Setting: ATF Universe
Page 16
Dozens of reporters shifted restlessly, squirming in the occupied rows of chairs. The large meeting room on the second floor of the new annex of St. Michael's Hospital was setup for a press conference. The fifty-year old medical facility recently opened a five-story addition, leaving the former three-story building vacant. There were plans in the process to convert two floors into doctor's offices, with the ground floor, where the old ER was, being utilized as a clinic. For the near future, during the duration of the outbreak of the deadly infection, it would be the AMERIID's headquarters. It was in the former Emergency Ward where the three contaminated ATF agents were being isolated and treated. They would remain in the care of the Army medical personnel until the quarantine was lifted.
The broad mix of media covering the event shifted in the folding chairs anxiously. Some flipped through the media kit that was handed out, which gave a brief overview of the situation at hand. It contained profiles of the agents, a rough outline of the events up through their arrival the night before and a short sketch of the treatment area and medical team. They all looked up when an imposing man of perhaps fifty or a little better, stepped onto the podium, dwarfing a bank of microphones. His silver-streaked hair complimented his dark eyes and penetrating gaze; his uniform bespoke his military background. Two older men in business suits, a tall black woman with an army uniform and a police officer, flanked him. The army man took charge, tapping the microphone before casting a lingering gaze over the slowly hushing room.
"Good morning," his deep voice suited his commanding presence. "I'm Colonel Jack Blackburn of the U.S. Army's Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. We're based not far from here in Maryland at Fort Detrick. As the Department of Defense's leading facility for all medical and biological concerns stemming from biological warfare and infectious disease, we've been tasked to contain the current outbreak. My team consists of doctor's, nurses and biochemists who are all working very hard to identify and contain the outbreak; and of course to save the life of Agent Tanner. He is the only case we have so far. These are highly skilled personnel and our unique state-of-the-art research facilities will be working hard to conquer this potential threat. The Center for Disease Control in Atlanta was notified last night, and a team will be arriving this morning." He turned to the somber man to his right. "This is Orin Travis, he's the Director of the Bureau of Alchohol, Tobacco and Firearms in Denver. Team Seven, which falls under his jurisdiction, comprises of four of the agents who have been directly affected by this ordeal. In addition to Tanner, the other agents are Larabee, Wilmington and Dunne. Two other members of Team Seven, Standish and Sanchez, are under observation. Also with me are Major Jackson, the doctor heading my team, Captain Lee Williamson of the Mystic Cove Police Department and Senior Agent Mitchell Flushing of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Agent Flushing orgainized the group who spearheaded the effort to capture the two felons who perpetrated this horrendous crime. Each of us will be covering a segment of the briefing. I'll start with Captain Williamson who would like to update the citizens and tourist of the area. Captain..."
"Thank you Colonel Blackburn," the other nodded, "The photo you are not viewing is of Agent Vincent Tanner, who was infected with a potentially deadly disease. If you saw our emergency broadcast last night, you'll recognize his photo. We're still not certain what he contracted, but the evidence the F.B.I. confiscated from the Iranian's boat and from the warehouse, indicated it might be one of several, all of them deadly. Among this evidence, was videotape of the disease being introduced to Agent Tanner. We know from the video, as well as the documents gathered, that the threat is very real. I urge you, if you've seen this man, or came in contact with him, to please call the number on your screen. The Army is seeking to contain this outbreak and if you feel you've been exposed, call that number immediately. As far as the manhunt and the suspects, I'll let Agent Flushing give you those details." He stepped aside to let the F.B.I. director pass by.
"Thank you Captain for your support throughout this crisis. I want to extend my sincerest sympathy to the family and friends of the slain police officer." He paused and shook the Captain's hand, giving Orin Travis cause to frown. "As far as that murder, the suspect in custody, Anthony Kennedy has confessed to killing the officer. He was one of two individuals who were responsible for the kidnapping of ATF agents John Dunne and Christopher Larabee, along with the torture of Agent Tanner. The other suspect, who was the instigator of the idea and whose funds and background in biochemistry and toxicology gave her ample weapons, was Miss Jamie Cameron Newlander. Her father, James Newlander, was an F.B.I. agent who headed the infamous ‘Dirty Dozen' crime ring in this area eighteen years ago. He commited suicide rather than face his accusers and punishment. It was his death that spurned her actions. She's been living in Europe and had established herself quite well in the Germ Warfare arena over there. After her mother's death last year, her goal became to punish the two men she felt responsible for her father's arrest and ultimate death. That would be Agent Frank Delassi and his then rookie partner, Buck Wilmington. Delassi was retired and murdered last winter, by two individuals hired by Miss Newlander. Apparently, they botched the job and she was quite upset. It was at that time, she concocted the scheme to take revenge on Agent Wilmington, by kidnapping and using his oldest and newest friends, to lure him into a trap. Agent Tanner was an accident, apparently. He stumbled upon the operation at it's onset and she used a variety of mind alternating drugs on him. She was killed in the explosion last night, off the coast, that injured Agent Larabee. Mr. Kennedy is being charged with a long list of federal crimes, along with first degree murder. Currently, he is in an isolated section of the Old Building, after treatement for a gunshot wound and other injuries. Despite his prolonged exposure to Tanner, he shows no signs of the sickness. If he continues to be symptom free, on Friday he'll transferred to the Federal Penitentary and kept in isolation. He confessed to his crimes and gave a lengthy statement, as well as outlining the details of the entire plan. His inquiry was supported by a diary we found, belonging to Miss Newlander, in the warehouse."
