Judgements

by K Ryn

  "Looks like they lost control and ended up in the ditch," he reported. He focused again, but all he heard were the same sounds. Tucking his gun into the back of his belt, he glanced at Blair.

  "I'm not getting much. Someone's in the car, but they're not moving around. If they lost it at the speed they were traveling, they might be hurt. Stay here, I'm going to check it out."

  "Jim, I don't think that's such a good idea," Blair objected, the shiver he'd felt earlier pricking at the hairs on the back of his neck.

  "Just stay here."

  Blair's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he watched Jim walk toward the car. "Be careful, man." A slight nod told him that the Sentinel had heard the whispered warning.

  Blair watched nervously as Jim stopped at the driver's door, leaning forward, as if to check something. The breath caught in his throat when he saw someone move from the back seat, rising up to tower over his partner. There was a flash in the sunlight and he saw Jim stagger backward, collapsing to the ground.

  "JIM!"

  The agonized cry tore out of Blair's throat and he was out of the car, running toward his fallen partner. "Get away from him!" he screamed as he saw Ben leap from the convertible and reach down toward Jim's motionless body.

  Ben straightened and raised Jim's gun. Desperate to reach his friend, Blair simply opted to ignore it. That worked until the explosive discharge of the .38 caliber handgun pummeled his ears and a burning sensation knifed through his leg. Stunned, he went sprawling, thrusting out his arms to break his fall. He hit the pavement with enough force to drive most of the air from his lungs, but he forced himself to his knees. Blinding pain shot through him as something hard hit his stomach, dropping him to the burning asphalt again. He rolled to his back and tried to focus his blurred vision on the figure that wavered above him.

  "I told you we'd meet again," Ben sneered.

  Blair willed aching stomach muscles to function and tried to sit up. Ben kicked him in the shoulder, dropping him to his back. Frantically, Blair tried to turn so that he could look behind him, to where he'd seen Jim fall. Ben kicked him again and he doubled up in agony.

  "Ben, stop it!"

  Blearily, Blair recognized Connie's voice and blinked his eyes open. Ben loomed over him. Jim's gun was pointed at his head. Blair stared up at the dark muzzle of the revolver, only vaguely aware of Connie struggling with the other two. Anger washed through him. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk off Ben's face, but a stronger voice was screaming in his head, reminding him that his Sentinel needed him. Jim was hurt. Blair might be angry enough to lose his own life in an unsuccessful attempt to strike back at Ben, but then what would happen to Jim?

  "Don't do it, man," Blair gasped, forcing his eyes to focus on Ben's face, instead of the gun.

  "Say 'please'."

  Something inside of him rebelled and he clenched his teeth, refusing to answer. Ben's face hardened and Blair heard the gun cock, ready to fire.

  "Say it," Ben demanded, the hate and intent naked in his eyes.

  Anger warred with caution and for the space of two heartbeats Blair refused to listen, but Jim's need outweighed his pride.

  "Please," he whispered. "Don't shoot."

  Ben held the gun on him for what seemed to be a lifetime, then suddenly raised it, firing into the air. Blair flinched at the sound and Ben laughed. Blind anger flared to life again and Blair started to raise himself from the pavement, his only thought to put his hands around his tormentor's throat. Ben was quicker. The angry youth delivered another kick to Blair's already bruised stomach, flattening him once more.

  Blair lay on his side, struggling to draw air into his tortured lungs. He heard Connie's shrill protests, the scuffle of feet and then the sound of car doors slamming. An engine revved and he forced himself to raise his head. The Chevy leapt forward. In desperation, he rolled to the side. The car streaked past, missing him by less than a foot. He heard the squeal of the tires as the car swerved around and headed back toward him. Lurching awkwardly to his feet, Blair scrambled out of the way once more. Gasping for breath, he kept his eyes glued to the car, certain that they'd be back for another try. The Chevy's wheels spun, burned rubber and showered him with loose gravel as it sped away.

