Who Shall Guard the Guardian Themselves

by K Ryn

Blair shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He stepped forward, gently laying his hand on Jim's shoulder. "Try the piggy-back trick," Blair suggested quietly, closing his eyes again so that the spinning scene below wouldn't interfere with his own control. "See yourself at the cab and open up your sense of smell."

  He felt Jim's body tense and then relax under his grip. Blair held his breath, counting the seconds loudly in his mind to keep his thoughts diverted from the drop just inches from his feet. He'd just reached 30 when he felt Jim shift slightly. Blair took a step back himself and opened his eyes, keeping his gaze fixed on his partner's rising form. The clenching of the older man's jaw told him they'd found trouble.

  Jim flipped on his com unit and motioned for Blair to do the same. "Anders, this is Ellison."

  "Ellison, what the hell's going on? Why did you cut contact?" Anders' shout reverberated through the headsets, making both men flinch.

  "We had a little feedback problem," Jim answered evenly.

  Blair raised his eyebrows at the understatement, but kept quiet at Jim's warning gesture.

  "We'll check out the units as soon as we can." Anders tone was less slightly less aggressive, but not at all apologetic to Blair's ears. "Have you found anything?"

  "No sign of the bus, but the tracks led to a wrecked pickup down in a deep ravine," Jim answered, pacing back to the edge. "I'm sure there's a body in there. We'll need to check it out."

  Blair's eyebrows crept upward another notch at Jim's words and he found himself wondering if he'd go home with them plastered to his hairline.

  "We've got your position locked," came Anders' reply. "The rest of the teams will meet you there in a few minutes."

  "Acknowledged."

  Jim glanced over his shoulder at Blair and made a quick cutting motion. "I think we're having a few more technical problems, don't you, Chief?"

  Blair grinned and flipped off his com unit as the older man did the same. The grin faded as his gaze flickered to ravine. "You said there's a body down there? he asked worriedly.

  "There's blood." Jim answered tersely. "A lot of it."

  Blair staggered as a cold current of shock swept through his body, draining all his energy and breath in one quick rush. Gasping for air, he closed his eyes against the horrifying images which flooded through his mind. His knees buckled and he felt himself collapsing, barely aware of the hands that grabbed him and broke his fall, easing him to the ground.

  "Blair... come on, buddy... breathe for me..."

  He heard the words and struggled to pull himself out of the red, roaring tide which tried to draw him under, but its grip was too powerful.

  I can't! There's no air here! Just blood...

  "Damn it, Sandburg, listen to me!" The raw command was punctuated with several hard shakes. "Breathe and open your eyes!"

  Responding automatically to the authority in his Sentinel's voice, Blair's eyes snapped open and he inhaled noisily. The air rushed into his lungs and he found himself sagging forward, nearly choking as his body tried to reestablish its normal functions in one overpowering effort.

  "Easy... take it slow..."

  Blair allowed himself to relax into the warmth of both the voice and the embrace. After a few more ragged breaths, he felt the overwhelming emotions fading, releasing their stranglehold on his mind and body. When he reached the point where he could draw two lungfuls of air without shuddering, he lifted his head and met his partner's gaze.

  And wished he hadn't. The blue eyes which locked with his were filled with a mixture of concern and determination -- plus a healthy dose of anger.

  "That's it. As soon as the other teams get here, I'm sending you back to Cascade," Jim announced.

  "Jim --"

  "Not another word, Sandburg. I'm not watching you go through another one of these attacks."

  "That's not what it was," Blair argued, his own anger surging to the beat of his pounding pulse. "This was different."

  "Don't give me 'different', Chief," Jim growled, his eyes flashing with annoyance. "Rapid pulse, minimal respiration --"

  "And a propensity to make contact with the ground, I know," Blair interrupted. "But I'm telling you it wasn't the same --"

  "The same as what?" Jim pounced on the unintentional opening, intending to get to the heart of the problem, right then and there. "What's going on inside that head of yours, Blair?"

