Setting: ATF Universe
Page 15
"Come on, Darlin'" Mollie coached, suctioning the muck from the tube, "Just a little more, I know yer hurtin'..." She finally completed the process and eyed tangled, messy strands of wet hair that seemed to be everywhere. She lifted the damp face and pulled all the errant hair behind his head, tying it of with an elastic band on her wrist. Tucking it under again, so it formed a small knob, she turned the pillow and eased his head down. She sighed and eyed the fine features, if anything, he looked even younger now. "Ye keep fightin', Vin me boy, do ye hear me?"
She moved away to ring out a sponge and eased the cool cloth over his face, neck and chest. She peeled the cold blanket off him and proceeded to bathe the hot skin. She began to hum, recalling an old Irish song her mother sang. Although she'd been living here for over ten years, she never forgot the wild beauty of County Mayo and the strong woman who'd raised six children.
"Over in Kilarney, many years ago... My mother sang a song to me," she paused, soaking and ringing the cloth again, she wiped the handsome face. "In tones so soft and low. Just a simple little ditty, in her good old Irish way... And I'd give the world if I could hear... that song of hers today."
She paused and eyed the heart monitor, noting the calming effect her soothing words had. She bent lower, stroking his hair and continued. "Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral... Too-ra-loo-ra-li... Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral.. Hush now, don't you cry." She smiled and then chuckled. "Did ye not mind it then? Well, that's a blessing, since I love to sing and yer a captive audience. I think we'll be good friends, Vin Tanner."
Sandy paused in the doorway, watching the multi-talented caregiver at work. Mollie and Angie were a good team and the young man was in great hands. He only hoped one day, Vin Tanner would wake and thank his benefactors. He watched as she spoke in low tones to the fevered man stroking his face and crooning. He smiled, she had a lovely voice and blushed through her visor, when she caught his eye. He put a box with a dozen bottles of rubbing alcohol on the cart and winked at her.
"Mollie you're enough to lure a man from his vows," Sandy teased, reading Tanner's vitals signs
"...and yer still carryin' the devil's tongue," she swatted him.
"From now on, we do alcohol baths, it should help bring that fever down. There's a report on the meeting with all the changes," he noted of the brief she'd missed.Go get some sleep, I've got the overnight... " he ordered, moving to Vin's side. "Go on..." he chuckled, watching her eyes lingering on the still body. "I think I know my way around..."
Tyrone blinked as an arm shook him. He squinted up at Lieutenant Alexander Dunkirke, who nodded and dropped his body onto a cot. The makeshift sleeping area housed four cots and they slept in shifts. He scrambled off his bed and washed his face, taking a minute to toss back a pint of orange juice. Grabbing a breakfast sandwich from the tray on the table next to the door, he gobbled the hot egg and cheese creation on his way to his charges.
Chris was tired. Tired of running... of this endless chase. Where was he? The darkness was unending and the pain in his body was crippling. His head ached terrifically, as if an ax rested in the center of it, his shoulder burned and throbbed in time with the hot pain in his leg. He was alone and lost... he pushed forward, seeking relief to the pain. Then he felt skin, someone was near, touching him. He tried to reach out, but his arms wouldn't move. What the hell was wrong?
Tyrone stopped by Wilmington's bed first, the dark head was still firmly pressed into the pillows. He took vitals and recorded them, before moving over to check on Chris Larabee. The pale face was tense and he frowned at the clenched jaw. He'd read about the ATF leader in the brief they were all given. Did this man never ease up? He shook his dark head and checked the IV. Penicillin and Gentamycin were flowing from the plastic bag through a line into the blond's vein. He saw Sandy's signature on the orders, at three a.m. when Larabee arrived. He noted the vital signs the senior doctor listed and set about updating them. His temperture was up, just past 101, blood pressure was stable at 110 over 70 and his heart rate was slightly elevated at around 100. With swift and sure movements, he peeled the dressings down a bit and took a peek at the leg wound and back lacerations. He was just rolling the patient back into place, when the right hand shot up, gripping his forearm painfully.
