by K Ryn
The Sentinel gave him a terse nod. He had no intention of seeking out a fight. They were seriously under-equipped and out-numbered, which meant flight was definitely the way to go. Jankowski had offered Jim Hiller's gun, but the detective had pressed him to keep it. Even if he was a little rusty, the old man had the training and right now he was steadier on his feet -- and had both hands free. A welding torch wasn't going to have much impact against the firepower that Jenson and his men had at their disposal, but if it gave Blair some comfort, Jim wasn't about to argue.
With painstaking care Blair guided them through the maze of half-formed walls and piles of lumber toward the rear of the building. It was slow going. His Guide stumbled several times as they picked their way through darkness broken only by the dim illumination of some randomly placed safety lights. The Sentinel clenched his jaw, dialed down the pain another notch and urged them forward.
They rounded a corner and entered a hallway that appeared to be nearly finished. Open doorways gaped on both sides of the corridor. Blair scooted them past the empty rooms that they represented.
His Guide's forward momentum slowed as they approached the far end. "Almost there," he whispered, eyeing the closed firedoor ahead. "You ready for some steps?" The Sentinel nodded and then froze, head cocked to the side.
Blair looked up into Jim's face, anxious, but silent. "What?" he mouthed.
Jim jerked his head in the direction of the firedoor. "Company," he hissed.
Jankowski hovered at Jim's right, and raised his gun, thumbing the safety off in one smooth motion. He glanced at the Sentinel and raised an eyebrow as if asking "How many?"
Jim held up two fingers.
Jankowski motioned for Blair and Jim to move back along the way they'd come. The Sentinel and his Guide ducked into one darkened room and the old man ducked into the other, directly across the corridor.
Jim almost protested as Blair eased him back against the wall to the left of the doorway. The younger man cut him off with a glare and tapped his ear. His Guide gripped the torch at the nozzle end and positioned himself in front of the Sentinel, ready to attack or defend as the situation required.
Cursing silently at the twist of fate that had him playing the role of protectee instead of protector, the Sentinel armed himself with the only weapon he had at hand. He placed one hand on his young partner's shoulder and sent his senses out in pursuit of information. Heavy footsteps... definitely two sets... No trace of Simon's cigars and unless Rafe and Brown have changed aftershave it's not them either... Foes then, not friends... Cloth rubbing against what? Metal?... What's that splashing noise?... check the smell, not the sound, Ellison... damn... gasoline...
Jim tracked their progress and gave Blair's shoulder a slight squeeze when the men reached the third floor landing. The anthropologist nodded and tensed, leaning forward slightly to sign a warning to Jankowski across the way.
There was a loud thump as the metal firedoor was thrust open. The Sentinel's eyes glittered with feral pleasure -- their adversaries weren't concerned about making noise, which would make them easier targets. Under his sensitive fingertips, Jim felt the shudder that rumbled through Blair's body and heard the sharp inhalation as the younger man drew in a deep breath and held it.
Jim gave Blair's shoulder one more squeeze and then eased back out of the younger man's way. His Guide shifted his stance and brought the tank up to his shoulder like a batter waiting for a juicy pitch.
The Sentinel distinctly heard every grumble of the two men. Harris and Rogers weren't happy with the grunt duty they'd been assigned. Jim allowed himself a grim smile as the two walked unsuspectingly into the ambush.
Blair struck first, taking a step forward and lashing out with a major league swing. He caught Harris square in the stomach. The cop let out a choked grunt and dropped to his knees. The metal gas cans he'd been carrying tumbled to the floor with a loud clang. Jankowski nailed Rogers with a hard rap to the back of the head as the man spun to see what had happened to his partner. The anthropologist followed up his first strike with a second back hand blow that downed Harris instantly.
Using the wall for support, Jim eased out into the corridor. Jankowski was already dragging Rogers into the room that he'd occupied. Blair stood straddling the man he'd taken out. He still clutched the torch, but the younger man's breath was surging in and out of his lungs in ragged gasps, his free hand braced against his left leg to keep him upright.
