally as he bit into the frozen bar. "Yer boss lady is completely nuts." Ivan stiffened noticeably, but made no effort to contradict the cop. Blair took that as an encouraging sign. "You heard what she was going to do with me?" Blair asked the guard. The man just shrugged and shifted his gun. "He's right, she's crazy -- certifiably. You heard all that talk about power and mysticism. How do you know she won't turn on you?" "She won't," he grumbled. Ray nodded encouragingly at Blair and he thought back briefly over some of the things Jessica had said. "What if she decides she wants your blood for something?" Blair asked him. "What if she decides that for some reason some ritual of hers requires the blood of a Russian? Are you sure you don't have any esoteric traditions in your background? Any Cossacks in your family tree?" "Shut up," Ivan ordered him, his gaze hardening, but he did take several steps closer to the two of them. Beside him, Blair felt Ray tensing up, as if prepared to leap. He did the same, shifting casually so that he could get his weight over his bound feet quickly if he had to. "That's the trouble with crazy people," Ray explained. "They can turn on you." The sound of gunfire caught all their attention. Blair stifled a cry of shock when he realized that someone had entered the compound -- two men in dark snowsuits. Jessica's men had spotted them too and had opened fire; they were pinned down now behind the heavy vehicles -- returning fire with equal enthusiasm. "Shit!" Ray cursed, recognizing at least one of the men. Ivan was standing at attention, caught in a moment of indecision. Jessica appeared, two other men beside her, all three of them heavily armed. She shot a glare at Ivan. "Ivan! Kill the cop and take the other one to the back room!" Then she joined her men on the floor to open fire on the two intruders. Ivan turned, eyes wide as he stared at Blair and Ray. But he obediently raised the rifle, hesitating only momentarily. As he cocked the bolt, Blair and Ray reacted simultaneously. They both dove for him, Ray aiming high, Blair aiming low. Ray caught him around the waist -- Blair caught the man's legs. The man went down instantly, his rifle flying out of his hand as he struck the icy floor. While Blair held him down, Ray wasted no time in lifting his bound hands and striking the man hard across the side of the head -- hitting him twice for good measure and knocking him out. Breathing hard, the two of them looked up -- Jim and Fraser were still pinned down behind the vehicle. Two of Jessica's men were armed with machine guns and were spraying the air so efficiently with bullets that neither man could get a decent shot off. Nonetheless one of the criminals had already gone down -- a bullet in his shoulder rendering him useless. That still left Jessica and five others to contend with. The sound of the gunfire echoing in the room had effectively covered the noise of Ivan's defeat. Jessica and her men had no idea what was going on behind them. Ray grabbed Ivan's rifle, but as he quickly discovered the bindings around his hands had left his fingers quite numb. He couldn't work them properly -- doubted he could shoot particularly well. Blair in the meanwhile had yanked a knife from Ivan's belt and was busy hacking away at the bindings around their legs. "You haven't seen my glasses, have you?" Ray whispered to him. Blair frowned. "What?" "Can't see worth a damn without them," he explained. "I thought you were a crack shot?" "I am -- with my glasses," he hissed. "Without them, I might hit Fraser or Jim." "Shit!" Blair and he both glanced around uncertainly. They had to do something. Couldn't just sit there and allow their partners to get shot. And Blair wasn't precisely ready to pick up a rifle and shoot a woman in the back. And then an idea struck them both, and they turned in unison toward each other. "Moose," they said, and then nodded in agreement. Legs and hands finally freed, they scrambled across the distance toward the animal pen, pins and needles shooting through their numbed legs and hands. The gunfire had already set the animals into a frenzy, their breath hot and steamy in the cold air. They stomped and bellowed in equal parts terror and fury. They might be without their antlers, but each animal still weighed nearly a thousand pounds. Blair unlatched the heavy steel gate, and Ray kicked it open. As it swung open wide, the two men stood off to the side and watched in silent amazement as the animals stampeded.
