Aannt aannt!

The ungodly noise reverberated through Blair Sandburg like a dentist's drill. He pressed his eyelids tighter together and parted his lips to let a groan escape. Something gritty and distinctively salty trickled into his open mouth, and he automatically spit and clamped his lips shut.

Aannt mew!

A piercing pain took up residency just behind his eyes. What the hell was that?

Aannt mew!

Whoooossshhh...

With the new sound came an new awareness. Blair attempted to open his eyes to verify his suspicions about the new sensation tickling at his lower legs and feet, but the lids were effectively gummed together by something with a holding strength that made super glue look like kindergarten paste.

Whoooossshhh...

His strength and energy in question, Blair abandoned his efforts and lay still for a moment. What in the hell was going on? Where was he?

Aannt mew? Aannt?

The sound was drawing closer. Gone was its shrillness, in its stead a definite note of curiosity. Questioning.

Whoooossshhh...

Again, the odd sensation...warm and wet...water? Washing over his feet and lower legs...

Suddenly, the earlier sound clicked into memory. Surprise gave him strength, and he forced his sticky eyelids apart, instantly slamming them shut again as bright sunlight pierced his vision and notched up the headache proportionately.

"God..." The whisper came out as a cross between a curse and a prayer and brought with it another influx of the salty grit.

Aannt?

The split-second of vision had been enough to register the source of that so familiar sound, but surprise had Blair doubting what he thought he'd seen. Summoning all his strength, he brought one arm up over his eyes to shield the sunlight and pried his eyes open once more. Beady black eyes stared at him from a few feet away. Blair blinked and the two fuzzy white faces surrounding the eyes became one.

The seagull cocked its head and mewled another question. Aannt?

"Shoo..." The cracked whisper barely registered to Blair's own ears. He swallowed hard, taking note of a vile taste in his mouth as he did, and tried again. "Shoo!"

The bird backed away a few steps and squawked its indignation. Aannt aannt!

Whoooossshhh...

Blair's attention shifted as water once again washed halfway up his legs. He lifted his head, fought back a wave of vertigo and looked at his feet. Shock overrode the dizziness, and he pushed himself up on one elbow for a better look.

He was lying on a beach, his lower half at the edge of the water. As he watched, another wave washed over his legs, soaking his boots and jeans to the tops of his thighs.

Aannt?

Blair tore his eyes away from the ocean and back to the gull. The bird had moved back toward him. One glance was enough to tell Blair what the creature was questioning. A few feet away from his head was the remains of someone's dinner. The gull was obviously hoping to make breakfast of some poor soul's misfortune. From the taste in his mouth, Blair figured he was most likely that poor soul.

"SHOO!"

Startled by the sudden shout and the fistful of wet sand flung in its direction, the gull took flight, circling overhead as it noisily declared its frustration. A moment later, it tired of the tirade and flew a short distance away, perching on the rocks to wait patiently for another chance at breakfast.

Blair dropped heavily back to the sand, his arm over his face to block out the sun's glare. How the hell had he ended up on the beach? He thought back, trying to trace whatever events could have led up to such a bizarre situation. The last thing he remembered was...was...

What did he remember?

He remembered being at the university, working on a paper that was due. No, that wasn't the last thing, because he distinctly remembered locking up his office and heading home. His brow creased as he tried to force the memory. He recalled taking a shower...then...nothing.

No, wait, he remembered planning supper. Jim wasn't home from the station yet, and Blair was going to make a cheese pie, but they were out of mushrooms. He'd put back on his shoes to run down to the corner for some, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember if he'd made it or not.

Removing his arm, Blair squinted up at the overly bright sky. It had been nearly dark when he'd left the loft for the grocery store. Judging from the sun's position above him, it was now midmorning. The next morning? Or had more than one night elapsed?

What happened? How had he ended up on the beach with what felt like the mother of all hangovers? He did a quick inventory, cataloguing his aches and pains, but there didn't seem to be any obvious injury that would explain the memory loss.

Blair forced his body to move. He struggled into a sitting position and waited out the inevitable vertigo. Once it passed, he lifted a heavy hand and wiped ineffectually at the sand caked onto the right side of his face. The advancing salt water lapped once more at his lower legs. He pulled his knees in toward his chest and away from the breaking waves.

"Where in the hell am I?"

He scanned the surrounding area from the more vertical position. The beach extended as far as he could see to both the left and right, the white sand broken only by accumulated piles of washed up driftwood and scattered, rust-colored boulders.

He turned back to face the ocean, letting his eyes search the expanse of water to the horizon. A ragged reef of rocks rose from the blue-green waters a few hundred feet offshore. Beyond that, again, nothing. No boats, no surfers or swimmers, nothing.

Moving gingerly in deference to the headache, he turned to look behind him. The beach he sat on extended inland for about a hundred yards, met there by a thin line of trees. A few hundred feet beyond the sparse initial growth, the trees and brush thickened. Other than that...nothing, not one thing to indicate anyone other than Blair Sandburg was there.

"Hello?" He cleared his throat and tried again, this time forcing some volume to the word. "HELLO!" Ten seconds of silence ticked by before he tried again. "HELLO? ANYBODY THERE?" Still no answer.

Turning his attention back to himself, he did a more thorough inspection, desperate for any clue to shed light on his current situation. Other than the diminishing nausea, a killer headache and some dizziness, he seemed fine. No wounds, not even a scratch or bruise to indicate he might have been...been what? Abducted?

No, it had to be a joke. A decidedly unfunny prank of some kind. He thought for a minute, trying to pin down who he knew that could -- would -- pull off something like this. A few names came instantly to mind.

It wasn't totally out of the realm of possibility. It made sense.

Sort of.

In a warped kind of way.

Someone -- Ty, Shane, or any of a half dozen others he could think of right offhand -- had gotten him drunk, maybe slipped him something to help matters along a little, and dumped him here as a joke. No doubt they were hiding somewhere close by even now, video taping his reaction, splitting a gut over his predicament.

"NOT FUNNY! YOU HEAR ME, GUYS? This is SO not funny." He waited, but there was no response. "Come on, guys, you've had your laugh. I don't have time for this. I've got an important test this afternoon, and if you make me miss it, you're dead!"

Aannt aannt!

The persistent gull was the only sign of life.

"Guys? Anyone?" Blair scanned the tree line and the outcropping of rocks down the beach, praying Ty or Shane would step out and laughingly claim responsibility for the joke. "My roommate's a cop, you know, and he's probably already got an APB out on me. He's not going to be amused."

Still no answer. Icy fingers of warning worked their way up his backbone. If this wasn't a prank...then...then what? Who else would have put him here? Why? Kidnapping? If so, where were his abductors? Why drop him on a beach and abandon him?

Unless they weren't worried about him leaving...

God, he might not be on the mainland at all! This could be any of a thousand uninhabited islands that liberally dotted the Pacific coastline. What better place to put someone you wanted to stay put?

It was hard to think around the persistently throbbing pain in his head, and sitting in the water with the sun bearing relentlessly down on him probably wasn't helping. Blair pushed himself to his feet and waited out the vertigo. Once it passed, he headed unsteadily toward the promised shade of the tree line directly ahead.

The temperature dropped significantly once he stepped into the shade. Grateful, Blair stumbled to the closest tree, sat at its base and leaned on the trunk. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing until the pain in his head receded enough to think.

The chances of this being a prank were diminishing by the minute. Blair couldn't think of anyone who would let a prank go on this long in the face of his obvious distress. No one he knew was that cold hearted. Get him drunk and drop him off on a deserted beach, yeah, but leave him alone when he was obviously sick, no. Keep him away from class at the end of the semester? No. His friends wouldn't do that. They might be immature jokesters, but they weren't that irresponsible.

So he was back to the abduction angle. But why? What in the world could possibly be accomplished by drugging him -- and he had enough brain cells left to know he'd been drugged in some way, shape or form -- and dropping him on a beach in the middle of nowhere?

Prank or kidnapping, either way, Jim had definitely missed him by now, so Blair felt relatively secure knowing the detective was searching for him.

Unless something had happened to Jim, too!

Blair's eyes shot open, and he stumbled to his feet, lurching unsteadily back onto the beach. No...no sign of another body on the beach. No sign of anything! The area was deserted.

Allowing himself a small moment of relief, Blair tried not to consider any of the other million and one things that could have happened to Jim. No! Jim was safe back in Cascade and doing everything in his power to find Blair, and Blair intended to hold onto that thought until he had damn good reason to think otherwise.

A flash of light coming from a nearby cluster of jagged rocks caught Blair's attention. He squinted, trying to figure out what was causing it. The light flickered as Blair moved his head, and he decided it was caused by a reflection of sunlight on something laying in the rocks. Cautiously, he moved toward it.

It wasn't until he was within a few yards of the rocks that he saw the cause, and his step quickened. A oversized hiker's backpack lay wedged between the boulders, the buckle of one strap catching the sun and advertising its position.

Blair dropped to his knees beside the pack, eagerly ripped open the clasp and peered inside.

"Whoa, man," he muttered under his breath. "This is either a Godsend, or someone left this for me on purpose."

He glanced up, finding and following with his eyes the tracks that led from the surf to the nest of rocks and back to the water's edge. So much for a Godsend, which meant it was left on purpose for him to find. It was beginning to look more like an abduction with each passing minute.

"It's a good sign," he concluded aloud. "If they've gone to the trouble of leaving provisions for me, then maybe their intention isn't necessarily to do me harm." Why leave supplies for someone you intended to kill in the long run?

Blair took another peek inside the pack before grabbing it and heading back to the shade to explore its contents. Within minutes he had it emptied and the items spread around him. He mentally catalogued each one as he placed it back within the confines of the pack.