  Blair knew that the shaft of blind fear that rocketed through him had to be evident in his eyes. ~Tell him!~ screamed the voice, deep in his mind.

  "No..." Blair gritted his teeth and held onto the words that begged for release.

  "Then you're going back," Jim snapped. "I'll have Anders --"

  "I'd sooner take a walk right off the edge of that cliff, than get into any kind of transport HE arranged," Blair hissed. "Besides, it's your fault. You caught me by surprise and I just... flashed on something."

  "What?" Jim asked skeptically.

  "Patty Hammond."

  The whispered name rocked Jim back on his heels. The image of a smiling, confident, eighteen year-old girl filled his mind. That's what she'd looked like in her graduation photos, the face that Jim tried to hold onto -- not the way she'd looked after she'd become Haight's tenth victim. He closed his eyes against the horror that memory evoked. Her death had been the worst of them all. There had been so much blood...

  "Jim... snap out of it, man!"

  The desperation in his Guide's voice shook him out of the zone-out. He raised his head and met the same haunted look that he knew must reside in his own eyes.

  "I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to..."

  "It's okay," Jim answered gruffly. He took a deep breath and let the memory and tension drain away. Still holding his young partner's eyes, he touched Blair gently on the cheek. "I'm sorry, too. I should have remembered."

  ... remembered that the anthropologist had experienced the same reaction after the coroner had taken the girl's body away... remembered that Blair had been the one to find her, awash in her own blood... remembered that there had still been a spark of life in that ravaged form and that the young man had feverishly tried to stop the bleeding, screaming in outraged denial as she died in his hands... remembered carrying the exhausted, blood spattered body of his Guide to the truck, listening to the ragged sobs which had shuddered through him...

  "It's still just too fresh, man," Blair whispered. "When you mentioned the body... and the blood..."

  "I know." Jim reached out and squeezed his Guide's arm in understanding. They sat silently for a few minutes, each deep in their own thoughts, trying to regain the balance they'd need to go on.

  "I don't want to leave, Jim," Blair finally whispered. "I need to help find these kids."

  Jim studied the younger man's face for a moment before he nodded in agreement. Rising to his feet he glanced back to the ravine and then met Blair's gaze once again.

  "Stay here."

  He was only slightly surprised when the younger man agreed.

  "I'll watch for the others."

  Easing his way over the edge, Jim began to pick his way down the steep incline. Blair dragged himself upright and started to walk the edge, alternating between concerned glances down at his partner, and anxious scans of the woods for their reinforcements.

  Twenty minutes later, Blair's nervous pacing came to an abrupt halt when the Sentinel climbed back into view. Ellison met his questioning gaze with a shake of the head and whispered softly, "It was the driver."

  Jim shifted restlessly in the passenger seat of the jeep, his dark, brooding silence broken only by his terse replies to Anders' occasional questions. The Sentinel kept his answers short and to the point, mindful of the subdued presence of his Guide in the back seat. Given the few facts they had, any discussion at this point was going to be purely speculation and he was determined to keep that to a minimum until Blair had a chance to regain some of his equilibrium. Understanding his young partner as well as he did, Jim knew that the anthropologist would find a way to drag the det
ails out of him soon enough.

  And Blair was going to need all the emotional balance he could manage. They all were. Things were going from bad to worse in a rapidly collapsing downward spiral. Up until thirty minutes ago the 'case' had still been a search and rescue operation. With the discovery of the driver's body, it had turned into a murder investigation. And there were still eight people missing. The potential for the whole scenario to get very ugly had just increased drastically.

  The worst part was that they still had no real answers. Anders had left one of the teams behind to contain the crime scene and look for further evidence, but the Sentinel had already done his own sweep of the area and come up empty. Even with his senses extended to the limit, the search of the wreckage had turned up little of tangible value. Besides the beginnings of what threatened to become a raging headache, all he had gained were a few insights into the bus driver's personal habits. He'd learned nothing about who was behind the apparent abductions and murder.