Two were knocked down, trampled beneath sharp hooves. The others ran for their lives -- directly into the waiting hands of Jim and Fraser. It was over in seconds. Battered and bruised, three men groaning in agony on the floor (one shot, two trampled), Jessica and her men were disarmed and hog-tied face down on the icy floor. Diefenbaker and a pack of hungry-looking sled dogs raced in from the cold and stood over them, tails wagging as if utterly delighted by the turn of events. Moments later Blair found himself caught up in the hard, warm embrace of Jim Ellison. Heedless of who might be watching, Blair threw his arms around the Sentinel and kissed him soundly. Desperately, hungrily, Jim kissed him back, finally burying his face in Blair's hair and hugging him hard enough to make him gasp. "Damn you, Chief!" he whispered passionately into his Guide's ear. "Don't do this to me!" "Sorry, Jim," Blair smiled, fighting the tears for fear they might freeze on his face. "I knew you'd come. I knew you'd find me." "Always, Chief," Jim whispered. "Always." And to Blair's utter amazement, he realized that Jim Ellison, cop of the year, Sentinel of the Great City, Ex-Ranger, was shaking in terror. "Ah, Jim," he murmured gently. "I'm all right." Jim nodded against his hair, squeezing him tighter. "I know, Chief." He pulled back fractionally, and Blair could see the emotion in the man's blue eyes. "Let's get you home." They turned then, arms still around each other and saw that Fraser had made his way over to the three of them. Ray, respectfully, had moved off to one side to give the Sentinel and Guide some privacy, and he was smiling warmly at the Mountie approaching him. No wild hug, no passionate kiss -- just two men gazing in relief and uncertainty at each other. "Fraser, it's cold!" Ray said by way of a greeting. "Really cold!" "Yes, Ray," Fraser nodded in total agreement, grinning uncontrollably. "No, you don't seem to understand," Ray protested. "It's freezing! It's fuckin--" "Language, Ray," Fraser interrupted. "Really, really cold!" Ray corrected. "Why is it always so darned cold out here?" Fraser scratched uncertainly at his eyebrow. "Well, it is the Artic, Ray," he reminded the cop. "The Artic. The Artic," Ray shook his head in disgust. "Next time we hunt down psychos we're goin' to the jungle." "Understood, Ray," Fraser smiled. "Yeah, the jungle," Ray said in satisfaction. "I mean what could possibly happen to us in the jungle!" Behind him, Blair and Jim burst into laughter.
It took them another day to get Jessica and her goons back to the lodge where the authorities were informed and sent to recover the stolen goods left behind in the underground facility. The three wounded men were air lifted to the nearest hospital in Yellowknife, while the rest were carted off to jail. Despite Jessica's bizarre religious leanings, her operation had also been remarkably lucrative. She'd had a fortune in stolen religious artifacts stacked away in the underground building. It was Ivan who finally informed them of the fate of poor Lieutenant Fontaine. He'd stowed away on the plane carrying some of Jessica's stolen goods. Before the men on board had spotted him, he'd managed to pocket the Cross of Coronado, and had hold of the white buffalo cloak. He'd been struggling to pull on a parachute when he'd been discovered. During the fight that ensued, the cloak had been damaged, and Fontaine had fallen from the plane. An accident Ivan explained -- murder, a judge eventually decided. With the large group of men to guard, despite being able to use the vehicles to bring them in, the trip back to the lodge had been almost as grueling as the entire kidnapping itself. By the time they'd handed over the prisoners to the authorities, and been given rooms in the hunting lodge (courtesy of Bull who'd asked the Americans repeatedly if they wanted something to drink), Jim had been about ready to drop. He and Blair had been given a small room with a couple of rickety old cots. They'd pushed aside the cots in favor of the floor; Fraser had brought in a couple of thick bedrolls and warm Artic sleeping bags for them. It was with a heavenly sense of relief that Jim finally climbed inside that sleeping bag and wrapped his arms around his Guide, breathing in his scent as he settled down to sleep. "You and Fraser worked pretty good together," Blair murmured quietly as Jim was beginning to drift off. "Yeah," Jim agreed. "He's a good guy." He was willing to admit to being wrong -- the Mountie had helped him save Blair's life. That ranked pretty high in Jim's book. "Good cop too," Blair told him. "The best," Jim agreed. "Understands about heightened senses," Blair continued. "Yeah," Jim felt himself drifting contently. "Practically a Sentinel himself." Jim made a noise of agreement, hoping it would content Blair. "You sure you wouldn't prefer having a partner like that instead of someone like me?" Blair's words finally registered in Jim's brain and his eyes popped open. Despite the dark he could see clearly, and he could tell that his Guide was at least partially serious. "Blair?" "I just keep thinking about all the things the two of you could accomplish," Blair explained. "I mean your arrest rate would be phenomenal." "Blair," Jim