Who knew Denver was such an Internet friendly town?

Blair checked the clock in the bottom right hand of the computer screen; plenty of time. Even in a town the size of Denver, four in the morning didn't see long lines at the internet cafs. With a smile, he typed `nerve endings' into the Google search engine and hit enter.

An unexpected sneeze had him fumbling for the damp Kleenex tucked in his pocket. Blowing his nose, he tossed it into a nearby plastic bucket overfilled with coffee cups and napkins. He made a mental note to grab more tissues from the motel room.

His research into nerves and memory and the `science-fiction-weirdness' that had become his life was in the infant stage. This had been his first week of nightly access to the net, delayed by the frantic business of running from the government and fighting forest fires in Montana. Now he and Jim were working long days for minimum wage rates accepted `under the table'. Yet research must be done and sleep could always be caught up on later.

The ten internet links Google returned included two he didn't recognize. Blair clicked on the first link, pen ready to make notes.

"Enough." The large hand capturing his pen and note pad was attached to a very angry looking, bed-head sporting Jim Ellison, Sentinel-at-large.

"Hey, man." When in doubt, Blair's policy was innocent denial. "I thought you were asleep."

Oh, not looking good. Jim's aura vibrated with irritation.

"Erase the history," Jim ordered, scowling at the screen.

Quickly bringing up the tool option on his internet explorer, Blair followed the path to clear the computer's memory of screens visited. The two days Jim had been irritable and out of sorts. Jim thrust the purloined pen and notebook at Blair before reaching into his own pocket. Blair managed not to yelp as he was grabbed by the back of his collar, lifted off the stool and towed to the counter.

"How much does he owe?" Jim asked gruffly.

The woman behind the counter stopped flipping the Esquire pages and popping her gum. She looked down at her penciled notes, obviously amused. "Three-sixty."

Jim tossed her a five and waited impatiently for the young woman to master the math. Blair just managed to toss a dollar tip back on the counter before being jerked off his feet. "Thanks," he added with the tip. "See you tomorrow."

"Not likely, Sandburg," Jim growled lowly.

The night air was cool, a reprieve from the hot June days. Blair gave up any chance of freedom and let the older man tow him down the sidewalk, weaving between the nocturnal Denver residents. Brash neon signs spelled out `topless' and `live girls.' All night convenience stores and fast food drive-throughs maintained a steady pace of business. This was the part of Denver not seen on travel brochures.

"Jim, what's your beef?" Blair asked after a block..

"My beef is I wake up in the middle of the damn night and I'm alone in the motel room," Jim snapped. He glared at the nearby prostitute that smirked upon overhearing his comment. "What're you looking at?"

She turned away with a snort.

"Jim. Jim, man. You have got to calm down." If nothing else, for the sake of my poor arm you're trying to twist off my shoulder, Blair added mentally. "I couldn't sleep and I fig -"

"Save it, Chief." Jim checked over his shoulder. Finding the traffic held up by a red light, he tugged Blair across the two-lane street toward the Mile-High Motor Inn, their current abode for the last week.

A sign out front advertised clean rooms for thirty-nine dollars a night, or two hundred a week. Jim had managed to convince the manager to rent them a double room at single rates. Of course, they also had to work two hours a night on any odd job the manager gave them. So far this week, every job had involved a stopped-up toilet. They had one more day to go before the week was over.

Back in their room, Jim turned his captive free and closed the door. He turned the deadbolt and drew the chain before rounding on Blair with his `I'm a lethal Ranger and you're dead meat' look. "This has got to stop, Sandburg."

"What?" Blair crossed his arms.

Tossing one hand over his shoulder to jerk a thumb at the locked door, Jim hissed his answer, apparently remembering that shouting would result in a complaint by fellow occupants to the manager. "Don't `what' me. You've got to stop burning both ends of the candle. I can't remember the last time you closed your eyes for more than thirty minutes."

"Oh, that." Blair sat on the edge of his twin bed. He couldn't miss the fact his friend looked like a science experiment in sleep deprivation. Guilt bisected his gut. "Listen, Jim. I'm fine. I can go for weeks like this. I'll grab a couple hours before it's time for work."

But Jim wasn't listening. He paced the floor like a tiger in a too small pen. "No, no, we're done here. We're pulling out in the morning."

"What are you talking about?" Blair watched his friend move back and forth. The room was small, crowded by two sagging twin beds and a stained Formica-topped counter holding an electric burner. They had lucked out and gotten the deluxe kitchenette room.

"Better still, we're not waiting. Get your stuff together."

"Jim, you're freaking me out here. What's going on? What did I do wrong?"

Pausing from stuffing his clothes into a duffle bag, Jim shook his head. "Not you. It's... I can't explain it. Just trust me. We need to move on."

Ten minutes later Blair sat in the passenger seat of the black Jeep. Jim gripped the steering wheel, his body language unapproachable, eyes flinty and hard. They passed the all night Internet Caf, bringing a quiet sigh from deep within Blair's chest.

He'd really liked Denver.

Fifty miles into Kansas, the tension tapered. Jim took a deep breath, rotated his shoulders, rolled his head side to side and glanced at the fuel gauge. Sandburg had lapsed into silence, no doubt mad at him.

They had stayed off the Interstate, sticking to smaller highways. It slowed them down but Jim didn't care. It wasn't as if he had a clue as to their destination. Jim was simply reacting to that deep itch he'd been unable to scratch. That urge to get out of Denver. He couldn't explain it. He didn't need to. He learned long ago to trust it.

Blair's stomach growled, but the kid remained silent. A brief glance found his friend staring blankly out the bug-littered windscreen.

Flat wheat fields on either side of the road allowed Jim to stretch his vision deep into the horizon. A cluster of buildings around the familiar international symbol of twin golden arches provided their next cheap meal.

"Ready for breakfast?"

Blair blinked in surprise. He glanced around. "Don't you mean a late lunch?"

"Whatever. There's a McDonalds up ahead. We can grab a bite."

Blair squinted, peering out the glass. Heavy clouds stole some of the daylight from the land. "How far can you see, anyway?" He fumbled for the map they'd purchased at the gas station a few hours ago.

Jim could smell a test in the making. He allowed a grim smile. More and more of his best friend was returning, like the days when they'd lived in the loft and he had a job to drive to each day.

Thirty minutes later Jim guided the Jeep into the parking lot, heading for the drive through.

"No, let's go in. I gotta use the head," Blair said. "And I want out. Stretch my legs."

Most of the tension was gone now. Jim pulled into an empty stall. The place was busy for a weekday. He preferred busy to both of them being remembered by a bored employee. They could risk staying a while. Standing in line, paying for their food and finding a table in the corner, Jim settled in to eat. Blair had already located a local newspaper and opened it up on the table between them as he devoured his fries.

"Oh, a book sale at the town library." Munch. Munch. "Wonder if they have a medical section." He paused to slurp Pepsi through a straw.

"Check the national news," Jim suggested.

"Okay." Blair turned the large pages back to the beginning. "Trouble in the Middle East, big surprise there... gas prices are going up again. You know they do that because American families go on vacation this time of year, right? It's a conspiracy." Blair bit into his chicken sandwich, not slowing in his headline scanning. He continued to talk as he chewed, managing not to spray the table with food. "This is interesting; they're looking at a study where dogs can detect cancer. Cool."

"Anything about Camp David?" Jim asked after Blair had gone through the first several pages.

"Nope, why?"

"No reason." Jim pushed his half eaten burger aside and picked up his coffee.

The move was not missed.

"Hey, you're going to finish that, right?" Blair asked.

"No, I'm done. You want it?"

"No, I don't want it. But you need to eat." Blair turned in his plastic seat and squinted at the reader board behind the food counter. "You want one of their salads or a fishwich?"

"I'm fine. I don't want anymore."

Blair's eyes met his and narrowed. "No, man. You're eating. You need fuel. Even this stuff has calories and protein."

Blair had a point. Plus he looked ready to create a scene. Jim pulled the burger back in reach. With a sigh - let the manipulator think he'd won the battle - Jim picked up the Quarterpounder. Blair leaned back and waited. Only after Jim had resumed eating did he return to the paper.

"The local high school had a decent looking wrestling team. They're first in the state." Blair stuffed the last of his fries into his mouth and chewed, gaze continuing to scan. "I wrestled in high school. Stupid outfits. Fun sport."

Apparently Blair didn't hold his anger long.

After using the restroom they found a payphone and called the number Naomi had given them back in Cascade. It rang for a long time before Blair hung up. Jim ignored the lost look haunting his friend's eyes. They fueled up at the corner Texaco. Going into pay in cash, Jim added a small assortment of nuts and crackers to the purchase.

"Ready?" he asked as he buckled his seat belt. The respite from the road along with the meal had wiped away the last of his tension. It felt good.

Blair yawned as he nodded.

Ten minutes later the kid sagged in his seatbelt, snoring.

Jim drove. He spent the silent hours planning strategies: escape out of the country, stay in the states but go deeper underground, step into the public light and reveal themselves to the world. Each action had a drawback. Jim was willing to do what it took to keep them out from under the microscopes or locked away in a secret lab.

At his side, Blair slept.

Flat fields passed on either side of the road. The darkness truly was darker before the dawn. The faded yellow stripe down the center of the road seemed to mock him with blinking irregularity. Finally Jim had to admit the danger. He was tired, not sure he could stay awake long enough to reach the next town large enough to have a motel. Pulling over at the next wide spot, he tried shaking Blair awake.

"Sandburg... hey, buddy. Time to switch."

Blair rose to a level of semi awareness, blinked nearsightedly at Jim, huffed and leaned against the door with his arms crossed, falling back into sleep.

"Great," Jim muttered, massaging his closed eyelids wearily. "Now he catches up on a week of no sleep." His spine was not thrilled with the idea of napping in a driver's seat. Jim glanced back the camping equipment stowed behind the seats.

They had passed a small county campground a few miles back.

Decision made, Jim pulled back onto the blacktop and headed west. He found the turn off and followed the signs until they arrived at a smaller dirt road that bisected a corn field and dropped down into an oak grove beside a creek. The campground was rustic with just a dozen or more sites all sharing one pit toilet. A dirty brown station wagon with a family-sized tent had the prime location next to the creek.

Jim drove to the farthest end of the loop and parked. The remote site was surrounded by brush. Perfect. Leaving Blair asleep, he visited the toilet and read the sign next to the entrance as he walked back. The Oak Grove Campground had been the endeavor of an Eagle Scout. The five dollar a night cost met their budget and Jim stuffed a bill into the metal post.

Back at their site Jim kicked the larger stones and branches away from the clearing and pitched their two-man, four-season tent. With an eye on the clouds, he took the time to spread the rain fly over the top. Next came their insulated pads and sleeping bags and finally their tote bags, holding a change of clothes and extra underwear.

"Okay, Chief. Your suite awaits." Jim opened the passenger door and caught a shoulder before Blair strangled himself in his seatbelt. "Sandburg, wake up."

"Ummmm..." Blair rolled his face nose first into Jim's sweater and sniffed.

"Riight." Jim shook harder and unbuckled the belt. "I'm not carrying you. Wake up."

"Jim?" Eyes half-mast, Blair looked stoned.

"Yeah. It's me, Speedy. Do you need to use the bathroom?"

Blair considered the question a second then shook his head with a mighty yawn.

"Can you walk ten feet to the tent?" He hooked both legs and spun the semiconscious man a quarter turn in the seat.

"Tent?"

"Tent." Jim tugged.

Blair slid off the seat and stood on wobbly legs. "Don't see tent."

Oh, right. Jim had turned off the headlights. He'd long ago disconnected the vehicle's interior dome light. With the cloud cover hiding the stars, the place was near pitch dark. "Trust me. It's there. Come on."

With one hand around Blair's waist, the other on his arm, he navigated the other man around the fire pit. Once on his hands and knees, Blair crawled forward through the fabric opening and dropped face down on the closest sleeping bag.

Jim's.

"Damn it," Jim muttered as he followed, having to straddle Blair's legs to zip up the tent. He turned and considered his tentmate. He'd never seen Blair so out of it. Of course, they'd been working their butts off the last week raising a cash base. Between the money they made and the leftover salary from wildland firefighting they could afford gas and groceries for a while.

Jim pulled off Blair's sneakers and socks. He unzipped the far sleeping bag and tossed back the top, getting it ready. He patted Blair's cheek. The sleeper opened his eyes and blinked dully in the darkness.

"You're on my sleeping bag." Jim patted Blair's bag. "You sleep there. Go, shoo." He gently nudged. "Nice and warm and soft."

Blair huffed, then rolled off Jim's bag and fell in a sprawl on his own bed. Jim straightened out crooked limbs and zipped the younger man up before opening up his own bag and stripping down to his boxers. Blair was already snoring when Jim closed his eyes. Gone was that itch Jim had felt in Denver. He didn't miss it. Scanning the surrounding area once with his senses, Jim found his perimeter secure and gave into his exhaustion.

Blair woke fresh from a dream of hungrily gnawing on a tree limb. The air was muggy and warm. He recognized the inside of their tent and the neatly rolled up sleeping bag next to him.

"Jim?"

Silence.

Blair sat up and frowned down at his body. He hated sleeping in his clothes. Where were they? His stomach growled unhappily. It had been too long since the stop at McDonalds. They had left Denver without stocking up on groceries. He hoped Jim wasn't too far. Blair wanted food. Rolling his own bag into a slightly messier bundle than Jim's, Blair unzipped the door and crawled out, dragging both sleeping bags behind.

He heard faint sounds of a flowing creek. Tall, majestic oak trees grew all around them. Blair hadn't seen trees like these in a long time. These giants were made for climbing and building tree houses. Just like the one he'd fallen out of when he'd broken his arm. Hearing someone approach, Blair turned to see Jim walking up a dirt trail carrying a collapsible yellow bucket.

"Sleep okay?" Jim asked. Going to the Jeep, he set the full bucket in the dirt.

