Repeating the words over and over to himself, Joe tried to ignore his mother’s increasingly heavy breathing. He knew she was quickly tiring from having to support him but without the help of both his parents, Joe knew he wouldn’t even be able to crawl, let alone walk.

He wasn’t sure, but in between the endless repetition of those six words, Joe thought they seemed to be slowing down. A moment later, they came to a stop.

"Wha’s wrong?" Joe asked his father, slurring his words slightly.

"I’m not exactly sure where we are. I want to stop for a minute and get my bearings." Fenton replied looking at Joe sharply, not having missed the slurred words. "Sit down here with your mother and I’ll be right back."

"No sitting." Joe protested, as he recalled the blinding pain he’d felt the last time he’d been pulled up from a prone position. "This s’fine." He slurred once more leaning against a tree as his parents exchanged a worried glance. Joe didn’t even have the energy to protest when his mother placed a hand on his forehead.

"You’re burning up." Laura announced with a scowl.

Pulling the backpack off his shoulder and setting it on the ground, Fenton opened it and took out a small towel and a bottle of water, handing them to his wife.

"Try and keep him cool." He said rummaging through the pack again, coming up with a flashlight. Holding it in one hand, he checked to make sure the gun he’d retrieved from the cell floor was still snug in his waistband. "I’ll be back in ten minutes." He announced and then soundlessly melted into the darkness.

Almost immediately upon escaping from the storm cellar, Fenton had realized Joe wasn’t going to get very far even with his and Laura’s help. Quickly formulating another plan, Fenton decided to find shelter for the night. In the morning, he would leave Joe in Laura’s care, hidden in the woods, while he went for help. First, however, he wanted to double back to the storm cellar.

When they had initially emerged from their prison, he’d taken a quick look around. Although they’d been surrounded by trees, Fenton thought he had seen the lights of a house through the trees to the west of them. Approaching the doors from which they’d escaped just minutes before, Fenton was glad to see they remained closed. Examining the ground nearby, he saw the only tracks were those left by he, Laura and Joe. Satisfied their disappearance had yet to be discovered, he covered their tracks as best he could and set off through the trees in search of the lights.

A few minutes later, a modern three story, farmhouse came into view. A porch light was on and one was burning in a first floor room, while the rest of the house was dark. Quietly, Fenton crept to the window and peered inside. Seated by the fireplace reading a newspaper was one of the guards who had accompanied Jarrell to their cell at lunchtime. Glancing around the room, he noted it looked more like a tactical command center than a home.

‘Their new headquarters.’ He realized. When Frank and Joe had brought down their operation a year earlier, their base had been raided and shut down. Once out on bail, they needed a new location in which to resume their reign of terror while awaiting trial.

Making his way back towards the storm cellar, Fenton realized that must have been where the original farmhouse once stood. The house had been razed but the cellar remained in tact, allowing Jarrell to turn it into a makeshift prison.

Heading northeast through the heavily forested area, it wasn’t long before Fenton heard the flowing waters of a stream. Careful to cover his tracks behind him, Fenton made a beeline for the water. Slowly walking along the rocks at the waters edge, he played his flashlight along the trees by the riverbank, finally finding what he’d been searching for.

Several yards above the flowing water, nestled among a stand of trees, was a small open patch of grass, barely visible in the darkness. Approaching the spot, he shined the light overhead seeing a canopy of tree branches obliterating the star filled night sky. Turning in a complete circle, he knew this was the perfect spot.

Once he brought Joe and Laura here, it wouldn’t take long for him to lash together some branches and vegetation to create a makeshift covering for the opening that would seamlessly blend into the surrounding foliage. Satisfied that Joe and Laura would be safe there, he set off to retrieve his wife and son.

*****

"How long’s it be’n?" Joe asked his mother, who was repeatedly wiping his face with a cool, wet towel.

"Twelve minutes." She replied, checking the luminous dial on Joe’s watch.

"Said he’d be back n’ten." Joe reminded her.

"It’s dark and he’s in unfamiliar territory." Laura said, wincing at Joe’s slurred vocabulary. "Let’s give him a few more minutes before we start to worry."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Fenton remarked having returned without making a sound.