sighed. "I'd like to point out that despite the fact that Fraser and I made every attempt to ride like heroes to your rescue -- it was you and Ray who saved us. Granted it took you a stampede of moose to do it, but you still did it." Blair thought about that for a long moment, and then chuckled, settling contently back into Jim's arms. "You're right. We did. You guys would be lost without us." In the darkness Jim grinned. Nothing kept Blair down for long. He settled back down himself, discovering however that while exhausted, his body had other things on its mind than sleep. He nudged his hips suggestively against Blair's. His Guide opened his eyes in surprise. "Is that a moose in your pocket, or are you just--" Blair broke into snickers before he could finish. "Definitely a moose, Chief," Jim laughed. "You know, Jim," Blair remarked. "It's rather cold." "So?" Jim questioned as he nuzzled his Guide's neck. "I'm just pointing out that I have absolutely no intention of moving out of this sleeping bag," Blair explained. "Nor are we going to open it up to the cold air." "We'll improvise," Jim promised, sliding his hands around Blair's body to stroke his hardened nipples. His Guide moved into the caress. "I'd also like to point out that unless lube is part of standard Mountie supplies, we're somewhat unprepared," Blair said, his breath catching a bit as Jim gently pinched his nipples. "Oh," Jim paused momentarily defeated. "I hadn't thought of that. What would you suggest?" "I think I have a solution for both the sleeping bag and the lube problems," Blair informed him. "Really?" And before Jim could say anything more, his Guide disappeared beneath the sleeping bag, his head vanishing below the opening as he slipped momentarily out of Jim's arms. "Blair!" he protested, wanting the warm presence back along his body. And then he gasped as he felt hands tugging at the waist of the thermal underwear he had on. He closed his eyes in bliss as he felt Blair pull down the thermals, his warm hands skimming over Jim's thighs. He dialed his sense of touch up, and nearly screamed when he felt the hot mouth of his Guide closing over the tip of his cock. "They'll hear you, Jim," the amused and muffled voice of his Guide drifted up from beneath the sleeping bags. He moaned as Blair licked hungrily at the underside of his erection. "Good," Jim groaned. "Maybe it will give them some ideas. Sure as hell beats dancing." "Dancing?" Blair sounded confused, but not enough so to stop his ministrations. His hot tongue dragged gently over tip of Jim's cock, probing teasingly at the slit while he fondled the heavy sack beneath with his hands. "Tell you later," Jim promised as he arched into that touch, his heart pounding, his blood rushing in his ears. He shivered, fine trembles racing through his muscles as Blair sucked his cock deep into his mouth. He moaned, clutching at handfuls of the sleeping bag as he thrust up into that mouth, pressure building inside him. With his sense of touch dialed up the way it was, he knew he couldn't last long, but he held on as long as he could -- eyes squeezed shut, mouth clenched in a grimace of pure ecstasy as he reveled in the sensation of Blair sucking so greedily at him. And then the final straw that broke his control -- Blair hummed gently, and the vibrations sent him over the edge. Later, Jim opened his eyes to find his Guide propped upon his chest, grinning smugly at him, dark curls framing his beloved face. "Passed out, did you?" Blair asked, sounding remarkably pleased with himself. "Sure felt like it," Jim agreed. He ran his hands up Blair's spine, loving the way the young man arched into the touch like a cat. "I love you, you know," he told him. Blair's smile gentled. "I know. I love you too." "I'm sorry I was such a jerk," Jim apologized. "I kept thinking if I hadn't been so jealous, I might have sent Fraser with you to the university instead of Ray. Fraser might have heard Jessica's men coming before they grabbed you." "Ah, Jim," Blair leaned forward and kissed him gently. "There was nothing either Ray, or Fraser, or you could have done. It was just one of those things. And it wasn't your fault." "I just wish--" "Jim," Blair touched his lips with his fingers, silencing him. "Sentinels are territorial. I think we've firmly established that fact. And despite the fact that I really like Fraser and Ray, and I'm sorry we had this misunderstanding, I also kind of like your possessiveness." "You do?" Jim stared at him in surprise. "Yeah," Blair admitted. "It makes me feel... wanted, you know?" Jim just stared at him in amazement. "How could you ever feel unwanted? You're everything to me, Chief." He caught Blair tightly to him, kissing him fiercely, trying to express with his body what he couldn't with words. "Damn, Jim," Blair gasped, eyes dancing with happiness. "You say the nicest things." "Got a few more things to say to you," Jim growled, rolling the man over so that he was beneath him. He reached for the waistband of Blair's thermals. "What were the rules -- no leaving the sleeping bag?" "Yep," Blair agreed. Jim disappeared beneath the bag opening, working kisses down his Guide's body. "And Jim," Blair whispered. "Next time we go chasing psychos -- definitely the jungle."