The Jeep's hood was raised and Blair could see the radiator's cap had been removed. A red greasy rag was draped over the side, above a front wheel well.

Jim was in mechanic mode.

Blair stood, wondering why his body felt like it had just finished a twenty-five mile run. His bladder was as full as his stomach was empty. Carrying the sleeping bags over to the Jeep, he stowed them behind the seats, pushing them down out of sight.

"I guess so; don't remember getting here, though. Where are we anyway? And does this place come with a bathroom?"

Jim chuckled. "We're still in Kansas, Toto. Follow the tire ruts around that bend. You'll see the head. Take some tissue with you. It's primitive."

"What, no showers?" Blair flashed a grin through the windshield before snatching a few tissues from the box between the seats. A hint of his own odor caused him to take the idea of a shower seriously. The water in Jim's bucket looked clean. Even a bath in a river would feel good; get some of the road grime off his skin. He rooted around behind the seat and found the canvas bag with the zippered top - their communal shaving kit - and tucked it under one arm.

"Watch for snakes, Sandburg," was Jim's sole comment as Blair headed toward whatever Kansas offered for a bathroom.

He found the narrow little shack, pinched his nose, took care of business. Wandering down a path, carefully parting a thick bush, he found the creek. Its banks cut away the rich Kansas soil, forming a wide trough and exposing tree roots. The trees shaded the water and cooled the air.

After making sure no snakes or people were around, Blair toed off his sneakers and stepped out of his jeans and boxers, anxious to feel the water on his skin. He pulled off his shirt, dug out a bar of soap from the bag and walked out into the current. His toes wiggled in delight. The creek bottom wasn't too muddy, mostly pebbles and rocks. After the cloud of silt cleared, Blair washed. The soap was biodegradable and wouldn't hurt the environment, but he didn't know what it would do to his hair, so he settled with using water to tame his `do'.

Maybe he should cut it. If they ended up staying away from Cascade much longer, it would be easier to take care of. Besides, short hair could be like a disguise.

Blair squatted and splashed, rinsing off the soap from his chest and arms.

He'd talk to Jim about it.

Without warning, the tree filtered sunlight faded. He was no longer standing in a creek bed. Blair was sitting, fully clothed, in a room. A man wearing a white doctor's smock stood just to his right. The doctor was talking, his kind voice sad.

"I'd say you have about three to five years before your vision is completely gone, Robert. I'm sorry the news isn't any better. Perhaps you and Eleanor should do some of that traveling you've been putting off. Get away and enjoy yourselves."

Raw anger caused Blair clench his hands into fists. He sat with his back straight. The news was like a blow to his gut. How could this be? He'd worked his entire life just to spend the last of his days as a helpless old man?

"Sandburg!"

With a gasp, Blair was back in the creek. His foot slipped and he landed with a splash on his butt. The cold water chased the last of the vision from his mind. Jim was jogging toward the creek, his face grim.

Blair hastily stood. "I'm good," he called out. "Everything's good, Jim."

Jim still looked ready to jump in, shoes and all. He stopped at the water's edge. "What happened? I could feel..."

Walking carefully over the rocks, Blair accepted a towel Jim had pulled out of the canvas bag. He explained as he patted dry, "Weird, man, a vision, like before, only real short."

"A vision?" Jim frowned. He lifted his chin, his eyes scouring the trees for hidden enemies. "You mean someone's memory?" He turned in a slow circle, coming back to study Blair. "How's your head?"

Right on cue, the vague pressure behind his eyes checked in. Blair finished drying and reached for his boxers and jeans, dressing quickly. "I'm okay, it's not too bad. I don't get it, though. Where'd it come from?"

"There's a family camping down the creek." Jim scooped up Blair's T-shirt and shook it out before handing it over. "What did you see?"

"Some guy talking to his doctor. Getting bad news." Blair pulled the shirt over his head and fished in his pocket for a hair tie. He eyed Jim speculatively as he drew his damp hair into a pony tail. "What did you mean just now? You felt my vision?"

But Jim was still in search mode, pointing. "Another person in a far field... that way. I think he's riding a tractor or something."

"Ellison," Blair growled, slipping his feet into his shoes.

Jim sighed, head down, busy folding the towel back up to fit into the canvas bag. "You make a twittery sound sometimes during those things. Hard to describe, but I'm learning what they mean. Ready to pull out?" he asked, bluntly changing the subject.

Blair wanted more. He'd wait until Jim wasn't on alert, then they would talk. "Yeah," Blair answered trying to judge the location of the sun through the thick trees. "How late is it, anyway?"

"You've been sleeping for more than twenty-four hours," Jim answered, walking back to the Jeep. "Beginning to think you'd sleep through dinner."

Blair's stomach did have a peculiar echo quality going on. "Lead on, McDuff."

After breaking camp, Blair watched the wheat fields fly by and thought about his vision. Why had he picked up that particular vision? In the big cosmic picture were his visions going to mean anything? Or was he destined to grow old tuning in to odd bits of other people's past. Blair frowned, suddenly depressed with his future.

"Corn Fritter Caf sound okay with you?" Jim asked out of the blue.

"What?"

Pointing out the windshield at a small roadside diner approaching on the right, Jim slowed. "Might be our last chance to eat for a while."

Blair's eyed the roadside diner doubtfully. It probably had a menu with twenty ways to fry lard. "Forget cutting my hair, we're going to be so fat from eating at McDonalds and road-kill-restaurants, no one will recognize us," he said.

Jim parked and shook his head. "You're weird, Sandburg. Does that mean yes?"

That night's special involved a lot of brown gravy. Blair watched Jim dig in with gusto, then looked at his own turkey sandwich, open face sans the same brown gravy. The waitress, a pleasant lady with a girth that matched Joel Taggart's had sighed with disapproval when she'd taken his order, obviously certain her customer was touched in the head.

Jim hummed happily as he ate.

"Looks like your appetite found you again," Blair noted after watching Jim chew.

Jim waved his fork and swallowed. "You're missing some deee-licious gravy, Sandburg."

"I'll live." At least a full week longer without the gravy.

Jim's smirk slid away. "Your head bothering you?"

"Nah, it's good." And it was, Blair realized. Maybe the pain-part of the visions had passed. He wished he knew more about his strange medical anomaly. "You think Kansas has Internet cafs?"

After they finished and walked the ticket to the cash register, Blair distracted himself by reading a bulletin board by the door while Jim paid. A twelve year-old was looking for babysitting jobs. Someone had an old washer and dryer for sale. A frustrated soul was looking for a good home for a pair of Dutch rabbits with hutch.

"Ready?" Jim asked, turning the doorknob.

"Look, man." Blair pointed to an older index card with carefully hand printed words. "Worker wanted, pay in cash."

The hefty waitress nodded as she folded Jim's tip into her apron. "Robert's been looking for help on his farm for months now. You boys looking for work? He's a fair man."

Jim read the card, carefully prodding between his teeth with a complimentary wooden toothpick. "He close by?"

"Two farms back down the road," she answered. "You can use our phone."

To Blair's surprise, Jim made the call, talked for several moments and thanked the waitress before they walked back out to the Jeep. It was late, dusk bringing little relief from the humidity. Blair waited until they were inside the vehicle before prodding Jim to talk.

"Well?"

"He's interested in hiring us. Said we could stay on his farm. But the work sounds grueling; we'd be fixing his irrigation. A lot of shoveling. You interested?"

"We still need money, right?"

"Wouldn't hurt." Jim started the Jeep, letting Blair make the decision.

Blair chewed on his lip. They'd be out of view from the world, tucked away on a Kansas farm. "Don't suppose they have a computer." He ducked Jim's hand. "Just kidding. Let's do it."

The farmhouse looked pre World War Two; wide front porch, root cellar off to one side, two stories. Blair half expected a pigtailed Judy Garland to meet them at the front door. She didn't. An elderly man with a peppered buzz cut and glasses answered their knock.

"I'm JR, this is Blake. We called from the diner a few minutes ago."

The man nodded and stepped back. "Come in. We can talk in the kitchen."

Walking through a homey living room with slip-covered furniture and a boxy TV that looked like it used tubes to function, they entered the back kitchen. The stove appeared to be from the same era as the TV. A red topped kitchen table with chrome curved legs and matching chairs sat in the corner of the room. The floor was clean with worn paths from heavy use that faded the pattern.

"Have a seat," the farmer ordered gruffly. Without waiting to see if either man was interested, he poured two coffees and topped off his own mug before sitting down. "I pay six dollars an hour, minimum wage. If you sleep and eat on the farm, the first two hours pays your room and board. If you're lazy and don't work to my liking, you're packed up and gone by night fall. Still interested?"

Blair hid his smile behind the coffee. He'd let Jim deal with this guy.

Jim nodded.

"You two don't look like the type that would travel together."

"We're half brothers," Jim said. "Thought we'd get out and see the country. Blake's had his nose buried in school books so long, he's forgotten what it's like to walk among the living. I thought I'd take some time off and show him."

Blair tried not to roll his eyes, but failed. Jim was looking real amused with himself.

Nodding once, Robert stood. "Bring your coffee, I'll show you were you can sleep."

The farmer led the way out the back door of the house then across a hard packed earthen yard. Pigs snorted behind a low wooden fence, chickens scampered out of their way, a milk cow lifted her head and watched them walk toward a two story unattached garage. They climbed an outside staircase to a room above the garage.

"There's a bathroom through there." Robert pointed at a closed door once all three men stood inside the large room. "Clean bedding in that dresser. Extra blankets in the closet. No smoking. No drinking alcohol on the farm. I catch you doing either and you're gone. Breakfast at five, my wife won't wait on ya, so don't be late. Any questions?"

Jim scanned the room. "Phone?"

"Main house only. Local calls are free, anything else better be collect." When Jim nodded, the man turned away. "See you both for breakfast."

When he was gone, Blair released his breath with a whoosh. "Can't say I'd vote him Mr. Personality of the Midwest."

"I'm sure you'll have him meditating and sitting in full lotus before the week's out, Sandburg," Jim answered dryly. "I'll get our bags if you want to make these beds up."

"Sure." Blair had to admit, he was already tired again.

The room was large. Two full size beds with iron headboards sat at forty-five degree angles from each other. A student desk and two dressers on the opposite end made Blair think of a kid's room, even though the place was bare of personal items. Perhaps the farmer's kids had grown and moved away.

By the time Jim had lugged up their clothes, Blair had the first bed made and was busy with the second. Jim reported the bathroom had a large claw foot tub and immediately ran a bath. Alone in the main room, Blair checked out the titles in a bookshelf next to the desk. He found a battered high school textbook and pulled it out. Jim had left his stuff on the bed against the back wall. The mattress was nice, firm but still soft enough to be comfortable, a vast improvement from the `Mile High' motel.

Jim immerged freshly shaved and yawning.

"Hey, Jim, did you know Kansas was once the bed of a huge inland sea?"

"Yes, I did."

Blair looked up from his reading in surprise. "You did?"

"You're not the only one in the room that went to school, Einstein," Jim stated. He toweled his hair dry. "You know, I think we did the right thing." Jim folded down the blankets on the other bed. "If the work's decent, we'll stay here until we hear from Naomi."

Blair closed the book and set it carefully on the floor out of the way. The wall switch was within easy reach of Jim's arm. "I think I'd rather dig ditches than work on backed up toilets."

"You want the light on?"

"Nah, I'm already tired again." Blair pulled the clean sheets and blanket up to his chin, stretching out with a happy sigh. Just being in a decent bed was a treat. "Sides, five AM will be here before we know it."

"Night, Sandburg."

By eleven AM the following morning Blair, was seriously rethinking the entire clogged toilet concept versus working on a Kansas farm. Knee deep in brackish water, working in humid heat just shy of melting your brain, salty sweat that stung the eyes - yeah, Blair figured toilet work would be an improvement.

"Got it yet?" Jim asked, back from his job of... Blair forgot what Jim had walked away to do.

"No," he snapped. The shovel slipped again. He bit back a curse. Ancient boards refused to budge, keeping necessary water from reaching a newly cultivated field.

And how Jim could look so damn `not miserable' when Blair wanted to just throw down the shovel and walk away was beyond him. He could feel the blisters under the work gloves. The farmer hadn't been able to find a pair of waders that fit him. No way were Blair's socks ever going to be white again.

"Want me to try?" Jim offered pleasantly, like this was the most fun he'd had since they'd left Cascade a million years ago.

"No!"

"No reason to get testy."

As an acid retort balanced on Blair's tongue, he finally felt the tip of the shovel bite into something not soft and squishy. Blair gently levered the handle down and with a loud slurp of reluctant mud, the planks cemented in sediment crusted metal tracks moved. Water swirled and began flowing. The back up was released.

Blair never got the chance to gloat. Strong arms lifted him bodily out of the irrigation ditch and he was tossed like an Olympic shot putt, crashing into and smashing down young tender corn stocks.

"Hey!" Blair blurted out after `oofing' and rolling over to glare at his `used to be' best friend.

Jim ignored him. Like a tall heron standing on a river bank or a primitive warrior with spear, Jim's body vibrated with suspended tension. Right arm held high with shovel in hand, he thrust it blade first, swishing through the air and into the water. A second later Jim bent and lifted a long, muscular, wet, headless snake and tossed it at Blair's feet.

"Water moc."

Blair swallowed hard, eyes riveted. "I think I'd rather be cleaning toilets."

"Sorry, I thought I checked the area over." Jim rolled his shoulders, a frown on his grimy face. "They don't usually travel this far from the creeks."

"Lunch!"

Rising to his wet feet, Blair saw the farmer waving at them from the edge of the corn field.

Jim raised a hand in reply. For some reason, Jim carried the snake's headless body along with his shovel. Blair balanced the two pry bars and his own shovel, casting respectful glances at the snake's body as they walked toward the distant farmhouse.

Robert raised an eyebrow as they neared the large barn where he kept the tractor and odd attachments used for cultivating the land. "That's a big'un."

Jim draped the snake over a fence rail. "It was looking to make Blake's leg its lunch."

