As Ashley's tortured cry echoed through the trees, Harris continued to laugh, earning himself several looks of disbelief and disgust from those around him. They were incredulous that even seated on the chilled ground, handcuffed, with an arrow protruding from his arm and a bullet wound in his left calf, he was still cold-blooded enough to find amusement in someone else's pain.

      Ashley went rigid as the sound finally penetrated his consciousness, and he turned his attention from the scene below him to the man who leaned against a tree trunk almost directly behind him. His lip curled back from his teeth in rage, his eyes darted from one side to the other, and then his hand shot out to grasp a broken limb that dangled just a few inches above his head.

       Ashley pivoted on his uninjured leg and smashed the branch into Harris' face, abruptly cutting off the raucous laughter. One of the FBI agents stepped between the two, and said, "Put it down, Mr. Purdy. If you kill him, you'll end up in prison, instead of him."

      Emitting a jagged laugh of his own, Ashley retorted, "I have no intention of killing the gutless cocksucker, I'm not nearly that generous. I just wanted him to shut the fuck up, and to realize that he's not in control of anything anymore."

      He then turned to look at Harris, who was still spitting blood and tooth fragments into his lap, a stunned expression on his face. "Look at me, asshole!" Ashley snarled. 

      Surprisingly, Harris obeyed the command, staring at the smaller man in astonishment. "Like I told him, I have no interest in killing you," Ashley informed him, in a frighteningly calm, measured tone. "You said awhile ago that you'd rather die than go to jail, so that's exactly where I want you. In a cell, for the rest of your worthless fucking existence, having to live every single second knowing that you have no control over anything, and you never will again. You'll eat when someone feeds you, you'll shower when somebody lets you, and you'll go to sleep when they tell you to. You don't deserve the death penalty, it's too good for trash like you. The only thing that's appropriate for you is for them to take away what matters the most to you, and to make you spend the rest of your life knowing how it feels to be completely and utterly powerless."

      He moved to turn back toward the ravine, but then glanced back at Harris once more, with a mirthless, almost cruel, smile playing across his lips. "Oh, and if I get a chance to make a recommendation in court, I plan to ask them not to put you in solitary. My fondest wish right now is that they put you in with the rest of the lowlifes, and see how long it takes somebody to make you their bitch, and make you suffer just like all the people you've murdered. That's what you deserve."

      He seemed to be thinking about adding to his comments, but then everyone's attention was pulled back to the ravine by Merrifield's voice blaring from Yesenia Pruitt's radio. "Get a chopper in here, stat! She's still breathing!"

      Lew Bremerton tightened his grip on Ashley as the younger man nearly collapsed. Tears began to run down his face as he murmured, almost disbelievingly, "She's still alive? Oh, thank God!"

      At that moment, one of the Highway Patrol officers who had gone to contact the fire crews dashed back into view. Skidding to a stop in front of Pruitt, he wheezed, "We made radio contact with EMS, they estimate another ten to fifteen minutes from their current position. But on our way back we ran into an Army sergeant and a couple of civilians who claim to have medical training. They're on their way up with Knowles."

      Nearly as soon as the words left his mouth, his partner appeared, followed by three other people, one of whom Ashley immediately recognized as Liz's son, Kevin, who moved toward Wiley as soon as he saw him.

      "What's going on? This guy said you've got multiple people hurt. Who and how badly?"

      Pointing at Harris, Wiley rasped, "That fucker threw Briar down the gorge. Cody and one of the FBI guys are down there, he just called up that she's still alive. One of the detectives is shot, and Ash has a bum leg."

      Kevin immediately turned to his companions and rapped out, "Linds, you help out with the gunshot. Tommy, see what you can do for Ashley, I'm going down." 

      He disappeared over the edge of the ravine, and as a red-haired girl moved toward Weintraub, the second man approached Ashley. "Hi there, I'm Tom. Why don't we get you off your feet, so I can see what's going on? You're not shot, are you?"

      Ashley shook his head as Tom helped Bremerton guide him to the tree stump. "No, I was climbing over a downed tree, got my pants caught on a branch, and fell. Nothing's bleeding, but it hurts like hell." 

      "Can you put any weight on it at all?"

      "Not if I want to stay upright."

      Tom crouched down next to Ashley, looking his leg over for a moment, then reached into his jacket pocket and produced a large folding knife. After flipping the blade out in a practiced gesture, he grasped Ashley's ankle, made a quick cut in the hem of his blue jeans, and began carefully cutting through the fabric. As the blade moved upward, Ashley flinched, and Tom inquired, "I didn't nick you, did I?"

      Through gritted teeth, Ashley replied, "No, but you're making the material press on my knee, and it fucking hurts."

      "Oh, I'm sure it does," Tom returned. "But it's gonna hurt even worse if we leave this for later. I realize you've got other things on your mind right now, but in case you hadn't noticed, this has swollen up to almost twice the size of the other, and you don't want it restricted in these tight pants. That could affect the blood flow, and then you'd be in even more trouble."

      He sliced through the denim, stopping just short of Ashley's groin, and flipped back the flap of material, allowing them all to see that the knee was badly swollen and nearly purple. "Shit!" Ashley hissed. "I didn't think it was this bad!"

      Tom leaned closer to inspect the injury, running his fingers lightly over the area, before announcing, "Well, you're gonna need X-rays to confirm, but my best guess is that you've either fractured your kneecap or torn the cartilage. Possibly both. You're going to be off your feet for awhile, so I hope you guys don't have any tour dates anytime soon."