"Hey Man, take it easy, I'm one of the good guys..." Tyrone tried, marveling at the strength the fevered man housed. "You're a bad ass huh..." he eyed the scowl, hovering over closed pale lids. The eyes underneath twitched furiously, racing and darting in time with the raspy breathing. "Sure wouldn't want to mess with you. Chris, can you hear me?" He gently peeled the hand away, "You can't move that arm, it's got your IV line in it, okay?" He saw the lips move and heard the distinctive sound of a dry mouth clucking. "I've been there," he noted of the awful sensation, "It ain't pretty..."
Chris heard the voice and frowned again. He didn't know that voice. Where were... were... who? Images swirled and he tossed his head, grunting as they brought up waves of pain. A boat, an evil smile, an explosion, Vin sinking under the waves... .Buck's voice saying 'he's gone'. No. No. Chris shook his head, that wasn't acceptable. No... he couldn't be... gone... Vin... Vin...
"Vin!"
"Jesus!" Tyrone rocked back, shocked by the loud and firm fear in the in voice. The eyes remained shut but the body was trembling in rage and panic.
"Chris?" Buck's voice sang out before his eyes opened. He heard the call to arms and fought his way through the mire that was his netherworld. Chris needed him, he heard the leader scream Vin's name. They were in trouble. "Chris..."
"Get back in that bed!" Tyrone ordered, pressing Larabee's flailing body, while eyeing Wilmington's rising one. "He's just having a bad dream."
"Chris!" Buck blinked and realized the blond was in front of him, just a few feet away. He ignored the attending physician and dragged the IV pole with him.
"Look, I can play dirty, Buck," Tyrone warned, "I'll put something with a kick in that IV and knock the stuffing out of you. Get back in that bed!"
"Chris," Buck shoved the offending arm away and leveled his IV pole. Then he bent over and gripped the right hand, noting the drugs running in it. He saw the fine sheen formed over the handsome features and recognized the fever. "Does he got... Is he?" Buck turned to Tyrone who shook his head.
"Too early to tell, most likely it's from his leg. There was an awful mess of pus and infection that the doctor dug out."
"Vin?" Buck said, his sleep-logged eyes drifting to the only light in the dark room. The yellow haze was shining through the curtains on the glass prison. That's what is was... closed walls that took Vin from them.
"He's still breathing, his fever's up a little, but he's fighting hard as he can. We haven't been able to pinpoint the cause yet."
"Damn..." Buck's shoulders slumped. "This is one battle that might be too much... even for a Tanner." His blue eyes went back to the scowl on Chris's tossing face. He chuckled and shook his head. "Damn fool can't even relax when he's sleeping."
"He's doing good and you need to get back to..."
"I'm staying," Buck vowed, "You best get me a chair." Several minutes later, he sat down, intent on keeping his vigil until the green eyes glared at him.
"You hungry?" Tyrone asked, "We got some breakfast sandwiches and danish. Your food won't be over until after eight."
"Yeah, thanks," Buck nodded, "You better open that curtain before he wakes up. He's not gonna like that."
"Not my call," Tyrone shrugged, "The Major's in charge."
"Hope she has a tough hide," Buck vowed, knowing how furious Chris would be.
"She's the toughest SOB I ever met and I'd ride through Hell for her." The medical man noted, then saw Buck smile and laugh.
"Oh, this ought to be fun," Buck chuckled, "...cause Chris is the original definition of 'tough SOB'."
Tyrone departed to get Buck some food and left the two men alone. Buck sighed and eyed the damp blond hair sticking up off of Chris's head. He left the hand go for a minute, putting the errant stands back in place.