Blair shuddered. He took the garden hose in hand, waited for Jim to turn on the water and started rinsing his filthy jeans. His tennis shoes were black with mud.

"You both did good work this morning," their new boss commented.

"Robert! Stop chewing their ears off and let them boys come eat," a woman called from the kitchen door.

The universal expression one man shares when a wife has done something to embarrass him graced Robert's face. "Coming, Eleanor," he answered loudly, then dropped his voice again. "See you two inside."

Jim snickered after the man left. "Now we'll see who runs the farm."

Blair stood still, his thoughts reaching backwards. Where had he heard that name before? The farmer had explained at breakfast that his wife was away visiting their daughter in Wichita. This was the first time they'd heard him use her name.

"Let's get you some dry clothes, Flipper," Jim suggested.

They went up to their room. Out of sight from the main house, Blair slipped out of his wet jeans and waited on the landing for Jim to bring him a dry pair. He draped the wet jeans over the railing.

"Take a week to dry in this humidity," Jim murmured. He held out a pair of clean socks. "Here, you can wear mine. I'll ask if we can use their washing machine. You okay, Blair?"

"Jim. Remember that vision I had yesterday?" Blair entered the bedroom to sit down and pull on the socks. "Any chance it was Robert I got if from?"

Jim looked out the window, peering across the flat fields. "Could be. Those trees on the horizon look like they might be the campground. I hadn't thought about it until now."

"The doctor in my vision had called his patient Robert, and his wife was Eleanor." Blair stood up. It felt good to be dry again. He was already dreading the afternoon.

Jim frowned at Blair's stocking feet. "I'll go find something you can wear."

Jim returned with a dusty pair of house slippers that didn't come close to fitting, but Blair managed to cross the dirt yard without kicking them off.

Eleanor greeted them warmly and waved them to the table filled with sandwiches and ice tea. Unlike her placid husband, she smiled and chatted about herself as they ate. Their daughter was married to a foreman who worked with the department of transportation. She had three grandchildren. Her quilting club was planning a dance in two months. Any chance JR and Blake might be still here because there were lots of women that would be very interested in them coming.

Blair lost track after that part. The sandwiches had both butter and mayonnaise on the bread along with crisp lettuce and thick slabs of roast beef. Blair hadn't realized how hungry he'd been. Breakfast seemed like a week ago, even though he'd eaten a large bowl of oatmeal and several muffins.

Finally he couldn't eat another bite and he leaned back from the table with a sigh and a kinder disposition toward the idea of farm work.

"Boys killed a water moccasin today," Robert mentioned when Eleanor's talk hit a lull.

"Oh!" she said with a start. "You both okay?"

Blair nodded, giving Jim a proud glance. "JR saw it in time." Or had he heard it? Blair made a note to ask his friend later.

But later he was too tired. They worked until dinner, ate a light meal of soup and fresh bread. He'd never know where he found the energy to climb the stairs to the upper room. Jim was still up and moving around when Blair stripped out of his damp clothes, left them outside the door and fell into bed, asleep before the light was out.

The next three days followed as the first. Jim was thankful Blair hadn't reported any more visions. After clearing all the irrigation obstructions, they went to work on the farmer's pumping system. The plan was to reopen a far field that had been unused for years. Robert hadn't explained the reason, only what he wanted done. Jim liked living and working on the farm. The sounds of the wind through the tender stocks of corn created a constant soothing backdrop to his day. The work was honest, the smell of the animals a surprisingly agreeable change from car exhaust and asphalt. The end of the day held the same benefit as a work out in the gym. The complex carbohydrates they ate in Eleanor's kitchen provided a healthy fuel for his body.

Jim felt more at ease when their jobs didn't involve standing in water. That business with the poisonous snake had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. If either of them ended up in a hospital, it would be child's play for the government to catch them.

"Tomorrow's Sunday. You men have plans for your day off?" Eleanor asked them at dinner.

Blair was sitting at the table, looking ready to sleep in his stew bowl. "Off? We get a day off?"

She laughed at his surprise. "Robert, I think you're working our boys too hard."

Her husband had the grace to look guilty. "Can't help it Elly. They're good workers. Got to get what I can before they move on. Blake welded my pump today. Don't need to get a new one."

Jim wanted to add he was pretty good when it came to welding open elevator floors too, but he didn't. Blair glowed under the praise. And with good reason. Robert didn't hand out compliments very often.

Sunday's breakfast was a virtual feast. Jim ate delicate crepes with homemade canned peaches, fresh farm eggs, thick slices of wheat toast, crispy bacon.

Blair's toe, still housed in the large slippers, tapped his shin, the movement unobserved from their employers. "You want a room alone with your food, glutton?" he whispered sentinel soft, blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

The meal was over too soon. Blair helped clean the kitchen while Jim and Robert finished the coffee. For the first time since they'd arrived in Kansas, the sky was blue and the humidity not so oppressive. Robert leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"Any recommendations on an inexpensive place to shop for clothes?" Jim asked.

Robert nodded. "We shop at `Osborns' in town. Follow the road to the first stop sign, turn left, then right at the library."

"A library?" Blair turned from his dishwashing. "Do you know if they have an internet link?"

"I expect," Robert answered. "But why not use the one in the living room?"

Jim had to laugh. Robert took them into the front room and showed how the old TV cabinet opened up to hold a computer tower, keyboard and a monitor that lifted up on a smooth hydraulic platform. Blair looked stunned. His jaw moved soundlessly, his eyes as big as planets.

"What, you think we're stuck in the thirties, Blake? We keep up with the times," Robert said with a dry chuckle.

Blair blushed. "I just... No, of course not... but when I first saw..."

"Don't worry, son. Robert lives for these moments. He makes a tidy sum on the side, building useful cabinets out of old clunky relics like that." Eleanor bustled into the room with her purse on her arm. "I'm off to church, boys. See you for dinner?"

"Yes ma'am." Blair lovingly eyed the computer, running his hands over the keyboard.

"I've got some errands to get done too," Robert declared, opening a small wall cupboard. "Here, JR. In case you two come back and we're still out."

Jim accepted the tiny key ring with a metal Kansas-shaped medallion and two keys. The seriousness of the exchange was not lost. These folks had known them for less than a week and they already trusted them with their home. "Thank you."

Dragging Blair away from the computer took some doing. Finally, Jim pointed out that if the kid wanted new socks and a pair of rubber work boots that fit his feet, he'd better haul his skinny butt out to the Jeep. Reluctantly, Blair left the computer behind and accompanied Jim into town.

The farming community of Jensen Creek was two blocks wide and three block long. A large water tower rose above the oak trees. Someone had painted the town's initials on its side. They drove past a Grange hall with a large graveled parking lot and livestock holding area near a train station. The two churches they saw had full parking lots, with more cars lining the main street. Jim spotted an empty parking space on the street next to the bank. In the clothing store they found a yearly sale in progress. Loading Blair's new boots, thick socks and underwear into the Jeep, Jim eyed the large sign down the street advertising a local Co-Op food mart.

"These Kansas farmers need to taste my famous lasagna," Jim said, pointing at the sign.

Blair immediately got into the spirit of the plan. "I'll make my rice and coconut milk pudding."

They locked the doors and walked to the store. When Blair couldn't find half the ingredients he needed, his mood turned south.

"Use this pina colada mix," Jim suggested as he leaned against the grocery cart. "It's like coconut milk."

"No," Blair answered with a frown. "It's not the same. It'll taste bad. Damn, first no passion fruit, now no canned coconut milk? How hard is it to get? It's canned, for crying out loud."

"How about your apple and walnut pie?" Jim suggested. "I once heard Simon tell Rhonda it was the best he'd ever eaten."

Blair perked up. "Seriously?" The effervescent smile evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. He looked down, performing a series of rapid blinks. The tiny muscles along his jaw and throat tightened as if swallowing hurt.

Oh, crap. Jim wanted to smack himself.

"Chief." Jim caught Blair's elbow.

Blair brushed his forearm across his eyes. "Sorry, for a minute there... it felt normal," he choked thickly.

"I know." Jim didn't release his hold. Blair leaned away, testing the connection as if judging Jim's determination. When would the kid learn? They were in this together. "It's okay."

"It's not," Blair responded with hushed fury. "I did this. Now you can't work and I can't finish my..." The confession vaporized.

With a firm tug, Jim reeled Blair into a loose hug. If Blair really wanted to break free, he could. Blair endured Jim's attention. Head ducked, brow on Jim's collarbone, he sullenly wrapped his arms around his own torso.

"You're backsliding, Junior," Jim teased lightly. "In a nutshell, for the very last time - because I already gave you the long version of this speech - this is not your fault. We are what we are."

Blair stood perfectly still. The unresponsiveness was so unBlairish.

Jim tightened his hold. "We're good here... right?"

It still took a long minute before Blair could raise his head, his eyes haunted but resolved. "So, apple and walnut, eh? I can do that," Blair said, avoiding eye contact. He pushed away. "But the crust has to be from scratch. Eleanor's not about store bought."

Dinner that night was a success. Afterwards, Jim and Blair were invited to stay in the main house and visit. As well as the days that followed. They had been accepted into the family. Robert explained his plans for the farm, to increase the crops to include growing sorghum even though he and Eleanor were retired. Eleanor would protest softly that she wanted to see her husband relax more. Blair searched the internet for more medical information. They found out Eleanor was doing her own research for a heritage cookbook her church hoped to publish as a fundraiser. She asked for permission to add Blair's apple pie to the book. Blair proudly wrote it out, dubbing it `Simon's Apple Pie'.

Each night Jim dialed the phone number for Naomi, explaining to Robert that he'd leave enough to more than cover the extra charge. But no one answered. Naomi's blog hadn't been updated in weeks, even before they had arrived in Denver.

Neither man expressed it, but they were worried.

Wednesday morning, after close to a week on the farm, Jim woke at their usual time of four thirty and took the first shower. Normally Blair was up and moving by the time he finished, but he found the younger man still under the homemade quilt.

"Sandburg." Jim shook a shoulder. "Up and at'em."

Blair rolled with a groan. Jim picked up the sour scent of sweat; his touch registered abnormally high heat rising from beneath the blankets. He laid a hand on Blair's forehead.

"Not feeling good?" Jim asked, feeling a fever.

"My head hurts," Blair acknowledged with a moan.

"I'll get you something from the kitchen. I think you're staying down today." Jim stood up. "You lucky dog, no ditch digging."

"Tell you what." Blair flung an arm over his eyes. "You take this pain and I'll go to work."

"No deal. You think you can handle breakfast? I'll bring you something." Interpreting Blair's groan as a negative, Jim pressed, "At least some tea and toast."

Heading across the yard to the kitchen in the predawn light, Jim noted the low, black clouds filling the sky. The chickens seemed reluctant to leave their henhouse. The air crackled with electricity. They were in for a stormy day. Finding Robert and his wife in the kitchen, Jim explained Blair's situation and asked if there was any aspirin he could buy.

"Oh, shush with that talk, JR." Eleanor stood up. "I'll take some up right now. He'll need something bland to eat, too." She filled a teakettle and set it on the stove.

"Why don't you join me at the auction today?" Robert asked. "I'm looking to buy another cow. It's always easier to load them with an extra hand."

Jim nodded. "Sounds good."

"It's settled, I'll bring Blake down to lie on the sofa if he's feeling better. He can keep me company while I work."

Robert made a disagreeing sound as he ate his oatmeal. "You let that boy rest, Elly. He doesn't need to be helping you with that cookbook."

She looked aghast. "That never even occurred to me, Robert Sinclair Jacobson."

Robert snuck a wink at Jim, his expression solemn. "Of course, dear. I don't know where I get these ideas."

Blair was asleep when Jim went up to give a final check. Robert had his truck running so Jim couldn't stay long. A tray sat on the floor next to the bed. It looked like Blair had managed one slice of toast and half the tea. Checking one more time on his friend's fever, Jim judged it to be the same. It was too early for the aspirin to work. He closed the door carefully.

The drive passed in companionable silence. The stockyard where the auction was scheduled was a few miles beyond the turn off to town. Parking in a large field, the first drops of rain caught them halfway to the covered area where the buyers could sign in, get a bidding number and continue on to the pens to view the animals being offered.

They broke into a jog. Jim repositioned his baseball-style cap firmly on his head as a gust of wind tried snatching it away. Small puffs of dust rose as rain pelted the ground around the pens. The animals shifted unhappily. Jim's skin prickled with unease and he glanced up at the boiling sky.

The auction started at eight sharp and they sat patiently in the wooden bleachers as one wet horse after another was led into the covered riding area, bid upon and led off. Goats and sheep followed. The sharp ammonia smell of animal waste was strong and Jim forced his dial for smell down.

"For once I wish they'd go alphabetically," Robert grumbled, hunched next to him, tapping the rolled up program against his denim knee. "Some folks have work to get back to."

A lonely, far off wail interrupted Jim's answer. It built in volume, rolling into a shrill scream before descending down, only to start upward again in alarm. Robert bolted to his feet halfway through the first crescendo, a rare curse exploding from his lips. Most of the men in the audience had a similar reaction. Without an explanation, the farmer bolted from his seat.

"What's happening?" Jim demanded as he ran alongside. The falling rain pelted them as they ran, soaking their clothes.

"Tornado!" Robert replied with clipped urgency.

"Wow, look at that rain." Blair lazed on the sofa, his feet on the cushion, and his back against the arm rest, a bowl with the runny remnants of vanilla ice cream on the coffee table. He was being spoiled and loving it; the morning a nice respite from the work routine, worth it even though his throat did feel raw. Blair's gaze was riveted to the large picture window. The rain fell in sheets, nearly vertical at times. The trees around the house were whipping back and forth, tossing leaves and smaller branches. The sky was black with churning clouds that bent and contorted as if alive.

"Um hum," Eleanor answered without looking up from her computer. She twirled a pencil in her teeth absentmindedly then made a note on the pad next to the keyboard.