      "How can you tell? About my knee, I mean? Are you one of Kevin's Army medic buddies or something?"

      "No, I'm his twin brother," Tom responded. "I'm training to be an EMT right now. I'm not sure if you know this, but our oldest stepsister is disabled, and all of us that are old enough have taken some sort of first aid type courses so we can help take some of the pressure off of Mom and Carmine. I guess I just took to it a bit more than everyone else. And that's my girlfriend, Lindsey, over there checking on the detective. She's going to nursing school, so he's in good hands until we can get you all transported."

      At that moment, Yesenia Pruitt's radio emitted a squawk, and Jonah Merrifield's voice came through, saying, "Senia, Have you heard anything about ETA on that Medivac?"

      "Not yet, we're still having communication glitches," she informed him. "But we have a ground crew ETA of about five minutes. What's your situation down there?"

      "Hang on a sec, I'll let this guy fill you in."

      Wiley moved closer to Pruitt, and Ashley leaned forward, both of them listening intently as Kevin's voice crackled from the device. "Well, she's breathing, and semi-conscious, but she's in pretty rough shape. Both legs are broken, with a massive compound fracture of the left tibia. Dislocated left shoulder, at least three broken fingers, and numerous cuts and bruises. No outward signs of head trauma, but I can't make any guesses about possible internal injuries. There's no way in hell they're gonna be able to carry her up that grade, we need a chopper with a backboard."

      Sanger finally holstered his weapon and moved toward where Agent Pruitt stood, near where Lindsey and the other female agent were tending to Weintraub. "How you doing, Irv?" he inquired.

      "I've definitely been better, but I don't think it broke any bones or anything like that," the older man answered. "Hurts like a mother, though."

      "As long as we can stem the bleeding until he can get to the hospital, he should be all right," Lindsey told them. "There's an exit wound, so we know it's not lodged in his body, and there are no major arteries in this area. As long as there's no nerve or muscle damage, and no infection sets in, he should make a full recovery."

      "Hey, what about me?" Harris blurted. "I'm hurt, too, aren't one of you going to check on me?"

      Lindsey continued ministering to Weintraub, offering no indication that she'd even heard his request, but Tom paused for a moment, then rose to his feet and approached him. Stopping just a couple of feet away, his eyes swept over the rogue detective, and his face was a mask of complete contempt as he coldly stated, "Your leg wound has been bandaged, and doesn't seem to be bleeding excessively. I'm not a dentist, so I can't do a damn thing for whatever the hell happened to your mouth, and I guaran-damn-tee that you don't want me to screw around with that arrow. Although, now that I think of it, maybe I should've kept my big yap shut and let 'em figure that one out at the hospital. Would've served you right, pusbag. You're not in any immediate danger of dying, so no, nobody is bothering with you until the ambulance shows up."

      "Damn, you spoiled the surprise, boy!" Wiley grumbled. "I was gonna just let 'em yank the fucker out, and hope I was in earshot to hear him squall."

      "Okay, I'll bite," Sanger commented. "What's so special about that particular arrow?"

      Tom and Wiley exchanged a quick grin before Tom explained, "The black ones are what Cody calls his 'burglary deterrents'. He made 'em himself in shop class, and the things are back-barbed, so if you just pull it out, you'll end up doing more damage than it caused going in." Turning to once again glance at Harris, he said, "Just consider yourself lucky that he didn't get a shot at your crotch, asswipe. I'm pretty sure that would've really fucked up your day."

      The distant wail of the sirens became louder, and within a couple of minutes a pair of ambulances and a firetruck came into view. EMT's and firefighters swarmed from the vehicles, the majority of them moving to help the injured, while one made his way down the slope and another spoke with someone on her vehicle's radio. Two paramedics helped Weintraub onto a stretcher, while another pair carried one toward Ashley. As they approached, he began shaking his head violently, saying, "No, I don't want to go yet, I need to stay and make sure Tink is okay. I want to go with her in the copter!"

      "Do you mean the young lady they've called the rescue team for?" one EMT inquired. When Ashley nodded an affirmative, the woman calmly explained, "Sir, you won't be able to go with her in the chopper, there will be a full trauma crew on board, and you might hinder them from helping your friend to the best of their ability. We're taking you to the Santa Ynez hospital, and she'll be on her way there very soon, too. And you need to have your leg looked at as soon as possible, too. You won't be able to be with her when they get her stabilized if you don't get yourself fixed up, you know."

      This seemed to convince him to cooperate, and he allowed himself to be placed on the gurney and wheeled to the ambulance, where he joined Irv Weintraub. As the paramedic injected him with pain medication, he glanced over at the older man, and said, "Thanks for getting me out of the line of fire, man. I'm sorry it got you hurt."

      "Just doin' my job," the detective replied. "And maybe if I'd been a little more diligent about that in the first place, none of us would be here now."

      Unable to think of a response to the statement, Ashley remained silent as the ambulance doors closed. But, as the vehicle began making it's way down the rutted dirt road, he took one last glance out the rear window, and saw something that made a spark of hope leap up and begin to catch fire in his heart: A large, double-prop helicopter, flying very low over the trees, with a long, rectangular object dangling underneath. 

      He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the gurney, and as the painkiller began to take effect he whispered, so faintly that no one else could hear. "She's gonna be all right, I just have to keep telling myself that. She's gonna be fine. She has to be."