"Come on Stud... Open them eyes and talk to Buck." He paused, shaking his head at the angry look on the still sleeping man's face. "Vin's still with us... he's fighting hard..." he stopped as the IV's and other paraphenalia suddenly hit him hard. The sight from the night before, Vin's limbs flying around as the ER team fought to save his life. His life... Chris's life... J.D's... How many lives would Jamie take with her? He raised his head and gripped Chris's limp hand with all the anger mustered up inside him.
"Damn that bitch to hell..." he seethed, the guilt pangs attacking his insides harshly.
"...been there... done that..." a weak voice countered.
Buck's head shot back down over the chrome rail and saw two green slits peering at him.
"Hey... hey there Larabee," his voice wavered and his eyes softened.
"....breakin' my hand..."
"Sorry!" Buck stood and studied the face below him. "I am sorry, Chris, for all of this."
"...shut up..." Chris scowled again, pulling his hand free and flexing it, hoping to restore circulation. "...shoot you..."
"Well now that would be a feat, since you're naked and the only heat your packin' is a fever."
"....drink..." Chris begged, seeking relief for the fire that raged in his mouth.
"Sure," Buck nodded, then spotted the fresh pitcher nearby. It took him a minute, being careful of his own IV lines, but he managed to pour a full cup and get a straw inside. The sated moans slipping from the lips that now gripped the straw, gave him a smile. "It ain't Coors..."
"...better..." Chris rasped, "...head..." he moaned, raising a weak hand.
"Nuh-uh, " Buck denied, grabbing the arm. "Leave that alone. Tyrone's already pissed off at me."
"Who?"
"He's the doctor assigned to us. We're in The old ER at St. Michael's Hospital in Mystic Cove. J.D, Ez and Josiah are upstairs, they're all fine. You had surgery last night, gave them a rough ride. Your left shoulder is wrapped up, you must have broken something. That leg was infected... you got a concussion..."
The assault of the words made Chris grimace as he formed them into something that made sense. A hospital... Mystic Cove... shoulder... head... the explosion... bodies... Vin... Vin. A lost set of blue eyes, wide and confused, burned a hole inside deep.
"Vin!" Chris sat up too fast and even Buck's arm didn't break his motion. The green eyes ran around the empty room. Empty... no Vin... Was he dead? "No... Vin... God..." He sank back, his tortured face riddled in anguish.
"Huh?" Buck blinked, first fighting the demon Larabee and now eyeing the crestfallen likeness. "Oh Shit, Chris, he's not dead!" Buck sat down and watched the head turn. "He's in there..." he nodded to the glass room far across the room. "He's awful sick, Chris. Shit, last night they thought he had Anthrax... there's no cure." His voice wavered ad dropped and he felt the tremor in Chris's body and winced. "But they ruled that out. Only..."
"...what?" Chris croaked, seeing far too pain in the hooded dark blue eyes.
"...they think he's got the Plague..."
"Aw, fuck..." Chris clenched his eyes shut for a moment and let the horrid words sink their deadly talons in his heart. The he took his face to the blue Wilmington agony and followed their path. He saw the curtains and frowned.
"I can't see him..."
"I warned them," Buck whispered, shaking his head as Tyrone arrived back. He put a paper plate in front of Buck, with a sandwich and danish. He set down a large container of orange juice.
"Good guy," Tyrone put up both hands defensively as Chris observed him crossly. "Remember?" He spent the next few minutes updating the injured man of his condition. The green eyes penetrated him like hot ice and he didn't wonder that this man was so intimidating.
Chris listened to each word and stared at the dark-skinned face in the hazmat suit. Only one thing was on his mind.
"Open... curtain..." he sighed, then saw Tyrone look at Buck as the rogue hid a smile.
"It's not my doing, Chris," Tyrone apologized. "He's in there for your protection too. Until we can..."