Blair grinned, recognizing a fellow researcher when he saw one. He finally returned his attention to the book in his hands. His headache was better, but he recognized the all over achy feeling of a virus.

The phone rang. Eleanor answered; making pleasant conversation with someone named Sue. She hung up after a few minutes, promising to have Robert call about a missed appointment.

"Stubborn old cuss," Eleanor complained under her breath. "I finally get him to sit still long enough to have a doctor look at him and he won't do a few follow up tests."

Blair remembered his vision. "Is that about his problem with his sight?"

She turned in surprise. "He told you about that?"

Well, not exactly. Blair felt guilty and avoided answering directly. "Isn't there anything they can do before it's completely gone?" When Eleanor stiffened in her chair, Blair knew he had screwed up. "Forget I said anything, okay? I must have misunderstood."

"Blake, what did he say?" she insisted.

"Ah, nothing really." Blair ducked his head, studying his hands. Deciding the damage was done, Blair continued. A part of him still wanted to believe his visions happened for a reason, to make a difference. "But, if I were you, I'd get him to talk, really talk about it. He's trying to keep you from worrying. Only... I think he needs your support."

A flash of lighting ripped across the horizon and threw the room into stark relief. "Ah, Eleanor, maybe you should back up whatever you've got done and start unhooking your computer," Blair suggested.

"I've got a power surge protector. It's okay," she answered. She had turned away from the computer, her attention fixed on him. "Tell me more about what Robert said."

Movement caught his eye.

Oh... my... God.

Nearly falling out of his nest of blankets, Blair stumbled to the window, his eyes not believing. "Eleanor!"

"What?" She rose half way in her chair. "My goodness, Blake. What is it?"

"F-funnel! A funnel cloud. Right? Tell me that's not a tornado?" Blair demanded shrilly.

She was at his side in an instant. "Well, son. I wish I could, but I'd be lying."

How could she sound so calm? Blair's knees nearly buckled. He'd heard about them, read about them, even seen videos. But seeing a real tornado dropping out of the sky, twisting like Satan walking on the earth was the most terrifying sight he'd ever seen.

Eleanor pulled him away from the window. "Come on, Blake. Grab your blanket and slippers."

"Where are we going?"

She scooped up his slippers and pushed them into his hands. "Hurry. We're going to the cellar." She pulled the plug to her computer in passing.

Slipping into the shoes, Blair started to follow.

"Blanket," she reminded, pointing a finger.

He grabbed the blanket, his terrified brain beginning to find comfort in the woman's calm manner. They ran through the kitchen. Stopping by the back door, near a panel on the wall, she threw a switch. The bright, cheery kitchen went instantly dark, matching the storm that raged outside. She paused with her hand on the door.

"Ready?"

Blair nodded.

"We go left, no distractions, young man. Into the cellar, understand?"

He nodded again.

She opened the door. The wind yanked it from her hand and slammed it against the outside wall. Without thinking, Blair moved forward to support her thin waist as they ran through the downpour. The wind howled. Trees snapped overhead. Limbs crashed to the ground. The cow bellowed in fear. A distant siren sounded above the storm's racket, its call faint and eerie.

Eleanor bent down to shove the bar that locked down the doors. Together they raised the solid wood cellar door up and Blair held it in place while the woman carefully descended the steep staircase into the blackness below. The blanket, now wet with muddy edges, wanted to fly out of Blair's grasp. It tangled his feet. Blair dropped the blanket into the cellar and snuck a look at the sky.

OH, GOD!

The twister was huge and heading right for them. It hit the edge of the farthest field. Its claws pulled up ancient trees like strands of loose straw. The engines from a dozen jet planes buffeted Blair's ears.

"Blake! Get DOWN here!"

Blair tore his gaze off the approaching monster. Eleanor had a flashlight in her hand, its beam on the stairs. He hurried down the steps and let the door close.

Robert didn't comment, too intent on driving and dodging wind debris. Other than his truck, the country road was empty of traffic. Jim knew how dangerous their situation was, driving toward a tornado. The roar of the funnel cloud deafened him. That itchy feeling he'd had in Denver was back, tenfold. He didn't need a palm reader to know the danger this time. He was staring at it.

"How much farther?" Jim demanded.

"Fifteen."

They weren't going to make it in time.

The cellar was surprisingly comfortable.

Eleanor handed Blair the flashlight and rummaged around on a rough lumber shelf until she found a battery operated lantern which was more than adequate in lighting the room. The supports to the ceiling above were sturdy, eight by eight inch beams. The floor was rough concrete. The walls earthen, a good buffer for the freight-train sound coming from the twister.

"Sit down," Eleanor ordered gently, pushing Blair back until he perched on a sturdy ladder back chair. She shook out the blanket and wrapped it, dry side in, around his shoulders. "I can't tell you how many tornados we've seen out here. Only had one take off with the barn. We'll be fine."

"Seriously?" Blair asked in surprise. "This is like a normal day for you guys?"

She chuckled. "No, I'm not going to say that, but the Lord will either take care of us or take us home."

Blair wasn't sure he was ready for the second plan.

She folded her boney hands primly in her lap. "Tell me more about Robert's eyes. He's not going to get better, is he?"

Literally trapped, Blair surrendered. "No... he's not."

She sighed. "Okay, then, enough with this foolishness. If the twister doesn't take the farm, we'll sell. We've had several handsome offers. I'm taking that man on a nice long vacation." She patted Blair's leg. "Everything will be fine."

This woman amazed him.

"Will Jim and Robert find a safe place?"

Turning serious, she glanced up at the hinged trap door. "Robert's a smart man. Bravest person I know. But I'll kick his butt into next Sunday if he isn't somewhere safe." She tilted her head, her eyes sharp as a hawk. "So now you're calling JR Jim?"

The tornado wriggled and writhed like a drunken snake dancing in the corn fields.

Jim watched it rip oaks from the far away creek bed and he prayed the family in the brown station wagon were no longer camped there. It jumped off the ground and landed in Robert's corn field, heading for the old farm house and barn. There was no contest which would arrive first, the tornado or Robert's truck. The truck was going to place a long second.

Robert slapped the dash in anger then twisted the wheel to send the truck sliding off the road into a field.

"What are you doing?" Jim shouted as corn stalks slapped the window.

The truck slid to a stop. "Out!"

Jim followed the farmer as he ran down the road. He crossed over the black top, ducking as a yellow bucket blew in front of his path and bounced painfully off his hip. Robert fell into a dried up irrigation ditch about five feet deep. Jim followed, rolling over to watch the tornado approach.

"Eleanor will have your brother in the cellar. They'll be fine even if we lose the house," Robert declared, shouting over the roaring wind.

Jim's attention was captured by the raw force ripping up the earth with the ease of a three-year-old with a plastic shovel playing in a sandbox. He hoped Robert's word was true, that Blair stood a chance with that demon. Just as it seemed the distant tornado had to be over the top of the farm, the black funnel jumped, its base turning a grayish white as it played in the air.

"Oh, shit!" Jim exclaimed watching as the funnel leaped over miles and miles of fields, growing larger and larger. "It's going to land on us!"

His eyes on the spider webs built in the cracks and crevices underneath the house's flooring, Blair listened to the tornado approach, his hands gripping the ends of the blanket like a shield around his body. He wanted to plug his ears, to escape the sound. Not being able to see where the tornado was or when it was going to hit was torture. Yet he knew the last place they should be was in a position to actually see the storm.

Unbelievably, the sound retreated. One minute it seemed directly overhead and then it was going away. What was happening?

"It jumped us," Eleanor reported with a grim smile.

"You mean it's over?"

"Probably." She patted his knee. She didn't move from the old chair at his side. "We'll just sit down here for a bit and make sure it doesn't double back."

The sound definitely grew fainter and Blair relaxed. Unused adrenaline pumped through his veins leaving him shacking like a junkie missing a fix.

"First tornado?" Eleanor asked with a kind look.

"Yeah, hope it's my last," Blair admitted. He shared a shaky smile. "You were amazing, Eleanor. You weren't an Army Ranger by any chance?"

She twittered with pleasure. "You're a flirt, young man."

The clear sound of a vehicle driving up to the house interrupted their banter. Eleanor looked surprised, then stern. "That man! If he's out driving in this weather, I'll..."

Blair beat her to the stairs and lifted the door with a grunt. His desire to see Jim alive and whole was strong. Already the air seemed less oppressive, the sky lighter. The buildings were where they belonged. Blair searched the farm for damage and only saw some wind blown rubble trapped against fencing.

Robert's truck was not parked in its normal spot. Blair helped Eleanor over the lip of the cellar's entrance. She studied the sky like a professional, nodding with apparent pleasure. "I'll see if we have power. Tell Robert I'm inside."

Accepting that the worse was over, Blair trotted to the corner of the house...

And froze.

A green military hummer sat blocking the drive. One very serious, very deadly looking man guarded the vehicle. Blair fell back, hugging the corner of the house, his heart pounding.

Shitohshitohshitohshit.

His Jeep key was in their room above the garage. He'd never cross the yard unseen. His only hope was running into the corn field. How far would he get in slippers two sizes too large?

"What are you doing in my house?" Eleanor's angry voice demanded from inside her kitchen.

No!

"That truck was paid for," Robert said calmly as if complaining about a missing shirt button.

Slowly dragging a sweaty palm down his face, Jim pushed down the bubble of hysteria within. The twister had landed a mere hundred yards down the road, swallowed up the truck and taken off across a field before leaping back up into the air. Had they been standing out in the open they likely been killed by the flying smorgasbord of debris the monster storm carried. Robert's action of stopping the truck and finding the ditch had saved their lives. They now stood on the road, the twister sucked back up into the clouds. Filtered light worked its way through the heavy clouds and christened the fields again.

"I think the farm's okay," Jim said, staring down the fields. He could just see the distant roof line of the barn.

"We'd best get to walking, then," Robert suggested. "I'm hungry."

No cars passed. They walked down the middle yellow stripe, anxious to get back to the farm. Jim didn't have to worry about the older man's ability to keep up; within an hour, they were in sight. A few shingles were missing off the house and the barn's siding looked ragged on the windward side, but all in all, things looked good.

They entered the farm yard proper.

"Elly!" Robert called out.

Jim saw the house was without power, the back door light, normally left on twenty-four/seven was off. She was a smart woman. He cast out his hearing and pointed toward the cellar doors. "I can hear someone down there."

If Robert thought Jim's statement strange, he didn't comment. "What the hell?"

Jim saw it at the same time. A bar locked the doors down from above. They ran.

"Elly!"

"Blair!"

Shoving the two-by-four off out of the brackets, Jim lifted the door and Eleanor burst out of the cellar like a wild cat, spitting and snarling. Her hair was loose from her bun, falling around her shoulders. Her face was red. Her eyes snapped with fire.

"They took him! Robert, they shoved me into the cellar and took Blake. Call the police!"

Jim's vision grayed and he swayed on his feet. He felt sucker punched. How had they found them out on a remote farm in the middle of Kansas?

"Who, Elly? Who did this?" Robert demanded.

Protected by her husband's fierce embrace, the old woman twisted to look at Jim, her anger still riding strong. "They called him Blair something, not Blake. They hit him. He wouldn't tell them where you were."

Jim saw the red mark on the woman's face, his stomach twisting with knowledge. She'd been slapped around as well. "I'm sorry," he offered lamely.

"Don't be sorry, young man!" she demanded. "Tell us what is going on. Who are they? Why are they wanting you?"

"I can't explain it all right now," Jim answered. "I have to go after them. Get Blair back."

She caught his arm, wriggling free of her husband's hold. "Wait, they have guns!" She looked pleadingly at Robert. "They're military. I saw their car, one of those wide vehicles."

"A hummer?" Jim asked. The woman had kept her head, observed what she could. "What else?"

"The sticker on its bumper, it's from Fort Riley, I know it because my friend's boy is stationed there. Robert, that's probably where they took him. We have to call the police. The military can't just steal a man."

Robert was watching the entire exchange silently. Jim knew the man's brain was weaving theories and he'd be smart enough to come close to the truth.

"Elly, first lets ask JR if the police would be any help," he told her.

"Of course they would." She pinned Jim with a measured look.

"No," Jim sighed, scratching his head. "No, the police can't help us. Listen, it's complicated. But you have to believe me. We haven't done anything wrong. In fact, we're the victims here. If we can just stay out of sight long enough, there are very powerful people that are working within the government to help us."

"But it sounds like our government is the one hunting you," Robert pointed out.

"Yeah, but they're working covertly. I told you, it's complicated. I'm just asking that you two not tell anyone about this. I'll go after Blake, I mean Blair. You two shouldn't be bothered again."

"Is he really your brother?" Eleanor asked, her eyes bright with tears.

Jim smiled at her. "He's closer. He's my guide."

These bastards had slapped an old woman.

Blair tugged at the leather bindings anchoring his lower legs to the back seat's support system. His wrists were cuffed and belted around his waist. A one inch wide canvas web strap had been cinched around his head, adequately keeping him from pushing the cloth gag out.

There were four men in total. Two rode up front and two in the back. Blair was wedged between the latter pair. The hummer's windows were tinted, so dark that he nearly couldn't see out. He wondered why he hadn't been blindfolded, but then realized these guys didn't care if he knew who they were or what they looked like. It wasn't as if they planned on letting him go again.

They hadn't talked, except to ask him where Jim had gone. When it was apparent to them that Blair couldn't really say because he hadn't a clue, besides, he wasn't going to tell them anyway, they had locked Eleanor up in the cellar and dragged him out to the hummer. Now they drove in silence, good little trained government drones.

The driver slowed and Blair could see they were passing through some sort of entrance with a guard station. Military, yeah, Blair could see a uniform. He sucked in a sudden breath, ready to scream into the gag. Certainly they would investigate. They'd see he was tied up back here and they'd ask questions.

But the hummer didn't even slow down, they were waved through. The guard never looked inside. Blair bit down on the gag in frustration. It couldn't be that easy, yet it seemed these guys had free rein. Were they soldiers? Naomi said it was some medical group looking for them. Had his value spread to the military now?