"What about the Iranians?" a voice interrupted from the center of the pack.
"Two were slain in the gunbattle last night, when several F.B.I agents approached the boat they were in ten miles south of here, about five miles out to sea. The other lingered long enough to tell us that Amahl Kyaham, a high ranking government official, purchased the infected army of deadly centipedes from Miss Newlander, along with other germ warfare research data. We confiscated all of it, except that which was destroyed in the explosion. The fourth member of their party was the individual killed by the slain police officer. Mr. Kennedy supplied that information. Apparently, Mr. Tanner escaped from the warehouse and hid in the Iranian's car. From what Kennedy saw, it appeared that the officer asked the Iranian to get out of the car, and he resisted and pulled a weapon. He was killed and while the slain officer attempted to speak with Tanner, Kennedy killed him. Kennedy then tranported Tanner, along with the body, to the beach. He chose that spot specifically, knowing the tour buses drop off there. Mr. Tanner fled the scene and contacted Agent Wilmington later that evening. We originally surmised he drown, the last sighting of him was under the pier, but he managed to find Smuggler's Cove. It was there, we feel he stumbled onto Newlander's getaway vehicle."
"You've been saying all along that Agent Tanner was heavily involved in this kidnapping. Are you now stating that wasn't so?" a woman from the front row inquired.
"Yes, Agent Tanner, as I stated earlier, was drugged and used by the two suspects. His fellow agents provided some material supporting this, as did Agent Wilmington when we questioned him this morning. In addition, Miss Newlander wrote extensively of her use of a variety of mind alternating drugs on him, as well as her plans to infect him."
"Will he live?" another asked.
"Major Taylor will be giving the medical report in a few minutes." Flushing replied, "Yes?" he nodded to a young woman in the back.
"What about the explosion? Are you sure she's dead? What was on that boat?"
"The only witnesses we have are Larabee and Tanner. Neither of them are conscious at the moment. We'll interview Agent Larabee as soon as he's able. Agent Wilmington supplied that Larabee followed the suspect to the boat."
"That's a little convenient, don't you think?" an angry reporter from the center of the pack instigated. "He just happens to be on the her escape boat... on his way to a hugh payoff. He's got cardboard credentials, a murky background as a bounty hunter and he was a murder suspect. He doesn't even have the qualifications to carry that badge."
"Goddammit!" Buck roared, slamming his hand down on the tray by Chris's bedside. The loud voice caused the blond to twitch, but not rouse from his deep sleep. Wilmington's dark blue eyes blazed with fury. He threw off a hand the tried to steady his own. "Get the hell away... Where the hell does that prick get off, sayin' shit like that. Fuckin' idiot... look at him... he couldn't find his own ass with a roadmap... Shit..."
"You tear the IV line out and you'll have this former defensive end to answer to..." Tyrone shoved the flying arm down and felt the heat radiating off of the irate patient. "Calm down, now Buck. You know how reporters are..."
"He's gonna be a dead fuckin' ragsheet wipe when I get done with him..." Buck growled, his insides churning.
Repulsive repitilian-skinned eqine fertilizer..."
"That's telling 'im, Ezra," Josiah's dry voice concurred, watching the green sparks shooting from the elusive agent's eyes. "Hey, I know that weasel..."
"His name's... uh... uh..." he frowned, trying to recall the reporter's name.
"Hayes."
"Yeah, J.D." The preacher nodded, "that's it, Lennie Hayes. He's the freak who hangs out at all the crime scenes."
"There was a rumor that he failed to pass the police exam several times, something to do with the psychological profile..." Ezra recalled. "I certainly hope our fearless leader didn't hear those remarks."
"I didn't hear an explosion," Josiah answered, eyeing the floor below. "I'm guessin' he slept through it." The telephone in front of J.D. rang, interrupting their conversation. Ezra waited, but the youth made no attempt to pick it up. Finally the southerner answered.