  Blair sank to the ground, watching in disbelief until the car was out of sight. He closed his eyes and a tremor racked his aching muscles. He felt numb inside. All he wanted to do was go to sleep -- to escape from this nightmare. He wanted to get away from the screaming voice inside his head, too. He screwed his eyes shut even tighter, hoping the spinning blackness would send it into oblivion, but it just shrieked louder.

  Jim is hurt... he needs your help.

  "Jim..."

  Blair tried to turn and locate his friend. Bruised muscles protested and nearly doubled him over again. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to his knees. When he attempted to get to his feet, a burning pain in his left leg stopped him. He looked down at the ugly inch-deep furrow that the bullet had plowed across his upper thigh. It was bleeding freely.

  At least the bullet's not still in there. Just think of it as a 'scratch'. It may hurt like hell, but you're still alive. You can stick a band aid on it later -- a BIG band aid. Get your butt in gear and see to your partner.

  Stubbornly, he lifted his head, focusing on the motionless detective. Settling for an awkward half-crawl, half-drag combination, Blair worked his way to his friend's side.

  "Jim... wake up," he pleaded, horrified by the blood that was streaming down his partner's face. He slipped out of his t-shirt and held it against the ugly gash at Jim's left temple, hoping to at least slow the bleeding. "Come on, man... don't do this... don't die on me..."

  He lost track of how long he sat there, cradling his injured partner's head in his hands, repeating the urgent mantra. Finally there was a response -- a low moan. With a sign that Jim was still alive, Blair's mind began to work again.

  Help. Jim needed help.

  "An ambulance with about a dozen EMTs and all sorts of fancy gear would be just the thing right now, don't you think so, Jim? I mean, I know I'm usually against all that techno-crap, but I really think I could be persuaded in this case." Blair winced at the panicked edge to his voice and knew he was close to losing it.

  That's the last thing Jim needs right now.

  Easing the older man's head back to the pavement, he pushed himself to his feet. He needed to deal with Jim's head wound. Stop the bleeding. Clean it first. He needed water for that. In the trunk...

  He took an unsteady step toward the Chevy before he remembered it was gone. The impact of that loss almost dropped him back to his knees. They'd taken everything. The water, the food, his precious backpack... Blair almost sobbed in despair and reeled backward into the convertible. His eyes drifted to Jim's motionless form and he struggled to regain control over his emotions.

  He felt the pounding heat of the sun. Water... they needed water. He thought longingly of the jug that Jake had loaded in the trunk of the Chevy, wishing he had just a cup of it.

  The trunk... Jake had put it in the trunk... standard procedure...

  Lurching to the rear of the convertible, Blair hammered at the trunk in frustration, then staggered back to the driver's door. Flinging it open he searched frantically for the release, nearly breaking it off when he yanked it upward. Returning to the back end of the car he jerked the trunk open, a mad giggle of relief burbling out when he saw the water jug.

  Blair settled Jim on the ground against the right rear tire of the convertible, careful to avoid the searing hot metal of the car's frame. The way the vehicle listed to the right in its nose-dive position made him nervous, but it was the only patch of shade available, and getting his partner out of the burning sun was high on Blair's list of priorities.

  With a grimace of pain, he sank down next to Jim. Wrapping his fingers around the older man's wrist he closed his eyes, concentrating on the steady pulse that throbbed beneath his touch.

  Grateful for
at least that much reassurance, he opened his eyes and stared listlessly at their surroundings. Rippled waves of heat rose from the pavement, distorting everything in their sickening dance. Beyond the highway, the flat, monotone landscape seemed to mock him with its total absence of movement. Memories of his first trip to the reservation came back unbidden, reminding him of the fragile line between life and death in the unforgiving desert.

  He shuddered and shifted his gaze to the older man once more, scanning his partner for any sign of returning consciousness. He knew that Jim's chances for survival dropped the longer he was out.

  "Come on, man... where's that hard head when I need it working for me instead of against me?" he murmured, barely restraining himself from giving Jim a desperate shake.