The hummer followed a tree lined road, crunching over downed branches fallen victim from the storm. They drove up to a long, single story windowless building. A jointed metal door rolled up and they drove inside. The door closed with a clang.

The kidnapper on Blair's right side got out then reached in and started unbuckling the belt around Blair's shins. Blair was hauled out, wrists and ankles still bound, to stand like a prize on display before a short man with a thin build. The new man caught Blair's head by his chin, the other hand cupping the back of his head. "This is the one I wanted. We can find the other one later." Thin lips pulled back to show coffee stained tiny teeth.

Like a shark, Blair thought dully. He tried pulling out of the man's grasp. Okay, a strong little shark.

"No, no, no, Mr. Sandburg," Shark-man tutted with a frown. "You and I are going to become quite familiar with each other. Better get used to having me in your space. You're a real medical anomaly. I'm looking so forward to examining you."

Blair jerked free, unable to stand the guy's touch a second longer. His arms flew up to knock the other's hand away. Shark-man laughed. "Take him inside. The storm has delayed our flight. I'll have time to start the exam before we leave."

An answering machine picked up and Jim ground his teeth in frustration. Sure, now Naomi provides a way to contact her. The voice was obviously a recording, the type that comes with the answering service that tells the caller to leave a message after the beep.

Jim wasn't ready to leave a message yet. He started to hang up when he heard the whisper soft voice speaking just low enough to cross the phone lines yet not audible for normal ears.

"Jim, call this number..."

Jim wrote the new number down and hung up.

Eleanor and Robert stood watching as Jim dialed the new number. It only rang once.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

"Thank God. Jim, you and Blair have been located in Kansas. They almost had you in Denver. We found out they're watching the internet searches. Tell Blair not to -"

"Naomi," Jim said in rush to cut her off. "They've already taken him. Can you find out where they would go?"

She sucked in her breath and cursed.

Jim waited for her to calm down. "We think they got a vehicle from Fort Riley, it's about two hours from here."

"Right, okay. Wait a second."

He heard the phone set down, then the sounds of keyboarding followed, more cursing and a brief exaltation.

"We lucked out; the storms in Kansas have shut down the base. No planes are being allowed in or out." She pulled away from her phone's mouthpiece, talking to someone in with her. She gave orders like a general, not finishing one sentence before starting the next.

Jim no longer wondered where Blair learned to master his run-on sentences.

"Jim?" She was back with him. "I'll have a crew there in four hours, tops. Write this number down..."

Jim wrote. He had no cell phone anymore and wasn't sure when he'd get to a phone again. "I'm going after him."

"Wait for us," she ordered.

"I'll meet you at Fort Riley. If I hear anything I don't like, I'm not waiting."

"Jim."

"Bye, Naomi." Jim set the phone down and met Robert's granite expression. "They won't bother you. If they come back, you can tell them everything you know. Blair and I don't want you hurt."

Eleanor looked ready to cry, but her demeanor was no less formidable than her husband's. "We can't let you go in alone," she declared.

"Oh, no way." Jim raised his hands. "I'm not taking civilians into this fight."

Robert raised an eyebrow and Jim was reminded of Simon Banks. "Civilian? What are you... military... police? Ah, you're a police officer."

"I'm both, ex-ranger. And a month ago I was a police detective. Now I'm a pissed off watchman." Jim knew he'd said too much. But these people needed to know he could handle the situation much easier alone.

"Eleanor can drive and I can watch your back. We're willing to help." Robert crossed his arms. "I've got a four-wheel drive Subaru in the garage they haven't seen yet."

Jim remembered the way Robert had kept his head during the tornado incident and the calm manner in which Eleanor had reported Blair's kidnapping.

God help him. He was going to take on the military with a party of senior citizens.

Blair screamed.

And no one cared.

The needle entered his body, probing his spine just below his waist, burning and shooting shards of agony as the plunger drew his spinal fluid with ease. Shark-man nodded, happily holding his hypodermic needle up to let the room's bright lights filter through the trapped liquid.

Hands let go and Blair stayed curled into a miserable ball, his bound wrists under his chin. He was cold. They'd taken all his clothes. At first he'd felt helplessly mortified. Being naked when he wanted to was one thing; being stripped like this was totally another. He had fought them, giving it everything he had. In the end they won.

Shark-man patted his flank. "Just a few more samples."

"Go to hell!" Blair snarled back without thinking and closed his eyes. But the darkness was even more frightening, not knowing what came next. Better to know.

"It's nothing personal, Mr. Sandburg. Just concentrate on all the good you're giving science," Shark-man answered, then spoke to an assistant. "Are we ready for the next part? Okay, good. Mr. Sandburg, we need a few tissue samples. It's important you stay perfectly still."

Curling tighter, Blair suddenly longed for unconsciousness. At least his mind would be free of bovine assistants and heartless doctors. Calloused hands grabbed his arms and legs, repositioning him on his back. They ignored his struggles, his curses and threats. Straps, wide and stiff crossed his body, squeezed the breath from his chest and immobilized his legs. The doctor held the hypodermic high.

God! It was long enough to go all the way through him.

"NOO!"

He couldn't move. The straps were too tight. Everyone in the room crowded around the table, holding him down, taking more of him. All Blair could do was blink.

And scream.

With road closures and storm debris in the way the two-hour drive took three. Jim drove the Jeep, followed by Robert and Eleanor in a tan Subaru. Fort Riley army base lay on the outskirts of Junction City. They left the Jeep in a crowed Costco parking lot and Jim curled up under a quilt behind the back seat. He felt Robert set bags of groceries on top of him.

"Okay?" Robert asked.

"I'm good, let's do it."

The Subaru moved forward and within minutes it slowed down again.

"I.D. and purpose of your visit?" a man asked.

Eleanor answered. Jim could picture her leaning over her husband to smile up at the guard. "We're bringing some home cooking to Private Lindal Sound. Do you know him? Elizabeth Sound's boy?"

"Yes, ma'am," the guard answered. "I believe I do know him. He's a lucky son-of-a-gun, I expect. Have a nice visit. Careful of the wind."

She thanked him as they pulled forward.

Jim released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Senior citizens one, US Army security zero.

The vehicle stopped. "Okay, Jim," Robert said.

Jim lifted the quilt, moved aside the bags and climbed over the back seat. He leaned between them and looked out the windshield. The sky was still stormy, but the wind seemed less vicious. "How well do you know the base?"

"We got a tour last year," Robert answered. "I expect they'd keep him somewhere remote."

"And easily accessible to the airstrip. Let's start there first," Eleanor suggested.

Jim agreed. "Just drive normal like and try not to talk, okay? I'll tell you when to stop."

Eleanor and Robert shared a strange look. "I'm beginning to understand why people find you two so interesting," Eleanor said quietly.

Blair sniffed ineffectively through blocked sinuses. He hurt everywhere, but at least he was alone. A thin sheet had been draped over him, doing nothing for the chill that huddled in his gut like a frightened animal, but strangely lessening his feeling of helplessness. They'd taken every body fluid possible and numerous biopsies. They'd watched him for an hour to make sure none of the organs started bleeding internally.

The thoughtful sons of a bitch.

He shifted under the straps that pinned him, listening to the card game in progress one room over. He tried so hard not to dwell on that, to them playing poker while he was in here. Hell, the animals at the Cascade Zoo received better treatment.

His vision blurred.

Shit, no more of this. Jim wouldn't be crying. He'd be finding a way out of this.

He sniffed again. Time to plan; what options were available? Another shiver moved through his body like an earthquake's aftershock.

Not a lot of options. Maybe he could start by looking at the positive side. He was still in good health, even if he did feel like a pincushion. Maybe if they tried moving him with one guard, or two, he could overpower them and escape. There was still the fact he was on a military base, but he'd deal with that once he got away.

A heavy, dark shadow slipped into his mind, draining his reality into someone else's.

He stood in a bright, cold room, a metal table in front of him. In his right hand, he clutched a small scalpel, its tiny blade delicate and innocent looking. But the remains of the human on the table did not look like the action of an innocent. Blair had seen autopsies before, but this...

This was something all together different.

"Doctor Thacker, General Kestrel is on the phone for you, sir."

"Thank you, nurse." The scalpel was placed on a tray.

Blair blinked and found himself back on the table, gulping air. What the hell was that? Did that come from Shark-man? Blair's body shook. He felt like throwing up.

God, he needed options.

A silent breeze of warmth lifted Blair's heart and he stopped shaking. A smile, unsure at first but then strengthening, grew on his face.

He'd had a vision.

The best option had arrived.

Jim was here.

Blair was here.

Jim crouched in the shrubs, avoiding the poison ivy, and continued to keep the long, single-story building in surveillance with his senses. Inside he heard men playing poker, sounded like Mexican Sweat. One hand of that game at the wrong time could wipe out of all a player's poker chips.

Overhead the storm brewed with dirty mischief; clouds dark. Rain had pelted Jim's dubious hiding place on and off for the last hour and a half.

Suddenly an articulating door rose. A driver and a white smocked guy drove away in a military spec Hummer. Jim counted the remaining heartbeats left inside the building. His senses hummed with precision and he was thankful. He had gotten sloppy. He'd underestimated the Internet's ability to pinpoint their location.

When he got Blair back, the only research that kid would be doing would be out books.

"Hey, govenor."

Jim spun, still crouched, his finger twitching on the trigger.

Naomi's henchman - the Brit - smiled back.

Pissed that he'd not heard the man's silent approach, Jim took stock. "Just one?"

"I was the closest. More on the way," the man quipped, coming up to Jim's shoulder and eyeing the building with a grim smile. "How's the kid?"

"Holding his own. What's the plan?"

"Recon and hold till help arrives." He hefted a black sling pouch over his shoulder. "I have toys. Like a bit more firepower?"

Jim accepted the tiny assault rifle the Brit unslung from his back. He hefted the lightweight weapon with appreciation.

Any further comments were cut off by a ringing phone inside the building. It was answered. Jim's hearing was topped out at its highest dial.

"Shit."

"What?"

"They're going to move Blair."

"Backup is coming," the Brit repeated.

Jim wasn't going to wait. "I'm moving in now."

At first it looked like the Brit was going to balk, but he nodded. "Okay."

"We've got one guard making perimeter sweeps. He's not very good. Second at the door." Jim accepted a second gift from his new cohort; a tranquilizer gun. "Okay, then. Let's do this."

They timed the guard's trips around the building. He was clockwork and obviously bored with his task. The path he followed the same each time. Jim repositioned for the best offensive site to take him out, providing them the most time before he was missed. As the guard neared, Jim waited for the Brit to use the tranquilizer, moving in as the guard dropped to the ground without a sound.

The guard at the door was not so easy. Alert and professional, he heard Jim's near silent approach and spun with a short shout as he brought his weapon into play. Jim fired first and blessed the fast acting tranquilizer drug as the man dropped. He extended his hearing, finding the room beyond the door empty and dragged the guard inside. The Brit materialized to assist.

Gun-metal gray desks, unimaginative furnishings and army calendar art posters of mountains and ocean scenes failed to make the inside look warm and inviting. Jim was glad to find it unoccupied. Sounds of the poker game came from the other end of the building. They stuffed the guard into a space between a desk and a tall filing cabinet. Down a windowless hallway, Jim tested each closed door carefully, all unlocked.

A rescue had not been expected. Jim allowed a knowing smile. Overconfident idiots.

The door he wanted was coming up next. Blair was inside. The kid's nose was stuffed, his heart rate too fast. Turning the doorknob, Jim nodded to the Brit and opened the door just enough to slip in. A makeshift medical room with computers, operating tools, an IV pole, rolling crash carts and a full sized exam table crowed the filing cabinets and desk into a corner. Someone had been displaced from their office.

Shivering under a thin sheet, Blair's face was pasty white. His eyes were closed; his face pinched and drawn, totally unaware of their arrival. That was for the best. Jim could hear the men in the next room, even if he hadn't been a Sentinel. Fast and silent, Jim moved forward and covered his friend's mouth with his palm. Blair's skin was hot and dry.

"UMM!" the muffled start came as expected. Blair's eyes opened wide.

Jim took a second to smile reassuringly. "Shhh, no sound," he whispered.

"Get me out," Blair pleaded in a rough whisper the second Jim lifted his hand. He twisted under the straps that held him down. "Hurry!"

Jim got the straps off. He found a scalpel and carefully cut the tape off Blair's wrists before helping him sit up and pivot on the table.

Blair slid off the table, one hand catching the sheet. He groaned, swaying like a boat on rough sea before leaning back against the table. "Oh... God, I'm stiff."

"These look like your size," the Brit whispered, offering Blair's clothes.

Jim nodded approvingly. "Thanks." He grabbed the boxers and sweatpants. Blair managed to lift one leg at a time, letting Jim help him dress.

The Brit continued to search the room. Jim worked on dressing his friend. Blair moved with slow, forced motions. Fingers fumbled while dirty locks of hair fell over his eyes. He bit his lip in frustration as he tried to grasp the waist band.

Jim plucked the T-shirt off the table. "Didn't we do this a year ago in Virginia?" Jim teased softly.

"Wasn't hanging from a b-barn rafter this time," Blair whispered back while the t-shirt was pulled over his head. "Thanks."

"Score." The Brit held a medium-sized camping cooler with a bio-hazard placard on the side. The lid was off revealing small, sealed glass tubes. It didn't take a genius to know what they were. They explained the puncture holes in Blair's body.

Jim nodded to the small microwave in the corner. "Try the popcorn setting."

The Brit grinned.

Blair had managed to get one sock on his foot. Jim took over. While the microwave ruined the samples, Jim finished tying the last shoe lace and stood, looking deeply into Blair's eyes. "Can you walk?"

Blair nodded.

"I need the truth, because if you're hurt, taking a swan dive on our way out is not going to make me happy."

"I'm good. Got enough holes to qualify as a window screen, but I'll keep up." Blair raised his chin, his game face firmly set.