  Well, not exactly nothing, Ellison. You know they're very professional. The slick disappearance of the bus and its passengers, the expertly laid trail to the ravine and the absence of prints or any other identifying evidence in the pickup confirm that. And they obviously have no qualms about killing. After all, Heckt didn't slit his own throat and then calmly drive that truck over the edge.

  The question of whether the driver had been an innocent victim, or an interested participant who'd made a bad choice in partners, was irrelevant this point. What was important was the fate of the missing children and their teacher. Eight lives, hanging on their next move.

  My next move.

  His eyes flickered upward, automatically tracking the location of the sun as it moved across the sky, ushering them toward mid-afternoon. They'd used up precious time only to find a dead end. Now they were headed back to square one with two possible leads yet to follow. With less than four hours of daylight left, there was no time for another mistake.

  Blair eased out of the jeep and watched Jim cross to the depression which held the tire tracks. Leaning against the side of the vehicle, he studied the older man anxiously. Blair didn't need to see the clenched jaw or the intense, cold blue eyes to know that Jim was blaming himself for what he perceived as their failure to this point.

  With a resigned sigh, Blair accepted that, as usual, his partner was going to take the case personally and push himself to the wall until he solved it. Unfortunately, that kind of effort usually resulted in a tendency to over-extend one sense or another, which of course, led to a 'zone-out.'

  And that was precisely where Blair feared his partner was headed now. All the little indicators he'd learned to watch for were there, and the worried Guide catalogued every sign of strain and distress: the tension in Jim's shoulders as the detective crouched to examine the impressions; the furrowed brow and the squint of the older man's eyes as he winced against what was undoubtedly a blossoming headache; the aggravated shake of the Sentinel's head as he tried to focus his hearing.

  Yep, definitely a zone-out in the making... and this is NOT the time or place for that to happen.

  Taking a deep breath, Blair stretched gingerly to ease his own cramped, aching muscles. With as casual a glance as he could manage, he let his gaze drift over the assembled men and equipment. When he saw Bailey and Anders standing together, he stiffened, reminding himself to take several deep breaths. From his perspective, they seemed to be watching Jim, their eyes following the detective's every move.

  This is not the time to go over the edge with your paranoia, Sandburg. Ellison needs you. Get it together and go help him. You can watch his back just as easily from over there.

  He pushed away from the jeep and circled to the other side of the depression. Kneeling across from Jim, he stared down at the tread marks. The sun and increasingly brisk wind had dried the malleable mud to the consistency of hardened cement and Blair found himself wondering how, even with his enhanced vision, the Sentinel could possibly read the remaining evidence.

  "Which are the ATV's?" he asked curiously.

  "The five-treads," Jim answered, tracing the outline of the tracks in question with his fingertips.

  Squinting, Blair leaned even further forward, but it didn't help. Even with his partner pointing them out, he still couldn't distinguish the individual tracks from the other seemingly indistinct ridges. Focused on the ground, he felt a gentle tug at his jacket pocket and looked up to see Jim handing him his glasses.

  "You keep up all that midnight reading, Chief, and you're not going to be able to see the coeds in the front row of your lectures."

  The teasing comment was softened by the concern in Jim's pale blue eyes. Recognizing the razzing for what it was -- a means of putting the two of them in sync with one another -- Blair forced himself to play along. With a feigned expression of affronted dignity, he took the glasses and settled them in place, turning his attention to the ground once again.

  "Not a problem, man. Why do you think I always insist on one-on-one conferences?" He heard the amused snort from the older man, but didn't look up, unable to manage his normal wry grin as he gathered his courage to whisper his next question. "What did you find in the truck?"

  "Basically, what I told Anders."

  "And beyond basically?" Blair pressed, raising his eyes to meet his partner's. He held the Sentinel's probing stare with a level, unflinching one of his own and caught Jim's soft sigh of resignation before the older man answered.

  "Whoever killed him knew how to handle a knife."

  "So that give's the FBI something to check out," Blair responded after a moment, swallowing convulsively against the acid tang of bile that had risen in his throat. "They can look for priors for that kind of assault and weapon use, right?"