"Good Morning Mr. Wilmington..." Ezra paused, relieved to hear his friend's voice.
"How'd you do that?" Buck frowned, giving Tyrone a grateful thumbs up at the successful linking of the phone line.
"Process of elimination," the conman tossed back, "Had it been Mr. Larabee, there would already be a hole in the ceiling above your head, due to the caustic remarks by that walking pile of refuse." He paused and joined the others, eyeing the feed from CNN on the television in the room.
"Excuse me?" Orin Travis bristled and shoved Flushing aside and his dark eyes burned a hole through the chest of the smirking reporter. "Who the hell are you to question Vin Tanner's qualifications?" His voice was loaded with buckshot and silenced the room. "I want to make it clear, that at no time was Vin Tanner's integrity questioned by myself, our command or by his teammates."
"Damn, Orin looks good when he goes Old Testament," Josiah smiled, watching their senior supervisor lashing out.
"Teammates?" another reporter in the first row queried.
"Yes, teammates," Orin repeated, "On paper, they're seven individuals brought together to achieve a common goal in the pursuit of justice and law enforcement. I've worked in this business for over forty years and I can tell you without hesitation that they are second to none. I've never encountered a group who worked so cohesively, efficientely or effectively. They have a special bond... they are without a doubt a team, they act as one, and that innate sense of each other, has been to our benefit. They are the creme of the crop."
"Orin's kickin' some serious ass..." Buck crowed, lingering on the subtle southern accent in his ear.
"Ass is the correct definition," Ezra drolled, his distaste for the reporter evident.
Orin Travis paused and glowered at the weasel who was fiddling with his recorder. "Hayes, isn't it? You're the last person who should be accusing anyone of a lack of qualifications."
"Me?" Hayes shot back, "How do justify hiring the likes of him? He's got the grade without..."
"The likes of him?" Orin seethed, his icy tone cutting Hayes in half. "The 'likes of him' is the living, breathing embodiment of the word 'integrity'. Something I'd expect 'the likes of you' couldn't comprehend. In over four decades of experience, I've seen some fine, promising careers end in the morgue. All their formal education meant nothing when it came to what it takes to carry this badge. Vin Tanner doesn't have a formal degree from a college, he has PhD from the school of Life. His expertise with a weapon is second to none, he has the eye of an eagle, a keen and insightful mind and an uncanny ability to read people. He's a child of the land and was taught well to read all her signs. He can track any criminal in just about any given situation with unbelievable accuracy. His talent at studying a crime scene not only benefits the ATF, but other local, state and federal agencies as well."
He paused and thought of the sludge that Flushing fed the media about the quiet Texan. "Furthermore, he's one of the finest men I've had the privilege of knowing. His physical skills compliment his work, but it's his moral fiber that sets him apart. He's a very special young man and I'm praying for his safe recovery. His death would be a mortal blow to his friends, his coworkers and everyone who is lucky enough to know him. Does that answer your ridiculous question?"
"Never heard Orin say so much in one place..." Josiah marveled, "Bet he was force to be reckoned with in his day."
"Undoubtedly," Ezra agreed, watching with some degree of satisfaction at Hayes shifting uncomfortably. A map went up on the screen behind Orin and he explained the details of the capture.
"Hey, Ez? How's the Kid? Can I talk to him?" Buck pressed, needing to hear the youth's voice.
"J.D.?" Ezra inquired of Buck, but his eyes went to the youth, who turned away. Ezra went to touch his shoulder, but Josiah shook his head. "He's asleep, Buck, he had a rough morning. The physical exam, followed by the questioning session from the good Colonel were trying to say the least."
"Damn..."
Ezra winced when he heard the painful dejection in the rogue's voice. "How fares our fearless leader?" He asked, changing the subject.
"Out cold, fever's up over 100, collarbone's busted, bound to his chest. He looks awful..."
"...and Vin?" Ezra said softly and heard Buck hiss. For several seconds the dead air on the phone was suffocating. "Are you there?"
"Huh... yeah, Ez..." Buck stammered, eyeing the curtained panelled glass room. "He's alive... but..." he sighed, rubbing his throbbing temple. "He's on his way out, I think, Ezra. He's fighting hard but... he's so sick... now they think he's got some kind of infection in his lungs. They just wheeled in an x-ray machine. We haven't seen him... he's in a isolation chamber, all glass with curtains."
"That won't last long," Ezra mused, thinking of the irate blond with hot green eyes. "I'm sure our team leader will change that policy."
"Put it in the bank..." Buck added, trying to shift the uneasy weight that remained firmly on his back. "I wish somebody would wake me up..."