A packet of food, a dozen bottles of water, a small first aid kit, matches, flashlight, a thin survival blanket, a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, a nylon windbreaker, two pairs each of both socks and underwear, and to his surprise, in the bottom of the pack, he found two National Geographic magazines and a mystery novel.

Turning the book over in his hands, he wondering what kind of person abducted someone, dropped them in a deserted area, but made sure to leave reading material? A thoughtful kidnapper? Wasn't that an oxymoron?

Blair replaced all of the items except for one water bottle and the food. He uncapped the water, took a long drink, then rummaged through the food items. There were a dozen nutrition bars, six cans of potted meat, a pack of crackers and some beef jerky. Enough food for about a four or five days. He could probably stretch it a bit longer if he was careful.

So, did that mean he was only going to be here for a few days? Were they planning to return for him after that? Or did they simply not care what happened to him when the food was gone? Maybe that was as long as they felt they needed to keep him alive.

Didn't matter, he decided, shaking away the disturbing thoughts, because Jim would rescue him long before the food ran out.

Blair carefully repacked the food, returned the remaining water, and resealed the backpack. Regardless of his certainty of rescue, he would make the supplies last as long as possible. Just in case.

Next, he emptied his pockets. He still had his trusty Swiss Army knife, thank goodness. That would probably come in handy if he really was going to be here for a few days. Besides the knife, he had a handful of change, useless, and a hair tie. He quickly pulled back his wet, sand-caked hair and wrapped the tie around it.

His wallet was gone, as was his watch. Made sense, if it was a kidnapping. They would need some proof that they really had him.

So...

Now what?

It might be wise to explore the area, but his head was still pounding. He decided it could wait. After all, it looked like he had plenty of time on his hands.

Stretching out on the ground, he pillowed his head on the backpack and closed his eyes. He would rest now and save the exploring until later in the day when the sun began to go down and it cooled off some.

The scream of gulls in the afternoon sky awoke Blair. He tentatively cracked open one eyelid, disappointed, but not surprised to find it had not been a dream. He pushed himself to a seated position and stretched, pleased to find that he'd not only slept off the worst of the dizziness, but the nausea was gone, and the headache had faded to a dull throbbing.

Judging from the lowered position of the sun, it was late afternoon. He'd slept away most of the day, but he figured he had two, maybe three hours of daylight left in which to explore the area. Swinging the heavy backpack to his shoulders and securing it in place, Blair stepped from beneath the trees, back onto the beach. One direction looked much the same as the other, so he tossed a mental coin and turned to his right.

Two hours of walking turned up nothing but more of the same. His new home could have been any of thousands of islands in the Pacific. There was nothing to distinguish it from any island Blair had ever seen, in reality or pictures. If it really was an island, and Blair hadn't been given any reason to think otherwise yet. There'd certainly been no sign that anyone else had in recent years, if ever, walked this beach.

Daylight was beginning to fade by the time Blair stopped to consider his next move. It seemed fruitless to explore more in this direction. Though it was tempting to imagine signs of life just around the next bend, he didn't seriously expect it. Why would his abductors leave him supplies if there was help within a few hours walking distance? Hell, why dump him here at all if there was help close by?

Assuming, of course, he had been kidnapped. Throughout his hike, he'd half-expected Ty or Shane to jump out of the rocks and yell, "Surprise!" But it wasn't a joke, and his friends weren't involved. Blair knew that in his gut. And though he'd had plenty of time to think about it as he walked, he had yet to come up with any logical scenario, save a kidnapping, to explain his presence here.

It was just...weird. Why dump him on an apparently abandoned island, or at least what passed for one? Was it just to keep him hidden away for some unspecified length of time? For what purpose?

Not that Blair was complaining. He'd certainly rather be here, with the proper supplies, than tied up in some dark, damp basement, or chained up in an abandoned warehouse with a lunatic pouring poison down his throat. Blair shuddered, forcing away the memory of David Lash. Yep, as kidnappings went this definitely wasn't a worst case scenario. All he had to do was survive a few days until Jim found him. Piece of cake.

The idea that Jim wouldn't find him never crossed his mind.

Logs crackled and popped as the flames consumed them, the sound lending some comfort to the solitary man sitting at the edge of the fire's light. Blair had decided to make camp where he stopped in his explorations. Though the night was warm, he craved the comfort of a camp fire, and God knew there was plenty of driftwood for it.

He'd opted to build the fire directly on the beach, halfway between the tree line and the water's edge, not quite willing to face any unknown natural inhabitants that could be dwelling in the forest. Besides, he reasoned, a passing ship might see the fire and investigate. Not totally out of the realm of possibility. It happened in the movies all the time.

He allowed himself one of the nutrition bars and a third of one of the bottled waters, then spread the thin blanket on the ground at the fire's edge for his bed. Though he was exhausted, he wasn't ready to sleep just yet. Too many thoughts ran through his mind.

Where was Jim? Was the sentinel safe? Blair had to believe so. Anything else was just unthinkable. The fact remained that someone had gone to a lot of trouble to kidnap Blair and place him in an incredibly odd location. Why? To what end? Not for money, that much was certain. He had no money of his own, and he didn't know anyone with enough to be a temptation to a criminal. So, ransom was out.

Revenge, maybe, against either him or Jim, but that didn't really make sense either. If the abduction was revenge, then why dump him relatively unharmed with supplies to make his stay easier? No, that just wasn't at all logical.

So, the kidnappers must have wanted something. From Jim? That was the rational assumption. It obviously wasn't from Blair, or they wouldn't have just deserted him here. What could they want? Information? As far as Blair knew, Jim wasn't working any sensitive cases at the moment, but then he wasn't always privy to every case Jim worked.

What else could it be? Try as he might, Blair could come up with no other logical explanation for his predicament. He finally gave up on trying to read the mind and intentions of someone he hadn't even met, at least not while conscious and, after adding a few logs to the fire, he stretched out on the blanket and drifted into a restless sleep.

Blair was up with the sun the next morning. The fire had died in the night, but he didn't take the time to build it again, wanting to move out as soon as possible. He shook the sand from his blanket, rolled it up and stuck it back into his pack. A couple of sips of water, a few crackers with potted meat, and he was ready to leave. He debated briefly which way to go, but it wasn't really much of a choice. If someone was coming back to get him, they'd most likely return to the area they'd dropped him off, so it made sense to stay close by.

A couple of hours later, he found the place where he'd awakened the day before, easily recognized by the nest of boulders where he'd found the backpack. He took a short breather, then headed in the opposite direction, wanting to satisfy himself that he was truly alone and stranded.

By nightfall, he was back. The hike had accomplished nothing except for passing the day. Fighting discouragement, he gathered a good sized stack of driftwood, built a fire, and settled in for the night.

"Two days down," he muttered in between bites of the tasteless nutrition bar. Two days behind him. How many left ahead? Four? Five? Surely no more than that. Right?

"Right," he affirmed determinedly, trying to make himself hold on to that hope.

Unless...

What if his abductors didn't get whatever it was they wanted in the allotted time? Would they come back for him anyway, knowing he had enough supplies for only a few days? Or maybe they would just make a supply drop without picking him up.

One more possibility occurred to him, much less optimistic. Would they just forget about him, leave him here to starve?

"No, no way," Blair insisted, his voice loud in the darkness. Jim would find him before that could happen. Hell, Jim would show up long before Blair's supplies ran out. The sentinel had never failed Blair yet, and Blair damned sure wasn't going believe he would now.

"He won't."

But just to be on the safe side, Blair decided, he'd slow down with his supplies. Just in case the expected rescue ran a day or two late. Better safe than sorry. If he was careful, he could make the limited food and water last well beyond the allotted time. And to supplement them, tomorrow he'd scout around for what food he could find to fill in. He'd rigged fishing traps before, and with the aid of his knife, he could do it again. Plus, there were surely some edible crustaceans in the rocks at the water's edge, maybe some clams on the beach. It was the right season for them, and finding them shouldn't be too much of a problem.

His real problem was going to be fresh water. Judging from the abundant plant life, and the numerous birds he'd seen at the edge of the forest, there was fresh water to be had, but finding it with his inadequate skills could prove to be a problem. He'd definitely have to explore inland, but that could wait a few days more. For now, he was going to hold on to his belief that, at best, Jim would find him, and at worst, his abductors would return.

With that resolve, Blair stretched out on the blanket next to the fire and closed his eyes. The kree kwip of the crickets, the eerie whreeep of the cicadas in the treetops reached a nearly deafening crescendo around him as the darkness deepened. He waited for sleep to claim him, wondering what kind of wildlife might be on the island. It wouldn't be inconceivable to imagine large, predatory animals roamed the woods. Many of the islands off the coast were wildlife refuges, after all. Assuming, of course, that he was still in the Pacific Northwest. He had no way of really knowing that, beyond a gut instinct and a bit of logic. If he truly was being used as some sort of bargaining chip against Jim, it made sense that they would want him close at hand. Plus the temperatures seemed to be consistent with that of the Washington coast, or perhaps Oregon.

Would the abductors return before Jim showed up? Blair wasn't sure what the best course of action would be in that case. Greet them, albeit without the open arms, or hide, maybe attempt to elude them? Would they be returning to take him out of here? Or to kill him? If they decided they wanted him dead, all they really had to do was abandon him here. Unless they became concerned he might be found and rescued. But what difference would that make? It wasn't like he'd seen any of them.

So, the question remained: Greet them or hide from them?

Blair rolled over, facing away from the fire and wrapping his arms around himself. He had a day or two to think about it, but he was pretty sure he didn't have a lot of choice. He didn't want to be abandoned here, and as good as Jim was, Blair knew it might take time for the detective to find him. So if the kidnappers returned, he might be forced to greet them.