The Sentinel moved to his Guide's side and placed his hand on the younger man's back, rubbing gently as Blair struggled to catch his breath. Jim was just about to congratulate him on his aim when the sound of gunfire ruptured the silence.
Blair jerked upright and whirled around to face the firedoor. More shots rang out, echoing up the stairwell from the alley below as Jankowski moved to join them. Jim gripped Blair's shoulder and glanced in the opposite direction, scanning for any signs of activity out of Jenson's group. The sounds of running feet and shouted curses were obvious even without enhanced senses.
All three men exchanged grim looks. They were in the proverbial space between the hard place and the rock. With enemies blocking their escape route and coming up behind, they were trapped unless they could create a diversion.
Blair shifted into action, motioning for Jankowski to take charge of Jim. "See if you can get down to the second floor. We can cut across to the front exit. I'll try to stall these guys up here."
The old man nodded and grabbed Jim around the waist, but the Sentinel shirked out of his grip and reached for his Guide. "No way, Sandburg. If anyone's staying behind it's me."
Blair met Jim's glare with a determined one of his own. "I'm not staying behind," he explained as he dug furiously in his pockets. "Here." He dropped a generous handful of nuts and bolts into the Sentinel's palm. "Pretend these are marbles... toss 'em down the steps below the second floor landing. That stairwell's dark. Maybe we'll trip them up and buy a little time." He set down the torch and snatched up two of the gasoline cans. Wrenching the caps off, Blair shot his partner a crooked grin. "I'm just going to give these guys a taste of their own medicine."
Jim's eyes glowed with approval for his partner's inventiveness, but he still refused to yield to Jankowski's insistent tugging.
"I'm not leaving you behind, Chief."
His Guide touched him gently on the chest. "Then at least take cover behind the firedoor. Andrew, get this stubborn partner of mine moving, will you?"
"If you don't come flying through that door in sixty seconds, I'm coming after you," Jim vowed, tightening his grip on Blair's arm.
"Start counting, man. I'm shooting for fifteen," Blair retorted.
"I'm serious, Sandburg."
Blair's gaze hardened. "So am I, Jim."
Against his better judgment and all his instincts, the Sentinel released his Guide and let Jankowski lead him toward the stairwell.
Another burst of bullets struck the wall over Simon's head, sending needle-sharp shards of brick flying in all directions. Banks popped up, fired off a round of his own and then ducked down behind the dumpster that he was using for cover.
Where the hell is my backup? he wondered, glancing down the alley toward the street. Another volley of shots turned his attention back to the two men crouched behind the cars at the rear of the building. He fired again, hoping to keep the shooters pinned down until help arrived.
It had taken him longer than he'd hoped to find a position where he could take out the man he'd originally found in the alley. He'd been about to act when the odds had shifted drastically. Three more men had emerged from the back door of the building. In the faint light from the stairwell, he'd recognized Harris, Rogers, Smithson and Gordon. Unwilling to tip his hand, he'd been forced to sit back and watch. Harris and Rogers had dragged several items out of the trunk of one of the vehicles and headed back inside. It didn't take a genius to figure out what happening. Simon had stealthily shifted positions to get a better angle on the two remaining targets.
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br /> Unfortunately he'd disturbed a very large rat in the process. The creature scurried out of a toppled trash can and scrambled down the alley. Its abrupt exit sent the rusting container rolling. The sound caused the two men near the cars to turn in Simon's direction. With a muttered curse, Banks had flung himself behind a metal dumpster just in time to avoid the first burst of gunfire.
Now he was not only trapped, but the firefight was sure to bring more of Jenson's men to see what was happening, worsening the situation even further.
All I need is to have Sandburg come running up and this disaster will be complete. I hope for once the kid's got enough sense to stay in the car... ah, who am I kidding? If Jim can't get him to stay put, why would I think I could?