"Open... fuckin' curtain..." Chris demanded, shoving off the yellow arm and sitting up. The short trip nearly toppled both of them. The room spun around, with such a fury that it took Chris's breath away. He sucked frantically as the pain descended like a Viking, slamming a broadsword into his throbbing skull. He felt arms catch him and the cool sheet under his head. The word 'plague' hit his brain again, sinking venomous fangs in deeply. Vin didn't have the plague. He knew that, why didn't they? He gasped in pain and fought the arms pressing him to the bed. He felt a river of sweat move down his lean body and gasped. He knew what was wrong with Vin. He could save his best friend. Vin's life depended on him... now... he had to tell them... for Vin. He parted his dry lips and spoke.
"Jesus," Tyrone grunted, holding the strong body down.
"No... no... Vin... no..." Chris whispered, before the lights went out and he was engulfed by a river of thick, black mud.
The familiar distaste of early morning filled his mouth and his lone thought was of toothpaste and a hot shower. He sat up in the bed, swung his legs over and rubbed his eyes. He squinted as the daylight pouring in from the slits in the blinds, siloutted a familiar body.
"Mornin'..." the deep voice greeted, "Now I appreciate how much effort it takes to create the 'Ezra Standish' we all know and love," he noted of the haggard body glaring at him.
Ezra stole a glance backwards at the bathroom which housed twin doors connecting the rooms they were occupying. He leveled a cold look at the large agent and scowled, standing and brushing past him.
"Remind me to have a lock placed on that door," he mumbled, staggering to the bathroom. "...or at the very least a string of cowbells." He bent over the sink and scrubbed the fog from his face, before turning the shower on. He picked up the blue toothbrush and broke the cellophane. His hand fumbled for the toothpaste, only to have it dangled before his eyes.
"You may find this hard to believe, but I've been grooming myself for a good many years. Unless this room is on fire, there is no reason for you to remain at my side," Ezra snapped, violently assaulting his helpless teeth. The wide grin from the preacher only made his sour mood increase.
"How is Mr. Tanner?" he directed, lathering his face.
"A doctor was up a few minutes ago to look in on J.D.," Sanchez replied, "he works for the Major, his name's is Johnson. They ruled out Antrax and the Plague..."
"...and?" the southerner paused, his heart slamming unevenly, the razor wavered for a minute, before relaxing in his grip.
"He's barely holding on, his temperture is up, his lungs are a mess..."
"He's a Tanner," Ezra said slowly, eyes distant as they recalled the sly maverick who'd become so important to him. "He'll prevail."
"From your lips to God's ear," Josiah sighed, watching the steam building.
"Yes, well, I might not be the best party to entertain His ear," Ezra turned, "Perhaps you can use your persuasive tongue, while I shower."
"Don't be long," Josiah warned, shoving off the doorframe, "Johnson says a Colonel Blackburn wants to question J.D." He paused, smokey eyes meeting jade, "He'll be up in about ten minutes."
"Understood," Ezra nodded, equally concerning about the youth.
J.D. eased back onto the bed as Dennis Toner took away the bath material, leaving Tyrone Johnson behind to examine the young man. The inspection was brief and the doctor seemed pleased.
"If you continue to be symptom free, you and your friends will be released in a couple days. Here," he sat a tray of eggs, ham, hashbrowns, toast and all the trimmings in front of the quiet patient. The juice went down swiftly and the hazel eyes seemed uncomfortable.
"Is Chris okay?"
"Your boss?" The resident tried, seeing a slight spark and the dark head rise a bit, "He came back from the OR during the night. He had a bad infection in his leg..."
"I only had soap to clean it with," J.D. voiced, frowning and dumping two packets of sugar in his coffee.
"You did fine," the physician relieved, "He's running a fever and we're treating it, along with his other wounds. His collarbone's broken, he'll be laid up awhile..." He paused as two bodies appeared in the doorway, immediately moving to either side of the bed. He smiled under his hazmat visor at the protective older pair.
"I'm Tyrone Johnson, I was just telling J.D. here that your boss is holding his own. He came back late from surgery, they ran into a messy infection in his leg. But with the right antibiotics and rest, that should clear up fine. His collarbone is broken, it's immobilized... he's running a slight temperature, but considering the degree of the infection, he's gonna have a rough couple days."
