Date: Mon, 12 Feb 1996 23:05:49 -0500 Reply-To: Sandra1012@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Sandra McDonald Subject: "Not Every Problem" 2/4 ****************************part 2 ************************************** The logical part of Tessa knew that the only way to make sure an Immortal stayed dead was to cut off his head, but the ripped part of her heart feared that maybe, just this once, the rules of Immortality would fail. For untold minutes she sat with Richie, holding him protectively, feeling his trembling grow worse and then ease again. He hadn't been wearing a seatbelt, and had been probably banged against the interior of the car several times. It was a miracle he wasn't dead. Despite their friction and subtle rivalry for MacLeod's attention, Tessa had grown to like Richie more than she'd ever imagined in the first awkward weeks that MacLeod had insisted on taking him in. She hadn't particularly wanted him on this trip, but MacLeod had wanted it and she'd done her best to be what the Americans called a 'good sport.' In no way had she ever wished Richie harm, and she certainly didn't want him dead. They sat there, in the mud, with only the sounds of their breathing and the drop of rain to keep them company. Tessa divided her attention equally between Richie, the ridge, and the Thunderbird. Time seemed to stand still, and she wondered if there had ever been a time when she wasn't cold. The voice of the man she loved came through the air a short time later. "Tessa? Richie?" "I have to see to Duncan," she told Richie, and he let go of her. He seemed a little stronger, more oriented, his eyes clear. Tessa slipped on the rocky ground getting to the Thunderbird, but the subsequent gash in her shin was a small price to pay for the sight of Duncan MacLeod gazing in bewilderment at her from where he still sat in the front seat. "You're alive," he breathed, eyes closing in visible relief. "I thought I dreamed that part." "And you were dead," Tessa told him somberly, then maneuvered past the mangled steel to kiss him full and hard on the lips. When she broke free, it was to trace the smooth skin beneath his bloodstained clothes. "You came back." "Death can't keep me," he said, and then grimaced as her body shifted into his. "What is it?" she demanded. "My leg's pinned beneath the dash," he managed through clenched teeth. Tessa duly investigated and found that the caved-in dash had Duncan's right leg pinned from just below the knee on down. "I'll find a lever," she promised. "Wait," he said. "How's Richie?" "Acting like he has a concussion." "You've got to get him to a hospital," MacLeod said, as if she didn't realize that. "There's more," Tessa said, and told him about the man in the Ford. MacLeod's eyes took on a new urgency. "You mean, he was murdered?" "I don't think he shot himself," Tessa said. She still couldn't get into the Thunderbird's trunk, but made it up to the Ford a second time and found the tire iron under a panel with the spare tire and jack. She brought it back down to the Highlander and found Richie standing in the rain just outside Duncan's trapped position, cradling his bloody left arm, the wet blanket over his shoulders. "Last time I take a vacation and let you drive," the teenager complained, with a trace of his usual cockiness and sarcasm. He was too shaken to successfully pull it off, Tessa thought, but it was a good imitation. And he sounded stronger, which she took as a favorable sign. "You just sit down and wait for an ambulance," MacLeod told him firmly. "You're in no condition to be up and around." "At least I'm not the one stuck in the car," Richie pointed out, and shivered as Tessa and MacLeod wedged the tire iron beneath the dash. He watched them work once, twice, and then a third unsuccessful time to lever enough room for MacLeod to pull his leg out. He squinted up at the ridge and said, "Hey, the cavalry's arrived. Maybe they can get you the jaws of death, whatever that thing is they save people with." "Jaws of life," MacLeod automatically corrected. Tessa stood and focused on the figure high above. She saw a tall man, in a long black duster, his face indistinguishable in the distance. He was looking at the Ford as he talked on a cellular phone. Then he swung his attention to them, and Tessa saw what was in his free hand. "Richie, duck!" she yelled, as the assailant's rifle came up and a shot cracked through forest. Richie had obediently dropped beneath a cluster of rocks. MacLeod could see the top of his blond hair. "Get lower!" he hissed from where he sat, trapped and helpless, and pulled Tessa closer to him. "You've got to get out of here," he told her urgently. "Find another way to the road. Flag down help. Take Richie with you, and watch over him." Fear glistened in her eyes. "I can't leave you here," she whispered. "What's he doing?" MacLeod demanded. Tessa raised her head a fraction, then ducked back down. "Coming down the ridge," she said tightly. "You have to go. You have no choice." MacLeod kissed the top of her head, then pushed her away to pull something from the space beneath his chair. "Take this." Tessa automatically protested as his prize katana was thrust into her hands. "And do what? He's not an Immortal, is he?" "It works on mortals just as well," MacLeod said grimly, and set to work again trying to pry the dash up. "Go, Tessa. I love you." "Remember that," she tossed back at him bravely. "I want another vacation to make up for this one." Then she was gone, moving low across the ground to join Richie. Another shot came from above, and MacLeod winced as he saw it clip a boulder not six inches from Tessa's head. Then the two mortals were gone, sliding away into the woods, hidden from the attacker's bullets by landscape and terrain. MacLeod used every bit of strength he could muster to pry up the dash. He scraped his leg through the narrow space, a cry coming out of his locked lips, and then collapsed, free but in agony, half in and half out of the car. A silhouette blocked his vision, made him look up. "I'll make it quick for you," the man said, "if you tell me where the others went." He was forty years old at least, with skin damaged by too much sun and eyes that were flat