Unfounded Fears

Part 30

Paul bit his tongue against the pain. His eyes were closed tightly as he swallowed down further exclamations. He silently cursed himself for having cried out. In his semiconscious state, however, he had been unable to hold back his agonized reaction to the knife unexpectedly slicing into the back of his left thigh. The scream had escaped his lips before he could think.

He had to redirect his thoughts to the matter at hand. He was being used. He was the bait to draw Peter out into the open and to certain death. He would not. . .could not be the cause of such an outcome.

Before he could take action he heard the sound he dreaded. The rustling of bushes. . .the noise of running feet coming towards them. "No, Peter," he whispered.

Jake smiled. "We're about to have company."

Standing, Jake readied his rifle, preparing to shoot Peter on sight. Paul watched the man's actions out of the corner of his eye. Face down, he was at a disadvantage. His left leg was useless as the blood pumped out of the knife hole in his pants, soaking his thigh. But even with that injury, he wasn't helpless. Gathering his strength, he whipped his body onto its back so that now he could stare up at the man who was about to murder Peter in cold blood. Jake caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned on Paul, a grim smile on his face. He brought the rifle around to aim it at his victim, but before he could react, Paul's right leg shot up and connected with the man's kneecap. Jake gasped in pain as he reached down to grasp the injured joint.

Gritting his teeth, Paul threw his right leg around in an arch and his foot made contact with the rifle itself. Jake's grip on the weapon held, but his balance was off kilter and he stumbled to catch himself. His injured knee couldn't support his weight and he fell to the ground.

Paul tried to muster the strength to roll onto his stomach and get to his knees. Before he could do anything, movement from the bushes next to him caught his eye. He turned his head in time to see Peter hurling himself from the foliage, catching Jake in a full body tackle.

Caine stood on the front porch of the cabin and looked out into the woods. Lo Si silently stood behind him, waiting.

"It is happening," Caine whispered.

"Yes," Lo Si answered.

"I. . .I can not stay here," the younger priest responded.

"You must. You know why."

"But, my son. . .the Captain, they will need help," Caine stammered. He began to take a step forward off the porch.

Lo Si grabbed his arm. "You are hurt. You can not help. They must do this on their own. You know that."

Caine opened his mouth, beginning to speak words of retaliation and then stopped. Closing his eyes, he nodded silently. His hand drifted to the wound in his side. The bleeding had not stopped. His recent activity had prevented any clotting.

"Come, my friend. Let me treat your injury," Lo Si said as he pulled the concerned father towards the cabin's interior.

"No, it is only a scratch," Caine argued, holding his position. "I need to be here for them."

"That is correct. Which means that you need your wound tended. Now come," Lo Si insisted. With surprising strength, he guided the Shaolin into the cabin and led him towards the cot.

With Claudia's help, they lowered Peter's father to the dirty mattress. Lo Si pulled the bloody shirt away and examined the blackened hole in his friend's side. "It is more than just a scratch," the Ancient said, shaking his head. "You have lost too much blood as well."

Caine shook his head in denial. "I am fine." He started to push himself up.

Lo Si gave the younger man a disapproving look. "You are your son's father. There is no doubt of this."

Before Caine could respond, Lo Si's hand shot forward, making contact with Caine's neck. Before Kwai Chang Caine could react, he had slipped into unconsciousness.

"What did you do?" Claudia exclaimed, her words a mix of awe and fear.

"He must rest. He is ignoring his body's needs."

"But how did you. . .?" she started to ask. However when she looked into the dark brown eyes of the ancient man standing next to her, she realized that some mysteries shouldn't be revealed. "Never mind," she finished.

Lo Si smiled at the woman. "Stay with him. He will sleep. I will return shortly."

"But what should I do? There's no first aid kit here, I checked. I could go back to the truck. I have one in there," she offered. "I should get help."

"No. You must stay with Kwai Chang Caine." Lo Si stood upright, turned on his heel and left the cabin without saying more, leaving Claudia alone to tend to her new patient.