"Vin?" Josiah inquired, glancing from the dark face behind the visor to the shadowed one in the bed. "...and Buck?"
Josiah's gaze was trained on the doctor, but Ezra saw the flicker of anger in J.D.'s hazel eyes and the deathgrip on the fork in his hand. Curious, he kept his own eyes fixed on the youth's and saw ire residing where concern should be. Recalling the reaction to Buck's CPR efforts the night before, he mulled over his potential choice of words.
"Tanner," Johnson sighed, looked at all three faces, before settling on the oldest one. "is critical and while he's fighting hard, it doesn't look good. The samples we took from him, aren't consistent with any of the deadly virus's suspected. His fever is dangerously high, he's developing what we suspect is a very serious, if not fatal, respiratory infection..."
"He's gonna die... and so is Buck!" J.D. blurted out, "Why are you even here? You can't save him... He's gonna die just like Vin... Dammit!" He shoved the tray hard, nearly toppling it, only Ezra's quick hands saved the accident.
"Uh..." Tyrone hesitated, seeing the raw emotions pouring from the youth in the bed. "Buck, he's doing fine. No signs of... he's fine. You should be proud of him of what he did, I would if he was my buddy." He stopped when he saw the raging hazel eyes and fists clutched, pressed into the bed. He saw the gray head of the older man shake and nodded. "The Colonel is on his way up, he's got some questions. The Maintainance Dept. sent a couple phones over. You can't dial outside, but you'll be able to talk to your friends. I'll hook 'em up after the Colonel leaves."
"Thank you," Ezra said, "For what it's worth, Mr. Tanner is an individual who's been graced with a rather exorbitant amount in internal fortitude. Don't count him out..."
Tyrone nodded and left, shutting the door behind him. Ezra and Josiah exchanged a long look of concern, giving the patient a fit.
"Don't do that!" J.D. raged, "I'm sitting right here. I got the right to be pissed off." He grabbed the fork and began to shovel his breakfast in, swallowing without tasting.
"J.D...." Josiah began. "What Buck chose to do..."
"Save your breath, Preacher, and can I eat please?" He glared, rubbing his aching ribs, "It hurts to talk and that Colonel will be here any minute."
"As you wish," Ezra pulled back, moving across the room to the spare bed, over which sat two more breakfast trays. They'd barely finished when a tall, imposing figure in a hazmat suit entered the room. With him was Major Taylor, who made the introductions.
"Good Morning, Gentlemen," she began, "This is Colonel Jack Blackburn, he's the C.O. at AMERIID. He's compiling a report on the incidents that lead up to the outbreak. This is John Dunne, Ezra Standish and Josiah Sanchez. They are all members of Chris Larabee's ATF Team."
"How are you, Son?" Jack's voice was deep and the tone commanded attention.
"I'm fine," J.D spat back, still angry, "...and I'm not your son."
"Ouch..." Ezra whispered to Josiah, moving in to prevent any more damage. The session was brief and the commander didn't mince his words. He recorded the information on the events as J.D. recalled them, most of which matched the disc they found on the dead Iranian. He was relieved that other than his teammates, no encounter was made with the public. He reviewed the questions he'd prepared on his sheet and noted the time. He still had to interview Wilmington and the press conference was approaching fast.
"I want to thank you for your time, I know how much those ribs hurt. You get some rest. If you continue to be symptom free," he turned his dark gaze to the two standing agents. "You three will be released on Friday."
"Chris and Buck?" Josiah asked.
"Larabee had limited physical contact and we're confident that the fever is from the infection in his leg." He recalled information Dunne had just given him, "you indicated that in your testimony as well. Wilmington, however, had oral contact and any time there is an exchange of saliva... well the risk is much greater."
"The other guy said he was fine!" J.D.'s voice rose and his heart began to pound.
"He is... for now." Blackburn was cagey, "But, it's still very early."
