Big thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Here is the next installment!

Now I can't go on; I can't even start

I've got nothing left, just an empty heart.

Sound the Bugle, from Spirit

A moment of perfect silence, as if the whole world held its breath at once….

Then Yumi screamed.

"You killed him!" she shrieked. Her lover's blood peppered her face and throat and soaked the front of her dress, plastering it to her body. "You demon! You killed him!"

Kenshin heard the sounds of a scuffle and glanced to the sidelines. Sano, looking a bit worse for wear with a split lip and a broken nose, was brawling with a pair of Shishio's soldiers.

Yumi grabbed Kenshin's shoulders and shook him hard. "You infidel son of a dog! You killed him!"

Sano won his fight. Both the rough-looking soldiers were crumpled at his feet.

Looking into Yumi's tear- and blood-streaked face, Kenshin felt nothing. No compassion, no dislike, not even pity. Quietly, he asked, "Where is my mother?"

For a moment it looked as if Yumi didn't comprehend what he was saying. Then her mouth trembled, and twisted into a terrible parody of a smile.

"In the back," Yumi said, teeth bared. "You'll reap what you've sown, murderer!"

She turned her back on Kenshin, sinking with unspeakable grace beside the body. In a single motion she distanced herself in an unbreakable chrysalis of grief.

Stiff, like a marionette on broken strings, Kenshin turned toward the doors Yumi had indicated. Sano fell in beside him, wiping blood from his knuckles.

"You okay?" Sano asked. Kenshin noted that Sano looked as stiff as he himself felt.

"Fine," Kenshin said. "I'm fine."

"Y'know, 'fine' seems to cover everything from a paper cut, to something the cat dragged in, to dead for three days." Sano snapped. "Get some bandages on your shoulder before you bleed to death!"

"Later," Kenshin said, blinking to clear the odd blur from his vision. It didn't help. "I need to check on Mom first."

"Kenshin no baka!" Sano's tone was pure exasperation. "Don't be retarded!"

Knowing that if he stopped he'd never be able to start again, Kenshin ignored Sano and pressed past him to the doors. Making an inarticulate noise of fury, Sano followed.

With only one good arm, Kenshin awkwardly sheathed his sword. His hand ached when he loosed it from its death grip on the sharkskin-bound hilt, but he ignored the cramp and shoved the double doors open.

The room revealed was dim, and seemed to be some kind of storage area; at any rate it was full of boxes, old newspaper, and stacks of junk. For a moment Kenshin thought Yumi had lied to him. He scanned the room frantically, looking for any sign of clothes or hair or perfume—

He rounded the corner of a large wooden crate and his stomach dropped out with relief. He'd spotted a shape curled on its side on a rough pallet, but there was no mistaking that fall of silky hair.

"Mom!" Kenshin felt like a cripple as he hobbled over and dropped to his knees beside her. "Oh God, Mom, are you okay? I…"

There was something cold and thickly gelatinous on his mother's chest. With a sick sensation of dread, Kenshin rolled her onto her back, staring in horror.

Elen's slender body had been split from pubic bone to chin. Blood—so much blood, the thick taste of copper in the air—painted her skin, and her china-white face was frozen in an expression of unadulterated terror.

"No." It wasn't real, couldn't be real, it was some kind of sick joke. "Mom?"

"Kenshin?" Sano was behind him. "There's people coming, we've got to—aw, hell!"

Hesitant, Kenshin put three fingers on her wrist. It was cool, but… just skin. Nothing. An empty shell. "Please, no…"

Sano swore fluently, then crouched beside Kenshin and steadied his uninjured shoulder. Kenshin was staring blankly, pale and bloody and it was scaring Sano half to death. "Listen, buddy, I know this isn't the best time, but I bet money that there are going to be people here with guns very soon, and if we don't get out we won't be able to get out." As he spoke he slid an arm around Kenshin's back. "Let's go."