Sleep finally crept up on him, and with one last quick prayer for Jim's safety, he welcomed it.

The sun was warm upon his bare back, but not yet burning in the early morning hours. Blair stood at the water's edge and let his eyes scan the empty horizon. According to the best guess-timate he could make based on the supplies he'd been left, it could be as many as four more days before he could reasonably expect to see rescue coming, but he had no way of knowing that for sure, and he wanted a heads up on any arrivals, whomever it might be. But again today, there was no sign of any rescue.

He turned his back on the ocean and headed back to his makeshift camp. It was early, but he wanted to get a jump on the day. He'd decided while eating his meager breakfast of beef jerky and crackers to postpone attempts to catch a few meals at the oceans edge, and instead to explore inland. The fish and crabs would still be there in a few days if he needed them to extend his rations, but the issue of fresh water was more pressing. He'd reduced his water intake, but cutting back too much in this heat could prove dangerous. So he'd made the decision to search inland for a source.

Besides, he couldn't just sit in the shade and read while he waited for rescue. That was much too passive for his tastes. Exploring was at least something active to help pass the time until rescue arrived.

Blair used sand to extinguish the fire, then gathered his meager belongings and shoved them into the backpack. He took a step toward the tree line, but stopped. Maybe he should leave a message of some sort behind, just in case he'd miscalculated. After a brief consideration, he gathered a few stones and arranged them in an arrow to indicate his intended direction. That accomplished, he left the beach behind and headed inland.

One thing became unfortunately apparent to Blair as he walked: this island was much too large to be a part of any of the coastal island chains with which he was familiar. Still, there were literally thousands of islands up and down the pacific coast from Alaska to California. Logic still held that he would have been kept close, so until he had reason to believe otherwise, he was going to believe that he was still within American waters.

For the first several hours, the hike was an easy one, but by early afternoon, the terrain became increasingly uneven. Small rises gave way to larger hills. Sparse undergrowth gave way to dense, sometimes impenetrable brush. Several times, Blair had to adjust his course, choosing an easier route. Each time, he was careful to return to his original track. He would be the first to admit that he had an underdeveloped sense of direction, so he was careful to hold a due east course. The last thing he needed was to get lost and not be able to find his way back to the beach.

One substantial blessing Blair noticed as he made his way inland was the lower temperatures under the shading protection of the thicker trees. It was actually quite comfortable, even with the exertion of the prolonged hike. A particularly thick growth of a thorny bushes loomed before him, so Blair changed course, detouring to the north for several hundred yards before finding a break large enough to fit through without risking personal injury on the razor sharp thorns. Once safely on the other side, he put the sun at his back once more and continued on.

Ahead, the trees appeared to thin out. Blair decided he'd continue on to the clearing, stopping there for a late lunch. He'd chewed a nutrition bar a few hours ago as he walked, but now his stomach was beginning to growl in earnest.

As he'd walked, he'd been on the lookout for any potential food -- berries, some kind of fruit or nuts, small animals -- but to his surprise and disappointment, he'd not had any luck. The plant life was lush, the birds abundant. He'd expected to find food by now, but either he wasn't looking hard enough, or he had yet to stumble across it.

Neither had he found a fresh water supply, which was fast becoming a real concern. It was obvious that there was fresh water to be had, but to tell the truth, he hadn't expected it to take so long to find. Setting aside his worries and concerns, Blair trekked the last hundred feet to the clearing and pulled up abruptly. A disorienting wave of adrenaline induced vertigo washed over him. He took a quick step back, grabbing the closest tree, and snapped his eyes closed. His breath came in short pants of near panic.

"Ohgodohgodohgod..." Louder, he swore, "Shit!" The short echo that returned to him was more than a little disquieting.

He cautiously opened his eyes and looked out...and down. One more step, and...

Swallowing hard, Blair pushed the thought away, refusing to think about what would have happened if he'd not stopped when he had.

Directly before him, less than two or three steps from where he stood, the ground suddenly and drastically dropped away. The unexpected drop had been camouflaged by trees which grew right up to the edge of the precipice.

Blair grabbed a tight hold on the lowest branch of the tree at his back for security and took a wary step forward to peer over the edge. Acrophobia rushed forward, quickening his breath once again, but he forced it down and tightened his hold on his anchor.

He was standing on the top edge of a small cliff. The rock face at his feet dropped straight down about two hundred feet, not a particularly overwhelming distance, but enough to give his heart a good workout. At the base of the rock wall, a small canyon stretched out about a mile across, rising on the other side in a nearly identical cliff. The canyon ran from north to south, but he couldn't immediately see an ending in either direction.

Taking a few steps back and releasing his death grip on the branch, Blair shrugged out of the backpack and slid down a sturdy tree trunk to sit at its base. He rummaged through the pack and pulled out a water bottle. There were two full bottles remaining, and about a third left in the one in his hand. He took a small sip, swishing it around to rinse his mouth before swallowing. At best, he could get three more days from his dwindling supply. Would that be long enough? He had to believe it would. What would be the logic of leaving supplies if they wouldn't last until rescue? If his abductors intentions had been to leave him here to starve, why leave food and water at all?

But Blair couldn't count on them following his logic. While he was hoping for the best, he had to plan for the worst. He had to find water, just in case, and hopefully, sooner rather than later.

He took another small sip, then recapped the bottle and reached back into the pack for his food. As he ate a can of potted meat and some crackers, he considered his next move. Going forward seemed to be out, unless he could find an easy way down the cliff. But it would have to be a relatively easy way down. He couldn't take a chance on falling and injuring himself. A broken leg here alone, with limited medical supplies, could well be deadly.

His other options were to parallel the cliff for a while, search along its top, or backtrack to the beach and wait for rescue, hoping it came before his supplies ran out.

Blair scanned the area while he ate. From where he sat, there looked to be a lot of birds in the canyon below. Was that an indication of water? Not necessarily, he decided. Yet it seemed logical that water might exist in the canyon. It certainly appeared lush enough from his vantage point, and water did tend to seek the lowest point. So it might be a good bet. But again, Blair was reluctant to attempt to scale the rock wall for fear of an accident. If he had ropes it might be an easier choice.

No, as long as he had other alternatives, it was too much of a risk. The canyon was an option he could hold in reserve, in case he was driven to it at a later point.

So, that left returning to the beach empty handed and hope for rescue before his water ran out...

...or changing direction, continuing on either north or south.

Blair ate his meager lunch in silence as he worried over the decision. When he'd finished, he packed away his trash, took a few more sips of water, then stood and shouldered the pack.

For another long moment he stood there. Back to the beach? Or continue on? He looked back the way he'd come, thinking about his choice. It wasn't much of a choice, really. Yeah, logic said rescue would come in the next couple of days, but Blair had to consider the possibility that it wouldn't. He'd continue looking for water until nightfall, then if he had no luck, he'd head back to the beach at daybreak tomorrow.

It was a plan, then.

Adjusting his pack into a more comfortable position on his back, he began making his way north, careful to keep a safe distance from the cliff's edge. Scarcely an hour into the hike, he noticed the ground had taken a decidedly downhill slant. He took that as a good sign, hoping he was heading for the mouth of the canyon and a possible water source. Given an easy, safe way to descend into the canyon, Blair determined he would take his search that way.

It was nearly two hours later when he found the path leading down. The cliff face wasn't nearly as steep here as it had been at the point where he'd stumbled upon -- almost literally -- the canyon. He figured he could maneuver the path easily, using the scattered brush as handholds for stability.

The existence of the trail gave Blair a small boost of hope. It was proof of animal life. Not only could he follow their tracks to water, but they could potentially supply him with another source of food. Making snares was one skill he was sure he could manage, having seen it done as a kid.

He'd only been about twelve at the time. He and Naomi were living in a community on the outskirts of San Antonio. His best friend, a slightly older kid he'd met at school, had been into "living off the land" and had been more than willing to try to teach the pesky younger kid hanging around a few tricks. There wasn't a lot of what he'd learned in the desert climate that was applicable here, but building and setting snares was a skill that should come in handy.

Blair considered the dilemma only briefly before taking the path that descended to the canyon floor. It was his best chances for finding water; he had to take it.

The descent wasn't as easy as it had looked from the top. On a couple of occasions, Blair's passage dislodged small rock slides. One time, he slid for about twenty feet before catching hold of a bush to break his fall. He ended up scraping the skin from both hands and tearing a hole in the knee of his jeans, in addition to almost giving himself heart failure. It took nearly ten minutes to get his breathing back under control and continuing his journey.

When at last he reached bottom, he found a sturdy tree and sat beneath its shade, leaning against the trunk to catch his breath. He allowed himself a few sips of water while he rested.

As he waited, he followed the faint path with his eyes. It meandered north along the base of the rock wall, disappearing around a bend. As good a direction as any. With luck, it would lead to water.

Blair recapped the bottle and returned it to the pack, then climbed to his feet, glancing at the sky. There were probably a few of hours of daylight left, but long before dusk, he would have to think about finding a place to camp for the night.

He walked for another hour, listening carefully the whole time for any sound of running water, while also keeping an eye out for a sheltered spot to spend the night. To his disappointment and growing concern, he had no luck with the water, but he did spot a hollow under a large overhang of rocks that formed a shallow cave. He explored the cave cautiously, hoping some other creature hadn't already staked a claim to it.

At the opening, the cave was narrow, only about four feet wide, but it widened in the rear to a good ten feet or so, and was at least eight feet deep at its deepest point. The ceiling was about five feet, almost high enough to stand straight in. And it appeared empty.

