Chapter Sixteen

Adrenaline flooded Duncan's body as the Immortal presence washed through him. Wherever the gunfire was aimed, it wasn't at them -- too far away for that and no telltale thwack of bullets hitting the trees. He ran towards the village...and the presence. Relief almost buckled his knees. Methos.

Methos was here and, whatever was going on up ahead, he hadn't been too late this time; he would have another chance. His boots slipped and slid on the muddy ground, but he kept his feet and kept on running. In front of him, the battle coalesced from the darkness, lit in strobing flashes by the spurts of gunfire and small spotlights from flares thrown out to guide their aim.

Soldiers were running, firing from the hip -- maybe a small troop of them -- firing out into the dark forest behind the village. Someone was returning the fire, not as many, though; he caught sight of muzzle flashes further into the bush. Trying to pinpoint the direction, working on instinct alone, Duncan circled around towards it. Branches whipped his face as he ran and he stumbled more than once, ignoring the pain.

The presence grew stronger; a warm, deep thrum echoing through him, settling into him on a level he was barely aware of in his panicked search for the source. Bullets smacked into a tree close by and he ducked, but kept on running, dodging in and out of the heavy cover. He spotted a muzzle flash just ahead and in the split second of light, the smallest glimpse of a pale, familiar face, gone in the blink of an eye.

At the same time, a noise to his right made him glance over his shoulder and pause in his flight. A soldier was coming, a small, wiry man firing desperately at Methos, the shots spraying indiscriminately over a wide arc. He was screaming something in Portuguese, almost unintelligible with what looked like rage until Duncan lifted his rifle and cut him down with a short, three-round burst. The man crumpled instantly and moved no more.

But there were more coming, Duncan could see them as moonlight caught on khaki uniforms and still more gunfire lit the forest. He took off at a run again. Methos still hadn't looked at him, but he didn't dare call out and take the risk of distracting him. Just feet away now and he could see Methos plainly, returning the fire and backing away, covering his own escape. Methos must have known he was there, but he didn't turn towards him. There was someone else there too, although the figure was shrouded by the dark.

Then something exploded very close by, not large by any means -- a grenade maybe -- but enough to rock him on his feet and send pieces of shrapnel flying through the air to slice into his skin as he dived for the ground -- catching Methos in his arms as he fell and landing with a solid thump squarely on top of him.

"MacLeod!" Methos' face was white with shock. He grabbed Duncan's shoulders and shoved him off. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"

Duncan let Methos push him away -- for now. "Getting here just in time to save your ass, by the looks of things." Duncan rose to squat on the ground beside him, ignoring the pain of the many small shrapnel wounds and squeezing off another couple of bursts into the oncoming barrage. "Yell at me later," Duncan said with a smile as Methos got up from the ground and regathered his handgun. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"But I'm having so much fun," Methos shouted over the deafening noise, lifting the weapon almost negligently and snapping off a quick series of shots into the advancing soldiers, before backing away some more.

Duncan's grin widened at the familiar sarcasm and followed Methos into a denser part of the forest, something free and alive expanding in his chest at having him close at last. Despite the danger, despite the bullets flying low over their heads, Duncan found himself having to suppress the urge to grin like a fool. He'd found him -- found Methos -- just as he'd known he would.

Whatever came next -- he could deal with it.

He kept moving back with Methos, retreating further in to the forest, glancing about to check for Mpande at the same time.

He jumped when the tracker appeared behind him and touched his shoulder. "We getting out of here?" Mpande asked, wiping sweat from his face with the back of his hand.

Duncan felt Methos start beside him. "Yeah," he said to Mpande, then turned to look at Methos. "Matthew -- Mpande. Can we save the full introductions for later?"

Methos squeezed off another couple of shots into the darkness. "Absolutely." He turned his head and called over his shoulder, "You there, Kumari?"

Duncan was startled when a woman stepped out of the shadows, gun in hand. "We are wasting time -- we have to get out of here," she hissed at Methos. "Who is this?"

"The cavalry, riding to the rescue," Methos sniped impatiently. "We really do need to get out of here, people." He started moving back as he spoke and Duncan went with him, unwilling to lose sight of him for even a second. The questions could wait for later.

"We have a truck about a mile east of here," Duncan told him as they made their way through the bush.  He could hear the soldiers crashing about through the bush behind them, but for now the firing had ceased, while they searched, he guessed. "Think we can avoid your fanclub long enough to make it that far?"