with the intent of murder. Straggly brown hair and rumpled clothes gave him a seedy air, but there was nothing unseemly about his confidence with the rifle slung over his back or the .38 in his right hand. He looked hard and professional, and MacLeod's instinct for trouble deepened. "They don't mean anything to you," MacLeod said. "They're innocent bystanders." "No bystander is innocent," the man returned easily. He lifted the .38 and fired three shots into MacLeod's chest. The sound of the bullets stopped Tessa in her tracks, and she turned back towards the wreck. Richie caught her before she could do anything rash. "It's all right, remember?" he said. "He must have killed Duncan." "But not with one of these," Richie said, patting the sword in her hand. "Come on, Tessa." They fled through the quiet forest and gently falling rain. *** Davis Day Ellithorpe made his way through the brush with the practiced instincts of a hunter. He had hunted human quarry in his life, but hadn't exactly planned it for today's activities. Taking care of the woman and boy should be no harder than killing the Thunderbird's driver, and just as flatly necessary. He believed what he'd told MacLeod, and didn't mind the killing, but needed to get back to the game already being played. They had only a few minutes on him, but it had been enough to cut them across the ravine and in any number of directions. Ellithorpe studied the ground, looking for traces of trampled undergrowth, and pushed on with his gun ready to fire at the slightest flash of human. Tessa and Richie, only a quarter of a mile to the north of Ellithorpe, had no good idea of where they were going. MacLeod had said to find another way to the road, but Tessa wasn't sure which way that was. Richie moved beside her, hampered by pain, his eyes haunted and embarrassed as she had to put a hand to help him over a small stream. His left leg was growing weaker, and his breathing was short and loud. "Where are we going?" he asked, and his voice had the edge of whiny neediness that she'd thought he had outgrown. Tessa motioned him to be silent. She led up along the stream's edge and then to higher ground. The sword in her hand felt huge and clumsy and wrong. What was Mac thinking? She couldn't imagine herself using it, but then remembered the man in the Ford and tightened her grip. Two miles later, Richie went to his knees in the wet dead leaves and hung his head. "Tessa, I can't," he said, and furiously blinked away the tears threatening to blur his vision. The drizzle had tapered off, but the chill wind kicking through the trees felt like it was turning his jacket to ice. His left knee was swollen enough that it stretched the fabric of his jeans, and every step sent a jolt of protest through his upper left side. Recent events swam dizzily in his head, and he was hard pressed to remember why they were on this wilderness hike. Tessa dropped to his side, her face strangely urgent. "We can't stop," she said. "You have to keep going." What he was going to do, any moment now, was pitch himself forward to the ground to get some rest. "Why?" he asked. "Because that man is going to kill us if he finds us." Richie thought back. A man on the ridge, firing at them. MacLeod, trapped in the car. "I can't," he insisted, feeling vulnerable and helpless, hating himself, hating his own inadequacy. "Then do it for Mac," Tessa told him sharply. "He's depending on us, and we can't let him down." "It's not like he's going to die, Tessa," he said, feeling his temper rise. "Remember?" Bright spots flushed in her cheeks. "After all he's done for you, that's how you repay him? Don't be a weak. Don't be a coward. Come on." Somehow he staggered to his feet, his ears burning. He hated her at that moment. Couldn't she see that he was hurting? He thought of Mac, trapped in the car. That image seemed more concrete than the man firing his gun at them. He clung to it for strength. "You don't even know where we are," he told Tessa spitefully. "Quiet," she ordered. "He'll hear us." They continued in a zig-zag up a long, gradual slope gouged by rocks and water run-off. Tessa tried to help him in a few rough spots, but he shrugged her away. He would do it by himself. His knee felt like an overripe grapefruit ready to burst, and he imagined he could feel the grate of bones inside it. The side of his head felt like it had been flattened with an iron frying pan. He'd already written off his left arm, which seemed locked in place against his chest where he'd been holding it. He decided he was seriously injured, dying maybe, no thanks to her. The anger and self-righteousness were hard to hold on to, though, and he realized again that he couldn't remember why they were out in the woods. He almost asked her, but she'd done something to make him mad, something he didn't remember, and he was suddenly afraid. Tessa glanced periodically back at him, but not too often. The look of hurt and anger in his expression was too much for her to endure on top of everything else. She suspected he really did have a concussion, maybe even some sort of amnesia, and that it was too much to expect him to think clearly, act rationally, or be of more than minimal help. But Duncan had entrusted the teenager to her care, and she didn't know of any other way to motivate him, under the circumstances. She didn't have time for coddling, gentle persuasion, or logical arguments. She glanced at her watch, but it had stopped three eighteen, the time of the accident. She asked Richie what time it was, but he shook his head. "I can't tell you." "Why not?" She brought them to a stop. The woods were very still, and the coming dusk cast everything in a gray, haunted light. He looked hollow-eyed with pain and shock in the middle of the vast, dangerous forest, and she had to ask him to repeat his mumbled reply. "Can't move my arm," he finally said, clearly and firmly, averting his gaze. He stood favoring his injured leg, shivering again, and Tessa's heart began to ache all over again. She needed Duncan. She couldn't possibly do this without Duncan. **************************end of part 2************************************ =========================================================================