Blair dropped his pack to the rock strewn floor, and pulled out the nearly empty water bottle and drank the last few sips. That left two full bottles. Two days, at most. He pushed the worry from his thoughts for the time being. There was nothing left to do about it tonight, and he had other concerns at the moment.

Firewood was plentiful in the area. It didn't take long to gather enough to keep a fire going throughout the night. He piled it near the mouth of the cave, then built a fire just beyond the opening. That finished, he spent the next fifteen minutes clearing the cave floor of rocks. By the time he finished, it was nearly dark.

He spread his blanket on the cave floor and sat beside the fire. Around him the night sounds grew. Crickets sang their kree kwip loudly, and an occasional night bird screeched in its hunt for prey.

Exhausted from his day-long hike, Blair ate a quick, dry meal of beef jerky, built up the fire until it was blazing brightly, then stretched out on his blanket. Within moments he was asleep.

Blair awoke with the sun, sore and cranky. His legs were achy from the unaccustomed hiking and climbing, and he felt like the dance floor in a jitterbug contest from sleeping on the hard ground for three days. But worse than that, he decided as he got a good whiff of himself, he was beginning to get a little overly ripe. It was tossup as to which would be the most welcome right now, a hot shower or a hot cup of coffee. Not that he had a chance at either anytime soon.

He rolled to his back gingerly, groaning as he worked out the kinks with a slow stretch. Thank God he'd only be here for a few more days. Still, he was going to have to find a softer place to sleep for the remainder of his stay, or he'd likely end up unable to walk. His thoughts drifted briefly to the new, double insulated sleeping bag Jim had given him for Christmas. If he'd had the chance to pack his own survival pack, he'd have certainly included it, or its equivalent. But then, if he'd had any say in the matter, he'd be at home right now, sleeping in, followed by a hot shower and a hot breakfast.

Blair sighed longingly at the thought of decent food and pushed himself up, stretching again in an unsuccessful attempt to loosen the knots in his neck and back. He scrubbed a hand across his face and winced as the scratchy whiskers rubbed painfully against the abraded skin of his palm. The beard definitely had to go, he decided. And would, just as soon as he figured out how to accomplish that without a razor.

The fire had died in the night to a few glowing embers, but the morning was warm, so Blair ignored it. He moved to the back of the cave and retrieved his pack, rummaging through it for one of the two remaining unopened water bottles. He uncapped it, took a swig and swished it around his mouth to wash away the nasty morning taste. Scratch the shower, Blair decided with a grimace as he ran his tongue over his teeth. He'd settle for a toothbrush and some toothpaste.

Stretching once more, Blair rubbed ineffectually at a sore shoulder, then reached into the pack again and retrieved one of the few remaining cans of potted meat. Down to less than half a pack of crackers, he decided to save them. He pulled a face as he popped the top from the can. He'd never been much of a fan of a food product that looked and smelled like cat food. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his Swiss Army knife before sitting cross-legged on the ground next to the dying fire. Setting the can of meat on his knee, he pulled out the fork attachment and with one last look of disdain, began eating.

"Wonder what Jim's having for breakfast," he muttered between bites. "Probably donuts." He took another bite. "Or maybe an omelet...with cheese and onions and cubes of ham..." He closed his eyes and let out a small groan. When he got out of here, he was going to have hot ham omelets in bed every morning for a week, even if he had to hire a cook and a maid to see to it. Breakfast in bed, prepared by a beautiful cook, delivered by a gorgeous maid. Although, if he was here for very long, he'd probably be willing to forgo the beautiful, gorgeous part and settle for female.

"Hell, I'll just settle for breakfast. Anywhere, delivered by I don't care who," he muttered around the last bite of potted meat. He tossed the empty can back into his pack, wiped the fork blade of his pocketknife on his pants leg and returned it to his pocket. He didn't rise yet, though, but continued to sit at the mouth of the small cave, looking out at the surrounding forest. Under different circumstances, he might find this place very peaceful. It was certainly beautiful.

"Jim would like it here."

He would, Blair knew. The sentinel would find the peace and quiet a balm to his often-overextended senses. Maybe another time -- a very, very long time from now -- they could come back and explore the island properly.

With a sigh and a groan, Blair forced his protesting body up. He kicked dirt on the remaining embers of the fire, grabbed the pack, settling it into position on his shoulders, and gave one last look around the small cave to make certain he wasn't leaving anything behind. The path he'd followed the day before passed within a few hundred yards of the cave. Blair made his way back to it, and turned south, picking up where he'd left off on his journey.

If he didn't find water soon, he'd have to abandon the search. It was now day four, and he figured it would take more than half a day to hike back to the beach. According to his reasoning rescue should arrive in another couple of days, but it could be as soon as tomorrow. Hell, for all he knew, it could be today. His gut told him no, but his gut had been wrong before. Either way, he didn't want to take a chance he would miss whomever arrived first to get him off this damned island. Jim wouldn't leave him, but the kidnappers? Who knew? It was entirely possible that if they didn't immediately find him at the drop off point, they would leave.

His steps quickened. He'd search until noon, then, successful or not, he'd have to head back to the beach.

Blair glanced at his arm before remembering he no longer had his watch. Averting his eyes to the sky, he saw that the sun was almost directly overhead. His self imposed deadline was fast approaching, and still nothing. The path he'd been following had petered out a couple of hours ago. He'd briefly considered backtracking to see if he could pick it up again, but he didn't want to waste the time. Besides, with his sense of direction, he figured he was better off staying within visual distance of the cliff wall.

Twice he'd spotted potential routes to the top of the wall. The last one, about fifteen minutes behind him. Blair stopped and considered. There seemed to be little point in continuing. His survival skills obviously didn't include the ability to find water in a situation like this. He was sure there were things he should have been watching for, clues he should have followed, but he just didn't have the necessary knowledge. When he got out of this, he damn sure intended to rectify that oversight. He'd be damned if he'd ever find himself in a situation like this again.

Reluctantly, Blair turned and retraced his steps to the closest path and carefully climbed to the top. Once again safely on solid ground, he took a few moments to rest and chew a tasteless nutrition bar, washed down by a few sips of water.

With his lack of success at finding water, Blair's spirits were low. He could only hope he wouldn't be stranded long enough for it to become an issue. He looked at the water bottle in his hand. A third was already gone, and there was only one more. He could cut back more, stretching the remaining supply an extra day, maybe two at most, but any more than that and dehydration would become a very real threat.

He vaguely remembered something he'd read a long time ago about how ancient Indians would "mop" up dew for drinking water with rags tied around their feet. If worse came to worse, he could give that a try, though it sounded like a lot of work for very little water. But he had passed several large grassy clearings in the canyon, so at least he had one reserve option. If it came down to it, and he prayed it wouldn't.

Making a decision to head southwest, rather than parallel the cliff back to his original path, Blair set out for the beach. If he made good time, maybe he could manage a hot meal of fish or clams by nightfall. The thought spurred him on.

A couple of hours later, he pulled up to rest, shrugged off the pack and sat on a convenient fallen tree. The humidity was high, the air heavy with moisture. He glanced upward, hoping for some sign of an approaching rain shower to break the heat, but there were few clouds visible through the canopy of trees. As uncomfortable as the heat and humidity were, though, he knew he couldn't complain too loudly. He didn't even want to think about what survival in a place like this would entail in the dead of winter.

Blair considered forgoing a drink, but decided against it. With the way he was sweating, he knew he needed to watch his moisture intake. He dug the water out of his pack and took as big a swig as he dared.

It wasn't until he had replaced the bottle and climbed wearily to his feet that he became aware of a new background noise. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe it was because his thoughts had been elsewhere, but he hadn't noticed the sound until that moment. It was a soft noise, barely discernable, as though from a long distance away.

Running water?

He cocked his head, straining to make it out. Not for the first time, he longed for Jim's sense of hearing, or better yet, for the sentinel himself. He just couldn't be sure. He wasn't even entirely certain of the direction, but it sounded like it came from off to his right.

Without hesitation, Blair grabbed his pack and headed toward it, praying he wasn't mistaken. Adrenaline lent him speed, and after ten minutes and a couple of course corrections, he stood at the mouth of an underground spring. It bubbled up from the ground between two small boulders and ran into a small basin, not much larger than a kitchen sink. From there it ran over a waterfall of more rocks, dropping a couple of feet into a second, slightly larger basin before forming a small creek as it ran off to the northwest.

Tossing his pack aside and dropping to his knees, Blair cupped his hands and lifted the cold water to his face. He sniffed it. It smelled okay, and there were smudges in the mud around the basin indicating small animals had frequented the water hole.

He splashed the water on his face, closing his eyes in delight before lifting another handful for a tentative sip. It tasted wonderful, sweet and clean. He quickly leaned down and drank until his stomach began to feel bloated, then sat back on his heels, his thirst completely sated for the first time in three days. After a brief rest, Blair drank again, then filled all of his water bottles. That accomplished, he stripped and used his rolled up shirt as a washcloth to sponge away the sweat and accumulated grime. The clean, icy water felt wonderful on his heat flushed skin. He used a water bottle to douse his hair in an attempt to wash away the grungy feel. Shampoo would have been nice, but he was thankful just to work the errant bits of brush and twigs from the snarls.

He pulled on his last clean pair of boxers, then spread the blanket at the water's edge and sat down. While he finger combed the snarls from his still dripping hair, he thought. If his calculations were correct, he was still four or five hours from the beach, then probably another couple of hours back to the drop off point. The brush was already beginning to thin out, allowing him to travel faster. He'd hoped to be back on the beach by dark, but it was looking doubtful he'd make it tonight. It was already mid afternoon.