"Won't know 'til we try," Methos said. Suddenly he whipped around and in the same flowing movement, shouldered Duncan aside so hard he fell to the ground, his rifle spinning out of his hand. At the same moment a flare hissed open lighting the ground between the two men to an eerie red. What the hell? Duncan leapt to his feet, turning just in time to see a tall soldier appear out of the bush, his weapon trained squarely on Methos. Duncan froze, watching as Methos matched the soldier's pose, holding the handgun straight out in front of him, pointed directly at the other man.

"Don't do it, Ruyz," Methos said and Duncan could hear the deliberate calm in his voice. "Just walk away and let us go -- don't die for a lost cause."

In the sparking red light of the flare Duncan could see the tension in the set features and the soldier's finger poised on the rifle's trigger. "You know that I can't," he said with something that sounded like regret in his voice. "I am sorry."

The flare went out plunging the scene into darkness again and as Duncan began to move, there was a flash and a bang as Methos fired and then an abbreviated cry that Duncan recognized only too well. He kept moving, snatching up his rifle from the ground and grabbing Methos, dragging him along a narrow track away from the fallen soldier.

Methos shook his arm free and Duncan let him go, pushing him to run down the track in front of him. "Go!"

Mpande burst out of the bush beside him, tugging the woman along, both of them running hard. Duncan called to him, low and urgent: "Go up ahead -- show him the way!"

Mpande nodded and let go of the woman, sprinting to catch up with Methos. Beside Duncan, the woman stumbled and he caught her with a hand wrapped around her upper arm, dragging her along. Some kind of bag she was wearing across her body banged between them as they ran. He felt her try to wrench her arm away, but he held it insistently; whoever she was, he wasn't going to leave her behind. Wasn't going to happen. There was noise behind him and crashing -- gunshots crashing wild into the bush and men crashing after them. They weren't in the clear yet -- not by a long shot.

Duncan turned as he ran and, one-handed, fired into the dark behind him -- turned back and kept going. Up ahead, Methos and Mpande veered off the trail and began to pound through the forest. Steps behind them, Duncan paused where they'd left the track and sprayed covering fire back behind them yet again. A cry rose above the clatter of gunfire -- just for a second -- but Duncan was already running after the others, dragging the woman with him, hearing her noisy, laboring breaths as he forced her to run.

It couldn't be very much further now, but the forest was thick and rough here, tearing at hair and skin and clothes. Not just his own either, he could hear the woman gasping with pain as she ran, stumbling so often he was almost carrying her now, propelling them both with every bit of strength he had because somewhere, just up ahead, Methos was running too. And he wasn't going to lose him again.

A disorienting burst through thornbushes and all of a sudden they were in the clear, on the road, running still and he could see Methos and the tracker, dark figures in the gray moonlight, sprinting towards the truck. They were going to make it, and Duncan pushed himself harder, pushed the woman harder, trying to catch up to them. A shout came behind them and Duncan turned, still running, firing from the hip to cut down the single soldier as he followed them down the road.

Then Methos and Mpande reached the track where the truck was hidden and disappeared into the forest. Seconds later, Duncan reached them, still dragging the woman by her arm, silent now, but for the shuddering rales of her breathing. He released her as he skidded to a halt beside the truck.

"Glad to see you could make it," came a laconic voice from the front seat of the truck. Methos. Despite it all, Duncan found himself grinning. "You want to get in and we can get this show on the road?"

Duncan didn't reply, but pushed the woman up and into the truck, following her straight away. It meant he was squashed against the passenger side door, with her between him and Methos and Mpande behind the wheel. Which didn't exactly fill him with joy, knowing the way the tracker drove, but at this point they couldn't afford to be picky. Mpande started the truck, revving hard and Duncan could hear the ancient motor straining.

"Err...? Headlights?" Methos asked, slightly less laconic now.

"Funny thing that..." Mpande quipped as he backed the truck along the track. "You wanna tell him  'bout it, Mac?"

"Just get us out of here, Mpande," Duncan told him, leaning out the window to look behind them.

"Let me guess, no headlights?" Methos sighed as the truck lurched around the corner from the track onto the road.

"We had a bit of an accident--" Duncan began.

Mpande snorted. "If you wanna call it that."

