Hospital Standby.

I'm blogging from the corridor of an Alaskan hospital.

It's bad, sure, but I'll be damned if a big deal is made out of this, especially considering how far Winchester and I have come in this case. It was closed, and then it reopened, which is unusual as it is. This case has got way past the police - way past - and aside from those days spent in the log cabin, it's been exciting and my type of adventure.

Unfortunately, Winchester is the person I'm waiting for. He's been shot. I got him here fast, not long after the bullet penetrated his shoulder, but he's still in surgery. It's a good thing I don't worry. Ever.

We followed the targets, after they finally crossed paths with the cabin, but they must have known we were there all along. Ambushes are one of my least favourite things. They require effort, and above all, catch me off guard. Winchester would sarcastically insist that this is the point, but surprises are never easy for a P.I. to handle. We are a strange breed, trained and seasoned to work with our minds - figuring out possibilities and clues well in advance - and Winchester is (semi) living proof that surprises are not our strong point.

The snow up there was too thick for us to walk through by foot, and so skis were the only option. I felt like an idiot, but Winchester seemed to be enjoying himself; constantly peering into the black sky in the hopes of catching sight of the Northern Lights, or commenting on the surrounding trees, and the way the snowy bristles on them were illuminated by the moon. It was trivial, and relatively annoying, and most likely the reason why they came back to challenge us.

We turned on our heels after hearing the click of magazines being loaded, and made our way down the hill - weaving in and out of the surrounding trees. There were gunshots, plenty of them, and towards the base, towards the light of a nearby village, we thought we were on the home straight.

The final crack of gunfire sent Winchester tumbling forwards. He crashed into the snow, the fine flakes exploding around him, and I halted, whirling to find him on his back, clutching at his shoulder. Impatient, I warned him to get the fuck up, but it was too serious, and the approaching assailants were nearly on top of us.

I managed to drag him to safety. He was stumbling along, and his best was just about good enough as we took shelter by a snowy ridge. The gang went past, and we lost them in the night.

Winchester had to be lifted by helicopter, as the nearest hospital would be impossible to get to by foot, and so here I am.

The most frustrating thing is that we are still no closer to solving this. We know who we need, but the case of getting to him is impossible. Of course, now that he has the protection of an arms dealing gang, he'll be a lot harder to touch.

We live in hope.

- S.R.