"Somebody soft and curvaceous, with a firm body and talented tongue?" Ezra teased, easily feeling Buck's guilt over the phone.
"No, I wasn't thinkin' of you, Ace," Buck returned, smiling as Ezra's distinctive mock-annoyed chortle sounded. He knew what the conman was trying to do and was grateful. He sighed and gained a little strength from the warm Larabee breath that danced on his hand. He watched bandaged arm rise and fall and felt his own heart falling.
Ezra felt the winds of despair and had half a thought to slip past the guard and sit be his depressed friend. "I want you to know, Buck," his voice was true, "what you did last night on that beach, was the single bravest thing I've ever encountered. So, my friend, hold your head up and take comfort in the fact that were it not for you, he would be lost to us now, forever. That is something too painful to dwell upon."
Buck was moved by Ezra's words, and felt every one of them way down deep. He flicked his shadowed face towards the glass prison and felt the daggers of pain again. He reached a hand out towards where Vin lie and it lingered, trembling, before he covered his eyes. If he could just see Vin, touch him, talk to him, let him know that they were fighting with him. He sighed again and thought on Ezra's words and Orin's as well. That brotherhood they shared was the difference... all the difference.
"So, Ace," his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, "does that mean I don't still owe you $32.50 from the poker game at Nate's last month?"
"Certainly not," Ezra huffed, smiling as he always did around Buck, "One thing has nothing to do with other. Actually, with accrued interest the figure has escalated somewhat. By my calculations..."
"Escalated my ass," Buck chuckled, feeling very much alone in the large, empty room. "Hey, Ez, you keep an eye on the Kid for me, okay? I'm worried about him. He's gotta be pretty shook up." Buck paused, thinking on J.D.'s silence. "He don't want to talk to me, does he?"
"He's young, Buck, and he's been wounded inside. He's scared and confused right now, he'll come around."
"Listen Ez, if this all goes south, and I buy the farm, I want you to know something."
"Good Lord, as if the swill masquarading as breakfast weren't bad enough to digest," Ezra said sharply, "I don't need a chaser of moroseness. You are far from the grave..."
"Hell, all I was gonna do was tell you to take care of Black Beauty for me. You're the best qualified." Buck noted somberly of the thick, neat, alphabetized and ranked index of his stable of beauties.
"Oh," Ezra sat up and smiled again, his tooth glinting in the sun. "in that case, perhaps an arrangement can be negotiated."
"Sounds good to me," Buck chortled, "I'm thinking three figures maybe four..."
"I'm thinking they're pumping some serious narcotics through your IV line..." Ezra teased, grinning again. He ducked his head up as Major Taylor stepped up to the microphone.
"Hey, that's our doctor." Buck directed, turning his attention to the screen.
"Good Morning, I'm Major Kendra Taylor of AMERIID. All the men in question are under my care, isolated in the Old Hospital. The initial three agents, Dunne, Sanchez and Standish are on the first floor. Tanner, Larabee and Wilmington are in the ER on the ground floor. Tanner is in an isolation chamber. Hazmat suits and gloves are worn at all times by all of my staff." Kendra went on to describe her team and the methods used to track down the elusive predator.
"John Dunne was the first patient admitted. He has broken ribs, cuts, bruises and some puncture wounds. He does not exhibit any signs of the sickness and is closely monitored. Standish and Sanchez are also being monitored. If these men remain symptom free for forty-eight more hours, they will be released."
"What infected Tanner? We were told he had the Plague?" a reporter shouted out.
"From the initial information we received on the disk recovered from the accident scene, the Plague was one of the possible deadly toxins involved. We felt upon the initial inspection in the ER, that he had Anthrax. A lumbar punture was done and spinal fluid was extracted, but it was clear. We've also ruled out all forms of the Plague, Ebola and West Nile. He was unconscious upon arrival and has remained in that state. He is in critical condition and on a ventilator. From interviews with those he contacted, primarily Buck Wilmington, we know he had severe headaches, body ache, joint pain and congestion. His fever is dangerously high, almost 107 and the glands lining his throat are swollen. We have pinpointed this as a bacterial infection and are aggresively treating it with antibiotics."
"So you don't know what this is or how it's spread?" a woman in the first row asked.