He studied the area around the water hole. The brush was thick, with no large clearings, not exactly an ideal place to make camp. Besides, it was too big a draw for whatever wildlife inhabited the island.

There was too much daylight left, anyhow, he decided. He wanted to make it as close to the beach as possible before stopping for the night. Rescue could show up as soon as tomorrow, and he wanted to be ready and waiting. Just in case.

Blair stood and gathered the grimy clothes he'd just taken off, rinsed them in the stream then rolled them up and tied them to the back of his pack. He'd hang them on the trees to dry when he stopped to make camp for the night. He dressed quickly in the extra jeans and tee-shirt his abductors had so kindly provided.

A thought occurred to him as he was tying his boots. He unpacked the wet, white tee shirt, and tore a strip from the bottom, then climbed a nearby tree and tied it to the highest branch he could reach. He hoped he wouldn't need the marker. He had enough water now to last an additional week or so, but if, God forbid, rescue hadn't shown by then, he wanted to be able to find the spring again.

That done, Blair set out due west, heading for the beach.

Blair pushed himself hard, but dusk found him still an hour or two short of the beach, if his calculations were right. The trees had become shorter as he traveled, the brush much less dense and the dirt floor of the forest gave way to a sandier soil, all lending credence to his reckoning.

"Not bad for a directionally challenged guy, huh?"

Longing for the false semblance of companionship, he'd taken to talking aloud to himself. He'd never been too keen on total solitude. He was a people person and tended to get lonely very quickly. It was his upbringing to a degree, he supposed. Naomi loved people, and had always lived in places full of them. It was the life Blair had known. He enjoyed solitude on occasions, but only in spurts and for limited lengths of time. It was going on five days now since he'd heard another human voice, seen another human face, and he was beginning to feel an overwhelming sense of loneliness. Hopefully, in another day or two that problem would be solved.

Exhaustion was beginning to slow his steps by the time he found a place to make camp for the night. He spent a few minutes gathering firewood, then, as an afterthought, broke a few low hanging limbs from a nearby tree and used the boughs of soft leaves to form a makeshift bed. His back was still protesting the night before, spent on hard, rocky ground of the cave. He stretched out on the makeshift bed, folding his hands behind his head and staring up through the trees at the clear night sky.

It'd been a strange few days. Stranded on a deserted isle, like something out of the movies, but he had to admit, it was pretty ingenious, as kidnappings went. He was completely incapacitated, with no way off the island. There was little chance anyone would happen across him, and there was little chance of rescue. Plus, he didn't have one damn clue what was going on. That made it rather hard to figure a way out of the predicament on his own.

But it wasn't so bad really. It wasn't a hostile environment. The weather had been good. Heck, if he had a rod and reel, or even his fishing spear and a sleeping bag, he might even consider it a small vacation. If you had to be kidnapped, this just might be the way to go, he thought with a smile.

"Wonder what Jim and Simon are doing now? Jim's probably going crazy, trying to figure out where I am. Probably not sleeping much. Eating, either, for that matter." He flashed on an image of the despondent sentinel, and his smile faded. He knew Jim well enough to know the man would be at his professional best. He wouldn't rest until he'd tracked down every clue, followed every lead, which was why Blair wasn't really worried about rescue. Even if the kidnappers didn't return, it was only a matter of time before Jim arrived to save the day.

But he also knew the detective would put his own well being on the back burner until things were resolved and Blair was safely back in Cascade. The idea of Jim not eating or sleeping, when he, himself, was fine, upset Blair.

"I'm fine, Jim," he whispered at the stars, wishing somehow that the sentinel could hear over the distance. "I'm just chilling here, man, waiting for the cavalry to show and save the day. When I get out of here, we're both going to Outback's and ordering the biggest steak on the menu. We'll spend a week making up for lost time. Hell, I may even join you in a heart-attack burger from the grease pit." His smile returned. "As a matter of fact, man, that sounds pretty damn good right now."

The beach was much closer than Blair had calculated. Within an hour of daybreak, he was standing on the shore. He was pretty sure he was north of the drop off point, so he turned south. His eyes scanned the horizon as he walked. There was a chance rescue would arrive today. If he'd not found fresh water, his original supply would be nearly gone by now, and his food wouldn't be far behind. He'd done his best to limit his rations, but the jerky and potted meat were gone, finished yesterday. That left him two ration bars and a handful of crackers. If the kidnappers intended to pick him up before his supplies ran out, today would have to be the day.

An hour's hike brought him back to the beach he'd found himself on when he'd awoke, what, five days ago? Yeah, five, he reminded himself. Five days.

Five days of his life, shot to hell.

Sheesh, he'd be so far behind on his class work he'd never catch up. Maybe the university would cut him some slack under the circumstances. Heck, maybe he could write a paper on his experiences. If he couldn't use it for one of his classes, there was bound to be someone somewhere who would pay for the story. He'd definitely have to look into it when he got back.

He reached the spot where he'd camped the first night and dropped his pack. After a quick drink, he settled down against the closest tree and looked again to the ocean. There was nothing to do now, but wait.

He could occupy the time by rigging a fish trap for the shallows near the rocks, but he decided against it. It wasn't that a hot fish lunch didn't sound good, but he was tired and sore from the two days of hard hiking. Besides, what was the point when rescue was so close?

Pulling the pack around to use for a pillow, he stretched out to get comfortable while he waited. By late afternoon, he had napped for a couple of hours, eaten one of the two remaining bars and even read a couple of chapters in the book. He was beginning to get a little apprehensive. He'd been so sure someone would have shown up by now. Maybe they were just running late.

Or maybe they'd been caught. That wouldn't surprise him. Jim certainly would have been doing his best to do so in the past five days. But if that were the case, Blair had no doubt the sentinel would have extracted the information on Blair's whereabouts from them within the hour. So where was the cavalry?

Blair stood and paced to the water's edge. The sun was only an hour or so from disappearing beyond the horizon, and he doubted anyone unfamiliar with the area would attempt to navigate the rocky waters in the dark. It was beginning to look like it would be morning before he could expect company.

Well, if he was going to be staying an extra night at the Desert Isle Hilton, he was going to need a fire.

He scanned the water one last time, then began gathering some of the plentiful driftwood, piling it beside the fire pit he'd built his first night on the island. He gathered about three times what he figured he would need to last the night. If rescue was out there, he wanted a nice, big signal fire to help guide them in.

Once the fire was built, he went about setting up his small camp under the trees, within sight of both the fire and the water. He emptied his pack onto the sand and, in the waning light, sorted through his remaining supplies, repacking them as he went. He was hoping he'd missed a nutrition bar or strip of jerky, but it didn't appear as though he had.

Disappointed, but not concerned, he sat back. So he was down to eight crackers. Didn't matter, he told himself. Rescue would arrive tomorrow.

Intending to save the crackers for the next day, he started to put them away, but just as he reached for the pack, his stomach growled loudly. He reconsidered and helped himself to two of the them. The meal was unsatisfying, to say the least, but he nibbled slowly and made them last as long as he could. Much too quickly they were gone.

At least he had plenty of water. He drank until his stomach felt full, then stretched out on the blanket, facing the roaring fire and the dark water beyond.

Was someone out there? Waiting for morning to approach the island? Jim? Or maybe his abductors?

Until now, Blair hadn't allowed himself to really consider what would happen if the abductors returned for him first. Would they take him with them? Or would they simply drop off more supplies and leave him here until their purpose, whatever it was, was accomplished?

"No..." he whispered into the night. He wasn't going to let that happen. All he needed was a chance to talk to them. He'd make them see reason. If they'd gone to so much trouble to put him in a relatively safe environment and provide him with supplies to make his stay more comfortable, surely they were reasonable people.

Besides, it could very well be Jim and the coast guard who showed up in the morning.

Blair turned his back to the fire and closed his eyes, but as tired as he was, sleep came only in short fits. He spent the majority of the night feeding the fire and pacing the shoreline, searching the moonlit horizon for any hint of a ship.

Surely they were out there. He had to believe they were. It was just a matter of waiting on daylight for safe passage through the rocks.

Yet, sunrise came and went with no sign of rescue. Blair refused to let himself worry. "They've just been delayed, that's all. They'll be here today." The alternative was unthinkable.

Late in the morning, he ate two of his remaining crackers under the shade of the trees. The fire still roared on the beach. He intended to make it as easy as possible for whomever was coming to find his exact position.

By late afternoon, he was growing restless. He'd been scanning the water for hours, and his eyes were beginning to feel the strain of fighting the sun's glare. Several times, he'd gotten up to feed the fire and stretch his legs, but for the most part he'd simply waited and watched.

"Maybe they got lost."

It wasn't the first time the thought had occurred to him during the long day. What if they had forgotten the exact place they'd dropped him off?

He shook his head, dismissing the idea. It wasn't a likely explanation. They would have had to have known this place pretty well to have chosen it in the first place. Besides, he had the fire to help guide them back to it.

But if it was Jim who was coming, then maybe the sentinel didn't know the exact location. Maybe he was having trouble finding the island...or didn't know which island it was. There were hundreds along the coast, after all.

That was the most likely explanation, Blair decided. Jim just didn't know exactly which island it was and was having to search for him. If that was the case, then rescue could well be a few more days coming.

Jim would likely utilize air assistance to help in the search. That made the fire even more important and it meant he was going to need a good supply of firewood at hand to keep it going.

It also meant he was going to have to do something about food.

Blair stood, brushing the sand from the seat of his pants. He had a few hours of daylight left, and there was a lot to do.

The crackers were long gone. Blair took a long swig of the tepid water, trying to convince his stomach that it was full. It had worked a few times over the course of the day, but was fast losing its effectiveness. Hopefully, by nightfall, he'd be dining on a meal of flame-roasted fish.