  He reached out and pulled the water bottle closer. Carefully pouring only a few drops into the cap, he tipped it to Jim's partly open lips, hoping the precious fluid might revive his friend. But there was no response. Grimly, he poured another capful and drank it himself before screwing the lid back on the jug.

  He shifted slightly and hissed through clenched teeth as pain shot through his left leg. With both hands he grabbed the fabric of his jeans and levered the limb into a more comfortable position. He'd managed to rig a crude bandage from an old, relatively clean shirt that he'd found in the back seat of the convertible. His own t-shirt had been reduced to little more than scraps after he'd dealt with Jim's head injury. There was barely enough left to cover his shoulders, but even that scant protection was welcome against the sun's burning rays.

  His leg throbbed again and he grimaced at the sight of fresh blood staining the wrappings. It's just all the moving around. It'll be fine if you just sit still for a few minutes, he told himself.

  But the silent assurance that he tried to feed his whirling mind wasn't working. The problem was that he couldn't sit still. He'd managed to get Jim's head wound cleaned and bandaged and had taken care of his own injury to the best of his ability, but that was only the first step in a long line of many. He had to figure a way out of the mess he'd gotten them into. Blair couldn't ignore the fact that if the run in with Ben and his buddies at the park had never happened, then they wouldn't have been attacked on the road and Jim wouldn't have been hurt.

  God, what if he doesn't wake up... What if there's some kind of internal hemorrhaging?

  The horrifying thought of losing his Sentinel ate at the slim control he'd managed over his emotions. With a groan, Blair wrapped his arms around his aching stomach and rocked slowly, struggling to take one breath at a time, fighting to push away the despair-filled thoughts.

  Get a grip... Jim needs you thinking... not falling apart... he's depending on you, damn it!

  Gathering every ounce of willpower he could find, he forced himself to sit still and concentrate on breathing. After a few minutes, the trembling that had gripped his body eased. A quick glance at his partner showed him that nothing had changed. He could see the even rise and fall of the Sentinel's chest. The small patch of blood spotting the bandage on his head hadn't grown any larger.

  Swallowing hard, Blair grabbed onto the car and pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the blistering feel of the sun-fired metal. With their injuries addressed, the next order of business was transportation and the only thing available was the convertible. Wishing he'd spent at least one session in auto shop instead of opting for all the extra science classes, Blair made a slow circuit of the vehicle. To his uneducated eye, there appeared to be nothing wrong with the car, other than the fact that it was half in the ditch. The suspicion that Ben had faked the accident in order to draw them into a trap dawned quickly. Anger flared and Blair used it as fuel to feed his burning need to keep moving.

  Opening the passenger-side door, he peered inside and found that the keys were still in the ignition. A delighted smile filled his face and he turned to look down at his partner.

  "Hey, man... maybe our luck's changing here. All we need to do is get this baby started and then I'll get you to a doctor."

  Buoyed by that positive thought, Blair made his way around the front end, doing another quick check underneath to make sure that there was no visible damage. He glanced down the highway toward the reservation and then back toward town, already trying to decide which might be the best choice once they got moving. He froze when he caught sight of a tiny black shape wavering in the distance, like a fly struggling in a spider's web. The shape seemed to increase in size before his eyes, and he realized with a lurch that it had to be an oncoming car or truck.

  Seized by the hope that help might be only moments away, Blair stepped away from the car, onto the highway, waving his arms in an attempt to flag down the vehicle. He started yelling and gesturing frantically as the car drew closer and still showed no sign of slowing, much less stopping. Disbelief over what was happening turned to horror when he suddenly recognized the dark green Chevy.

  A bullet exploded in the pavement near his feet sending stinging shards of asphalt flying up into his face. Blair dove to the left, tumbling into the ditch. Pain shot through his body and black spots danced in front of his eyes, but he scrambled, crab-like, around the front end of the convertible, hoping it would shield him from the gunfire. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Jim, still propped by the back tire. He lunged toward the older man, dragging him toward the passenger door in an attempt to keep him out of the line of fire.