"Just drive, Mpande," Duncan growled in exasperation. He really didn't want to do this now: play verbal badminton with the tracker when Methos was right there, only a couple of feet away, real and alive and, even in the dark, thin and filthy, looking as good to him as anything ever had in four hundred years. He didn't want to talk, he didn't want to spar, all he wanted was to find a quiet place in the midst of all this madness and hold Methos close and make everything all right between them. He didn't kid himself that that was actually going happen any time soon, though.

He could wait.

***

Methos sat pressed between the Sangoma and Duncan's guide/friend/sidekick/whatever he was, shivering a little as the wind belted through the broken windscreen, while the truck bounced slowly along the dark road. So far no one had come after them, which was a bloody good thing considering how slowly they had to travel without headlights. Duncan had a powerful flashlight that he was holding trained on the road to guide them but it wasn't anywhere near enough for them to move at speed.

They'd been on the road about an hour already and, he guessed, if someone was going to come after them, they would have seen them by now. Without Allessandro and Ruyz, Methos could only assume that the rebel troop had been left leaderless and chaotic. They had to have lost a good few men in the battle too. So maybe they could pull off this escape yet.

Methos leaned back in the truck's seat, feeling the springs creak beneath him; gods he was tired, exhausted like he'd run a marathon instead of a bare mile. He turned his head just a little, so he could see Duncan leaning half out the passenger side window, his short hair whipping around his face as he held the flashlight. Exhaustion must have been affecting Methos' mind more than he thought; he had to suppress a laugh at the sudden, vivid mental image of Duncan as one of those big, hairy rescue dogs... a St Bernard. Maybe that was all he was doing here, just doing what Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod always did, leaping to the rescue of his hapless friends and acquaintances. But whatever he was doing here, Methos wasn't stiff-necked enough to resent it; at this point he was going to take all the help he could get.

Especially after his own escape bid had gone so badly wrong.

He shoved that particular memory in a box marked later and turned his attention outwards once more. Beside him, the Sangoma was rigid and he could feel her shuddering where their arms were pressed together. Whether it was shock, the cool wind whipping into the cabin or something else entirely he didn't know.

"Kumari?" he asked softly, just above the roar of the wind. "Are you all right?"

He hadn't thought it possible, but she stiffened even more beside him. "I am fine, Doctor," she said coldly.

Duncan looked back at him when he spoke and for a second, their eyes met. Methos could see the question there, the concern obvious even in the shadows. Methos shook his head, just a little. Not now...

Duncan frowned and turned back to watching the road, something more in his eyes than simple concern for the woman. Methos was wondering at it, when the truck's motor coughed weakly and died. The truck lost speed quickly and coasted to halt.

"Oh shit." Mpande turned the ignition and pumped the gas pedal, but the truck didn't start. Methos saw him squint at the fuel gauge and tap it with one knuckle.

Oh perfect... They were out of gas.

Duncan's voice came from the other side of the cabin: "What the hell...?"

"Outta gas, Mac," Mpande said flatly.

"How the hell can we be out of gas?!" Duncan exploded. "We filled the long-range tank this afternoon. Two full jerrycans of fuel -- and we've only been on the road an hour!"

"Don't fuckin' yell at me, maat," Mpande shot back, as if there weren't two people sitting between him and Duncan. "I know we filled 'em -- but the tank still dry!"

"When you two are finished...?" Methos said into the small silence that followed Mpande's outburst. "Do you think we could get out and see what the problem is?"

Mpande glared at him and threw the driver's side door open, sliding to the ground without another word. Methos followed him, and behind him heard the other door open and Duncan climb out. His head spun a little as he stood, and he shook it, but that just encouraged the spots in front of his eyes to merge with the darkness, multiplying until it was all black, deep and dense, the strength bleeding out of his limbs and he tried to clutch, ineffectually, at the door but it was all too hard and he was falling....

***

Duncan heard the thud and Mpande's shout of surprise and ran around to the other side of the truck. He shone the torch he still held at the ground beside the truck. Methos was lying on the ground, a thin tangle of limbs in ill-fitting fatigues. "What happened?" he almost shouted as he knelt beside Methos, laying the torch down. He picked up Methos' muddy hand from where it lay on the road, grasping his shoulder with the other hand and shaking it gently, but there was no response.

"He has fainted," the woman said from inside the truck, startling him again -- he almost forgotten she was there.

Duncan shot a look up at her. "Why would he faint?"

She shrugged. "He has not eaten in a few days."