"No!" Clutching at the crate next to him, Kenshin wavered. "I won't leave her here."

"Mary and Joseph-" Sano released Kenshin cautiously, watching a moment, then stripped the bloody sheet from the bed to wrap Elen's body in. He was just adjusting her weight on his shoulder so that he could comfortably carry her when a hollow boom! sounded from beyond the storage room.

"The door's not gonna hold long," Sano said, already weaving his way through the boxes toward the EXIT sign. Kenshin followed, usually-smooth gait stilted and clumsy. "I braced it with a piece of pipe one of Shishio's goons had, but we don't have much time… back door!"

A small, industrial metal door with a bar handle let them out into a weedy lot, surreal in the buttery sunshine.

"Gotta get outta here," Sano muttered, more to himself than anyone else. The corpse and the guy who's dead on his feet, he thought, only semi-hysterical.

This was almost a courtyard space, tucked into the 'C' made by three buildings. It was asphalt, weeds, and trash, but to Sano it looked like the beginning of salvation. The farther away they were when the chase began, the better the chance they had of surviving it.

Choosing a door at random, Sano shifted Mrs. Harris' body and herded Kenshin toward it. His friend moved when prodded, but otherwise seemed quite content to let a rabid mob find them and tear them apart.

The door was unlocked, and Sano blessed the god of harebrained escapees. Carefully, he opened it a crack and peered inside. The hallway was dark and empty. Sano thought he saw a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye, but chalked it up to stress.

Flinging the door wide, he hustled his charges into what appeared to be an industrial office building, all particle board furnishings and cheap linoleum. Choosing doors and hallways at random, he led them through a rabbits' warren of corridors, pausing each time to check for occupancy. On the second floor, he discovered he'd had good reason to do so.

Gently setting Mrs. Harris' body on the floor, he whispered to Kenshin, "Listen, there're six guys in the next room with semi-autos. I want you to stay here while I deal with it, okay?"

"Fine." Kenshin said dully. He gave no other sign that he'd heard.

Hesitating, terrified that if he left Kenshin alone the redhead would disappear, Sano thought, Wish I had somebody here….

A massive, unmistakable thump sounded, and the ground trembled. Anti-aircraft rockets—nothing else made that sound.

"Be careful what you wish for," Sano muttered. Another crashing boom, another tremor, and Sano realized with equal parts hope and horror that rescue was here. Either that or Yumi had gone crazy and set off every bomb in the place. He should have seen this coming—after all, the bad guy's hideout had blown up last time, too.

"Stay here," he admonished Kenshin a last time.

The element of surprise was your best friend in a fight of lopsided numbers, Sano knew. "Here goes nothing," he muttered.

"HAAAAAAH!" One Futae no Kiwami later, the door was so much dust on the floor, and he was staring into the faces of half a dozen armed, pissed-off hostiles.

The next few minutes were short and brutal. The first two soldiers went down at once, with their heads cracked together; another took a fist to the throat while the fourth was dispatched with a knee to the solar plexus. Then the element of surprise was gone and the remaining two pulled themselves together. One of them pulled an eighteen inch knife from a sheath on his leg.

Sano rolled to avoid a stab wound and broke an ankle—unsure to whom it belonged—beyond repair. The assailant went down with a howl and his gun clattered to the floor a few inches from Sano's left hand.

The recoil was a lot harder than he'd expected, and the noise was deafening, but these guys weren't going to be bothering anyone again.

Sano quickly unloaded the remaining clips from three other guns and tucked them in his pockets. Machine gun, check. Now to get out of here before we attract any more attention.

"Kenshin?" on the other side of the door, the scene was unchanged. The redhead did not appear to have registered the scuffle that had taken place. He's bleeding too much. Sano thought, noting the pool of blood beneath Kenshin's feet. He needs a hospital.

"C'mon, man." Reshouldering his macabre burden, Sano put a single hand on the back of Kenshin's neck—the only part of him that seemed uninjured. "We gotta keep moving."

