Whomever is out there reading... this is the next part.

Peace unto thy hearts.

"I don't think you're crazy. I don't think you're reacting to stress. Tell me everything you're "getting" right now."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a start, Matthew jerks awake. He peers into the darkness surrounding him, wrapped tightly in the coccoon of a down sleeping bag. Listening intently, Matthew slows his heartrate in order to hear more clearly. He focuses his aural receptors, identifying the sound as that of a doe wandering through the forrest. Nodding to himself, Matthew then turns in order to scan his immediate area.

As his eyes penetrate the darkness with near-perfect sight, Matthew again thanks God for having remembered this place. He thinks back to childhood when he and Michael had come up to these woods to visit with their.... strange... uncle. A gentle smile caresses Matthew's lips as he remembers that old and grizzled face. A touch of calm peace settles briefly within his heart as he remembers the old man's philosophy.

"Son..." Matthew could almost hear the voice in his mind. "... don' never let the worl' tell ya what ya cain an' cain't do. Ya make ya own fewtchuh." The older man had paused then, looking about the forest from Matthew's current haven. "D'sign y'own dest'ny, Mattie. D'sign y'own dest'ny!" With a soft sigh, Matthew comes back to the present, scanning the forest once again.

Finding no unusual guests, Matthew turns his thoughts to his current situation. What have I become? The new prototype.... the new soldier. Hearing attackers before they can hear me. Seeing traps before walking into them. There were supposed to be no drawbacks. But the rumors......

Matthew shakes his head slightly, wanting to be away from this place, away from the fear and apprehension. No drawbacks... but if that were true...... He looks out over the nearly empty forest. ... why am I here? And why was the Colonel so adamant that I leave? He was scared for me... his heart was racing... I could smell the fear, the sour taint to his sweat.........

Looking out to the East, Matthew can see the first faint changes in color indicating the rising of the sun. He pulls the camo infra-red shield down over himself once again, curling up into a tight ball within the warm sleeping bag. God, what have I gotten myself into? Please.... There is a desperate desolation in his mental prayer. Please..... protect me.... get me out of this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George looks down at the man after having bound his ankles and wrists with duct tape. Nodding at his handy work, with a mental pat on the back, he stares into the black eyes of his captive. George's voice rings strong, powerful and with no little amount of malice. "Now, you gonna tell me what you're doin' prowlin' in my place?"

The bound stranger attempts to spit at George, succeeding only in dribbling a little more blood down his soaked chin. His voice crackles with rage, tho his eyes remain cold. "Name: Jeremiah Crowly. Rank: Ranger Captain, United States Army. Objective: Eradicate traitor to the US Government - One Mr. George Stratfield."

George's expression remains impassive but one word hits him like a bullet with his name on it. Traitor? With an even tone, George addresses the Captain once again. "I ain't no traitor to my Lady Liberty. Who gave you your orders, Captain?"

Crowly remains silent, unwilling to say anything more. His eyes show a contempt so deep and powerful one might mistake it's target for a rapist, rather than the wrongfully accused. Once more George attempts to get information.

"These are your choices, son. You can talk to me and I'll go easy on you, or you can tell your story to the cops."

Again Crowly attempts to spit, this time launching the blood and saliva over his chin. George brings his thick, meaty fingers up to his captive's swelling jaw, speaking a little more softly. "Seems I got ya good, there, Captain. Pretty soon it's gonna be too painful for you to talk at all." With a precise touch, and a wicked gleam to his eye, George puts a little pressure against the broken jawbone.

A touch of blood lust beckons George to push harder, however, he pulls back, smiling with feral glee as Crowly's eyes roll back in his head and a parched, pain-filled groan escapes the Captain's split lips. George reaches to his side, pulling a med kit from beneath the coffee table. The bear-like hands pull a syringe from the kit, holding it up for Crowly to see.

"This is what you want, Captain. A little Morphine would ease that pain a bit. You gonna cooperate?"