"No, we haven't identified the toxin yet, and we're fairly confident it is only spread through direct introduction to the body." She paused and took a sip of water, "As far as the other two men in quarantine... Chris Larabee sustained a wound to his left shoulder. He has a broken collarbone, assorted facial lacerations and bruises and a concussion as a result of the explosion on the boat. He had wounds on his back from a whip, they were slightly infected. He also suffered a stab wound to the back of his upper right thigh. This was badly infected and he's taking antibotics via an IV, to combat the effects of that infection. He is running a fever, but we do not suspect at this time, that it's from the bacteria. His cultures were all negative and his glands aren't swollen as Mr.Tanner's are. As for Mr. Wilmington, I'm sure you're aware by now, from the media kit you have, of his contact. When he pulled Tanner from the water, he wasn't breathing. Wilmington gave Tanner mouth to mouth resuscitation. He is being closely monitored and tested for signs of sickness."
"If I may interject something here," Orin bent near the microphone, "There were samples of the toxins taken from the Iranian boat when it was seized, and these have been tested and ruled out. However, we believe the remainder were destroyed in the explosion, and thus lost to the medical team."
"So you're flying blind?" A voice in the back hollered. "How do you know the full ramifications of this thing?"
"We don't," Kendra answered, "and we're running out of time," she sighed and took another drink. "The CDC is helping us with the work in the lab. They've never seen the likes of this before. The F.B.I. in Denver are scouring her lab there, we're hoping they might find something. There will be another briefing this time tomorrow," she nodded and stepped away, anxious to talk with Sandy about the x-ray. She flipped open the cell phone as soon as she got into the small room next to the press area. She motioned for Orin to follow her. "It's me Sandy, well?" She closed her eyes and expelled a breath. "Okay, so were sure it's ARDS? I'm on my way."
"Vin?" Orin confirmed, his face growing ashen at the side of the conversation he heard. "What is ARDS?"
"Adult Respiratory Distress Syndrome." Kendra paused and took a breath, "It's an inflammation of the lungs that can be very damaging, even fatal. The lungs can collapse and lose their ability to receive oxygen. When the capillaries are damaged, they leak fluid into the lungs. This makes it very difficult to breathe... uh... for the lungs to absorb oxygen and expell carbon dioxide."
"Where did it come from? How did it happen?"
"Well, sometimes it comes from a direct blow, a severe bruise or inhaling smoke, fumes or other toxic substances. Other times, as I suspect in this case, it comes from a severe trauma... stress in the presense of an infection. Depending on the severity it can take up to six months or a year to fully recover and often the patient has bouts of coughing, anxiety, fatigue, depression and other effects of post traumatic stress."
"How do treat this?"
"He's on a ventilator and other than some medication to reduce anxiety and discomfort, there is little we can do. The mechanics of the ventilator are supporting his breathing until he can do so himself, when his lungs are healed. The supplemental oxygen is helping him breathe. Hopefully, we can keep him comfortable and hope that complications don't arise."
"How long will it last?"
"That varies... some patients recover fairly quickly, in a matter of days. Others suffer complications and it takes weeks, even months. There is no way to tell and right now, my primary goal is identifying the bacteria that is killing him."
"I'd like to see him."
"No way," she denied, "I'm sorry, nobody gets in there. By Friday, I suspect three of your men will be available. I have an internal phone with each group. You can speak to Wilmington if you'd like?"
"I would, Thank You..." He moved to the phone on the wall and memorized the two numbers she gave him. "Major? What are his chances?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Travis, I wish I could paint you a nice, rosy picture, but unless we get a miracle, his body won't be able to fight much longer. It's amazing he's still alive... it really is."
"He's a Tanner..." Orin mused, thinking of the quiet story Vin shared with him once long night while they waited for Chris to come out of a coma. He dialed the number and waited. "Hello Buck, How are you, Son?"
"Wishing I'd wake up and this whole thing would be a bad dream." Buck was back in his own bed, Tyrone was changing Chris's dressing and bedding, with Angie assisting him. "Hey, thanks for takin up Vin's back. I swear if I get a hold of Hayes..."
"For once I would be inclined to look the other way," Orin paused, "How is Chris?"
"They're cleaning him up now..." Buck paused as a flurry of activity occured near Vin's glass prison. "Hold on..." he put the phone down and eyed Tyrone's moving body. "Hey, what's wrong with Vin? Tyrone answer me, Goddammit... shit..." He picked the phone up, "Sorry, everytime they go running in that glass room, I damn near die... They won't let us see him..."
"They have to be strict, Buck, they don't know what's making him so sick. I think I can enlighten you on the cause of the recent alarm." He then told Buck about the lung problem . "I'm sure if you ask the doctor, he'll update you. Keep the faith, Buck, without that you have nothing."
"I'm trying, Orin, but it's hard..." Buck paused, raking a hand through his hair and rubbing the pounding pain behind his eyes. "You talk to Nate? He's gonna be worried... he probably watched that..."
"No, but I'll call him now. I'll check in with Josiah as well and talk to you later."
"Okay, thanks Orin," Buck went to hang the phone up.