He winced as bullets ricocheted off the metal barrier. He started to lean around the dumpster to fire again and froze as the chatter of more gunfire filled the night. The thick moisture- drenched air made it hard to be certain, but the sounds appeared to be coming from the front of the building. Banks fired again and ducked back, hoping desperately that it was his reinforcements. If not, Sandburg had found fresh trouble.
One, one thousand, two, one thousand, three, one thousand...
Blair jogged down the corridor, the upended gas cans spilling their toxic contents in glugging torrents at his heels. His rough plan was simple and inspired by the vision that had haunted him -- create a firewall of his own to keep Jenson and his men from pursuing them down the back stairs. At the end of the finished section of hallway he dodged right through a series of half-erected walls and ran another dozen feet before stopping.
... six, one thousand, seven, one thousand...
He set one can on the floor and splashed the contents of the other over the raw pine timbers, soaking them. When there was still an inch or so of liquid remaining, he laid the can on the floor, letting the balance of the contents gurgle out on its own.
... ten... eleven... twelve...
Retracing his steps he crossed the corridor and started to douse that area as well, forming the left side of the 'T' shaped barrier. He regretted being the cause of more destruction, but if the diversion would mean the difference between getting his Sentinel to safety or not -- well, it wasn't hard to choose life over crumbling bricks.
... seventeen... eighteen...
He was just about to upend the second can when a bullet whistled by his ear, tearing off splinters of the wood framing to his right.
"... eighteen..." The whispered count died in the Sentinel's throat when the sound of a gunshot tore through his awareness.
"NO!"
Still holding the gas can, Blair spun and launched himself toward the corridor, dodging a hail of deadly missiles. He dug in his pocket as he ran, searching for the lighter. His fingers closed on the garrote, instead. It uncoiled as he tugged it from his jeans. Skidding to a stop when he reached the hallway, he took shelter behind the length of finished wall. With trembling fingers he wrapped one end of the wire around the handle of the container. Jenson and his men were too close -- he had to buy a few more precious seconds.
Jankowski was hard-pressed to keep Ellison from bolting into the corridor. He wedged himself between the detective and the firedoor, pushing the metal panel open so that they'd have a clear view of the hallway.
Sandburg suddenly appeared, a half-step ahead of the bullets and Jim's grip on the old man's shoulder tightened. It grew to vice-like intensity when the younger man stopped and turned to face the enemy instead of rushing to join them.
"Chief, come on!" the detective shouted, straining to get around the old man who blocked his way.
The Guide could hear his Sentinel calling frantically for him to move, but he held his position. Gripping the free end of the deadly wire in both hands, he started to swing the can back and forth. He almost dropped it when a fusillade of bullets peppered the wall behind him. He felt fire streak across his back as he stepped forward into the opening. The wire burned a trail across his palms as he released the container, heaving it through the air in the direction of his pursuers.
With his senses fully extended, the Sentinel staggered as the thunder of gunfire assaulted his ears. The deceptively soft 'whump' that followed as the partially filled can exploded, pierced by one of the bullets, nearly drove him to his knees.
"Sandburg!" he gasped. "Get out of there now!"
Having seen the results of the explosion first hand, Blair needed no encouragement. Fire was already licking greedily wherever the burning liquid had fallen. He spun around and slipped on the gasoline soaked floor, falling to his hands and knees. Coughing on the fumes, he scrambled to his feet, only to be knocked flat as a heavy body collided with his. He managed to roll over to his back and found himself staring up into Randolph's sneering face.
"Good try, punk," the angry cop snarled. "Just not good enough."
The black hole that was the end of Randolph's gun loomed and filled the anthropologist's vision. He felt a moment of absolute despair. He'd come so close...
Fighting to regain control over his senses, the Sentinel caught the blur of movement as Randolph launched himself toward the unsuspecting Guide. He'd pulled a flanking move and attacked from the right side of the corridor while the other's held Blair's attention.
"One o'clock!" he screamed in Jankowski's ear.