"...and you have no idea what's killing Vin or how to attack this mysterious virus?" Ezra commented,.
"No, I'm afraid we don't. The CDC will be here within the hour and assisting our efforts in the Lab. An invisible enemy is always the most dangerous." He turned to face the head of the medical team. "Major...."
Kendra eyed the trio carefully, before following him out the door.
"Good Mornin' Darlin'," Mollie crooned, stroking Vin's flushed, wet face upon taking over for the departed Angie. "Did ye miss me then? Let's have a look at ye..." She frowned as she read the rapid heart rate, "I'd like to think that's due to meself bein' so close to ye..." she sighed and adjusted his IV drip. She took blood and urine samples, cleaned up his soiled linens and then eyed the ventilation hose. Her keen ears heard the ever present sounds of congestion lining the endotrachel tube. She moved closer, resting her hand on his face again and bent low.
"I'm sorry, Boy-o, I know yer sufferin' and this is going to hurt ye... but I can't have ye chokin' on me..." She stroked his face and brow, keeping her voice close to his ear. "Ye keep fightin', Darlin' Boy," she caressed the fine lines of his face, "Tis yer word I want..." She moved away and carefully inserted the suction catheter into the tube. The process of collecting the excretions lining the airway was underway. The last two went well, but this time his weak body protested. He coughed on reflex and his helpless thin frame jerked in erratic spasms. Mollie reattached the ventilator, ending the procedure and using her hands and voice to soothe him. The violent attack had his heart racing and she kept an eye on the monitor.
It was dark, so very dark and he was scared. His heart hammered and his felt his last breath lingering. Death hovered nearby, grining evilly at him with yellow rabid teeth. The stench from the spectre surrounded him, tightening it's bony fingers around his delicate throat. He felt the little bit of air he'd fought so hard to take in, fade away. His heart trembled and he heard Death laughing cruelly, then another voice, soft and sweet, filled his lost world. His breathing eased and his heart slowed, he knew that voice, the Angel was back. Every time she came, she chased Death away. He feared her, and and scurried back into the shadows, leaving a slimy residue in his wake. She surrounded him, her silken touch felt like delicate butterflies dancing on his skin. He yearned for that touch and sought her out, crying for her. Then the wonderous sound surrounded him, it's melodious tone calmed his fears and soothed his ravaged soul. She wouldn't let Death have him; his Angel would protect him. He let the joyous sounds comfort him and reached out to her.
"Easy, Lad," she cooed, using a damp cloth to wipe his saturated face. "It's done... Did I not promise ye'd feel better? That mess is gone and it's time fer yer bath." She paused and kept her eyes on the fluxuating heart rate. With soothing movements on his forehead and cheek, she gentled her voice. "Don't let this accent fool ye, I am Yank, too. Did ye know that? Me Da was saloon keeper in Boston. Me mother was a singer, fresh off the boat. Eighteen and full of life she was... a beauty too. Me Da said the sun never rose until she smiled. They were poor but happy, they lived in the flat near the tavern. After they were married, Brian, Pat and Mike came before I was born. Mary Kathleen Muldoon," she laughed, bringing the bowl of alcohol and water nearby.
She pulled the cooling blanket off him and began to wash his fevered body. "Can ye imagine such a name? My Da called me Mollie, since me mother was Mary, too. Then Danny was born and wee Brigid was last. Six of us in that little flat, but we were happy." She sighed, her emerald eyes growing moist. She wrung out the cloth and rolled his weak body on the side, so she could bathe his back and legs. "Then some drunk took a knife to me Da... dead before he hit the floor. I was only five, and I don't remember much about him. I have pictures, I favor him... " her voice trailed off as she worked the alcohol bath into his skin. She turned him back and soaked the cloth again, tenderly wiping his handsome face. "Me grandparents had a farm in Mayo... me mother was heartbroken, five of us and a new babe to care fer. So we moved back to Ireland. I came home to America after nursing school. Me Uncle Dan, Da's brother, he was in the Army, a 'lifer' ye'd call him. He got me started and here I am."