Mechanically—and slowly—they moved past the remains of Sano's skirmish. Kenshin didn't seem to notice the bodies, or the blood. Sano decided he was going to think of that as a good thing.

Another tremor rocked the floor. Risking being spotted, Sano poked his head out a window. Great billows of black smoke poured into the blue sky, and he saw small bands of dark-faced, armed men headed in their direction. None of them looked friendly.

We're not getting out of here without a fight—and we're in no condition to fight. Forget the blood that puddled beneath Kenshin every time he stopped moving: two of Sano's fingers were broken, his abdomen was a mass of bruises, something wasn't right with his ribs (bruised or broken, he wasn't sure) and he was fairly sure he had a concussion.

PLEASE hurry, Hiko.

On the other side of the room, they had two options: a set of upward stairs or another hallway. Reason now seemed to suggest that rescue was a great deal more likely than escape at this point. Their best chance for survival was to hole up, shoot anything that moved, and wait for reinforcements.

He chose the stairs.

Getting up to the fifth and top floor was agony. It was a measure of Kenshin's trust—or his shock, Sano thought grimly—that the exhausted hitokiri made no complaint at the torturous ascent. Sano's ribs ached horribly, and each step sent lancets of fire through his head; Kenshin couldn't be faring any better. His breathing was heavy and labored, and the occasional involuntary grunt of pain escaped him, but not another sound.

Sano found an empty room with windows on two sides. He'd found a gold mine of fortress-making supplies; apparently under construction, several rooms contained plywood, two-by-fours, nails, and a couple of hammers. Sano put them to good use reinforcing the doors and windows, leaving only slits for looking and shooting. Kenshin had sunk to the floor beside his mother and seemed halfway between comatose and dead.

Ka-ka-klatta-ka! Sano heard the unmistakable sound of machine gun fire and peered out the window slit.

"Yes!" Fully half the men firing below were clearly Shishio's, but the others wore the cobalt blue uniforms of the International Terrorist Task Force, Hiko and Saitou's brainchild and under their direct command. Salvation was at hand.

There was no way, however, to get their attention. Sano couldn't exactly stick his head out the window without getting it shot.

There was a whisper of movement behind him, as of cloth sliding over the floor. Sano spun, gun swinging around to train itself on the slim figure in the doorway.

Seta Soujiro, in a white business shirt, blue haori, and blue hakama, was standing in the doorway with both hands held up in surrender.

"What do you want?" Sano spat, keeping the gun's muzzle pointed squarely at the Tenken's center of mass. Kenshin might have some kind of disturbed understanding with Shishio's numero uno lackey, but Sano trusted that creepy grin about as far as he could outrun it. Which wasn't far at all.

"I came to help," Soujiro said, hands well away from the katana at his side. Sano was not comforted by the sheathed sword one little bit, since Soujiro's specialty was battoujutsu. "Is Battousai-san…?"

"Hell no," Sano said. "His mother's dead and he's hurt." As an afterthought, "And if you touch him I'll-"

"I'm not going to do anything!" Soujiro protested. "Shishio-sama never said we were going to hurt her. He told me we were going to let her go."

"And you believed him?" Sano asked incredulously. "Are you stupid or something?"

Soujiro's eyes were sad, and curiously empty as he stared at Mrs. Harris' body. "He never lied to me before."

Sano was barely able to suppress his frustration (and concomitant desire to shoot) as he answered, "First time for everything, apparently. Now what do you want?"

"I told you. I want to help." Soujiro hadn't yet moved a muscle, which was good. If he had he'd have been shot. "I… admire Himura-san. In a lot of ways, we are the same."

"Kenshin's a better person than you'll ever be," Sano told him. "Now get lost."

"Yes," Soujiro agreed. "I'm sure he is. But he's dying, you know. No one can lose that much blood and live."