"Buck?"
"Yeah," Buck pulled the phone back and frowned.
"You're to be commended for your actions on the beach last night. Heroic doesn't seem to cover the measure of what you did."
"I'm no hero, Orin." Buck said flatly, "not by a long shot, but thanks."
He hung up and stared at the ceiling, wondering how J.D. was. He'd tried calling several times, each time getting Josiah. He knew eventually J.D. would come around, but in the mean time, it was painful. He knew the kid was scared, hell, he was scared himself. The quiet, empty, darkened room did nothing to help. The only person he could reach out to was trapped in his own nightmare. He watched Chris's chest rise and fall and the tension in the handsome blond's face. Despite his pounding headache, he was restless. He made several trips to Chris's side and around the large area. He nearly got to the glass box, when Tyrone caught him and steered him back . Lunch came and went and Tyrone filled him in on Vin's condition. They were losing hope, he was fading and they didn't know how he was still hanging on.
J.D. clenched his eyes shut and forced his head further into the pillow. Why wouldn't that damn preacher leave him be? Ezra left awhile ago, but Josiah and his damn, raggedy bible were a fixture at his bedside. J.D. was angry, at Buck, at the bitch who caused this, at everything. It fueled his cold fear and slid effortlessly into his brain. He punched the pillow harshly, his anger at Buck resurfacing.
"Would it have made a difference if it was a bullet?"
"What?" J.D. peeled an eye open and there they were. Those damn smokey eyes that seem to have the ability to see right through him. His own eyes hovered on the bible for a moment as Josiah leaned forward.
"A bullet, J.D.," he repeated, "Would that have made a difference? If Buck took a bullet for Vin?"
"That's apples and oranges," J.D. blurted, "Leave me alone, Preacher. Go find somebody else's soul to save."
"Alright, J.D., but I have one more question. If you were on that beach last night and Vin was in your arms, not breathing. Could you have turned away?"
"I... it... Vin?" J.D.'s jaw trembled and his brow's furrowed. Josiah's words drew up a picture of Vin's exhuberant whoop when they won the hockey championship a few months back. Then there was the limitless patience in the New Mexican desert when he spent four days teaching J.D. how to read the world around him. He got a lump in his throat and his eyes burned again as Buck's face in the office came into view. Teasing him, swatting him with a folder, teaching him... teaching him. God, without Buck... His confusion grew again. He closed his eyes as Josiah stood and rested a hand on his shoulder. He tensed at the touch and drew a sharp breath.
"Judge not and ye shall not be judged; condemn not and ye shall not be condemned; forgive and ye shall be forgiven." The preacher said, quoting Luke. He left the youth to his conscience and went back to his room.
J.D's mind whirled and he tossed in the bed, the burning pain in his chest was matched by the ache in his heart. He drifted into a restless sleep, plagued by nightmares. Vin kept washing up on the beach and J.D. stood by and did nothing. Then Buck's body appeared in a rough gathering of foam and sea spillage. His white face was cold in death and a centipede ran from his shirt. J.D. screamed and sat up, gasping for breath.
"Buck no... God I'm sorry... dead... Buck..."
"Whoa!... J.D. are you okay?"
The deep voice and the southern one roused him from his dream. Ezra and Josiah appeared in the doorway. Somebody handed him water and he gulped it gratefully. He didn't realize how badly he was trembling, until the second glass of water spilled onto his bed. He saw the darkness outside and realized how late it was. He saw the tray in the corner and Ezra moved towards it.
"It's cold, would you like another one?"
"Yeah, thanks Ezra..." he managed, "What time is it?"
"Almost nine o'clock," Josiah handed him the ginger ale from the tray. "You want to talk about it?"
"Yeah, I think I do, Josiah," J.D. eyed the phone. "I hope I'm not too late."
Josiah nodded and brought the phone closer. He gave the youth a brief squeeze on the shoulder. Ezra appeared with a bowl of soup, a sandwich and a huge piece of cake. A quart of milk completed the meal. He left the tray and watched the trembling hands fingering the keypad.
"Four-seven-two-two," Ezra said of number the youth sought.
"Thanks."
Buck was watching an old episode of Hill St. Blues when the phone rang. He shoved the empty dish of ice cream away and took a swig of cherry coke, before picking up the phone. His headache was worse and he didn't like the parade of bodies moving into Vin's cubicle. He truly feared his friend's time was drawing to a close. Chris hadn't awakened yet and that worried him too. What if Vin died before Chris got a chance to see him?
"Yeah...." his voice was dull and flat. One hand was tossed over his eyes, they ached too.
"Buck?"