"I know you will, Chief." Jim shifted his assault rifle forward and moved to the door, Blair at his back.

The microwave softly dinged. The Brit brought up the rear, guarding Blair from the back. It was time to leave.

"Wait." Blair broke away and walked stiffly to a computer. He hit a button and removed the floppy disk, slipping it into his sweatpants before returning. "Okay, let's go."

"What about the hard drive?" Jim asked.

"I heard them. Save to disk only," Blair answered.

The hallway was still empty, the card game still in progress. How long had they been inside? Not long, certainly not long enough for the guards to be missed. Outside the wind continued to blow the trees back and forth and rattle the glass in the window frames.

Blair walked like a man on prosthetic legs. Jim kept one hand on Blair's arm, the other cradling the assault rifle, finger on the trigger, not resting outside the trigger guard as taught in the police academy. Jim wasn't interested in `due process' today, only in getting his partner away from cold exam tables and heartless doctors.

The sound of a familiar engine caused Jim to pause. He tilted his head. The hummer was back. "Trouble."

The Brit's gaze swept the room. They were back in the front office, one door away from being outside. "What?"

"They're back," Jim answered quietly.

"I won't go back on that table," Blair swore under his breath. He looked at Jim, eyes begging.

"You won't." Jim pulled him to the door.

No one waited outside. The short, military cropped lawn did not hold a firing squad. The hummer was pulling into the garage area at the opposite end. The outside air set off minuscule electrical charges on Jim's arms. The wind swirled like dirty water down a storm drain. The humidity added to the sense of unreal. This was not Cascade.

Jim ran toward the building's corner. Heartbeats were inches from them through the exterior walls. Blair kept up, one hand anchored in the back of Jim's shirt. The windows were painted over so they didn't bother to duck under the glass as they ran. The Brit guarded both their backs. They reached the corner.

Just as Jim was going to ask the agent if Naomi's mysterious plan involved a get away vehicle, a single shot buffeted Jim's ear drums. The Brit crumpled like a broken dime store kite in gale force winds.

"Jim!" Blair's fear of the exam table was forgotten as he dropped to a knee beside the sprawled form.

Jim's brief view told him the Brit's luck had left him. He checked the surrounding yard, brush and trees, unable to spot the shooter.

"Oh, God," Blair gasped, overwhelmed by the blood spilling from a large chest wound.

"Sandburg... go," the Brit burbled.

"Jimm," Blair moaned.

"Come on." Jim yanked hard, getting Blair back to his feet. He caught the Brit's gaze.

The dying man glared. "Get him... out."

Jim nodded, recognizing a fellow soldier's focus: complete the mission. His respect for Naomi's choice in team members tripled. Tightening his grip on the rebellious anthropologist, Jim ran for the distant tree cover.

And suddenly everything changed.

Running with their weapons pointed at the fleeing partners, the combat trained men cut off the escape. Before Jim could react, they were surrounded. The soldiers wore full body armor and helmets, ready for whatever war Jim could offer. Jim skidded to a stop, causing Blair to bump into his back.

"Jim!" Blair whispered in panic.

"Easy," Jim ordered, hoping the command was heard by everyone with a finger resting on a trigger.

"Jim Ellison." The voice was loud and clear, and confident. Jim's hearing pinpointed a loud speaker set hidden under the eaves of the roof. "Drop your weapon and lead your friend back into the building. I don't want to perform surgery today on either of you."

"I'd rather go out like Butch and Sundance, man," Blair muttered with false bravado.

Jim had to give his friend credit. For a grad student, he had guts. He lowered the weapon and dropped it to the grass. "No, we live to fight another day."

Blair didn't like the way the one guard kept rubbing his shoulder and shooting Jim murderous looks.

They were standing side by side after being marched back into the building, hands on their heads, fingers interlocked. Jim had been searched and weapons removed. The computer disk was back in the doctor's shirt pocket.

The British agent's guys body had been taken somewhere out of sight. Most of the soldiers had faded into the woodwork. Did they even know what was really happening here? That he and Jim hadn't really done anything wrong? Maybe if he'd tried to explain to one of them.

"I rather expected a rescue attempt, Mr. Ellison," the doctor said calmly, a hint of a foreign accent making Blair think Slavic background. He hadn't notice that until now. "But frankly I didn't expect it while still on this army base's excuse for a horse corral. Perhaps the current storm was my early Christmas present. I get two medical wonders for the efforts of catching one."

"The only wonder in this room is the fact the government believes you know what you're talking about," Jim answered, his expression bored.

The doctor seemed delighted. "They said you were good. I wonder what my scalpel will find."

Anger grayed the edges of Blair's vision. "Listen, I'm the genetic freak here. Let him go! You don't need him." Blair moved forward, bring both hands down and stepping between his sentinel and the doctor.

Two guards caught Blair by the arms and shoved him back to bounce off Jim, who caught him and held on.

"Cool it, Chief," Jim whispered.

The doctor laughed. He waved a casual hand. "Load them up. Gather my research and files." He turned away, dismissing his prisoners to the care of the four armed guards in the room.

Jim and Blair were handcuffed, wrists behind their backs, and herded down the hallway toward the back of the building. Blair stumbled, nearly falling to his knees as he was hurried along by a tall guard with blond hair and basketball-sized biceps. They reached the garage and were still standing next to the hummer when the doctor came storming out, his face dark with rage.

"You destroyed them!"

Jim didn't flinch when the doctor charged into his personal space and screamed into his face.

"You destroyed all my samples!"

"They weren't yours to take," Jim responded.

Spinning on the heel of his Italian shoe, the doctor strode away, stopping to stare at an Army recruitment calendar hanging on the wall from a bent nail. Someone had forgotten to take it down four years ago. After ten long seconds, the man's shoulders relaxed and he turned back, his expression neutral.

Blair could see the man's vein just in front of his sideburn, pulsing like a spastic earth worm under the tight skin.

"No matter, I'll take more when we land." Cold eyes flicked briefly toward Blair. "He's a screamer. I think I'll gag him this time."

Blair's face warmed.

Jim's reply was short. "I'm going to enjoy killing you."

"Move it." The nearest soldier pushed Blair through the open back door. Jim followed.

The hummer's back seats had been removed, modified, no doubt, by some military spec. Uncomfortable looking narrow benches lined the sides, but Jim and Blair were forced to kneel down, back to back, their handcuffs secured to a metal ring bolted to the floor. The four guards got the benches, two men on each side of them. Even with the extra vehicle width, it was crowded. The driver and doctor sat up front. The garage door rolled up, operated by a motor mounted on the ceiling.

Blair had the view to the rear. The windows were tinted. The turbulent storm had darkened the afternoon enough that Blair could see his own reflection in the glass. Was that scruffy looking person really him? He could see Jim's larger outline as well, broad shoulders spilling out around the edge of Blair's, Jim's head rising a good span above Blair's messy untamed riot of hair.

This is what Jim had tried so hard to avoid. This is the reason they had literally fled from the loft. Icy fear made thinking impossible. They had to get out of this. If they found out about Jim...

Blair's hands were caught by Jim and squeezed. A signal? Or just a gesture of support?

The vehicle stopped and they were unclipped from the ring. Blair saw a lone hangar next to a narrow concrete runway. The small army airstrip was remote, set aside from the other buildings on the base. It looked deserted.

"Out. Now."

The blond held a huge gun in his hand, pointed at Jim's head. The others flanked the hummer, making it impossible for the two cuffed prisoners to jump them all at the same time. Blair's body did not want to cooperate. Without his hands, maneuvering around inside the vehicle to reach the door involved awkward twisting, even scooting on his butt. At last he stood next to Jim, gawking at the sky. Even in the seriousness of their situation, he couldn't help but notice.

"Green clouds?" Blair whispered.

"Move!"

A large hand shoved him toward the hangar. Jim took half a dozen steps then slowed, then stopping as he looked upwards. "Flying in this? Are you stupid?" Jim asked.

The doctor had been ahead of them. He turned in surprise. "Why?"

Jim looked up. "Tornado."

He said it so matter-of-factly that Blair instantly searched for the funnel cloud. The sky was certainly impressive. Two walls of vertical clouds were merging directly overhead. Blair had never seen anything like it before in his life. The guards seem to share Blair's wonder.

"I thought there was hail," one of the guards said. "The stories say hail comes first."

"Wife's tale," Jim answered.

The doctor snorted. "Ignore him. It's a bluff."

"How do you know?" Jim asked. "You don't know anything about us. Maybe we know things you don't. Maybe I can even control them."

"Jim?" Blair whispered.

"They're going to find out anyway." Jim shrugged. "I'd rather die in a tornado than end up a lab rat."

The doctor's guards cast furtive glances at the sky as they shoved Jim and Blair forward. Blair nibbled his lower lip in thought. He had an idea where Jim was going. One thing that remained constant in nearly every culture was man's respect for the unknown. Mix in a little bit of nature's own majestic wonder and who knows that these goons would do.

"Jim, don't, man," Blair mock whispered, slowing. "Not again."

"I don't have time for games," the doctor said in disgust. "Keep moving."

"Lightening," Jim shouted, jerking his chin toward the east.

The crackle of static lifted Blair's hair just as a lightening bolt ripped from the greenish blackness right where Jim had indicated.

"Shit!" two of the guards said in unison.

A gust of wind hit them, lifting Blair's hair to temporarily blind him. How the hell had Jim known?

Jim's skin had never felt so receptive before in his life. He felt plugged into the storm. Every temperature shift, the gentle pull of pressure, sigh of wind, tickle of electricity delighted his nerves. He looked straight up to see grape-sized pellets of hail being formed in the atmosphere above.

"How about that hail storm you wanted?" Jim declared with a dash of showmanship. He smiled as ice rained down on them.

Blair's part was perfect. "Come on, Jim! Don't do this." He yelped as a particularly large hail stone pelted his cheek. The wind swirled the hail around them, like being trapped in a wind tunnel with tiny steel ball bearings.

"Get them into the hangar!" the doctor shouted, raising his hands to shield his face.

Between the pounding hail and their fearful watch for tornados dropping out of the sky, the guards lost their professional edge. Jim lunged at the two nearest guards. He heard Blair's Geronimo-like shout and knew his partner would give it his all.

Another flash of lightening lit up the green-grey sky, followed by a crack of thunder that left Jim's ears ringing.

Jim felt the satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage under his heel. The guard would need a few hours with a plastic surgeon if he planned on dating again. The bulk of Jim's body landed the other guard and the two of them fell to the tarmac with a bone jarring thud. Jim used him like a trampoline as he whipped his bound hands under his butt and brought his hands up front. He made two fists and rose to his knees. Imagining his arms as duel golf clubs, he swung. Guard Two's chin met the blow with little resistance and the man was down.

Jim rolled, snatching the handgun from the guard's holster.

Blair had taken out one guard before his rebellion had stalled. Guard four, the blond, had an arm around Blair's neck and looked ready to twist it like a bread tie. The doctor stood at one side, his small handgun pointed at Blair's temple.

Jim didn't relax his grip. He pointed the barrel at the doctor's head. "Let him go."

"Drop your gun," the doctor countered.

"Shoot him," Blair gurgled.

"You're not going to kill your medical wonder," Jim declared. "Let him go."

"So I'll perform an autopsy," the doctor said.

"Be pretty hard from beyond the grave." Jim could see out of the corner of one eye as the guard's hand dropped for his holstered gun.

The stand off was growing too one sided. Blair hung by his neck, his face red. Hail fell unchecked all around them and Jim's muscles flinched in response to the pelting. A sudden change in air pressure caused Jim to glance up.

"I'd turn loose my partner if I were you and start running."

An unnatural stillness fell like a funeral shroud and the guard glanced over his shoulder. "Holy SHIT!"

The dark funnel cloud writhed and twisted in the air, toying with the landscape before touching down. It was two, maybe three miles away. The sudden sound of a runaway freight train slammed into the earth. The guard threw Blair at Jim and broke into a run for the only building close enough to offer shelter, the hangar.

Blair's collision spoiled Jim's aim. The should-have-been-lethal shot hit the doctor square center in left shoulder, blowing out the clavicle and dropping him to the ground with a scream barely audible over the approaching tornado.

As much as Jim wanted to empty the clip into the doctor, he couldn't afford the time or ammunition. He'd seen which guard had pocketed their handcuff key and he fished it out from the unconscious man's pocket. Blair was struggling back to his feet, his eye fixed on the tornado. Freed, Jim threw the handcuffs down and pulled Blair to his feet.

"It's coming this way," Blair shouted over the roar just as Jim unlocked the last cuff.

Sentinel senses already knew this. He took Blair's hand and ran. They crossed the airstrip. The sound of an old air raid siren called mournfully over the army base, a primitive, yet effective tornado warning. Feet pounding, hearts racing, they ran through a mowed grassy strip that paralleled the runway, separating it from a gravel parking area of olive-drab colored gamma-goats and duce-and-a-half trucks. Blair stumbled and would have fallen except for Jim's hold.

"Stop looking at the tornado!" Jim ordered.

Jim could do little about the fact the twister was coming their way. Their only chance was not being around when it arrived. And that meant they needed a vehicle. Blair seemed to tap into a hidden stash of strength as his legs pumped and carried him at a respectable speed. They reached the first vehicle neck and neck.

Jim wrenched open the door. No key waited for them in the ignition. He ran for the second vehicle, a large truck with a fabric covered truck bed, like a military covered wagon.

"Hold up, man."

Jim turned from his examination of a second keyless ignition. Blair held up a small shiny key with a grin. "You forgot to look under the floor mat."

Jim's retort was stolen by the approaching twister. "Get in!"

Glancing over his shoulder, Blair cursed and scrambled over the gear stick to collapse into the passenger seat. Jim followed. The Jeep's engine caught on the first crank. Jim blessed every motor pool sergeant born on earth as he slammed the gears into reverse and gunned the accelerator. Wide tires spit gravel in a tight arc as they left the lot and hit the road. Blair braced himself on the edge of the door. With the windows rolled down, the tornado's approach deafened. Edges of the twister caught a small airplane and tossed it tail over nose.

