Lassie (and Shawn's) Great Adventure

4. You Know What Would Be Funny?

Speaking of cattle, he'd munch Bessy from the hooves up if one of those walking hamburger factories crossed his path.

A roar of foul language accompanied another downward plunge as his soles skidded on the soaked and rotted leaves. Mouthful of forest floor muffled the diatribe and offered up the meager salad as an appetizer to his hunger.

The next upward climb was a recollection of every injury he'd earned on this “simple reconnaissance” come reenactment of Midnight Run. Limp added to his lope and his state of mind, while rarely petulant with regards to his job, latched onto the curse of his circumstances and the means of its entrapment that had landed him in his personal hell.

He'd never lost his perspective regarding Spencer's standing with the department – time spend slapping his sneakers across the marble floor of the station did not an officer make, now or ever. But even so, he could admit some loss of better judgement born of forced familiarity; years of putting up with antic after side-show after parade of the ridiculous all devised to added that spice of buffoonery to detective work – Carlton had never been a fan of Pink Panther films and starring as Jacques Clouseau to Spencer's Charles Lytton was as grating as it was humiliating.

Gunshots, two of them tight together, made for a stop that wobbled on the tail end of his momentum – head tilt and frozen stance to place the location. Lack of echo meant the sound was dead before his feet had ceased crunching against the ground. Still, while he stood with his ears cocked and his hands slightly spread, the flat clap of the weapon cut through the rain once more. Two shots, three, four in rapid succession and while still a confusion of exact placement he'd at least narrowed the direction.

Spencer was outside and heading away from the cabin – Rogers firing so often doubtless from the lead his quarry must have gained.

But Spencer was already injured and working on an infection to boot. Whatever head start he had now wasn't going to last. However, whether or not Rogers got off a lucky shot, the exposure alone would be as good as a bullet.

Slicking a hand down his face – a move that cleared his eyes for all of three seconds, Carlton automatically felt for his weapon – reassured to find it still tucked in a pocket of worn leather. Spitting blood from his lip – earned during his last encounter with an ill-tempered Douglas-fir, he altered course for the most direct path to the handgun's reports.

And if luck chose that day to be generous, Spencer would still be alive by the time he battled his way through the gigantic mass of greenery that constituted his chosen roadway.

Because, by the time he made it through this tree-hugger's wet dream, he wanted to be the one to shoot that smarmy little twit himself.

Crouched beneath the wide base of a pine, Shawn drew in hard, frozen gasps and kept his eyes locked back the way he'd come. The downpour was an added cover for sound as well as visibility; an advantage he wasn't sure he had for long. Rogers had a gun, a flashlight, and a slowly lightening sky. Of course, Longmore had had those things too and Shawn had eluded him for nearly two hours. Correction; he'd eluded him completely before blundering all newborn calf right into their grabby mitts with a giant banner stapled to his forehead reading “1 free hostage – limited time offer”.

Or was it better to say “evil clutches”? No, that sounded too Phantom Menace.

The back of his neck still burned where the bullet had scorched mid-dive from the couch. There was no way his speed had saved him, lightning fast though he may be. He'd just lucked into a killer whose aim wasn't quite as noteworthy as his moniker. The shots that had followed had been nearly as close as he'd scrambled for the door – one of them managing to clip his wrist before he'd made it past the threshold. There was an irony that the half of a cuff still locked in place had likely saved his hand. The bullet had grooved flesh before striking the metal and angling back into the room.