Fraser spread out his bedroll while across the room Ray pulled on an extra pair of socks. The small oil lamp burning on the table cast flickering light into the detective's hair, and Fraser found himself momentarily captivated by his friend's appearance. Beautiful, he thought, and wasn't it amazing how dear one person's presence could become to another. The realization of how close he'd almost come to losing Ray pierced his heart -- how cruel the world was to give him someone so precious and yet deny him the ability to express his appreciation. Unlike Blair and Jim -- even now he could hear the soft noises coming from the room next door as the two men expressed so eloquently their love for one another. Sometimes heightened senses could be a curse. Ray chuckled suddenly, causing Fraser to frown. The blond detective had his head cocked to one side, an incredulous look on his face as if he too were listening to the sounds next door. Fraser felt his skin flush red in embarrassment as he realized that this time it was thin walls and not heightened senses that made the sounds so clear. "Damn! Are they doin' it?" Ray asked. "Excuse me, Ray?" Fraser tried hard to hide his blush, focusing undo attention on his bedroll. "Jim and Blair," Ray clarified. "Are they... you know... doin' it?" "It, Ray?" Fraser pretended not to understand in an attempt to buy himself time enough to think of a suitable response. "It, Fraser," Ray repeated. "It. It! You know -- IT. Are they doing it? The wild thing. The horizontal mambo. The beast with two backs. IT! Are they copulating?" The heat retuned instantly to Fraser's face. "Ah, it. I see, Ray," he acknowledged the definition. "I'm sure it's none of our business, Ray. Some private matters are best left... well, private." "It's goin' on right next door," Ray pointed out. "That's not very private." "Well, under the circumstances, I'm sure it's as private as they can manage." "So then they are doin' it," Ray exclaimed smugly. "You do acknowledge that based on the rather unprivate sound, it is possible to state that they are doin' it." Fraser sighed. "Probably, Ray." "Damn," Ray shook his head and for a moment there was silence between them. Fraser felt his heart clench at the confirmation of his worst fear. "You disapprove," Fraser stated flatly, wishing immediately that he hadn't said anything at all. Ray looked startled. "What? No, I just meant, 'damn' as in some people have all the luck." "Luck?" Fraser blinked in confusion. "Yeah, you know, here we are millions of miles away from civilization--" "Hundreds of miles, Ray," Fraser corrected. "Hundreds of miles from civilization and yet somehow, someway, people out here are still managing to get laid more often than I am." "Ah." Fraser nodded in understanding. Silence fell again and Fraser relaxed. At least Ray hadn't been critical of the relationship. That had to count for something. "So..." he broke off, not certain he should attempt to prolong this any further. Ray looked up expectantly and Fraser found himself feeling obligated to continue. "So, you don't have a problem with... well... you know... Jim and Blair?" Ray snorted in amusement. "Oh, come on. Those two are obviously nuts about each other. You just have to look at them to know they love each other. If anything I'm envious." "Envious?" Fraser stared at his partner in amazement. "Of Jim and Blair?" "Oh, not of them specifically," Ray clarified. "I just meant of relationships in general. You know people who actually manage to find someone to love -- to be loved back. That's rare, especially among cops." "Ah, I see." Ray grinned curiously. "So it doesn't bother you -- you know, the whole guy/guy thing?' "Bother me?" "Yeah, I sorted of figured that it would embarrass you -- the mere thought of what they are doin' together?" Fraser felt his skin heating again. "Yep," Ray laughed softly. "That's pretty much the color I imagined you'd turn." "I'm sorry, Ray," Fraser apologized. "But it really doesn't bother me. I mean not in the way you meant. I'm very happy for Jim and Blair. In fact I wish--" He broke off abruptly, realizing in shock that he'd been about to pursue a line of thought that might permanently alienate the cop. "You wish?" Ray prompted. "Ah... I meant, I wish... that, well, it would be nice, I suppose, not to be alone anymore." Ray nodded in agreement. "Of course yer not exactly alone -- you've got me." Startled, Fraser stared at Ray. "You?" Surely Ray couldn't have meant that the way it sounded? Ray chuckled. "I realize that I'm no Blair Sandburg, but I'm not chopped liver either." "No, Ray, you're not chopped liver." Ray paused and stared at Fraser intently. "We're friends, right?" Friends. So