Jim focused on the task of driving. "Buckle in!"

Of course Blair disobeyed. Turning and planting one knee in his own seat, the younger reached for Jim's shoulder harness. Only after Jim was properly belted did Blair sit back down and draw his own shoulder and lap belt over his body.

"First fires and now tornados," Blair yelled over the Jeep's engine and storm. "We have all the luck, you know?"

The tornado filled the rearview mirror. Jim had the gas pedal floored. The streets were deserted, the buildings sealed tight. Jim and Blair had this army base to themselves. Broken tree braches danced in the street. Day switched to night. Jim fought the urge to look up. It felt like a monster loomed over them. He prayed Robert and Eleanor were safe. His orders had been clear. Drop off the food and return to the farm.

"Oh, God!" Blair yelled, turned in his seat, looking back.

Jim cursed as he felt the vehicle shudder to the left. The rear tires briefly lost traction. Intersections flew by. Several blocks ahead stood a guard house. They had reached a secondary entrance to the base. Zooming in, he saw the building was deserted; the long barricade arm blocked the road.

Before Jim could order Blair to brace himself, certain the strong looking barricade would cause damage when they crashed through, they were airborne. Jim backed off the accelerator, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The nose of the Jeep dipped offering full view of their accent.

Blair screamed in fear, his right hand fumbled for the door handle. Jim released the useless steering wheel and latched on to his guide's arm. The Jeep rocked and buckled like a small plane caught in heavy turbulence. The ground was getting farther and farther away as they climbed in a tailspin, trapped in the tornado's flexing muscle.

The Jeep pitched sideways. Jim's stomach flipped. No longer trying to pull free from Jim's hold, Blair grabbed Jim's arm in a bruising grip. Jim saw another vehicle fly below them and prayed it was empty. An entire section of a roof followed, then a mailbox. They rotated again, briefly pointing toward the middle of the tornado. Jim was mesmerized by the sights.

Without warning, they were flung away from the vortex of wind, arcing high over green hills.

Blair hadn't stopped screaming. Jim peeled Blair's fingers off his right bicep and locked arms. They braced themselves. The Jeep turned a lazy pirouette on its nose. Green, distant fields sailed below them.

Arcing downward, Jim's stomach fluttered unhappily.

Incredibly the decent slowed with a million snapping sounds. Then a jarring crash broke out the windshield and they ricocheted like a steel ball in a pinball machine. Oak branches protruded through the broken windshield, scratching Jim's face and neck. They broke from the tree's crown and continued in a sweeping arc toward earth to land with a splash.

Jim's arm buckled and his head slammed into something solid.

Blair sucked a huge draft of air. The landing had been brutal. The seatbelt had tried to take his head off at the neck. It felt like his toes were up around his ears.

Maybe it was a good time to open his eyes.

Blair blinked. The sky was still dark. All around them was water. He could see the shoreline lined with the trees that had broken their fall. The water seeped into the floor boards, soaking his tennis shoes.

He turned to his left.

JIM!

The sight of Jim's unconscious body snapped Blair into action. He wasted precious seconds fumbling with his own seatbelt release. He attacked the buckle that held Jim in, talking as he worked. "Jim, come on. We've got to get out of here. Wake up, man. No time for sleeping. Wake up."

There! They were both free. Blair climbed over Jim and worked the door handle. The water level rose rapidly, covering their seats. It helped to equalize the pressure and open the door. The warm temperature gave Blair a scant degree of hope. Did that mean shallow water? Or was it warm just because it was summer in Kansas?

Getting a good grip, Blair guided Jim's boneless body from the sinking vehicle. With an arm around Jim's chest in a classic lifeguard hold, Blair swam toward the shore. He'd once dated a lifeguard extraordinaire, with a body that had stopped Blair's heart. She'd been serious about life guarding, teaching first aid and volunteering for kids' camps. Blair had spent a happy summer seeing her in a one piece bathing suit. She'd insisted on teaching him the basics.

"I'm sending you a bouquet of roses, Jackie," Blair muttered as he kicked and moved his free arm in powerful strokes.

"Who... Jackie?"

"Jim! Are you okay, man?"

Jim struggled weakly, nearly undoing Blair's hold. "...head..."

"Just stay still," Blair ordered, spitting out muddy tasting water from a Jim-caused wave. "I gotcha."

Surprisingly, Jim did as he was told and a few minutes later Blair felt the mucky lake bottom with his left foot. Two more kicks and three arm strokes and he could stand, his feet sinking ankle deep in mud. "Can you walk?"

Jim rose to mid chest water level, one hand carefully probing the lump on his forehead. "Ouch."

Blair looked back. Their transportation was gone. The lake had claimed a new fish habitat. The sky still boiled with angry clouds and wind whipped at their wet clothes. "You made a water landing, man. I think it saved our lives." He helped Jim to dry land.

"Any landing you walk away from is a good one," Jim answered slowly. He held up a hand. "Shit, company."

A beat-up white van with more rust spots than paint entered the small dirt parking area that bordered the lake's shore. Blair bit his lip, pondering. No way was it military. It was generous to even call it a vehicle. As the van skidded to a stop the driver and passenger doors opened. Two men jumped out, jogging toward them.

"We saw the whole thing!" the driver said, looking like a LA beach bum in faded jeans and a muscle T-shirt.

"You guys okay?" the older passenger demanded. He was thin and looked like he'd be more comfortable in front of a keyboard than on a surf board.

"Yeah," Blair answered for them.

"Come on," the older one suggested. "Best to stay on the move. We can drop you off at a hospital or something."

"Actually, can you get us to the Costco in Junction city?" Jim asked, taking Blair's arm and tugging him toward the van.

Blair was more than happy to get out of the wind. The lake hadn't been too bad when he was in it, but it was freezing out in the wind.

"Slider's broke. Climb over," the passenger said, pointing to his door.

Seeing the torn upholstery and discarded takeout containers, Blair figured they wouldn't mind him getting the seat wet and muddy. He climbed in, stepping over the middle console into the back. Jim followed and the doors slammed shut. Blair grabbed the back of the driver seat as the van curved a tight circle and returned to the road, gaining speed. Jim crouched at his side, still looking dazed. A pedestal seat was bolted to the floor. Blair caught Jim's arm and pushed him toward the seat. Once Jim was comfortable, Blair looked around.

"Wow." Blair eyed the expensive looking electrical equipment that lined one side. A coin dropped. "You guys are storm chasers."

"Yep," Surfer-dude driver said with pride. "Got primo video footage, too. Wish we'd gotten your part."

Blair exchanged a knowing look with Jim. They'd take all the good luck they could get. Even black-ops government agents had been known to watch the news. Blair eyed the electronic equipment, taking in the dials and gauges. This wasn't some old VCR hooked up to black and white TV screens. This equipment cost some serious dough.

The van pulled to the shoulder and slowed.

"What's happening?" Jim asked.

"Need to take some measurements. Won't take long." The older man climbed over the seat and joined them in the back of the van. Blair shifted back and let the older man have his place by the console. "The weather's shifted. The supercell is breaking up, we're losing the rotating updraft. I don't think we'll be seeing any more tornados today. Name's Pole, by the way. That's Bradley.""

"Pole's got a way of knowing these things," Bradley confided, turned around in the seat to address them. He flashed a smile, a wooden match in his teeth.

Pole flipped some switches. "Bradley, get some digitals of that forward-flank core."

"How long have you guys been doing this?" Blair asked. He was still cold and hoped they wouldn't be hanging around very long. They needed to get away, far, far away.

While Bradley stood outside the van and took pictures of the sky, Pole made notes in a yellow weatherproof notebook. Wind buffeted the van making it rock and sway on tired shocks. Pole shrugged. "Bradley and I have a business. We do pretty good when we're not chasing twisters."

Jim looked wasted and Blair didn't feel any better, but he was still curious. "What do you guys do?"

"Surfboard designs," Pole answered. "Not something you'd expect from two guys in Kansas, eh?"

Blair tried not to shiver. He answered out of habit, ignoring the dull pain growing behind his forehead. "No, not really."

Pole tidied up his small work space, reaching over Jim to tuck notebooks and papers into a wall pocket added for the purpose. "Bradley's a world class surfer. We ran into each other in Hawaii. I was looking for funding for my designs. Bradley needed a sponsor." He raised his voice as he climbed forward to take the passenger seat. "You ready, Shark-Bait?"

"Yeah, hold your horses, Pencil-Neck." Pole fitted the lens cap on an old looking digital camera with an exceptionally scratched body. He climbed back into the driver's seat and slammed the door. "Where to?"

Pole passed a hand over his sparsely covered head. He turned and eyed their passengers. "We should find them a hospital."

"No," Blair said.

At the same time Jim responded, "We're fine."

"Whoa," Bradley shifted the van into drive. "You guys sure?"

"Really, we just need a ride to Costco." Jim ducked his head and peered out the dirty side window. "IF that's out of your way, can you get us to a bus route?"

Had Blair's stomach not picked that moment to growl with the force of the MGM lion and Jim not looked like warmed over shit, they might have gotten what they wanted. But their two saviors were apparently struck with a sense of duty.

"God, dudes. At least let us get you a hot drink." Bradley looked at his partner, his mind made up. "Right, Pole? We can do that."

"Yeah, at least."

Which is how they ended up in a red and orange plastic booth next to a larger than life plastic Ronald MacDonald holding a super-sized order of fries. The place was deserted. The kids behind the counter looked near rebellion, ready to mutiny against the older man wearing the manager pin on his greasy uniform. Blair understood how they felt.

Blair shivered as he wrapped his hands around the large cup of coffee. His head still hurt. He stank of lake water and mud. How was Jim standing it? Pole sat across from them, looking unperturbed as Bradley stood in line, ordered and brought the food to the table. They sorted the food and Pole checked Bradley's burger for contents before sliding it over. They looked like an old married couple and Blair wondered how long they'd been together. For that matter, how could two men that looked like they had nothing in common be together in the first place? The first words out of Bradley's mouth answered that question.

"What a ride!" He lifted his hand in the air and replicated the arc the army jeep made through the air. "I mean, totally outrageous. You two did some bodacious hang-time."

"Do either of you recall anything?" Pole pushed the wrapped burger closer to his friend and Blair smiled. "Could you estimate the speeds of the wind? Did you see anything while inside? We'll keep your names confidential."

Jim had worked a fistful of fries into his mouth and chewed with purpose. Blair asked his own question before answering theirs. "Did anyone ever ride a tornado before?"

"Oh, yeah," Bradley talked with his mouth full. "Lots of accounts about folks surviving a ride. A girl was taken off the back of a horse she was riding. She landed in a farm field with only a few scratches. We've got dozens of case stories of people, cars, entire houses with folks inside lifted and put back down. It's a total trip, man."

A memory, this time his own, rose in his thoughts like an air bubble popping to the water surface. Jim standing in his office, rigid and suspicious. "I've got hundreds and hundreds of documented cases over here of one or two hyperactive senses but not one single subject with all five. You could be the real thing." Blair didn't even notice the look on the cop's face, the anger growing.

Blair returned to the present to the feel of Jim's solid grip on his arm. Bradley was still talking.

"You okay?" Jim whispered, leaning in.

Blair nodded, swamped by the all too familiar emotion of homesickness. It hurt. He hurt. He wanted to apologize to Jim for that first meeting, for ignoring Jim's fears and only thinking about his own research.

"Guys," Jim said, interrupting. "Thanks for picking us up. But we really need to get to that Costco parking lot."

Bradley was finished with his meal, apparently vastly experienced with talking and eating in short time spans. Pole gathered up the last of his chicken sandwich and slid out of the booth with a nod. Jim scooped up his own half eaten burger and Blair's unwrapped one. Blair grabbed his coffee and the super-sized order of fries he'd been sharing with Jim. Forty-five minutes later they were standing on a sidewalk, next to a mailbox, watching the van driving off.

"Odd team," Jim said, lowering his hand after waving them off. "They're nothing alike."

"Just their passion for twisters," Blair said, feeling hot and cold at the same time. "Why not let them take us all the way in?"

They stood at a large intersection. Traffic was starting to pick up again, folks going about normal business with the worst of the storm over. A gas station attendant was unlocking the pumps. Blair could see a large Costco building further down the street, maybe half a mile.

"I want to make sure we're not walking into a trap." Jim tugged his arm, pulling him toward the food mart building and circling around behind it. An empty field filled with weeds and rubble from a recently bulldozed brick structure separated them from the Costco parking lot. "Do you know if the military ever saw our Jeep at the farm house?"

Blair thought back. "No... one of the guys was heading toward that barn you parked it behind. But he never went back there."

Maybe it was something in his voice or a look on his face, because Jim studied him hard. "You sure? It's important."

"Yeah," Blair answered then swallowed. "I'm pretty sure. Once they found me, they sort of stopped looking around."

"Okay, let's go." Jim strode across the muddy field.

Following closely, Blair ignored the uncomfortable clamminess of his wet clothes and pushed his stringy hair back from his face. As if the last twelve hours hadn't been enough bad luck for them, rain began to fall. Blair watched the water drops build in Jim's hair and drip down his neck to his shirt collar. He didn't know how it happened, one minute he was walking, the next he was tasting mud.

"Sandburg!"

Blair rolled to his side and blinked stupidly as Jim's hand cupped the back of his head and lifted it from the mud. Thoughts were slow and as lucid as the muck covering him. Jim's expression was gentle as he wiped the worst of the mud from Blair's face.

"Hey, partner. Just a few more feet, okay?" Jim promised, glancing over his shoulder briefly before beginning the laborious task of pulling Blair into a sitting position and hoisting him to his feet.

"Whoa." Blair swayed as the world tilted on a new axis. "I'm good. I'm good. Sorry... musta slipped."

"Yeah," Jim answered, slinging an arm around Blair's mud-caked shoulders. Jim led him through the field. "I think it's time to say good-by to Kansas."

Blair had to agree.