That sentence was uttered with the same passionless, pleasant expression as his other platitudes had been.

Sano thought furiously about his options. He could a) shoot the bastard repeatedly, b) attempt to tie him up, c) actually send him off for help, d) shoot the bastard repeatedly, or e) a & d.

Option (e) was looking more and more attractive, but Kenshin really did need the help.

Gun not wavering an inch, Sano did his best to communicate the course of his relationship with the Tenken.

"Listen here," he said tightly. "If you really want to help, you need to find Hiko and bring him back here. As fast as you can, okay?"

Soujiro nodded tightly. "I can do that. You've got a few minutes before the fighting moves this way, but keep careful watch."

He was gone before Sano could retort.

Hiko glared out over the battlefield, imagining various ways to torture his none-too-bright apprentice for this latest stunt. Bamboo slivers under the fingernails, Chinese water torture, babysitting the entire Saitou clan… the possibilities were endless. They just had to find him in one piece first.

His radio buzzed, and Hiko picked it up. "Oh-two-one speaking."

"Oh-two-one, this is oh-one-three." Oh-one-three was Okina's call sign.

"Go ahead," Hiko said.

"Negative on sector three. Repeat: negative on sector three."

Hiko resisted the urge to pound a fist on the railing. "Copy that, three. Continue searching."

"Copy that, one. Over and out."

If anyone could find Kenshin and Sano, it would be Aoshi and Okina. They were the experts in infiltration and extraction. Hiko's job was to keep the perimeter secure long enough for them to make it happen.

He drummed his fingers on the counter, over and over and over again.

There was a sudden commotion at the base of the tower on which Hiko was standing. A small figure darted with inhuman speed between two of the guards, and for one heart-stopping moment Hiko thought it was Kenshin.

But the person that darted up the wall in a lightning-fast series of jumps had dark hair, and lacked Kenshin's exceptional grace. Only the speed and the build were the same.

Soujiro landed on the wall, flexing into the impact and standing up with a ready grin. He sketched a bow and said, "Good afternoon, Hiko-sama."

"Soujiro." Hiko replied. He was, quite frankly, furious. He'd chased the little punk all over Europe, the Middle East, and North America, and now Soujiro had the gall to show up in front of him in broad daylight? It was disrespectful.

"Sagara-san sent me." Soujiro said. "He has Himura-san with him, and they're both rather badly injured."

Throttle obnoxious little pissant later, Hiko thought to himself. Rescue obnoxious little apprentice now. "Where is he?"

"Tallest building in the complex, top floo—ulp!"

Hiko watched with a little wriggle of pleasure as Soujiro went down in an unconscious heap. "Hammond!" he called to the tall ninja who was Aoshi's second in command. "Tie up this idiot before he wakes up and call his mother. And have my Medivac chopper ready."

He snatched up his supply bag and took off with every ounce of speed at his disposal, making for the rescue of his wayward apprentice.

The sting operation was going entirely according to plan. Hiko's operatives had attacked from two sides in an extremely effective pincer maneuver, herding the terrorists against one wall of the compound. Once they picked off a few of the ringleaders the rest would be given the opportunity to surrender, hopefully with a minimum of bloodshed. That was the tactical evaluation, at any rate, the x's and o's on the dry-erase board.

The reality was… messier.

A pall of smoke from the fires hung over the entire site, a gray-black film over the blue sky. Small bands of terrorists roved the compound, shooting anything that moved, while operatives chased them in an equally deadly game of cat and mouse. Hiko spotted at least a dozen bodies, mostly terrorists, but anger burned low in his belly when he recognized some of the operatives he had recruited himself.

He jogged at a good pace through the camp, ducking occasionally behind a bit of debris to avoid gunfire. It half-killed him not to stop and engage in turning his enemies into sashimi, but time could very well be of the essence. He wasn't going to stop unless he absolutely had to.