It couldn't have been just that -- not in so short a time. Christ, Methos, what the hell did they do to you back there?  Duncan took his hand from Methos' shoulder, reaching out to smooth a hand across Methos' clammy forehead and stroke the dark hair back from his face. Love, as sharp as a knife in his chest, sliced him open again as he waited for Methos to come back. It was only seconds before the hand in his stirred, squeezing back for a moment, until Methos opened his eyes and pulled away.

He sat up quickly and would have stood, but for Duncan grabbing his shoulders and stopping him. The scramble of limbs stilled and Methos pushed his hands away, glaring at him -- a fierce light in his eyes. But he didn't stand up.

"I'm fine, MacLeod," Methos snapped.

"You fainted -- that's hardly fine. When was the last time you ate, anyway?" Worry made Duncan's tone sharper than he intended and he winced internally as he picked up the torch and stood.

Methos unfolded himself from the ground, although he swayed a little when he finally made it to vertical. Duncan gritted his teeth and made himself not help.

"I am fine," Methos repeated, the lie in the chalkiness of his face and the sway of his body.

Yeah, right. Duncan let the obvious lie slide without a comment, but he could only imagine what had been done to Methos to bring about such a drastic change in only five days. However, he was Immortal and he would recover quickly; he just needed rest and food. Food they had, rest would be a bit more difficult to contrive. But he hadn't lived four hundred years without learning to be a little resourceful....

"Good," he said with a cheerfulness he didn't feel. "I'm glad you're fine. We need to push the truck off the road and find somewhere to hide it. We can have some food, rest up until daylight and then try to find some fuel." He turned to the woman and said, "Kumari, can you drive? We need someone to steer while the rest of us push." He gave her his best smile and hoped she caught on.

She shook her head. "No, I can't." Duncan couldn't decide if she was lying or not -- not that it really mattered.

"Shouldn't we be getting out of here?" Methos put in impatiently.

"Yeah, we should. You can steer. Kumari, Mpande? Come and help me push this relic."

"Give me the flashlight," Methos said, still impatient, but with an undercurrent of pissy now.

Duncan didn't miss the look on Methos' face as he snatched the torch from him: Methos' eyes were narrowed and his lips compressed to a thin, humorless line. But he pulled himself into the cabin without a word and sat behind the wheel. Duncan allowed himself a small, satisfied grin, then made his way to the back of the truck with the other two and braced his hands against the tailgate.

"Is the brake off?" he called to Methos.

"No," came the snarky voice from the front of the truck. "I'm an idiot and I left it on, because I want to be stuck here in this fucking wilderness for the rest of my life! Just push the damn thing -- or can't you manage?"

This time the grin was a lot bigger, but he hid it, dropping his head as he leaned in and began to push. The truck overcame its inertia and began to move, slowly and reluctantly, with his shoulders straining and his feet slipping on the muddy road as he put all his weight behind it.

***

The truck rolled into the bombed-out church and Duncan stepped back from the tailgate and stopped pushing. The woman staggered a little as she stopped and he caught her arm to steady her; as he half-expected, she tugged it away all immediately. He saw Mpande raise an eyebrow and look at him quizzically. Duncan shrugged. There was something strange about her all right; he'd have to ask Methos what her story was -- later.

It had been a welcome surprise finding the abandoned village tucked away down a side track a few miles from where they'd broken down, but a welcome one. He wasn't kidding himself they would be completely safe here, but at least it was shelter and they could hide the truck until daybreak. The church itself was a tiny shell, probably mission-built in the colonial era in complete defiance of any sense of suitability to the climate, bombed until its roof gaped at the sky and the mudbrick walls looked ready to crumble on their heads at any moment. One already had and they pushed the truck through the gap it had left.

He heard the grating noise of the emergency brake being put on and the truck jerked to a halt. Duncan rolled his stiff shoulders and walked to the front of the truck, thoroughly worn out; he was suppressing a huge yawn when Methos opened the truck door and slid out.

"Well, I vote for food and sleep in close order," Methos said, the snarkiness finally all but worn from his voice.

Duncan could only offer an exhausted nod as he climbed into the cabin to haul out the supplies. He and Mpande had food in their packs and there were still the rations that had come with the truck. Methos was probably hungry enough to eat even the Russian liver, but Duncan was reasonably sure he could come up with something a little better than that.