Blair flinched at the sound of a discharging gun. He blinked, astonished to see Randolph reeling backward. The cop dropped to the floor, his eyes blank, a small round hole at the center of his forehead.
"MOVE IT, BLAIR!"
The stunned anthropologist twisted his head around. Jankowski stood in the stairwell doorway, still posed in a classic firing stance. Jim stood just behind the old man, the fury in his eyes rousing Blair to action.
The Guide crab-crawled toward the firedoor, fumbling in his pocket for the lighter. When he reached the two remaining gas cans he twisted off the caps and dumped their contents. The rank fuel flowed down the corridor in a wave. His hands were shaking as he struggled to flick the lighter to life. Blair heard the sound of running feet approaching, of voices screaming as Jenson's men attacked -- and froze.
They're too close! If I light this, they'll die! They'll be trapped in the flames!
He'd intended the blazing barrier to delay, not kill. Horrified by the thought of ending a life -- even those of the men that had intended to murder his partner -- the young Shaman uttered a choked cry of grief.
"I can't..."
Gnarled hands closed over his, pulling the lighter from his grasp. Jankowski thumbed the tiny torch to life and touched it to the floor, jerking Blair backward at the same time. A river of fire sprang to life as tongues of flame danced over the fumes. Sweeping toward the far end of the corridor, the inferno grew with each inch it consumed.
Blair felt himself hauled to his feet and pulled urgently toward the firedoor. The hands that held him were gentle, familiar, insistent. Guide instincts kicked in, drowning out the screams of the fire, the men that it hunted, and the guilty pangs of his conscience. He wrapped his arm around the waist of his injured Sentinel and hung on tight.
Jankowski shoved open the firedoor and took up a position on Jim's other side as the three men bolted down the stairs.
Jim's whispered "wait" halted them just inside the firedoor to the second floor. Their frantic descent had jarred the bandages loose from his wounds, but he ignored the fresh trails of blood seeping down his chest and back and fought to hold on to the controls for his senses. The trembling body of his Guide plastered to his side and Jankowski's harsh breathing were more than sufficient incentive.
The Sentinel scanned the dim landscape of the second level trying to ignore the thunder above them. The roar of the fire continued to grow in intensity as the blaze swept through the flimsy new construction and began to feed on the structure of the building itself. They had to get out before it spread any further.
He nodded toward the firedoor. "Open it."
Jankowski complied with his order, pulling t
he metal panel open a few inches. Jim strained to filter out everything but the noises rising from below. There was gunfire, a loud answering volley, and then voices raised in warning. The detective allowed himself a grim smile. The reinforcements that Simon had been waiting for had arrived and had Jenson's men pinned down. Unfortunately, their position at the bottom of the stairs blocked the escape route the Sentinel had hoped to use. That left the plan that Blair had suggested -- cut across the second floor and out the front.
Jim handed the nuts and bolts to Jankowski with a terse "toss these." In the few seconds that the old man was gone, the Sentinel turned his full attention to his Guide. What he found was less than heartening.
Blair's arm was still locked in a death grip around Jim's waist. The younger man appeared dazed and deep, gasping breaths racked his body. The Sentinel inhaled the scent of sweat and fear and gasoline -- his Guide's clothes reeked of the rank fuel. The threat of the raging inferno above took on a whole new meaning. There was something else as well. The sour smell of blood. Its stickiness coated Jim's fingers as the Sentinel traced the furrow that one of their attacker's bullets had carved across his Guide's back. Biting back a curse, he gently squeezed Blair's right shoulder.
"You still with me, Chief?"
His Guide's head raised and turned, instinctively looking upward. The dark eyes squinted in the dim light, filled with confusion and dull regret.
"I'm sorry, man..." Blair whispered.
"Save the apologies for the next time you leave your wet towels on the bathroom floor, Chief," Jim growled softly. Jankowski rejoined them and took his place at the detective's right side. The Sentinel's words of encouragement were meant for all of them. "Just hang in there. Backup's waiting downstairs. All we need to do is get to them."