It had taken most of the previous night and half the morning to construct a simple fish trap, due in part to lack of suitable materials and, more importantly, suitable tools. Thank God his abductors had seen fit to leave him his Swiss Army knife, but it was small, and made the work of gathering tree branches and vines difficult and time consuming.

The scarcity of small, flexible vines had led him finally to shredding the nylon windbreaker for ties. He was already down to one shirt, having ripped up the other for a marker at the spring and for a rag to tie around his head to protect it from the sun, but the temperatures were warm enough to go shirtless except at night.

A short hike down the beach had turned up a rotting fish carcass with which to bait the trap. It was nearly noon by the time Blair got it set out in the shoulder deep waters near the rocks. He swam back to shore, fed the signal fire from his assembled supply of driftwood and sat down in the shade to wait.

The fire crackled, sending a shower of sparks climbing toward the night sky. Blair followed the tiny points of light with his eyes, letting his gaze linger on the heavens above. The moon hadn't yet risen. The stars were at their most brilliant, but Blair was having trouble enjoying the spectacular display. He'd been so certain rescue would have come by now. It was easy to come up with excuses why it hadn't -- perfectly logical excuses -- but they did nothing to ease his growing concern.

He glanced over to the small pile of rocks under a nearby tree. Eight. One for each day he'd been on the island. A week and a day. Three days past the one on which he'd expected rescue. The days were growing increasingly longer, each minute dragging by as he tried to keep himself busy, tried to keep his eyes away from the empty horizon.

He hadn't had much luck with his first fish trap, but over the past couple of days, he'd worked on the design and had managed to catch a few fish, enough to keep his stomach somewhat satisfied. Tomorrow, he decided, he would leave the shore briefly to look for food inland. He felt confident he would recognize some of the edible plants he could probably expect to find, and though he'd had an eye open for them on his first hike inland, he had been more interested at the time in finding water.

And speaking of water...

He glanced behind him at the pit he'd dug for his water bottles in an effort to try to keep them cool. He had two full bottles left, plus the half full one he was currently drinking from. No longer concerned about conserving it, with an effort to keep his stomach full, he'd been gluttonous with it the past few days. He'd need more soon, so he might as well kill two birds with one stone. He would head back to the spring for more fresh water, searching for food along the way.

Tomorrow's plans made, Blair rose and fed the fire, then walked down to the ocean's edge, letting the water wash over his bare feet. Away from the trees, the songs of the nocturnal creatures dropped to a soft hum. The gentle splash of waves crashing against the rocks out in the shallows sounded almost comforting. Blair sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Eight days.

They weren't coming back. The kidnappers...abductors...whoever the hell had dropped him here a little over a week ago. They weren't coming back. Blair knew it, though he had nothing concrete on which to base his knowledge. It was just a gut instinct, based on sketchy logic. If they'd intended to return, they would have by now.

That left Jim, but then Jim had been Blair's best hope from the beginning. The sentinel would be doing everything in his power to find and rescue him. The only question was, how long it would take? Honestly, he'd hadn't thought it would take this long. Jim was a damned good detective. If there were clues to find, leads to follow, he'd have exhausted them all by now.

For the first time since waking up on the beach eight days ago, Blair began to consider the possibility that rescue wouldn't come. For the first time, he realized he might be looking at long term survival. How long term, he didn't know. Days, certainly...weeks? Maybe.

"God..." he whispered, closing his eyes. Weeks? With no food or shelter? How would he survive?

Eyes still closed, Blair lifted his face to the strong, warm breeze blowing in from the ocean. The subtle scent of salt-laden air awakened old memories of a long-ago summer when he was fifteen. That year had been rough. He'd been running ragged, doubling up on his courses to graduate high school early and make the early entry program for college, his grandfather had died, and Naomi had broken up with a man that Blair had really liked, one he'd hoped would be the one to finally bring some semblance of permanence into their lives. Exercising a maternal insight that Blair didn't know she had, Naomi had turned down an offer to travel to Europe and had instead rented a little house on the beach at Morro Bay.

Blair spent days on end walking the sands and sneaking away for midnight swims. The summer had been a balm to his frayed spirit and had rejuvenated his exhausted soul. He'd come away from the vacation with a renewed sense of order in his life. The peace and solitude had given him the opportunity to organize his thoughts about the direction his life was taking, and he'd known, for the first time in his life, exactly what he wanted to do with his future.

And he'd never one time since regretted that decision. The road he chose that summer had led to Rainier and had eventually led him to his Sentinel work, and with that, Jim.

Blair opened his eyes, settling his gaze on the gentle swells roiling just beyond the rocks. He was content to quietly absorb the peace of the moment. The moon had risen during his short walk down memory lane and now shone its light across the white beach, reflecting brightly in the waters beyond.

On sudden impulse, Blair stripped and waded into the low breaking waves. The warm waters caressed his bare skin like a lover's hands. Wading deeper, he ducked beneath the waves and pushed against the sand at his feet. He swam until his arms began to tire, then made his way to a ridge of rocks. Mindful of the razor-sharp barnacles clinging to the slick surface at the waterline, he hauled himself up and stood on the crest of a particularly large boulder.

Blair closed his eyes and lifted his arms from his sides, welcoming the strong, warm wind. It embraced him in return, touching his bare skin with thousands of tiny, tickling fingers. It lifted his wet curls, fanning them behind him.

He stood this way until the breeze had dried his body, content to simply absorb the peace nature freely offered. The wind whispered in his ears, tantalizing him with secret messages he couldn't translate. He listened carefully, straining his senses in an effort to understand, but comprehension remained elusive.

No matter, he decided, lifting his face to the sky. The words might be obscure, but they weren't really important. The meaning was clear.

Blair opened his eyes, but remained motionless, bright moonlight illuminating his bare skin. Wispy clouds raced across the darkened sky, gathering into a darker mass on the far horizon. The wind shifted. He slowly lowered his arms and dropped his gaze. All around him was a vast ocean, as far as he could see, and he was totally, completely, utterly alone. The thought no longer frightened him, because though he knew in his head that his solitude was complete, his heart was not alone.

A small smile pulled at his mouth. He was not alone, and there were no great secrets on the wind. The secrets were inside of him, but they were no longer a mystery.

He wasn't alone.

The concern and caring of his friends kept him company. With each thought of him, their spirits bridged the distance and fellowshipped with his own. As long as he carried them with him, how could he be alone?

Satisfied to have unmasked the secret that wasn't a secret, Blair carefully climbed down and slipped into the water. Much of its warmth had leached away with the shifting wind, and it welcomed him now with cool embraces. He turned toward the distant shore and began swimming, helped along by the incoming tide.

Chilled and shivering, Blair stepped from the water, gathered his discarded clothes and hurried to the fire. He allowed the heat to dry the water from his skin before donning his boxers. The night air was warm enough that he decided to forgo his jeans and tee shirt.

Exhaustion suddenly pulled at his limbs. Adding a few larger logs to the fire to ensure it would burn for several more hours, he retreated to his small camp under the trees and stretched out on his makeshift bed of sand and leaves.

As he closed his eyes, he thought again of his revelations on the rock. It was a good feeling to know he hadn't been forgotten, even if that knowledge hadn't come from a concrete source. It wasn't the kind of thing he could explain, and he felt no need to. It was enough to know it.

With that peace, however, had come another realization. Rescue was not something he could do for himself. It was out of his hands, and so he transferred his confidence to his friends, to Jim, and he knew the trust was well placed. Jim was looking for him, and Jim would find him, no matter how long it took.

Blair's only job was to survive until then.

Blair extinguished the signal fire before leaving the beach. In it's place, he left a large 'SOS' spelled out with rocks in the hopes that any search plane flying over the area would spot it. Satisfied that he'd done all he could, he packed the empty water bottles and set off to find the spring.

The trek back to the fresh water didn't take as long as he anticipated. The markers he'd left on the trail made the trip foolproof, even with his dismal sense of direction. He refilled the water bottles and washed out his one remaining shirt and extra pair of jeans, then sat down to rest before starting his journey back to the beach.

Dark clouds gathered in the western sky. Blair studied them for long minutes, gauging their direction and speed. It appeared as though the storm would miss the island, but the possibility of rain drove home his need for shelter. Until now, thanks to good weather, he'd been all right with sleeping under the trees near the beach. He'd thought rescue would come quickly and hadn't seen the need for a more substantial shelter.

In a significant storm, however, close proximity to the ocean wouldn't be a good idea. The small cave he'd found in the canyon would be ideal, except for its distance from both the beach and fresh water. It was a good half day's hike from where he sat now, and another four hours from the beach.

No, a better choice would be closer to the spring. It was only a few hours from the beach, but was far enough inland to offer some protection from the worst of any storm winds. Blair visually searched the surrounding area, but quickly discarded the thought. He didn't want to be too close to what could be the only source of fresh water for wild animals in the immediate area. He hadn't seen any large tracks, but he wasn't willing to take a chance based on his admittedly inadequate tracking skills.

Hanging his wet clothes on nearby bushes to dry, and leaving his backpack under the trees, Blair spent the next two hours searching the perimeter. Nothing offered much hope. If his shelter making skills had been more proficient, there were possibilities, but the idea of trying to make a waterproof, windproof shelter with only a small pocketknife and no rope or tarp was more than a little daunting, verging on impossible. He had hoped for another small cave or an overhang of rocks, a basis that even someone with his limited expertise could make into a shelter.

Having no luck, he returned to the spring and sat down to think. His thoughts kept returning to the cave in the canyon. It was the best possibility he'd run across in all of his hiking and exploring in the past nine days. Was it too far away? He tried to think...if he took a direct route, how far from the spring would it be? How far from the beach? More than half a day? Half a day was doable, but was it more than that?