Spotting a Texaco sign, Jim slowed to a gentle coast so as not to wake the man beside him. Curled around a folded army blanket pressed against the passenger door, Blair had dropped into a deep sleep before crossing the state line.

Jim parked next to a phone booth. He left the engine running and eased out silently. With his eye on Blair, he made his first call. He had switched license plates with an abandoned looking vehicle he had spotted parked in a cinema's lot a few hours out of Junction City. They should be safe for a while.

The ring was answered immediately.

"Hello?" Robert barked into the phone.

"I can't talk long," Jim said.

"Are you two okay?" Robert demanded.

"We're good. I got him out." Jim's throat tightened up. He blinked in surprise at his own emotion. "You two saved our lives."

"Listen," Robert answered in a rush. "I put your pay under your driver's seat."

Jim swallowed, warmed by the unexpected thoughtfulness. "Thanks."

"What else can we do? Who can we call?"

"You've already done more than I ever expected," Jim assured him. He could hear Eleanor in the background as she prompted her husband with her concerns. It was good to know they were both safe. He could picture them standing in their kitchen.

He was going to miss them.

"Listen to me. If anyone comes and asks you questions, answer them. Don't hold back."

"You sure?" Robert asked. "They'll be coming?"

"No, I'm not sure." Jim remembered the tornado's destructive path across the army base. Maybe the doctor was dead. Maybe they were safe again.

Maybe Satan wears snowshoes.

"We just don't want you two hurt." Jim glanced at his watch. "I've got to go. Thanks again."

Eleanor's voice arrived crystal clear over the phone line. "God bless you both," she added tearfully.

Jim's second call wasn't picked up. Unsure if the line was still being monitored by Naomi, he hung up. Jim climbed back into the driver's seat and eased the door closed. Blair continued to sleep, crumpled against the door, mouth slightly open as he snored. They needed to stop, needed real rest. Kansas was behind them now, to the north. Jim wasn't even sure where they were going except he didn't want to see another storm cloud anytime soon so he had pointed the Jeep south. Feeling under the seat, he found a plastic bag filled with green bills. There was more there than they were due.

He'd find a way to pay them back. But first, he needed to find a reasonably priced motel and get some rest.

The sun peeked over the horizon by the time a Motel Eight appeared. Jim checked them in, paying for a ground floor double room that opened to the back parking lot. The Northeast corner of New Mexico was nothing like the flat corn fields of Kansas. The drive through the night had taken them through the western tip of Oklahoma and the northern handle of Texas.

"Sandburg." Jim waited until he had the room unlocked and both their bags carried in before waking his friend. He leaned over the driver's seat and shook Blair's left shoulder.

"Mffuth?" Blair wiped a string of drool from his chin and straightened. He blinked stupidly at Jim.

"Hey," Jim said, smiling even through his exhaustion. "How about some real sleep?"

"I'm drivin'?" Blair mumbled.

"Not a chance. Come on." Jim pointed toward the open door. "We got a room."

Once inside, Jim secured the chain on the door while Blair stumbled into the bathroom. Their room held two beds, the customary round table with matching chairs and a low six drawer dresser. Lamps and a TV were bolted down to prevent theft. Unimaginative framed artwork on the wall above the beds gave Jim a heavy case of homesickness. He rubbed his sore, dry eyes and sat on the corner of the nearest bed. When Blair came out of the bathroom, Jim took his turn.

Blair was curled on his side, laying on top the green and yellow bed cover when Jim emerged a few minutes later.

"Chief." Jim tapped a damp tennis shoe. "Hey, stay with me for a sec."

Blair moaned, showing no interest in waking. Damn, Jim just wanted to fall into the other bed and sleep until Christmas. But he couldn't let Blair sleep in damp and muddy clothes.

Jim levered Blair into a sitting position. He worked the filthy hem of his sweatshirt up, tugging an arm free of one sleeve and gently working it over Blair's head. Blair's eyes were open and staring accusingly when Jim finished. Jim tossed the damp sweatshirt into a corner. Taking Blair's wrist in hand and noting the skin was still hot, he counted the pulse beats for fifteen seconds. Fast, but not too fast. "You've got a fever."

"'Splains why I feel like a burnt offering." Blair flopped back down on the bed and rolled toward the far wall.

Running a light touch down Blair's back, Jim catalogued all the holes left in his skin by the needles. How many biopsies had that ghoul taken? The obvious mark from a spinal tap caused Jim to curse softly. He moved down to tug on Blair's sweatpants.

"Go away," Blair mumbled, swatting a hand back and hitting Jim's arm.

"Take them off, Junior. They're wet."

"It's fine. Sleeping now. Don' care."

"Give `em up." Jim ordered.

"Jiim," Blair muttered, turning the name into a soft curse. But he lifted his hips.

"You're going to sleep better without wearing Kansas mud." Jim got the sweats off.

"Nothin' wrong with a little wholesome dirt," Blair answered around a jaw-popping yawn. He blinked dully at the ceiling. "Jim? Remembering something..."

"What?" Blair's boxers looked dry and Jim left them in place.

"I had another vision." He paused to yawn. "Back at the army base, the doctor was talking to someone the phone."

Getting Blair to roll over so he could flip down the covers, Jim listened with interest. If Naomi knew who the higher players were, it would help them. "Get a name?"

"Yeah, General... what was it, sounded like... Castel... no. Kestrel, that was it. General Kestrel."

Blair rolled back to the middle of the bed. Jim pulled the blankets up to his chin. "Good job. That could be useful. Did you drink any water?"

"Yeah," Blair answered, burrowing one side of his face into the pillow. "Can I sleep now?"

"In a second." Jim found some aspirin in his bag and went into the bathroom to fill the plastic cup from the sink. Getting Blair to sit up again, take the pills and finish the water used up whatever shred of patience the younger man possessed. He literally growled to be left alone. Jim patted a shoulder and backed away.

Double checking the doors and completely drawing the heavy drapes, Jim fell into the other bed and slept.

Pounding.

Someone was driving a splitting maul through his skull. Blair moaned. His throat felt raw. His mouth was as dry as a kiln. Sore spots checked in all over his body. There was no way he could teach today. No way. He'd need to call and get a substitute.

With his eyes still closed, he fumbled for the phone by his bed, finding it on the second try. With a yank on the cord connecting the handset to the base, he hauled the phone close and started hitting the phone number he knew by heart. First he'd call the admin office. Tell them he couldn't come in. Maybe they already knew a sub that could take his class.

Damn, he'd misdialed. Why was it so dark in his room?

Even the simple task of focusing seemed impossible. He rose on one elbow and pushed down the plunger to disconnect. Before he could finish the sequence again, hands appeared, aborting his second attempt.

"Hey..." The phone was pulled away. "Gemme tha'"

"Lay back down, Chief."

Jim? What was Jim doing in his room? It didn't matter. Blair might be sick but he had responsibilities. He had calls to make. Jim was pushing him back down onto the mattress, smoothing the hair back from his face and laying a hand on his forehead now.

Cool. Jim's hand was so nice and cool.

"Mmmm..."

No, no, no. Blair had stuff to do. He tried to bat the hand away. He couldn't hear over the ringing in his ears. Jim's hand left and he rolled back on his side to reach for the phone again, only to find it missing. Now Jim was back.

Bitter pills were pushed between his lips. Water, cool and wet.

Blair gulped eagerly, glad for Jim's help. Why was the simple task of holding his head up so hard? He wasn't drunk, was he?

No, Blair was sure. He hadn't been partying. He was sick.

Sick.

Shit, he had to call Rainier.

Jim was totally being an ass, fighting him, keeping him in bed, hiding the phone again. He needed it. He had stuff to do.

Damn, it felt good when Jim did that...

Cool hands...

Cool hands Jim.

Or was that Luke? Cool hands Luke.

Blair tried to picture Jim digging a hole in the ground while a prison guard watched.

What had he been upset about? Blair couldn't remember. He hoped Jim wouldn't stop. Naomi had been the only person that had ever stroked his forehead like that. It had always put him to sleep and this time was no different.

Jim sighed.

Blair had finally fallen back to sleep. He stood slowly so not to reawaken his friend by jostling the mattress.

Rubbing his face, Jim stumbled toward the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He'd been so tired that the sound of Blair fumbling with the phone hadn't woken him right away. What if the kid had actually managed to reach someone that knew them?

Jim leaned heavily on the small vanity, head down. He had to keep alert. Blair had been coming down with some bug even before being kidnapped and abused. He certainly wasn't firing on all cylinders right now; his fever was up. Jim returned to his bed and pulled the phone out from under the mattress. The LCD readout on the bedside clock radio told him he'd been asleep four hours. Jim watched the younger man breathe in and out, noting the faint crackling noises from deep within his lungs. That was new. He prayed it wouldn't get worse.

They had paid for the room until noon tomorrow. It was almost noon now and Jim was hungry. But first he'd try calling Naomi, then he'd run out and grab something to bring back. He wasn't taking any chances on Blair waking up and finding him gone.

There was no answer when Jim called the new number. He listened with every Sentinel fiber alert. Nothing, no secret message, no Morse code tapped out on kitchen spoons. Unplugging the phone from the cord and hiding it inside the bathroom under the sink, he slipped outside into the New Mexico sunshine that was so bright, it brought tears.

Fifteen minutes later he was back with a stale, cellophane wrapped sandwich, a box of saltines, small jar of peanut butter, a large orange juice and a map. Blair hadn't moved. He ate the sandwich and sipped the juice, debating whether or not to wake Blair and feed him.

No, he'd let Blair sleep.

Jim crawled back under the blankets of his bed and returned to his dreams.

Morning found Blair even sicker than before.

Jim got scared. Blair might need a hospital visit and that simply wasn't an option for them. Maybe if he could get them over the border into Mexico, Jim could find a doctor. But what if it was more than the flu? What if that government doctor had injected something into Blair while taking all those samples?

No, that was ridiculous. Jim shook his head as he managed to get Blair to sit up long enough to take more aspirin and stuff a peanut butter cracker into his mouth. "Chew, Sandburg."

Blair followed the order, his eyes nearly glued shut. Sometime during the night Blair's sinuses had produced a green gunk that dripped from his nose while milky looking tears gummed his eyelashes. Blair breathed through his mouth, giving Jim full view of the cracker as it became pulverized into a paste.

"Here," Jim said, holding Blair up with one hand and a glass of juice up to his hot, cracked lips with the other. "Drink."

Two gulps and Blair lost interest, sagging in Jim's encircling arm.

A store mannequin showed more life.

"Drink."

"Can't." Blair drew a quick breath; his face screwing into a painful grimace before everything came rushing back up. Blair choked hard.

Scared Blair might breathe in at the wrong time, Jim ignored the smell and leaned Blair forward. "Easy."

Blair coughed, gagged before shuddering with revulsion, weakly wiping at the mess running down his shirt and on his ruined bedding. "Aww... damnit, Jim," he rasped wretchedly.

Jim's towel, still damp from his earlier shower, lay within reach. He snatched it up and cleaned Blair's chin and neck. "It's okay." Ignoring Blair's hitched breaths, Jim flicked the soiled bedding back. "Come on. You can rest on the other bed."

Only after Blair was clean, calmed, wearing a new T-shirt and under the covers in Jim's bed, did he pick up the phone and dial. This was it. If he couldn't reach Naomi on this try, they were heading for Mexico. Incredibly, Naomi herself answered.

"Naomi, we need help. Blair's sick. He might need antibiotics," Jim whispered, his back to his bed, standing at the end of the phone cord's reach. "What's our status? Is it safe?"

"No," Naomi answered. "But I have a new resource for you. A safe house. How close are you to northern Arizona?"

"Close enough." Jim rubbed his brow, his exhaustion threatening his sanity. The stench of vomit permeated the room, making his eyes water.

"Sedona. There's a yarn shop. It's the only one in town. The owner will put you both up. You'll be safe. You can get Blair some medicine."

"More of your agents?"

"No, the owner's not connected with me at all. Jim, how sick is Blair?"

Fear colored her professional tone, she was a worried mother now.

"Could be a bad flu. I just don't want him to get worse." Jim swallowed hard, regretting his next bit of news. "There's more. Your agent, the British guy... he's dead."

The long silence following committed Jim's guilt to a life sentence.

"I'm sorry," he added lamely.

"Go to Sedona," she whispered. "Please, keep him safe, Jim."

"I will."

"I know, thank you for that." She sniffed. "I'm terminating this contact number. You'll get another when you get to Sedona."

Jim hauled Blair out of bed. He'd made a nest of sorts in the back of the Jeep for a bed. Blair curled into a tight ball and slept. Jim checked the map he'd bought. Heading west, Jim donned a cheap pair of sunglasses and flipped the visor down as the sun set on the horizon. They drove straight through the night, only stopping for restroom breaks and when Blair needed to throw up whatever Jim tried to get him to eat.

They drove into the town of Sedona around dinnertime. Jim cruised the main street slowly, studying the businesses carefully. Trendy art galleries, expensive spas, restaurants that made his stomach growl and hotels that would have wiped out their entire funds within a week, lined both sides of the street. The high desert air was scented with yucca and pine smells.

"Mystic Fibers," Jim muttered as he spied the yarn store. It was actually a small house turned into a store. Amazingly enough, the lights were still on and he could see a shadow moving through a large picture window.

He parked on a side street, next to a closed corner market. He could see a white sedan behind the house, parked near a rear door. Checking to see that Blair was sound asleep, Jim silently got out and locked the door before slipping through the darkened back alley behind the business and approaching the yarn store's rear entrance.

He stilled, extending his hearing into the building, sure that only one person was within. Jim knocked lightly on the door, ready to run back to Blair at the first indication of trouble.

Even though his knock had been light, footsteps approached from within. The door opened and a woman in her late sixties stood in the doorway. She was tall, thin, shoulders just beginning to curve inward with age. Her fine hair was curled perfectly to frame her classic beauty.

"Jim," she whispered.

Falling back in complete shock, Jim's world turned inside out.

"Mother..."

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