A spray of bullet fire cast a sheet of dirt over his boots and Hiko vaulted over three of the insurgents, skewering a fellow who really ought to be old enough to know better, and knocking out his two teenage compatriots. The Juppongatana these guys were definitely not.

Finally he spotted the building Soujiro had mentioned. Eschewing the inside stairs-which could very well be guarded-instead he quickly and easily scaled the side of the building. Cheap, industrial brick provided a surprisingly excellent series of footholds.

Hiko gauged carefully where Sano and Kenshin ought to be, if Rooster-Brain had learned anything about tactics. Judging by the position of the building windows, he ought to be able to smash the boarded-up window with a modified Douryuusen in such a way that he didn't further injure anyone inside.

No matter how much they deserved it.

The window and a portion of the wall shattered in chunks of wood and slivers of glass; he swung easily through the gaping hole, taking in the room with a single sharp glance. What he saw was definitely not good.

Sanosuke was kneeling beside Kenshin, doing his best to keep pressure on a bleeding shoulder wound. Judging by the amount of blood pooled beneath Kenshin, a significant vein or possibly and artery might be damaged. There was also a long, shrouded form lying on the floor behind them; the chestnut curls meant that it was Kenshin's mother.

Hell.

"Good God," Hiko groaned. He needed to keep them both calm, despite the seriousness of the situation. "Sanosuke, you are grounded for the rest of your natural life. After I kill you. What happened to him?" he dropped to his knees beside Kenshin, flicking a penlight in Kenshin's eyes and tearing the sleeve off Kenshin's t-shirt, the better to critically study the mangled shoulder.

"He killed Shishio," Sano said hurriedly. "Shishio used the Homura Dama on his shoulder and stabbed him and broke his wrist. I'm pretty sure he has a concussion, and…." Sano threw up his hands helplessly. "I tried to bandage him up but he's been bleeding a lot, that's all I know!"

"Kenshin," Seijuro pulled Kenshin's chin so that he was looking his apprentice in the face. "Listen to me. This place isn't secure and we need to tend to your injuries. Let go of your mother and let's get the bleeding stopped."

Kenshin looked up. "I killed her, Shishou." He said. "Same as if I held the sword."

Hiko's gut twisted. The look in those eyes... well, last time he had seen it, the fellow had been dead of self-strangulation within days. "You're going to kill yourself hemorrhaging," Hiko snapped. "Pull it together!"

Kenshin glanced at the shrouded form by the wall and shuddered; then he turned, trembling, and fixed his eyes on the far wall.

With brisk efficiency Hiko laid a clean sheet on the floor and forced Kenshin to lay down on it. "Sanosuke, come here. I need Betadine, gauze, tape, and the long silver tube. Also get out the Ace bandage and those two wooden rods. Now!"

Kenshin lay stoically while Hiko re-taped his shoulder, casting aside Sano's sodden attempt. He cried out only once, when Hiko stabilized his wrist; the bone would have to be set with the help of x-rays, but it was still agony to move.

"There," Hiko said, putting the last pressure dressing into place. He sat back on his heels and fixed his apprentice with a beady stare. "Listen to me, Kenshin. What happened here is not your fault. It looks to me like she's been dead for at least fourteen hours, before you ever decided to get on a plane. There was nothing you could have done."

Kenshin sat up slowly and ground the heel of one hand to the bones of his face. "I want to go home."

Hiko's dark eyes were unreadable. "I have a chopper on the roof. Can you stand?"

"Yeah." And stand he did—but immediately he stumbled, and would have fallen had Hiko not caught him around the wrist.

"If you were dizzy you should have said something," Hiko scolded.

"I don't… feel so good," Kenshin admitted, swaying a bit as he clung to Hiko's forearm.

"You may need a blood transfusion," Hiko murmured.

Kenshin was so exhausted that he didn't protest as Hiko picked him up like a child, just stared glassily into the distance.

"Get the bag," Hiko snapped at Sano, "And let's get out of this hellhole."