Did it really matter? He had to have a shelter that would offer him some protection if the weather was to suddenly turn bad, and that was the best he could come up with at the moment.

His decision made, Blair gathered his clothes. His extra pair of jeans were still wet, but the shirt was only slightly damp. He pulled it over his head, wanting to protect himself from as many scrapes and scratches as he could in the trek to come.

A two hour hike due east brought him to the edge of the cliff, but it took him another hour to find the path down. Once he reached the canyon floor, he started to turn south toward the cave, but on impulse turned north instead. Though the cave he had been headed for was a good two hour walk from where he was, he had several hours still of daylight. He could spare an hour or so to search for something closer.

Luck was with him. Not two miles from where he'd descended into the canyon, he found a cave. As he studied it, he revised the description. It wasn't really a cave, but was more of a cavity in the rocks. He frowned, trying to determine it's suitability. It was smaller than he really had hoped for, maybe six, eight feet deep and about ten feet wide. One side of the ceiling was low enough that he'd have to stoop to fit under it, but the other was plenty high enough to allow him to stand comfortably. The biggest drawback he saw was the opening. It was too wide. In a storm with much wind, there would be no protection.

Blair chewed his lip while he considered the dilemma. This cave was closer to the water than the previous one, less than a thirty minute walk from his route up the rock wall. That was a big plus. It wasn't huge, but he could probably figure a way to make it work. If he had an axe, he could cut branches and build a sturdy wall -- if he had rope or something to tie them together with.

There was no shortage of rocks in the area. Could he build a wall that would stand? Maybe on the short side of the "room"...

It was doable, Blair decided. And the best hope he'd come across yet.

The only remaining problem was food, but it wasn't an insurmountable problem. The beach was only a half-day hike away, and once he set up his shelter, he would have time to more fully explore the canyon. He was certain he would find food eventually. There surely were edible plants, it was just a matter of identifying them, and he knew there were small animals, so he could work on building a snare. And if it came down to it, there was an abundance of insects. It wouldn't be the first time he'd eaten bugs. Though far from tasty, they were easy to catch and high in protein, and there were things you could do to disguise the taste.

His decision made, Blair dropped his pack and set to work. By dusk, he had cleared his new home's floor, gathered leaves and branches to build a "mattress" and started gathering stones to begin the foundation of his wall. Finding rocks was not going to be a problem; there were plenty along the base of the cliff wall. The problem would be locating ones small enough to lift and flat enough to stack.

In the waning light, Blair scrounged for deadwood and built a fire. By the time he'd finished, darkness was complete. He sat beside the fire, drawing comfort from it's glow and trying to ignore the unhappy grumbling in his stomach. He hadn't brought along provisions, having planned to be back at the beach by now, dining on roasted fish.

The construction of the wall was going to have to wait a few days, he realized. Hopefully, the weather would hold a bit longer. Tomorrow, with first light, he would assume the role of hunter. With shelter and water now safely secured, food was his top priority.

It looked like a frog's intestine, slick and green, and covered with huge, wart-like bumps that looked like they would burst under the slightest provocation.

Blair studied the root in his hand for long seconds, trying to dismiss the unwanted and unappetizing mental image. It was food, and damn it, he was hungry. That's all that should matter. He wiped at the caked on dirt, dislodging the worst of it, then stuffed the root into his pack, along with the other plants he'd spent the day gathering. Ten minutes of digging uncovered four more roots. He carefully broke away the stems, brushed off the dirt and added them to the stash in his pack.

With a tired sigh, Blair sat back on his heels and brushed back his hair with a dirt covered hand. For the first time in his life, he cursed his long hair. It was so snarled and grimy that he doubted he'd ever get it clean again. Maybe it'd be easier to just chop it off and be done with it. He could always grow it out again. But he doubted the small scissors on his Swiss Army knife could manage the job. It was chore enough just to keep his beard trimmed halfway close.

He settled for tying the torn scrap of cloth around the top of his head to keep the stringy mess out of his face, then stood and tossed the pack over his shoulder. There wasn't a lot of daylight left, and he needed to check his snares before heading back to camp. If he was lucky, there'd be meat for supper, if not, well, he'd found a few promising plants, some he knew were safe, some he would have to test.

His stomach rumbled loudly at the thought of food. To placate it, he pulled out a couple of the wild onions he'd found earlier in the day and chewed them. An old Disney cartoon he'd seen as a kid replayed itself in his head, and he found himself singing along as he headed toward his traps, torturing himself with the words...

"Turkey, lobster, sweet potato pie... Pancakes piled up until you reach the sky. Lots of..."

Blair screwed up his forehead. "Lots of...lots of what? What the hell is the next line? Something about chocolate...or is it beans? Chocolate covered beans?" Hell, even that sounded good at the moment, but try as he might, he couldn't recall the next line. "Damn, now it's going to bug me until I remember. Wish I could google it. Bet Jim would know." He rethought the comment. "Nah, Jim doesn't strike me as the Disney type. Simon...ha! Yeah, right. Joel, maybe...or Henri. H would definitely know."

He broke off his monologue as he approached the first of his three snares. With fingers crossed, he pulled back the branches he'd used to camouflage it. Empty. Disappointed, he double checked the settings and covered it again.

One down, two more to go.

The second snare was empty as well, but on the third try, he got lucky. Inside the crude, though evidently effective, stick and vine construction, struggling to free itself, was a small rabbit.

Blair let loose a victory whoop and dropped to his knees beside the snare. Pulling his tee shirt off over his head, he wrapped it around his hand for protection and carefully grabbed the animal by the scruff of the neck. He grinned broadly as he held it up, but his smile abruptly faded as he made eye contact with the frightened creature.

"Shit...I didn't think this far ahead. Sorry fella. I'm sure you had other plans for the day...for your life, actually." He broke the eye contact deliberately. "It's you or me, buddy, and between the two, I think you know which one I'm going to choose."

He spotted a rock a few feet away and leaned over to retrieve it. Careful not to look the rabbit in the face again, he laid it down. The animal struggled for a minute, it's back claws catching and gouging the skin on Blair's forearm. He ignored the pain and held on tight. Swallowing hard, he raising the rock high over his head. This had to be as swift and painless as possible. One quick, hard blow to end it.

"Please, God, let it just take one blow." He whispered the prayer as the rock came down, grateful that someone, somewhere heard and took mercy on both him and the creature.

The blow landed true, and the rabbit's struggles stopped abruptly. Refusing to think about what he'd just done, he wiped the blood from his hand.

Tonight, for the first time since he'd left the beach, he would fill his stomach.

Over the next couple of days, Blair split his time between hunting for food and gathering rocks for his wall. He discovered that the toad-roots, as he'd come to call them, didn't taste as bad as they looked. Sliced and roasted, they were almost palatable, tasting somewhat like sugar cane, minus the sugar. It was like chewing tough straw. They made him work hard for his meal, but left him feeling full. And they didn't upset his stomach like the wild onions did.

By nightfall of the second day, he had enough rocks gathered to begin his work on the wall. With the exception of his first catch, the snares had been fruitless, so he postponed his dreams of rabbit stew and dined on a roasted toad-root. As he chewed the leathery meal, he made his plans. Tomorrow, he would move his traps further into the canyon. He wished he had time to explore the canyon more, but his first priority had to be the wall. The day had been overcast and dark, and he knew it was a matter of time before the weather broke. He had no particular desire to find himself without adequate shelter when it did.

First thing tomorrow he would move the traps, then he would begin his wall. With luck it would take no more than a couple of days. The trick would be making the structure sturdy without the benefit of mortar. He contemplated trying to mix a makeshift mortar of mud and plant fibers. He'd seen it done once in a village in north Africa and felt sure he could duplicate it, but it would involve a lot of water, which he didn't have easy access to. Besides, he didn't need a permanent shelter. He only wanted protection from the weather until Jim showed up to rescue him.

Once the wall was finished, he decided he would head back to the spring. He needed to replenish his water supply, and God knows, he could stand to clean up some and wash out his clothes. Then, he'd return to the beach. He had no doubt that when Jim showed up the sentinel would easily find him, but he wanted to check the area, see with his own eyes that no one had been there. There he could wash properly in the ocean, which sounded a far sight better than a sponge bath at the spring. Besides, he could do with a fish dinner. Maybe he would stay there for a day or two and fish to build up a supply of meat to bring back.

"It's a plan," he said aloud, but a large part of him couldn't help but hope he wouldn't be here long enough to carry it out.

Blair stretched where he sat, wincing at the agonizing ache between his shoulder blades. He wasn't used to the heavy physical work and his body had no qualms about reminding him of that fact. What he'd give for a hot shower to loosen up his achy muscles.

Exhaustion weighed on him like a heavy blanket, but he didn't want to go to bed just yet. There was something peaceful about sitting near the fire in the darkness. He'd grown accustomed to the myriad of noises that permeated the night and found them almost comforting.

He'd been so busy the past couple of days that he hadn't really had time to focus too much on his situation, but tonight he was too tired to stop the roller coaster thoughts.

It'd been...what? Twelve days? Thirteen? He'd lost track, but he was sure it was no more than that. Still...two weeks? God! Two weeks!

He refused to give in to the despondency that threatened to sweep over him. Two weeks wasn't that long. Not really. It just meant that something had happened. Jim was coming. He'd just been delayed somehow. Maybe the detective hadn't figured out exactly where Blair was -- yet -- but he would. It was just a matter of time.

As for the abductors... Blair really had expected them back long before now. The fact that they hadn't returned could mean anything, really. Maybe they'd never planned on returning in the first place. But then why leave the food and supplies? Or maybe they'd planned to return, but things had gotten too hot and they'd taken off for their own protection.