The bath complete, she pulled the cooling sheet up, covering his body, and smiled again. "Here I am pratherin' on and on... and yer not gettin' a word in edgewise." She brushed the few strands of hair that clung to his face and frowned, "Ye've got lovely hair, but it's a wee bit untamed... " she smiled again and eyed the fine features gracing his face. "But I think it suits ye... ye've got a untamed heart and a bold spirit, Vin Tanner. Aye," she nodded, picking up his limp hand, "Ye make me think on the lyrics from a song called 'The Bonny Young Irish Boy'" she smiled and sang a small verse.
"His cheeks was of the roses and his hair was of the brown, and hung in ringlets heavy to his shoulders hanging down. His teeth was of an ivory hite, his eyes was black as sloes; He'd charm the heart of any fair girl, no matter where he goes." She pushed the last of the damp tendrils from his face and continued, "Ye've got a soft smile, too, I'm wagerin'... Would ye like another song then?" She patted his cheek and rose, crooning as she completed her ministrations.
"In Mountjoy jail one Monday morning, high upon the gallows tree. Kevin Barry gave his young life for the cause of liberty. But a lad of eighteen summers, yet no one can deny. As he walked to death that morning, He proudly held his head on high."
She recorded his vital signs, glad that his temp was not rising anymore. It was dangerously high already and she knew if it didn't break soon, complications could set in. She recorded the information and went into the chorus of 'Kevin Barry' an old favorite of her uncle's.
"Just before he faced the hangman, in his dreary prison cell, British soldiers tortured Barry Just because he would not tell, the names of his brave companions... and other things they wished to know 'Turn informer or we'll kill you' Kevin Barry answered, 'no'"
She bustled around the glass room, pouring her heart into the end of the song as she finished her task. She fed the nutrisouce into his gastro tube and was glad he tolerated it. She then picked up the limp hand and studied his features as she ended the song. She used her free hand to stroke his face, all too still and waxen.
"Calmly standing to attention, while he bade his last farewell, To his broken hearted mother, whose grief no one can tell. For the cause he proudly cherished, this sad parting had to be. Then to death walked softly smiling, that old Ireland might be free . Another martyr for old Ireland, Another murder for the crown. Whose brutal laws may kill the Irish, but can't keep their spirit down. Lads like Barry are no cowards, From the foe they will not fly. Lads like Barry will free Ireland. For her sake they'll live and die."
She finished and remained by his side, wiping the fevered face again. "I'm thinkin' yer not unlike Kevin, the other lads as well. That Buck, now he's a brave one... " he voice faltered as her heart clenched. Thinking on the decision he'd made so easily, she blessed herself and with her eyes on the critically ill patient's face, which seem to relax at her touch, she began to pray.
"Please don't go... Angel... I need ye... yer my light... thanks... thanks... stay... heal... touch... my soul..."
Buck was dozing in a chair next to Chris, when a hand tapped his back. He sat up and squinted at a new, much larger, figure in a yellow hazmat suit. He recognized Major Taylor and Tyrone, who flanked the newcomer.
"Buck," Tyrone said, pulling the IV pole out of the way, "This is Colonel Jack Blackburn. He's our boss, he's the C.O. at AMERIID. He's got some questions for you. Here..." Tyrone handed him a cold bottle of ice tea and Buck nodded, draining half of it in one gulp.
"How are you feeling, Son?" Blackburn inquired, curious to meet the man who'd made such a courageous choice.
"I don't think I'm feeling anything now, Sir," Buck said dejectedly, glancing from Chris's pale face to the glass prison where Vin lay dying.
"I've been in this business for a lot of years, Wilmington," Blackburn advised, reading the guilt on the younger man's long face. "I've seen my share of miracles. The very fact that the young man is still breathing, despite his horrific ordeal, says a lot about him."
"He's all piss and vinegar," Buck grinned, "with a big dose of Texan guts..."