that's what he'd meant. Fraser just nodded. "Yes, Ray." "But Sandburg -- you like him, don't you?" "Excuse me?" "You know, liked having someone around who's read all the same books and stuff." Not entirely certain where this line of inquiry was going, Fraser scratched uncertainly at his eyebrow. "I suppose, Ray." "And he knows all about the whole heightened senses thing," Ray continued. "You know, like when you lick stuff. Ellison is like that too -- has heightened senses. And somehow Blair is able to help him figure out how to use them better or something like that." Fraser couldn't help wondering just how much Blair and Ray had talked while alone in the wilderness -- how much did Ray understand about Jim's Sentinel gifts? "Someone like that would make a good partner for you, wouldn't he?" Startled, Fraser just stared at Ray in amazement. "I have a partner." Ray ran a hand through his spiky hair and nodded. "I know. I'm just saying... you'd be better off with someone like--" "I don't want a different partner," Fraser said with some alarm. "Sure you do," Ray shrugged as he stood and began unrolling his sleeping bag with quick, abrupt motions. "What?" Fraser's heart pounded in his chest. This conversation had taken a severe turn for the worse. "Of course you do," Ray continued. "Blair would be a better partner. Hell, Ellison would be better. I can just imagine the two of you out there in the wilderness -- bet he pulled his own weight, didn't he? Wouldn't ever have to carry him up a mountain because he passed out from the cold, now would you?" "Ray..." Fraser stared at his friend in shock. He couldn't ever remember being critical of Ray, but perhaps he'd said or done something that the cop had taken the wrong way. "And let's face facts, Fraser. Yer only my partner because Vecchio ain't here. If he hadn't run off with Stella--" "I'd still be your partner," Fraser interrupted fiercely. He'd thought they'd settled this long ago. Ray paused to stare at him, searching his face for some answer to a question unasked. Uncertain what exactly the cop was expecting, Fraser moved across the room to sit down beside him. "Ray, look, I'm sorry that Ray Vecchio ran off with Stella; I know that you still love her--" "Nah," Ray cut in, then seeing Fraser's incredulous look he shrugged. "I mean I love her and all... but not like that any more... you know. I'm happy for her -- if Vecchio can make her happy, then I'm happy for him too. I'm just sorry he left you." "I'm not," Fraser cut in quickly. "It wasn't like that with us--" "Excuse me?" Ray's startled exclamation caught Fraser off guard, and he quickly reviewed what he'd just said. The blood drained from his face when he realized that he'd inadvertently implied something he hadn't intended to imply. "Oh... I just meant..." he wasn't certain how to fix that little slip. "Fraser," Ray's eyes were wide. "Were you in love with Ray Vecchio?" "No," Fraser shook his head swiftly. Ray's expression got even more disbelieving. "Were you in love with Stella?" "No!" Fraser blinked in shock. "Of course not!" Ray was studying him intently again as if trying to figure out what precisely he'd meant. The cop seemed at a loss for an answer. "I just meant... oh, dear," Fraser sighed. "I don't think I'm explaining this correctly. I just meant that if Ray Vecchio is happy with Stella, then I'm happy for him. And I'm happy that you're not upset about Stella. But regardless of them or Jim or Blair or anyone else... well... I wouldn't want a different partner. There's no one in the world I'd rather be with than... I mean... no one I'd rather... no other partner I'd rather..." he broke off, realizing that most of what he was saying could be interpreted many ways. From across the room he could see Diefenbaker staring at him incredulously as if not believing how badly he was handling this. "I'll just stop talking now, I think." He started to rise to go back to his own side of the room, but Ray's hand on his arm stopped him. Warily, he forced himself to look up, to stare into Ray's eyes. The cop's expression was unreadable and his scrutiny was nearly unbearable. And then suddenly Ray leaned forward and kissed him. It was a simple thing really, the brush of warm lips against his own, faint pressure, the hint of a caress against his bottom lip. It was also the most remarkable thing he'd ever felt in his life, and that act so startled him that all he could do was sit there unmoving. Ray pulled away abruptly. Fraser wanted to protest the loss of warmth, but his mind had gone completely blank. The blond cop was frowning at him and Fraser's heart clenched in sudden fear, not certain what a frown meant after such an