Date: Fri, 24 Feb 1995 09:31:59 -0500 Reply-To: NancySSCH@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: Aloha Epilogue p 25-27 c 1995 N.L. Cleveland The final man.....the one who'd shot him...was not like the others. Even through the fog of pain, Jonathan could see, could sense it. The way he walked, catlike, down the slippery, uneven ground. How he stood, his camouflage clad body like a coiled snake, his face turning constantly back and forth across the clearing, checking all possible avenues of attack, his nose flaring as if scenting the very air for threats. His face shadowed, his eyes hidden, under the peaked bill of a battered khaki hat. "Enough. He's finished already." The man's voice was musical, the English faintly accented. Such a familiar accent.... "We need to find the other. The boy." Fear for Fujio pierced his heart. Agents for the Japanese government? Surely not...and the Dragons always worked alone, except for that one feint, involving Kassmir. He searched his memory, searched the fragments of other memories he shared, from Shonte, from MacLeod. There were hints, only hints. Another clan, locked in a final blood feud with the Dragons? Possibly.... And they were after Fujio. After his boy.... He had trained the boy well...he believed that the child could hide, could survive. For as long as it took until Jonathan returned. The only consolation he now had was his sure knowledge that they would never see him, when he came back. Would never even know who, or what, killed them. Because they were walking dead men now. All of them. Even the girl. And whoever had sent them, whoever they had told, would die as well, when they came looking for their missing friends. Rage washed through him in a final surge, as his life ebbed redly between his hands. It was his last coherent thought, as darkness closed in on his mind. * * * * * The drive to the east side of the island had been relatively uneventful. Duncan grinned ruefully as he turned the vehicle into the convenience store parking lot on the outskirts of Keanae, and stopped the Jeep, rubbing his still sore neck with one hand. He had almost pulled a muscle just a moment ago when he'd passed a deeply tanned and generously endowed woman jogging down the sidewalk. Her scanty bikini was almost the same color as her gleaming mahogany skin...It made for an interesting illusion, until one looked very...very...closely. And he had.... He stepped out of the vehicle, and stretched, feeling the kinks and tension starting to ease from his frame. The drive had been beautiful, across dozens of tiny one lane bridges spanning gurgling freshets, passing waterfall after waterfall, winding up and down the narrow, broken land in the road's final approach to the huge gaping, long dead cauldron of fire that had built this half of the island. This spur of the moment trip had been a good idea. And it was good to be alone. Not that he minded the company of the younger Immortal, but beyond the threatening pull of those inner urges and voices, the constant diet of eager youthful companionship could and had also begun to pall, over the past few weeks. He remembered he had once been just as eager, just as new to all the nuances and details of life. But it was hard to summon the same enthusiasm that the youth so obviously felt. Richie would do fine on his own. Maybe Duncan would even call his hotel and let the youth know he'd be staying on this side for a few days. He stared up at the towering bulk of the long dead volcano, its walls rising like a frozen tsunami, a petrified black stone tidal wave rearing in permanent threat above the cluster of brightly colored buildings and dark green palm trees that huddled at its base. A vast crater awaited his exploration, inside. One that deserved its full measure of time and contemplation. He would drive up the volcano and camp in the park, sleep out in the Jeep...at least for tonight. Tomorrow would take care of itself. He watched the passing traffic with half an eye as he wandered towards the shabby glass fronted store. Weeds and trash tangled together along the cracked edge of the parking lot, and the store itself exuded a general air of neglect. Not that it mattered. Everything was more relaxed, here on the east coast, away from the flashy resort areas in the west. More relaxed. Quieter. Fewer people. He wondered if the jogger would be showing up anytime soon. She had seemed to be headed in this direction.....and he wouldn't mind waiting around until she went by. He always appreciated a woman who kept herself in shape, and this one, very clearly, did. As he glanced hopefully down the road the way he'd come, another, familiar, profile caught his attention instead, a man's face in a dusty gray sedan that was cruising slowly along the far side of the street....Asian....like the middle aged man he'd noticed in the rental agency back in Lahaina. Very much like that man. In fact, the same one. Duncan could almost swear to that. It could be a coincidence. Simple chance. There were, after all, just so many roads, just so many towns to visit, on this island. One was bound to run into the same tourists, following the same circuit, after a while. Or it could be a Watcher. A new face, a local man. He searched his memory, tried to reconstruct what he'd seen, what he'd glimpsed of the man's arms and hands. Had there been a tattoo? He wasn't sure. Wasn't sure at all of the man's identity, or intent. But was almost sure, almost certain, that he was following Duncan. He turned back towards the store with carefully controlled casualness, the jogger, the volcano, forgotten now. He had another game to play. Another hunter to flush from the stalk, and the chase. If it was a Watcher, he wanted to know for sure. And if not...and if coincidence was not behind this sudden appearance, then he had a whole different agenda to pursue. A whole new array of choices to make. But he would face those, when he had to. For now, he wanted to pull his pursuer, if indeed he was pursuing, into showing his hand. Food, basic supplies for a few days in the woods, were not too bulky to carry. Duncan tossed the bags into the passenger seat of the Jeep and started to climb into the vehicle. Then thought the better of it. He shouldered his nylon sports bag, pulled a pair of sunglasses from among his new purchases, jammed a jaunty bright blue baseball cap on his head and strode purposefully towards the main commercial strip of the town, trying to look for all the world like a tourist with time and money to burn and nothing more urgent on his mind than finding a nice cold brew in a dark cozy bar. And maybe some female company as well. Watching carefully in the reflections from the rear windows of the parked cars lining the street for any sign of the gray sedan or its passenger. Looking for a likely place to lay his trap for an unwary pursuer. Finding a possibility in a run down bar, its wooden sign proclaiming "Pineapple Grove" to the world in faded, flaking gold and green paint, its battered screen door standing ajar, inviting him to enter. He sauntered in, and walked to the dark, almost deserted bar. The proprietor glanced indifferently at him, leaning on the edge of the polished wood rail, watching a satellite re-broadcast of a football game from the mainland. Duncan identified it easily. San Francisco and Dallas. Last year's Superbowl. Things were *very* slow on this side of the island. Two other men sat in a back booth, also silently watching the game. They turned their heads and tracked his progress across the room. The unwashed boards creaked under his feet as he moved. Besides the murmuring of the television, and the soft whir of the ceiling fan revolving lazily above his head, it was the only sound in the place. No sign of his pursuer at the door. He'd kill some time here, and then slip out the back. See if anyone was waiting, for him. =========================================================================