Paul heard a loud expiration of air and a grunt of pain coming from the tangle of legs, arms and bodies struggling on the ground next to him. With his hands bound and his injured leg hampering him, he was unable to do more than just roll out of the way of fight.

Peter had the upper hand on Jake, having pinned the man to the ground, his right forearm pressed against Jake's windpipe. Jake gasped for air. Without warning, however, his left hand shot out and made contact with Peter's wound. The man's fingers dug into Peter's side, causing agonizing webs of pain to shoot through his chest and hip. Peter let out a muted cry, but did not let up on the man's throat. The man's fingers dug deeper into the bloody laceration. Peter bit his lip, trying to win the battle of wills.

Without warning, Jake's other hand shot up and made contact with Peter's face, the man's fingers scrapped Peter's cheeks, then lowered to his throat, encircling his neck tightly, so that the men were in mutual chokeholds. Peter jerked his head backwards, trying to move it out of the man's reach. In doing so, he let up on the pressure to the man's throat, giving Jake the oxygen he needed to gather his strength.

With surprising force, Jake pushed Peter up and off him, causing the detective to fall to the ground. Jake rolled on his side and crawled to his feet, favoring his injured leg. Peter, after quelling his surprise and taking a needed breath of his own, also brought himself to his knees. Before Peter could regain his footing, Jake had thrown himself at the cop, knocking Peter backwards so that his legs were bent painfully under his torso.

Peter cried out and fought to free himself from the agonizing position, but Jake's weight was too great. The evil man pushed Peter's back into the ground, using his body strength to hold the cop down. The cop saw Jake's hand slide to his belt. He had seen the motion before. Earlier that day, Jake had pulled a knife from a sheath in his belt. He had used it to stab Peter in the side.

Knowing that the man was going for the same weapon, Peter anticipated the move. He brought his hands down and grabbed for the knife in the case, beating Jake to his own weapon. Surprised, Jake grabbed for the knife, making contact with the blade instead. The metal sliced into his palm and he cried out in pain as he threw himself backwards and away from Peter.

Jake hastily glanced around for his rifle. It had fallen to the ground only a few feet away. Limping as quickly as he could for it, he grabbed it with his blood stained hand and brought it up to take aim at his opponent. Before he could complete the action, the cop's voice froze him in place. "I wouldn't if I were you," was the growl.

He glanced at the detective who was still lying on his back, only to see that the cop was armed, but not with the knife which had been taken from the criminal. Instead, Peter held Paul's gun in his left hand, aiming its muzzle at a point in the middle of the man's chest. "You move. . .you flinch. . .and you're dead," Peter warned. "Now, drop the gun."

Jake eyed the man, trying to determine if the cop was in any kind of shape to enforce the threat. His eyes fell on the barrel of the gun. It wavered, showing the cop's weakness.

Paul's attacker smiled cruelly. He started to bend over as if dropping the rifle to the ground and then in one smooth action, brought it up and closed his finger on the trigger. The bullet left the barrel with a resounding explosion. At the same time a second, almost simultaneous explosion occurred as a bullet left Paul's gun. Then there was silence. Jake's eyes met Peter's. He could see the pain in the hazel orbs. He smiled at the cop, who was still lying prone on the ground. Jake had won. The injured man had been too weak.

Jake took a triumphant step forward. However, his legs wouldn't support him. Dizziness overtook the criminal as he collapsed to his knees. The rifle fell to the ground as if suddenly weighing too much. Jake's face creased, his eyes widening in surprise and then in pain as he absently clutched at the growing stain of blood which now marred the center of his chest. Then his eyes glazed over and he fell forward, face first into the dirt. Within a fraction of a second, there was no sign of life from the man.

Peter closed his eyes and let his head fall back into the dirt. His left hand, which still held Paul's gun, fell to the ground beside him.

Paul, who had watched the entire exchange from his bound position, let loose the pent up breath that he had been holding since the struggle began. He looked from Jake to Peter, seeing no life signs. . .no movement from either man. "Peter?" Paul whispered, saying a silent prayer that his foster son would answer. There was only silence. "Oh God. . .no. . . Peter?"

End Part 30

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