"Find Griffin! And where is Blake?! Skalaney?"

"Skalaney and Mathews are on stakeout, Chief," Broderick shouted from the front desk. "Blake called in this morning, said he had someone he had to check on."

Frank looked around, his face slowly draining of its beet red color. Employee's and civilians alike watched, some with worry that the man might go the way of postal employee's and take out his frustrations on them. "Well, get back to work."

"Chief, call on line 4," Broderick yelled before Frank could enter his office and close the door.

"Yeah, bet it's the Mayor wanting a special task force in ten minutes," Frank muttered sarcastically. "Strenlich," he answered into the phone with his best diplomatic voice. Hearing Blake on the other end, he changed his tone. "Damn it, Blake. I need you here!" Frank clutched the phone tighter as Blake explained about Morgan's history with Paul and where Kermit had gone. "You need some backup? Yeah, I'll alert the fed's. Get the county out there, also," Frank stated as he wrote the address, then hung up the phone.

He picked the phone back up and dialed the numbers that were on the roll-a-deck for the FBI and then the county, stabbing at the numbers in frustration at all the secrecy that surrounded him. After the two calls, he checked his revolver and headed out of the building.

The drive was quiet, both Frank and Blake thinking on the task ahead of them. Neither noticed the fiery orange and red of autumn leaves, either on the trees or as a carpet on the ground.

Two brown sheriff cars blocked the road. Four uniformed officers stood in front of the cars, signaling what few motorists that traveled this road to stop and allow their cars to be searched for the escapee.

Blake pulled the car over. Both he and Frank showed their badges to the officer in charge.

"I'm Sgt. Winston. You the one's that called about that escaped convict?"

Blade nodded. "Yeah, I got a tip from an old friend of mine. Said he thought Morgan was going up to the Blaisdell cabin. You have any other reports?"

"Only that we have a man who's been shot and left for dead. He crawled to a neighbor's house and they called us. When we got your faxed photo, the victim positively identified him. The feds are sending a unit up here, ETA. about 30 minutes. We've had reports of more gunshots."

"That the only way up to Blaisdell's?" Frank asked. Sweat started beading along his hairline.

Sgt. Winston looked back toward the mountain where Blaisdell and two other families had their cabins. The three families had invited the sheriff's department to a Christmas party each year.

"There's a back way in. It goes toward Thompson's and splits off to go to the Barkleys'. A pig trail goes from Thompson's to Capt. Blaisdell's place. We've got men over there at the other road. Our orders were to stop and search traffic, wait until the FBI show up."

Blake's jaw went slack. "You mean you have reports of shots fired, a man has been shot AND identified a known killer as the assailant AND that there are two people up there now that I told you Morgan was after…and you're sitting here WAITING on the FBI? My word, man, those people could be dead now!"

Frank placed a hand on Blake's shoulder, a gentle gesture to remind the usually mild- mannered detective to remain cool.

Blake felt the touch. "Look, I'm sorry. But those are our friends up there, and they need our help."

"I understand," Winston answered, aware of his own feelings of frustration. "My orders are for me and my men to keep anyone from driving up there. We found a green Corvair about half a mile from Blaisdell's cabin. A tree's across the road, so we can't drive up. Besides, if Morgan is watching that road, he could pick us off in no time."

"Wait. You said no one is aloud to drive up there, right?" Frank asked, catching the subtle hint from Winston. Being Chief of Detectives had taught Frank the intricacies of politics.

A broad grin swept across Winston's face, letting that be his only answer.

Frank liked this man. "What if someone were to try and walk through the woods?"

"I would have to send a couple of my men after them."

"Good. Come on, Blake."

Paul woke up with a start at the sound of gunfire and the noise of wings taking flight. His right arm was numb now. He had hesitated to tell either Peter or Kermit about the possible broken collarbone. 'Well, Blaisdell, you've been worse.' Years as a mercenary had seen him with various injuries. As a game, he would rate each injury. 'This would be a 2, I bet.' He smiled weakly. '5 being worst, that's not bad.'

He pushed himself up with his back to the wall, using the wall as leverage. The slow rise prevented the dizziness he knew to expect when changing positions too quickly. "The boys should have been back by now. That was a shotgun blast," he mumbled out loud as he used his left hand to feel the wall of the small cave. His vision blurred as the came out from behind a cloud, the rays hitting him in the face. Momentarily stunned, he stumbled out of the shelter, his foot tugging on the wire trip cord, springing the trap.

Branches and rocks fell on and around Paul. Weakness from the fever and blood loss left him too weak to fend off the falling debris that drove him to the ground. Pain flared again in his shoulder, joining with the pain in his head, chest, and back before darkness overtook him.

Morgan had been hunting most of his life, so the sound of rocks falling 50 yards away caught his attention. He and Hislop had been walking and looking for clues to their prey's whereabouts. Looking around, Morgan tried to gauge the noise's direction. A broken branch caught his attention. The echo of the falling debris was slowly fading, but it was in the same direction as the broken branch.

"We've got 'em." Morgan grinned, bringing his rifle off his shoulder, checking the ammo in it.