  A rain of bullets pummeled the driver's side of the convertible. Blair leaned over his partner, covering Jim with his own body, determined to protect his Sentinel even if it meant his own life. As the Chevy flashed by, Blair heard a burst of raucous laughter. A snarl of anger escaped his throat and he loosed a string of curses, wishing Ben and his buddies into every kind of hell he'd ever heard of or imagined.

  The smell of gasoline cut off his tirade. Eyes wide with fear, he looked under the convertible and saw something dripping from the undercarriage. The roar of an engine caused him to swivel his head to the right and his heart skipped in terror. The Chevy was making a screaming turn and it would be only moments before it was headed back toward them.

  He locked his hands in Jim's shirt and jerked backward, frantic to get him away from the death trap that the convertible had become. Leaving the slim shelter that it afforded would put them out in the open, making them easy targets if Ben pursued them, but it was either that, or risk being caught in the explosion if the car blew.

  Pain screamed through him as he dragged Jim's unconscious body along the ground. When he'd managed what he hoped was a safe distance, he glanced back at the convertible and caught sight of the water jug, still sitting near the rear tire. Knowing that if they made it through this attack, that they'd still die if they didn't have water, Blair stumbled back toward the car. Gasping for breath he snagged the jug. The Chevy was just pulling up even with the convertible and he could hear the jarring laughter from its occupants over the roar of the engine. He lurched away, struggling to get back to his partner. Shots rang out behind him and then the world exploded into a blinding wave of sound.

  Searing heat and a painful throbbing in his skull were Jim's first sensations as he regained consciousness. With a groan he rolled to his side, forcing his eyes open. Blackness, at odds with the white-hot feel of the sun, greeted him, freezing the Sentinel in place. Cautiously, he blinked. And blinked again. There was no change to the darkness.

  Only years of training helped him hold the surge of fear at bay. Jaw muscles clenching, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Leaning forward to catch his breath, he held his pounding head in his hands.

  Sight was gone and his remaining senses were running amok. The rank smells of burning oil and plastic swamped his nostrils, coating his tongue and making him want to retch; scorching heat enveloped him with a pounding force that threatened to drive him to the ground again; and a thunderous crackling assailed his eardrums.

  What the hell happened?

  Three vivid images flashed through his mind, instant
ly answering the question -- Blair's face filled with terror, a convertible sitting in a ditch beside the highway, and a shapeless figure towering over him.

  The kids in the car... it was a trap... Blair... Where's Blair?

  His head snapped up and he stared sightlessly around him, the fear he'd fought off earlier only a shadow of what he was feeling now.

  "SANDBURG!"

  He held his breath, fighting to listen over the pounding of his own pulse. When there was no answer he shouted again.

  "BLAIR... WHERE ARE YOU?... ANSWER ME!"

  Only the disturbing crackling noise reached his ears. Jim pushed himself to his feet, swaying dizzily at the abrupt movement and at the demands of his overloaded senses. Gritting his teeth he fought to bring them under control, mentally wrenching at the dials that his Guide had suggested he envision.

  Control... I need... to control this... I have to... I have to find him...

  Far too slowly, the confusing sensations diminished -- leaving him trembling, but with at least a modicum of control. His sight was still affected and he closed his eyes, refusing to be distracted by what he couldn't, for the moment, do anything about. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping that it would help him focus. He reached up to touch the throbbing point on his temple and felt the soft sensation of cotton.

  Gently exploring the bandage, he felt a curious wash of relief. Someone had tended to his injury. The most likely candidate for that was his partner. It was a leap of faith, but Jim was eager to believe that scenario, because it meant Blair had survived the ambush. But if he had, where was he?

  Jim rubbed his eyes and blinked them several times, wishing that the damage to his vision might miraculously be healed by that simple action. But the darkness persisted. It was like being blinded by the Golden all over again. The same feelings of fear and frustration. It had been Blair's gentle, supportive and inventive presence that had gotten him through that incident. Now he found himself in the same situation, but without his Guide.