George leans forward just a little, pulling the protective cap from the needle of the syringe and waves the morphine before Crowly's face. "What'll it be?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kyra watches Michael's eyes as if guaging whether or not to trust him. The frown of thought continues to crease her forehead, faint lines running between her brows. With a subtle nod, possibly acceptance, possibly resignation, Kyra begins once again.

"When we were waiting for you, Wolf and me... that stranger came to the door. Wolf was really nervous and .... well.... he was moving from window to window." Kyra pauses to look back at the husky with a smile. "Well... when I was about to open the door, Wolf growled at me. Wouldn't let me open it. There was something in his eyes... and something I....." Again she pauses, this time trying to find the correct words.

Everything that comes to her mind seems to be filled with foolish, fictional plotlines from stories long since forgotten. "Damn it, Michael... I feel so stupid for saying this, but.... It's like Wolf felt who the person was. Not just that the dog knew there was some bad juju going on, but... Well..... like Wolf could smell and recognize that stranger's identity."

Wolf whimpers softly, adding a faint chuff as he watches his mistress. He yawns slightly then nods his head as if to validate Kyra's words. Michael catches the action from his rear-view mirror, a faint chuckle stumbling from his throat. He speaks quietly as he turns off the interstate.

"I understand, I think. Animals always seem to have a sort of... psychic power. I know that sounds really out there, but..." For half a moment Michael contemplates stopping right there. Something pushes at the back of his mind, however, compelling him to trust Kyra with everything.

"There was a time, quite a while ago. I was out in the woods. The place we're going to now, actually. This is before Matthew joined up with the Army. Probably about 15 years ago now."

Michael pauses long enough to make his way through the two lights which mark Dalton. He turns onto Parkway, slowing to a safe 30 miles per hour as dawn begins waking the small town. With a gentle sigh, Michael turns off the paved road, heading into the forested mountain road.

"I was up here hunting with Uncle Jackson. We'd gotten split up and I'd panicked. Lost my way and heard boogie-men from every direction. I was almost 20 and had been through those woods, on those trails so many times I knew them better than my own apartment."

A soft chuckle slides from his chest, easy and light this time. Michael turns a grin toward Kyra, a sort of child-like joy mixing with chagrin teases the corners of his eyes. "That night, I got lost. I can't explain it. But, there was a wolf, huge wolf, that came across my trail." Again Michael pauses, smiling faintly to himself.

"I remember the look in that wolf's eyes as if this all had happened yesterday. He just stared at me, as if he could read everything I was thinking. I felt so....... " Michael frowns, searching for the word. He examines the forest before him, slowing down yet again as the Expedition bounces over the road so long unused.

With a slight pressure on the brake, Michael noses the Ford into what looks like a wall of salmon berry vines. As he pushes, slowly, the bumper seems to activate a trigger, the vines parting like the Red Sea for Moses. After pulling forward slowly, Michael brakes again, watching the rearview to see that the vine-encrusted gate closes completely once again.

"I felt so close to that wolf. I"d never seen it before, but... I felt like he knew me inside and out." Once again Michael moves forward, nosing the Ford slowly over the narrowing path. Every few moments, he stops, checking the rearview. Kyra watches his actions intently, turning to examine the road behind her. With a slight gasp, she sees a pair of dull, red lights blinking on either side of the gate.

Turning back to Michael she interrupts his story with one word. "Boyscout?"

Michael looks to her with a raised brow, then laughs softly, shaking his head. "No. But I do believe in being prepared." A soft chuckle slips from his mouth as Michael turns his eyes back to the seeming dead end. He reaches across the SUV, slipping his hand under the passenger dash. For a moment a frown etches lines in Michael's features, then disipates as his fingers locate the small, black box.

Sitting upright once again, Michael taps a few buttons on the calculator-sized unit. Kyra looks out the windshield, her mouth dropping open in surprise as the Ford simply begins to sink into the ground. Grabbing onto the dash before her, Kyra stifles a gasp, her eyes wide and slightly panicked.

Michael turns to see her expression, smiling gently as he places a hand on her shoulder. His voice is soft, tender, almost loving. "It's alright, Kyra. It's supposed to do that."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~