amazing occurrence. "Fraser," Ray said critically. "When someone kisses you -- especially if that someone is yer partner -- it's only polite to kiss them back." "I'm sorry, Ray," Fraser's heart gave a strange little leap. "Perhaps if you were to try again?" Ray stared at him mistrustfully for a long moment, and then hesitantly moved forward again. This time Fraser was ready for him. When he felt that warm brush of lips against his own, he responded immediately, opening his mouth beneath that gentle caress and returning the pressure full force. He heard Ray gasp in surprise, felt the tension coil in the cop's body and was once again taken by surprise as the man suddenly surged forward and thrust his hands through Fraser's hair, his mouth devouring Fraser in a frantic kiss. Fraser simply went with it, catching the full weight of Ray's body and letting it bear them both down onto the sleeping bag as his mouth was plundered with a thoroughness that inflamed his blood. It was beyond imagining -- Ray's hands in his hair, Ray's body holding him down, his mouth hot and hungry, tongue seeking out his, caressing, sucking. And the shocking heat of the man's arousal against his own -- he moaned, clutching at Ray, trying to get closer. And then abruptly Ray pulled back again, his hands still clenched tightly in Fraser's hair preventing him from looking anywhere other than straight up into Ray's eyes. "Damn, Fraser," Ray breathed in shock. "You go around returning kisses like that and people are liable to get the wrong idea." His heart was pounding as if he'd run a marathon, and his body ached in a way he only vaguely recognized. "What idea would that be?" he asked, amazed he was able to string two words together. Something was burning inside him -- something that was managing even to overwhelm his lust and his confusion and his heart-pounding need. Something that felt remarkably like hope. "That maybe you want to go further than just kissing," Ray explained, and despite the teasing note in his voice, the cop was searching his features intently, looking for an answer. "That maybe you want to fuc--" "Language, Ray!" the response was automatic. "Jesus!" Ray glared at him. "What in hell else am I suppose to call it?" "Making love?" The smile that blossomed on Ray's face confirmed that it was indeed hope burning inside him, for he could now see the same emotion in his partner's eyes. "Damn," the cop whispered in amazement. "Millions of miles in the middle of nowhere, or smack dab in the center of a crowded city... and you've been right there all along." "Yes, Ray," Fraser said happily, and knew then that he wasn't alone any more.
Jim woke, wrapped in the warmth of their shared sleeping bag, his arms wound tightly around his Guide's body. He'd heard a sound, something out of the normal, and he dialed up his hearing to investigate. Blair's heartbeat was slow and content, his body sweetly covered in the scent of sex. Their door was still firmly closed, their room undisturbed. And beyond that... Jim frowned as he tried momentarily to identify the sound he heard. It came from next door -- two hearts beating rapidly, skin against skin, soft breathy moans, the gasp of a name, a plea, a blessing. He grinned, listening for perhaps longer than he should have. Looked like Fraser had taken his advice and had learned how to dance. And the other sound, the one that had disturbed him, the one out of place -- a pitiful whine and a soft scratching at his door. Amused, Jim carefully disengaged himself from Blair's embrace and slipped silently out of the sleeping bag. He pulled open the door and allowed the pale wolf to slip inside. Diefenbaker stared at him imploringly. "All right," he whispered in agreement. "But don't hog the covers." He climbed back into the sleeping bag and pulled Blair into his arms. Diefenbaker circled three times before finally settling on top of the sleeping bag beside Blair. The wolf laid his chin on his paws and wandered off into some wolfish dreamland Chuckling softly to himself, Jim nuzzled Blair's neck, feeling an inexpressible joy when Blair shifted back against him and murmured his name in his sleep. Then the Sentinel closed his eyes and joined him in slumber.
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The moose made a beeline for the compound exit. Unfortunately Jessica and her men stood in the way. They heard the sound behind them, turned and screamed in terror when they saw what was heading toward them. One man tried to shoot them, raised his rifle to open fire. He managed to get off one bullet -- it didn't even slow the animals down. Bellowing and screaming, the moose rode over them as if they weren't even there.
