| [Jun. 10th, 2013|04:11 am] |
The mushrooms seemed an obvious trap. It was clear from the way the candidate was prodding them with a cautious kunai point that he didn’t trust them. Too bad, though, because those were perfectly edible takenoko, and with the sun creeping up past noon behind the clouds, Genma had no doubt the guy was hungry. Hell, he was hungry, and he’d eaten two rat bars already.
He held his position and the jutsu that concealed him, smiling when the candidate gave up on the mushrooms and started digging for the slender bamboo shoots instead. April bamboo shoots would be about perfect right now. Sweet, full of moisture to save canteen water, not too fibrous, and rich in nutrients for a vegetable. They were a smart choice for a hungry ninja on the forage.
Or they would have been, if Genma hadn’t gotten to them first.
The candidate was definitely hungry, though. And not stupid. He dug up the shoots, peeled them, sniffed them carefully, and tasted a sliver of one, waiting fifteen agonizing minutes before he wolfed down the rest of the shoot, and a second one.
Genma was disappointed. Maybe the guy had some immunities he didn’t know about? It was an unfortunate waste of a brilliant idea, really. He was just about to give up and go for something more obvious, like a fire jutsu, when the candidate coughed.
Then he coughed again.
And again. He clutched at his throat, hacking and choking on a feeling Genma knew from his own experience was like swallowing a live sea urchin. Poor guy.
Scrabbling in a pouch at his side, the candidate pulled out a small medkit, which he opened with shaking hands, scattering bottles and bandages over the mushrooms. He was drooling by the time he got a vial opened and tipped the contents into his mouth.
The choking coughs eased off a little, but the drooling didn’t. Genma waited until, judging by the way the candidate was slumped against the mature bamboo and shaking his wrists, his muscles were getting weak and his hands were going numb.
That’s when Genma dropped his jutsu and slid into view.
“Hi.”
The candidate reached for a kunai, but his numb hands spasmed as his fingers closed on the steel, and all he managed to do was gouge his own thigh with the dropped blade. He choked out a hoarse curse and glared instead. And drooled.
“Don’t try to talk,” Genma told him. “Let’s see, what did you use?” He picked up the empty vial and inspected the label: a standard antitoxin for a variety of caustic-type agents. “Not a bad choice. Unknown ingested poison affecting the respiratory system. It’s a good start.”
The man made a questioning sound, raspy and raw in the back of his throat. His eyes flicked to Genma’s belt pack.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you covered,” Genma told him. He reached for the candidate’s chest and freed the man’s dog tags. Tonbo Iwaji. “Sit tight, Iwaji, I have an antidote; you’re not going to die.”
He unrolled a soft leather case and extracted a slender syringe, already prepared with the antidote in question. Iwaji got the shot in the upper arm, in a single, swift motion. Then Genma carefully zip-tied the man’s wrists together, bound his ankles with sticky tape, and dropped a scroll onto his chest. He collected up Iwaji’s weapons and reassembled the man’s med kit for him, laying them across Iwaji’s lap.
“Next time you’re suspicious of a food substance, you might try cooking it,” Genma said. He started to activate the scroll, then stopped. “When you get back to Konoha, make sure you drink some water.”
Iwaji blinked an acknowledgement, and Genma let the scroll’s jutsu run.
“Tonbo Iwaji down,” he said, keying his radio mike on. “Irakusa poison. I’ve already given him the antidote. Base, tell the other end to make sure he drinks some water.”
“Relax, Mom,” came Hajime’s voice. “Base has it covered.” |
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