They found Paul buried under the rubbish, his breathing fast and shallow. "Oh, now, we can't have you dying yet, Blaisdell. I still need Griffin. Then, rest assured, I will kill your son. Hmm, I think I would like that head of hair on my wall. What do you think, Hislop?"

Paul was barely aware of the words Morgan spoke. What little strength he had left, Paul put into trying to get out of the rubble.

"Griffin! I know you're around here. You'd better run, cause you're next," Morgan shouted. He pulled out his bowie knife and walked toward his fallen prey, who continued to struggle unsuccessfully in the rubble. "And I shall mount yours next to Griffin's."

Having heard the sound of falling rubble also, Peter and Kermit followed Morgan and Hislop's trail, knowing that the two hunters had found Paul. Staying far enough away that their movements wouldn't catch Morgan's eye, they watched as the Morgan found Paul under the debris and listened as Morgan screamed out Kermit's name.

Peter tensed when he saw Morgan drawing his knife with one hand as he held Paul's hair in the other. "NO!" he shouted, jumping up and running.

Kermit tried to restrain the young man, but it was a useless move. Peter had been too quick, his nerves wound tight and sprung when he saw his foster father in danger. Kermit remained still, watching his friend run through the woods, providing a distraction for Paul's sake. "Keep running, Kid."

A shot rang out. Kermit looked from Peter to Hislop, and saw Hislop lower his shotgun. Then Kermit glanced back to where Peter had been. Not seeing Peter running or lying on the ground, Kermit sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

"Go after that one. I'll get Griffin," Morgan shouted, thrusting down Paul's head, giving Paul a temporary reprieve on his execution.

Hislop walked toward the last place he had seen the dark-haired man running. 'He'll leave an easy trail.' He found traces of blood splattered on the ground, the footprints running west, away from the shelter. "Must have winged him." Hislop started walking, following the steps of his prey. He didn't know what he'd do when he caught up with the fellow. "Kill him. It's better he die than me spend the rest of my life in prison." Having made his decision, he started tracking with cold-blooded intent.

Peter remembered his father's teachings on breathing, setting his body to ignore the pain. Instead, he concentrated on getting at least one man away from Paul. Kermit would handle Morgan. 'I hope.' He stopped to rest briefly, and see if he could recognize his surroundings. The crackling of pine needles caught his attention. 'Damn, how did he get to me so quick?' he asked when he caught a glimpse of Hislop.

Peter brought up his gun as he hid behind a tree. A flash of red on the tree caused him to examine where the wound was. Up to now, he hadn't thought about it. A sharp pain stabbed him in the right side. Looking down, he saw where the shirt had been stained with fresh and dried blood. He then looked at the ground, following the path of blood that led to him.

Hislop had his shotgun ready to shoot at anything that moved. He saw Peter's elbow behind a tree and a flash of light off the Beretta. Taking cover himself, he fired one shot to the left of the tree, hoping Peter would come over to the right side out of reflex. He wasn't disappointed.

Trying to evade the shot, Peter lunged and rolled to the right, firing toward the last place he'd seen his attacker. He took refuge behind another tree. He heard the sound of gunfire behind Hislop, and watched as the hunter fell to the ground.

He waited behind the tree until he saw the familiar form of Frank Strenlich coming toward Hislop, checking for a pulse and applying cuffs when he found a pulse. "Only winged him. Get him out of here," he ordered the deputy that accompanied him. "Peter, it's me, Frank."

Peter allowed his gun to drop. His body started protesting as the adrenaline away. He gave into the pain he could no longer control.

Frank looked at the wound, controlling his facial features, not letting Peter know what he thought of the injury. "Come on, I'll help you."

"Paul…and Kermit. Morgan…still after…them," Peter panted as he stood with Frank's help.

"Blake's gone after them. We saw that one following you and split up."

Kermit watched as Morgan walked toward him. Morgan ignored the movement off to his left. Kermit, however, didn't miss it. 'The cavalry has arrived.' Kermit left small traces of his path so Morgan would continue to follow him, leaving Blake free to take care of Paul.

He passed the log that had once been used to knock him, Peter, and Paul off the path. A bittersweet smile came over Kermit's face.

Morgan followed, feeling the breaks in the small branches that Kermit had left. "Sloppy, sloppy there, Griffin." Walking past the fallen log, his foot caught on a wire. He realized his mistake as the 'whoosh' of the trap sprang forward, pinning him between the spring board and nearby tree. Knives cutting into Morgan's flesh, ending his life.

Watching from a short distance away, Kermit shook his head. That wasn't how he wanted it to end, but he had no choice. He had wanted to find out if Morgan had help in escaping. The fact that the prisoner knew where Paul had gone, left Kermit thinking Morgan had had help.

"Why didn't you just shoot him?" Blake asked as he came up behind Kermit.

If it had been anyone else, Kermit would have taken that question as an insult. Turning to face Blake, Kermit answered, "That was the plan, but Peter had other idea's."

"Yeah, he does do strange things, doesn't he?" Blake said with a smile.

Part 8 Back to Denise's Page