"Kid!" Buck gasped, smiling in relief. "Damn, it's good to hear your voice. You okay? Ezra and Josiah behaving?"
"I'm fine, Buck," J.D. paused, trying to control the quake in his voice. Hearing the warm tone he'd grown so accustomed to now filled him with fear. What if Buck had what Vin did? "I'm... Jesus I'm sorry Buck..." he blurted, not hiding the choking tone. "I was so mad... I couldn't... I didn't mean... Are you okay?"
"I am now, Son..." Buck sighed, gaining unmeasurable strength from the youth's voice.
Ten p.m. Denver
"No!"
Rain Jackson's raised and determined voice split the night air. She grabbed the stack of clean clothes and put them back in the dresser. Turning back to her husband, she saw a fleeting glimpse of remorse on his face.
"You don't understand, Rain," Nate tried, casting his dark eyes on the beautiful woman who'd taken his name, "What Orin said this morning about being us being special... a team... I need to be there... it's tearin' me up inside."
"I do understand, Honey," she moved to his side and sat beside him on the bed. She kissed him gently and rested her hand on his face. "I know you feel torn apart, but there's nothing you could do there. You damn near died on me Mr. Jackson and you're not well enough for a trip like that. They're in quarantine, you couldn't get near them, even if you were strong enough."
He sighed and dropped his head, she was right of course, he felt awful. His side hurt and even the short walks around their home wore him out. He knew the doctor's ordered a month of recovery time, his insides were still healing. But still...
"Listen to me," Rain's soft voice caressed his cheek, "Vin's in a bad place now, and he could die. But if they find out what's causing this and they can turn this around, he's still a long ways from being well. He'll be in that hospital for some time, he'll be weak, physically and drained emotionally. A trauma like this does all kinds of emotional damage. That's when he'll need his brothers. You need to get well... strong... so you can be strong for him. Okay?"
He thought on her words and wondered again how he got so lucky. She was one helluva partner and he couldn't live without her. He turned back and nodded, returning her kiss and groaning.
She pulled away, her face crossed in worry.
"What was that? Are you in pain?"
"I wouldn't be," he grunted, "If you weren't wearing that damn musk..."
She laughed and knelt up on the bed, resting her lips against his forehead. He pulled her close, burying his face in her chest, inhaling the wonder of her scent.
"I think you have a fever, Brown Sugar," She teased, pulling him off the bed, "You're gonna need to get cooled off..."
"Doctor's orders?" Nate croaked, helplessly following her towards the large shower.
"Signed, sealed and delivered," Rain returned, dropping her robe.
"Shhh... there now, tell Mollie yer troubles Lad," she finished the alcohol bath and already cleaned his tube. His coughing spasm was especially severe and he was still trembling. She lifted him forward slightly and rubbed his back, watching the tension in the waxen face. "Ye've got too many frown lines, Boy-o. Yer safe... ye just worry on breathin', I'll take care of the rest. Do ye hear?"
Vin was scared. The dark place was so cold. So very cold, more than before. Even the Angel couldn't warm him. He clung to her, he felt her near and heard her sweet voice. But he was tired and so very cold. He was truly lost and so very tired. Something was wrong and his heart was pounding. He felt like a deer with the hunters closing in... he had nowhere to go. He heard her voice again and tried to follow, but he just couldn't. He was shaking in fear... .fear of what? What was wrong?
Chris took a deep breath and inhaled the intoxicating aroma of a thousand wildflowers. The heady scent filled him, leaving him giddy and drunk in pleasure. The warm sun basked his skin and the soft earth cradled him.
"What?" He jerked, his eyes shooting open and his pulse quickening. Something ripped a hole in his paradise. He felt a horrid pain in his chest and sat up, sweat pouring freely down his body. A cold fear filled him and propelled him forward. Something was terribly wrong. His legs moved in a drunken gait, haphazardly crushing the palate of flora. The song of the river next to him turned from a happy melody to a shrieking cachophony of discord. He covered his ears, trying to block out the high shrill that sent a knife through his head. His face fell when he saw Sara again. She looked beautiful. The other side of the river was breathtaking. Nothing on earth could match the moving scenery. It brought tears of regret to his eyes. He reached out to her, trying to cross the river again, only to be met by the invisible wall.
"Sara... Sara..."
Then another sound filled him with a meloncholic ache. The sweetest sound he'd ever heard and one that he'd carry to his grave. A sound so joyful, it brought tears to his eyes - his child's laughter. Something so distinct, he could pick it out over all other voices. God, how long had it been since he'd heard that wonderous music?
