[From here.]

Carter gave the cave a quick scan for bats as soon as he was stable enough to hold up his flashlight. Nothing bad so far, but it would be best to write a note quickly and leave.

"Hey, can you keep an eye out?" he asked as he sat down on a nearby rock and held his flashlight under his chin, juggling it with his notebook. "There were some monster bats in here last time, but they hate lights so they're not too hard to get rid of."

Now, what to write?

Dear Claire,

I hope you are well. We are all doing okay at Landel's and everyone is pretending very hard that you are dead. Venom is very good at it. I don't know where you are which is probably exactly what you wanted but I hope I will escape and see you soon. Also look out for bats if you are in here because we got attacked by several. They do not like light so shine a flashlight at them or blow something up, that should help. I miss you a lot.

Love Sincerely,

Sgt. Andrew Carter

[from here]

Momentum carried Kirk forward even as the scene changed: snow gave way to tiled floor and the field to a row of shelves, which they all got to experience intimately as Kirk slammed into Glasses and Wichita, and the two of them slammed into an assortment of soup cans, which tumbled off the shelf and down on their heads. Being the tallest, Kirk caught the brunt of the assault, because that was really all he needed right now on top of a gunshot wound and disorientation from the sudden teleportation. "Ow, ow, ow—"

Vaguely, he was aware of how deeply unheroic this whole thing had been, just as he'd been aware of how ridiculous he probably looked to the transporter technicians after he'd gotten trounced on the drill by Romulans and nearly killed himself and Sulu after losing his 'chute. But they were alive, or so Kirk judged from the echoes of ow from beneath him, and he'd take a ridiculous rescue any day of the week over an unsuccessful one. He let the pipe drop from his fingers, where it clattered on the floor alongside the last of the rattled soup cans, and grabbed his flashlight as he stepped away from the other two. They were in some sort of pantry... he remembered storage rooms marked on the map beside the first floor kitchen. Interesting.

It appeared they were— No. Kirk turned to point his flashlight at the exit, and frowned. He thought he'd saw someone darting from the room — short, with long pale hair — but the door stood firmly closed, and he hadn't heard anyone or anything in here except Wichita and the other guy. Funny. The last time he'd been in this area, he'd been with... okay, never mind, those cans hit in the head harder than he thought. The three of them were alone. Kirk finally allowed himself to prod at his bloody arm and grimaced. The bullet had passed clean through and hadn't hit bone, but his shirt sleeve was a mess. So much for his shiny new uniform.

But as much as it hurt, he knew he'd gotten off inexplicably lucky. Wichita had probably been shot worse. Kirk clamped a hand over his wound and looked over at the other two. "Everyone in one piece?" he asked, trying for a tone of confidence.

[ from here ]

More materials. Well, she'd just step aside to let Threepwood look at it, then move on to the next door. She would have to keep records; such-and-such could be found over there, this-and-that over there.... Though the next time, she would have to make some adjustments to her route.

"Anything interesting in here?" She didn't know much about what he was seeking, if any of that adventuring experience gave him an eye for certain items in particular. Nor did she have much an inclination to know, really, but it seemed a nice topic to engage conversation that wouldn't irritate her. "What sort of things qualify as supernatural aid?"