Or maybe they'd been captured.

No, that wasn't it, he decided. If they'd been captured, Jim would have gotten Blair's location out of them within the hour. Blair had seen the detective at work. Interrogation was one of Jim's strong suits.

So, then why had it been nearly two weeks?

Something else must have happened. Something to keep Jim from either getting the information or acting on it.

Fear gripped Blair's heart. What if something had happened to Jim? What if Jim had been injured...or...or...

Blair swallowed hard, forcing the faithless thought from his mind. He'd know. Somehow he'd know if something had happened to Jim. Some instinct would tell him.

Letting out a deep sigh, he pushed himself to his feet. It was late and he was tired, and tomorrow would be another hard day. He threw a couple of larger logs onto the fire, then headed inside the cave to his bed.

The overwhelming solitude of his situation was beginning to weigh heavily on him. He was a social creature. Sure, he'd enjoyed brief spurts of solitude. There were places he went when he needed time alone, time to recharge his batteries and get his head together. When faced with important, life-altering decisions, he benefited from time alone to think.

But those places, while offering solitude, peace and quiet, weren't so...so isolated. Always, he'd had the freedom to leave. He could drive a short distance and be surrounded again by human beings. He could pick up the phone and instantly connect with any of a multitude of friends, acquaintances, or even a stranger if that's what he wanted.

Now...two weeks...two weeks of enforced, unbreakable, overwhelming, never ending solitude! Two weeks of not hearing another human voice...except for the ones in his head. God! He going insane!

Blair rolled angrily to his side. He liked to think he'd done a pretty good job up until now of keeping his head in the game. Of course, that hadn't been so hard when he'd expected rescue within a handful of days. But the reality of the situation had been hammered rudely home when he realized how much time had passed. The truth was, he'd been so busy up until now with the basic matter of survival, finding food and water, building a shelter, that he hadn't had time to dwell on his fate all that much.

A painful spasm tightened his chest, and he suddenly found it difficult to draw in a full breath. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and forced himself to take deep, slow breaths. Each intake of air felt like a knife slicing into his lungs. Gradually, it became easier, less painful.

Blair scrubbed a hand across his eyes, surprised to find them wet. He was crying? Crying? God, what a wuss he was! He angrily ground his fists into his eyes, trying to forcefully stop the flow of self-pitying tears.

It wasn't like this in the movies. The hero always found water easily, built shelters that Frank Lloyd Wright would have been proud of and found a lovely native girl to pass the time with. Hell, even Gilligan got to be stranded with both Ginger and Maryanne.

Blair snorted. If he was going to waste time wishing, he'd gladly forgo the pretty girls in favor of the Professor and his inventions.

He wiped his wet face on the sleeve of his shirt. Well, he had something Gilligan didn't, and he wouldn't trade that one thing for companionship, pretty girls or an clever professor. He had Jim looking for him, and that made all the difference in the world.

~~

Morning broke dark and dreary. Blair eyed the heavy clouds warily as he worked on the wall. By mid morning the foundation was in place, and a soft drizzle had begun to fall. He continued to work until the clouds were ripped open by an explosion of thunder and the drizzle became a torrent. Within minutes, his fire was a sodden lump of ashes, and he was soaked to the skin. He took refuge in the cave and stripped off the wet clothes.

Brilliant flashes of lightning cut through the gloom and loud cracks of thunder rolled, bouncing eerily off of the canyon walls. Rain fell in vertical sheets, blown by a strong wind into furthermost reaches of the shallow cave. Blair wrapped the blanket around him in an attempt to block the rain and cursed himself for not working faster on the wall.

The storm raged furiously throughout the day. Soaked, cold and miserable, and with nothing to do, Blair drifted in and out of a restless sleep. By late afternoon, the fury began to subside, and by nightfall the wind died, but a strong, steady rain continued through the night and most of the next day. Trying hard to ignore it, Blair resumed work on his wall. He worked until the rain slacked off near dark, then ventured out to reset his traps. Exhausted, he returned to the cave and turned in without bothering with a fire. Another half day should finish the wall, and then, he decided as he drifted off to sleep, he would head back to the beach.

The water bottles were full, thanks to two days of rainstorms, so Blair bypassed the spring and took a more direct route to the beach, cutting nearly two hours from the trip. The beach was deserted. There was not one indication that anyone other than he had ever been there. He bit back his disappointment. It wasn't unexpected. He'd long ago accepted that his abductors weren't coming back, and Jim would have found him in the canyon, rather than wait for him to return to the beach. Still...

Fighting off a threatening cloud of depression, Blair set to work. In less than an hour, he had his fish traps baited and set out along the rocky reef. By nightfall, he had a respectable catch, cleaned, filleted and set out to dry.

He rebuilt his signal fire in the original pit and set up camp once again under the nearby trees. The moonless night was too dark to do much more than sleep, but it was early and Blair wasn't ready to turn in. He strolled to the water's edge, letting his eyes graze the horizon. He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for...a light maybe...some indication that someone was out there. But there was no light, and there would be no rescue. Not yet.

His gaze drifted upward to the star-filled sky. Without the competition of the moon, they were brilliant. He spotted several slow moving satellites crossing the heavens on their endless path around the globe. Television signals, maybe. Or cell phone calls. Hundreds, thousands of voices bouncing through the atmosphere all around him, close enough to reach out and touch, and yet here he was, completely cut off and alone. How ironic was that?

As a shooting star flashed briefly across the sky, Blair dismissed the depressing thoughts and concentrated instead on the spectacular view above. He picked out the constellations he recognized, which took all of thirty seconds, then began making up new ones.

Somewhere between Simon's coffee carafe and Naomi in meditation pose, he felt icy fingers of apprehension crawl up the back of his neck. Turning swiftly, he scanned the dark tree line.

Someone was watching him.

"Hello?"

Nothing. No movement, no noise, no flash of light...nothing.

Cautiously, Blair took a few steps toward the trees.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

Still nothing.

"You're imagining things," he whispered, his eyes still straining to see in the darkness. "Who would be there? No one. No one's on this God forsaken island but you and the damned crickets."

Still, the apprehension remained. Despite the warm wind blowing in from the ocean, goosebumps rose on his arms. His gaze still locked on the dark trees, Blair edged toward the fire. An irrational fear worked through him. He'd learned at an early age to trust his instincts, and right now his instincts weren't real happy.

Once back within the relative safety of the fire's light, Blair sat down and calmed his thoughts. Was someone out there? Logic said no, but something had sent a chill up his spine. An animal maybe? That made more sense, but still, he'd been on the island for -- what? -- a little over two weeks now and, with the exception of a few deer, he'd seen only small mammals. Of course, that didn't mean something larger didn't exist.

Slowly, as Blair continued to mull it over, the feeling faded. He stood and shook off the sense of foreboding. He'd been perfectly safe for two weeks, nothing was going to suddenly pop up to devour him now. Besides, whatever had caused the apprehension was gone now.

But just to be on the safe side, he gathered his belongings and put the fire between himself and the trees.

Rising with the sun, Blair spent the better part of an hour searching for any sign of what had spooked him in the night. He found nothing, not so much as one track in the sand to indicate anything had been there. In the light of day, he felt foolish for letting his nerves get the best of him. Either he'd imagined it completely, or it had simply been some kind of animal.

He abandoned the search to prepare breakfast, a much appreciated meal of roasted fish and clams that would have satisfied even Jim's sensitive taste buds. The remainder of the morning was spent adding to his cache of provisions. By early afternoon, he was packed and ready to head out. He double checked the rock arrow, adjusting its course to point more directly toward his cave, then set out for the spring. Only two bottles were empty, but he figured he might as well refill them while he was out. It would postpone his trip back out for water by a day or two.

By mid afternoon he reached the spring and dug out the empty bottles. As he knelt to fill them in the upper basin, his eyes raked the area. A smudge in the wet soil on the opposite side of the spring caught his gaze and stilled his movements. Slowly, he rose and made his way to the mark, bending down to examine it closer.

"It could be an animal track," he reasoned aloud. "No telling how many animals drink here in a day's time. Dozens, maybe."

But it didn't look like an animal track. At least not any animal he'd ever seen. It wasn't much more than a smudge, but if he leaned close and looked hard, he could make out what could be the toes and ball of a human foot. Was that an overactive imagination? Or was it -- Blair swallowed nervously -- was it manmade?

Instantly on alert, he scanned the surrounding brush and trees. Was someone else on the island? Why hadn't he seen any sign of him before? Maybe the kidnappers had returned. Maybe they'd landed at a different point on the beach and were searching for him.

"And they're wandering around the woods barefoot?" He snorted at the unlikely scenario. No, both logic and instinct told him the track wasn't made by anyone here to rescue him.

Maybe it was his own track, from before. He'd been barefoot, hadn't he? Sure he had, when he'd stripped to wash out his clothes. So it could be his own footprint. Yeah, that made more sense.

Only it had rained since then. Hard. Any tracks he might have left in the area would have been washed away.

He looked back at the smudge, trying to see it objectively. Was it a track? A human track? Maybe his eyes and/or imagination were showing him what he wanted to see. It could have been made by an animal...a deer maybe. What looked like toes could simply be where the creature's foot had slipped in the mud, skidding and stretching the smudge.

Cursing his overactive imagination, he filled the water bottles and repacked the bag, then stood and hefted it to his shoulders. As much as he'd like to believe it had been made by a man, it just wasn't possible. He was alone, and the sooner he accepted that fact, the better off he'd be.

Deliberately turning his back on the deceptive mark, he set out for 'home'.