"Adam?" he whispered, afraid to look. The giggling boy's voice was full of happiness and wonder. The water splashed near the magical laughter and then another voice blended with his dark-haired son's. A voice full of whimsey and mischief; a voice that alone had the power to heal his tender soul. He dared not look, afraid to see the luminous blue eyes he knew as well as his own. But the laughter was intoxicating and he turned toward the sound.
"Vin..." he gasped painfully. His best friend was romping with his son in the middle of the river. Vin had Adam upside down and was tickling him. Then he swung the small boy upwards and held him close. The two faces turned to him, each wearing identical grins. It was a sight that both filled him with joy and terror at the same time. It was at that moment, that he realized what the river represented. It was then he understood why he couldn't cross over. Vin's smile faded and he lowered Adam down. The boy scampered toward the bank, pausing knee deep.
"Come on, Vin..." the little voice lured.
Chris's heart filled with terror when Vin turned away from him, breaking their powerful link.
"No!" He screamed with such intensity it caused the younger man to jump in the water. The Texan's face changed dramatically. The mask of illness that looked at him now was pale and sickly. Dark circles rimmed his sad eyes and Chris saw him struggling for every breath. He sank in the water, it quickly rose to his neck. He closed his eyes and lifted his hand toward Adam again.
"No!" Chris dropped to his knees and reached out, the sun disappeared and the sky turned dark. Angry black clouds exploded, sending hot, hateful spewing wind in his face. The shrieking intensified and he had to scream over it to be heard. He saw Vin's hand pull back and the sad face turn towards him.
"Vin, don't go... you can't..."
"I'm tired, Chris... I can't go on... I'm tryin' Cowboy... but it's so hard... I don't know what to do..."
"Give me your hand, Vin... I can help you." Chris pleaded, watching the river drain the life from the Texan. The lips were blue and the skin tinged as well. The bloodless lips moved, but Chris couldn't hear his voice.
"Vin!" Chris screamed, fighting the wind and the rain. All the feeling he'd housed inside for his best friend, exploded, giving the air a dancing blue light. He reached his arms out and saw Vin lift his body, just as the river threatened to take him. He saw the spectre of Death hovering, waiting to claim the weakened soul.
"Fuck off!" Chris screamed at the phantom. "You can't have him. VIN! Give me your hand." He saw the head lift weakly and the pale eyes full of such despair, it lanced him. He knew Vin was fighting hard and that hurt even more. "Trust me..." He screamed and reached out. Vin's head lifted weakly and his hand moved. Chris leaned over the riverbank further, careful not to touch the water. Their fingers were just inches apart... He alone had the power to save his friend.
"Vin!"
"Jesus!" Buck jumped from his bed, nearly falling flat on his face. The room spun wildly and he grabbed the IV pole to steady himself. He drug it with him, across the tile floor to the thrashing body in the other bed. He flicked the overhead light on and saw the leader drenched in sweat. The pale face was locked in anguish, fighting a battle known only to him.
"Chris, wake up, you're having a nightmare," Buck grabbed the tossing wet head and two eyes jerked up, darting wildly around the room. The breathing was ragged and unsteady, painful even and the body was trembling. Tyrone appeared, just as Chris's right fist flew up, clipping Buck on the chin.
"What did you do?" Chris gasped, heaving painfully, trying to find some air. "I had him Buck... his hand was right here... I could have saved... I had... Dammit Buck..."
"You okay?" Tyrone pulled Buck to his feet and eased him into the chair next to Chris.
"Yeah," Buck rubbed his sore chin. The light made his headache even more painful and his throat hurt. He felt hot all over and saw Tyrone staring at him funny. Buck just shook his head and pushed the approaching hand away. "Leave it be... for now..." He saw Chris tugging at the IV and moved forward, "Hey! Cut that out...."
"Chris, if you don't calm down..." Tyrone moved quickly, trying to secure the IV line. He produced a syringe and Chris sat up and shoved the metal sidebars down, throwing his feet over the edge.
"Ahhh...." he grimaced, clutching his injured leg. The white hot pain shot through him and he wasn't prepared for it, the intensity nearly drove him back behind the black curtain.
"That's it!" Tyrone approached the IV line, only to have the syringe belted away.
"Don't fuckin' touch me!" Chris raged, "I'm not crazy or dreaming... just listen to me. I can save him. I know what's wrong with Vin. She told me... that crazy bitch." He stood, gripping the side of the bed and testing his injured leg. "Move!" Chris ordered the large body encased in a bright yellow suit. "I'm seein' him..." he declared, taking a step, only to have Buck appear.
"Chris, you got to calm down, you ain't making a damn bit of sense...."
"You take that fucked-up spaceman and get the hell out of my way!" Chris snarled, green eyes blazing. "I'm gonna see Vin and you and the whole fuckin' army won't stop me."
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