  Jim nodded, his eyes never leaving Blair's face.

  "What else?"

  "Not much that will help us here. No evidence as to who killed him. There was a strong smell of cigarette smoke in the cab, but I'm sure that came from the driver. Heckt's clothes reeked of it. From the odor, and the stains on his fingers, I'd guess it was some kind of unfiltered brand, but there were no butts in the ashtray."

  "Which means it wasn't his truck."

  "Probably not. Whoever's behind this knows what they're doing. The agency will run the make and VIN code, but it'll probably come up stolen or abandoned."

  Blair fell silent, his gaze drifting back to the obscure evidence at their feet. "The ATV... can you tell anything about it from the tracks? You said earlier it might be military."

  "The tread pattern is consistent with tires which are designed for off-roading, but that opens up a lot of possibilities, including a dozen or so recreational vehicles that you'd easily find used in a national park like this. We can't even be sure if it's a part of this case. As to the vehicle itself, I'd guess it's a little larger than the jeeps we've got -- maybe one of those wide-bodied trucks like the national guard uses. From the depth of the impressions, it looks like it's carrying an extra four- or five-hundred pounds of mass."

  Blair looked up abruptly. "If they took the kids and the teacher off the bus --"

  "That might account for the extra weight. I know." The muscles in Jim's face spasmed as he ground his teeth in frustration. "But it could also be a case of some well-fed mid-westerners out for a scenic drive. Until we find it, or the bus, it's just speculation and guess-work."

  "It's never just guesswork with you, Jim." Blair waited a moment for that compliment to be acknowledged with a rueful smile. "What do your instincts tell you? Which one do you think we should follow?"

  Jim glanced down at the tracks, then swiveled slightly to gaze toward the two possible paths that they could choose. "I'd stay with the bus. And hope it's not another red herring."

  Blair nodded and let his gaze drift back toward Anders, his eyes narrowing as an idea began to form.

  "What if we split up the search and track both of the vehicles? Not that I'm doubting your abilities for a minute, but with two se
ts of teams out, it would improve the odds, wouldn't it?"

  "It would make sense, although if we do run into trouble, we'll be short-handed. But it's not my call, Chief. Anders is in charge of this show, remember?"

  "Yeah, but you're the only one that's got a clue here, man. You aced Bailey out of the spotlight, so take advantage of it. You're in the position to do some major manipulation if you just put your mind to it. Get Anders to put Bailey in charge of the second group. Better yet, have Anders go with him. They can track the ATV and we'll go after the bus."

  "We've got to figure out which one went in which direction before that happens," Jim muttered. Rising to his feet, he moved forward through the calf-high grass in a careful, ever-widening search pattern.

  Blair reached down and plucked a blade of the long, fibrous growth, flexing it thoughtfully between his fingers. The tough, wiry strand bent easily, but straightened almost immediately when he released the pressure.

  "Great," he groused, not at all amused by the irony of the situation. "You could drive a herd of elephants through this stuff and an hour later you'd never find a trace of their passage. Wouldn't you know that we'd get lucky and find a species of grass that's highly resistant to damage and blessed with adaptive regenerative properties. Guess survival of the fittest applies even to high altitude plant life..."

  With a discouraged sigh, Blair straightened and trailed after his partner, absently wondering where they'd picked up such bad karma. Even mother nature seemed to be conspiring against them.

  "What we need here is a fresh perspective," he mused, his agile mind chewing on the perplexing puzzle.

  "What?"

  The tinge of irritation in his partner's tone made Blair realize that he'd actually spoken the thought aloud and broken the Sentinel's concentration.

  "Sorry, man. I was just thinking and it got louder than I intended," Blair apologized, lengthening his stride to close the distance between them.

  "Mouth moving faster than your brain as usual, you mean," Jim growled. "Welcome to the 'Sandburg Zone', ladies and gentlemen. The expert on altered states and skewed perspectives will be with you shortly."