"Whadja find out?" Joe asked looking at his father through half opened eyelids.

"They won’t know we’re gone until morning." He said, explaining about the farmhouse where Jarrell had set up his new base of operations. "I found a place we can take shelter for the night." He finished not wanting to reveal the rest of his plan just yet. While Fenton was certain Laura would agree to it wholeheartedly, he knew Joe would put up a fight, insisting his mother would be in danger having to watch over him alone in the woods.

Once again supporting Joe between them, Laura and Fenton set off in the direction Fenton indicated. Joe began to stumble more frequently despite his parents’ tight hold on him, further reinforcing the fact that Fenton had made the right decision. Arriving at the spot he’d chosen, Fenton pointed out the stream to Laura as they passed by it.

While Laura set about trying to make Joe as comfortable as possible, Fenton began the task of making a covering for the small entrance to their hideout. Once completed, Fenton turned to his wife and son.

"Try to get some sleep. I’ll keep watch for Jarrell’s men just in case."

"Wake me up when ’s my turn." Joe mumbled. The short trek through the woods having exhausted him, Joe was already drifting off to sleep despite the throbbing in his head and pain in his ribs and wrists.

"I will." Fenton replied to appease Joe, having no intention of doing any such thing.

Crawling under the makeshift covering of a blanket and some towels, Laura carefully put her arms around Joe. The temperature had already dropped and she wanted to make sure Joe was warm during the night, despite his fever that seemed to be rising by the minute.

Throughout the night, Joe’s condition seemed to deteriorate. He tossed and turned sometimes mumbling incoherently. By daybreak he was restless, pushing the covers aside, now drenched in sweat. When he awoke momentarily, Laura took advantage of the opportunity to check his temperature once again, shocked to see a reading of 104.5. Pulling up the sleeves of Joe’s shirt, Laura took one look at his wrists and let out a small cry.

"What?!" Fenton asked anxiously. As Laura gingerly held up one of Joe’s arms, Fenton paled slightly.

"Oh, no." He gasped.

Bright red streaks now marred Joe’s forearms snaking out from under the bandages on his wrists and slowly heading towards his elbows – the first sign of a deadly systemic infection.

Tears brimming in her bright blue eyes, Laura looked at her husband helplessly. "Without antibiotics he could-"

Reaching out, Fenton gently cupped his wife’s distraught face in his hands. "I will get him out of here today. I promise." He said forcefully. "Joe is not going to die."

Knowing that time was now even more critical, Fenton turned his attention to the backpack. Searching through it, he gathered up the few items he would need, explaining his plan to a very relieved Laura. She had not wanted Joe to be moved again, and thought it would be a battle to convince her husband.

Standing up, Fenton pocketed Joe’s knife, hefted a length of rope over his shoulder and picked up one bottle of water.

"Keep two bottles of water for drinking." Fenton advised. "If you need more water to keep Joe cool, you can go down to the stream and fill a bottle. But only if it’s absolutely necessary. It’s best if you don’t leave this shelter at all. And stay quiet. Jarrell’s men will be crawling all over the place in a little while."

As if in protest to his father’s plan, Joe moaned loudly in his sleep, causing Fenton to frown. If that were to happen while one of Jarrell’s men were passing by, Joe and Laura were sure to be discovered.

"Shh, Baby." Laura said to Joe in a low voice, nodding at her husband’s instructions as he watched him pull the gun from his waistband.

"Here." He offered it to her.

"No, I don’t want that." Laura said adamantly. She had learned how to use a gun should she ever need to defend herself and practiced regularly on the firing range. However, she’d never had to put those skills to use and had no desire to start now.

"Laura," Fenton began patiently. "What are you going to do if Jarrell’s men find you? Joe can’t help you." He said sadly, eyeing his son who was now restlessly alternating between a fever induced sweat and bone jarring chills. "How will you protect yourself? How will you protect Joe?"

Glancing at Joe, Laura realized he was right. Reluctantly she accepted the gun, knowing if it came right down to it, she wouldn’t hesitate to use it to protect her child. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed her husband on the cheek.