'Better' turned out to be vacuum-packed beef stew, which didn't smell half-bad when he had heated it over the small fire Mpande had lit in the nave of the church. Duncan found his own stomach was growling while he stirred the pot and if he was hungry, then Methos had to be ravenous. Duncan had passed around protein bars from his supply to hold them while they waited, but he knew Methos needed something more substantial.

At last it was ready and they ate, Duncan watching Methos covertly, out of the corner of his eye. Even warmed by the firelight, Methos looked haggard and worn: huge, dark circles under his eyes, his cheekbones as sharply defined as Duncan had ever seen them. Every so often, Methos looked across and met his eyes, but Duncan couldn't read them.  There was so much he wanted to ask him, needed to tell him, but he really didn't want an audience.

And speaking of which...he realized that the woman had been watching him closely ever since they'd reached the church. It wasn't just curiosity either, there was a chill that could have been malice in her cool, dark eyes. What the hell was between her and Methos anyway? He had no idea how they'd even come to be escaping together. Yet another thing he had yet to ask Methos about.

He glanced at the old man; he was still attacking the last of his food with a focused determination Duncan understood only too well. He looked away for a moment and saw Mpande watching Methos curiously; he knew the tracker had questions about what was going on: some he had answers to, others he didn't. He went back to watching Methos, barely tasting his own meal, unable to quell the small smile that sprang just from the quiet pleasure of being able to look at him again.

Mpande's voice startled him. "I'll take the watch, Mac. Someone should." He unstrapped his bedroll from the bottom of his pack and tossed it to Duncan. "They can use this."

Duncan nodded his agreement. "Thanks. Wake me if you need anything." He turned to the silent woman. "Kumari? Why don't you take the front of the truck -- the front seat should be long enough for you to sleep on and it'll be a little more...private." It was only a hunch, but the suggestion seemed to ease something in the stiff set of her shoulders.

She stood and he passed her one of Mpande's blankets -- it was thin but the night was warm; it would be enough. "Thank you," she said gravely as she took it.

Methos set his bowl down with a clatter, drawing Duncan back to him. The brittle tension seemed to be all that was keeping him awake. Whatever questions Duncan had, they would have to wait until they had slept.

"Come on," Duncan said, "time you got some sleep too. You want the back of the truck? Be warmer in there." He wasn't at all chilled, but even in peak condition Methos bitched about the cold, and right now he was far from at his peak.

Methos nodded and got up without a word; Duncan went with him, picking up the other blanket and his own bedroll on the way. He waited until Methos had climbed into the back of the truck before following him. The fire was just a low orange glow lighting one side of the canvas back now and he could barely make out Methos' features in the half light.

"Here's your blankets," he said, offering them.

Methos came closer and took them, that unreadable look in his eyes again. "What about you?"

"I'll be all right. You know me, I don't feel the cold." It was close...intimate somehow in the back of the truck, and Duncan heard his voice go soft and gravelly without him really intending it.

"I meant, where will you sleep?" Methos answered and Duncan heard the echo of his own tone in the other man's voice. "There's plenty of room here," he added before turning to lay the blankets side by side on the truck bed's wooden floor. "If you want."

If I want... "Yeah," he managed to choke out, stunned that it could be this easy, confused by what seemed a turnaround. "I want." There were a lot of things Duncan wanted to say in that moment, but they were lost when, before he knew how it had happened, he found himself standing much closer to Methos, close enough to reach out and take him in his arms.

So he did.

He stepped in close and wrapped his arms around Methos; he was all sinew and bone under the thin fatigues, but it didn't matter at all, because at last he could hold him close and lay his head in the curve of Methos' shoulder and feel him do the same. He felt the tension bleeding away from Methos' body as he stroked and soothed him, the brittle rigidity turning pliant by degrees.

"God, Methos, I--" Duncan began.

Methos shushed him. "Not now..." he whispered against Duncan's shoulder and that was all right because he didn't really want to talk, he already had all he wanted for now, folded in his arms.

At last Duncan felt Methos go from pliant to limp; he was all but asleep on his feet. Duncan drew him down into the makeshift bed, pulling a blanket up to cover them both, and within the space of a few deep, silent breaths Methos was asleep, fitted close along Duncan's side, his head still resting on his shoulder. Duncan couldn't remember anything sweeter. As tired as he was, he resisted sleep, just to hold on to the feeling for as long as he could. But eventually he had to give in and let the soft, rhythmic breathing of the man he was holding close to his heart lull him into unconsciousness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Continued in Chapter Seventeen        Back to Main Page                 Back to Contents