"What can you tell me of his actions? You were the first person he contacted, after breaking loose."
"Yeah," Buck sighed, sipping the ice tea and watching Chris's chest rise and fall. "He uh... busted out of the warehouse and managed to get in the Iranian's car. Tony followed the car and killed that cop. He took the knife and body back to the beach and framed Vin. He knew the tourist trade and the schedule of those bus groups that unload down there." He stopped and snaked his hand through the chrome as Chris shifted uneasily, his handsome face twisted in a nightmare. "Easy, Chris... turn that glare down..." His voice cut through the haze and the blond's features went slack again and his breathing leveled out. "Anyway, Vin hid in an old warehouse and snuck out after dark to call me. He must have wandered under the pier and then over the rocks. I can't believe he found Smuggler's Cove... that's where her boat was hidden. He must have collapsed inside..."
"And Larabee?" Blackburn pressed.
"Chris followed her from the warehouse. They fought on the boat, I guess, and he got Vin off of there just in time. I saw the explosion an found him in the water. He was screaming for Vin... I didn't realize Vin was there, until I saw his head go under. I pulled him out, he wasn't breathing, I did mouth to mouth and Chris did the chest massage. There were a couple guys who pulled up, but they didn't get near us."
"We've spoken to them and the state troopers as well." Blackburn directed. "So as far as you know,Tanner didn't come in contact with anyone else?"
"No, I don't see how. He was scared to death of being shot down. Flushing saw to that... Shit..." Buck's anger rose. "If he dies..."
"It won't be your fault," Blackburn read the guilt that crossed the handsome agent's face. "She's the only one to blame and her accomplice won't ever see the light of day again. You get some rest, Buck. We'll talk later, I'll be back to take Larabee's statement." He paused and moved to stand next to the dark-haired again.
Buck looked up at the movement and the hand offered. "Sir?" He queried, hesitant to respond.
"Men like you are few and far between, Buck Wilmington. What you did on that beach took more guts than bravest man would admit to housing. No wonder Orin Travis is so proud of this group. It's an honor, Son."
"Thank you, Sir," Buck whispered, feeling his face flush. He winced at the strong grip and felt Tyrone grinning through his mask. He finished his ice tea and flipped the television on, seeing the outside of the hospital on CNN. He turned the volume up, propped his feet on Chris's bed and settled in to watch the show.
The terrain was beautiful and in such vivid colors it took his breath away. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with cotton-candylike clouds. The grass was a fresh green and the graceful wind carried it's sweet scent. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the sensation of the wind on his handsome face. The seductive voice of a babbling waterway tempted him and he heeded the call. The water was sparkling and rushing forward, eager to please. He remained on the bank, letting his lean strides take him through the row upon row of gorgeous wildflowers. They winked at him boldy in all shades of purple, lilac, yellow, pink and white. He wanted to bury his face in them, but a strong force compelled him to move forward.
Then he heard voices in the distance, light and carefree. His heart began to hammer and his legs moved faster, the flowers parted in respect, forming a path for him. The voices grew stronger, caressing his ear and making his heart sing. He knew those voices. Then he saw a cascade of dark curls and the body he knew as well as his own, sitting in a pastel dress under a large tree. He moved quickly down to the bank of the river, but a barrier hit him. He couldn't cross to her... she looked up and smiled, the light of pure love radiating from her face. His heart stopped and he cried out, frustrated at his inability to reach her.
"Sara... Sara..." he called out, and fought the barrier at the river. Suddenly, the sky grew dark and stormy and he was propelled backwards into the dark void again.
Buck heard Chris moan and saw his face screw up in pain, thinking of his injured back and leg, he summoned Tyrone. By the time the healer reached the bed, Buck was trying to keep Chris in it, the strong body fought him.
"Easy Chris," Buck tried, but the blond wasn't hearing him. Tyrone added something to his IV and the movement stopped. Chris took a deep breath and resumed his rest.
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