WARNING: Some language and main character death. It's a morbid one, folks.
Disclaimer: I own Nada.
NO REST FOR THE WEARY
The bright white headlights illuminated the road in front of the speeding van. The dashboard clock read 2:20 am. The rest of the Team were blissfully asleep. But here he was, driving.
As they travelled along the highway, B.A noticed that they were very much alone. There were no other vehicles behind them or ahead of them, no cars going in the opposite direction, either. The emptiness unnerved him, but he also enjoyed it; it meant he could go a little faster without getting into trouble, and that was what he needed right now, to gain speed, so that he could also get some well needed rest himself.
Staying up for 72 straight hours really messes with the psyche. B.A wondered how Murdock was holding up, him being king of the Nuts and all. It was kind of like almost being drunk, he thought, even though he couldn't really remember the last time he had gotten drunk and what it was like. He was just assuming this was the sensation. B.A was tempted to pull over and try to lessen the drowsiness that was steadily increasing, but he thought it would be more sensible to continue the lengthy journey.
The quiet snoring emanating from the back seats drifted into his ears. Eyelids as heavy as anvils, he tried to concentrate on something other than the unconscious men around him. They were driving along a bridge now, quite high up, with black, rippling water below them. What was also turning black was his vision, blurring around the edges even more with every blink. He just wanted so desperately to be asleep.
The more he tried to concentrate on the sound of the motor, the more his brain was consumed by thick, intense fog. It became harder and harder just for him to keep his eyes open, and as the comforting pur of the engine lulled him into unconsciousness, he felt his grip on the steering wheel loosen, the van swerve slightly, and an overpowering pitch-blackness swallow him whole.
"B.A?" A voice called. "I think he's comin' 'round."
It was faint and unclear, he couldn't tell whom the voice belonged to. It had a twang of worriesome Texan to it. He also heard a sudden yelp of pain sounding to his right. The last thing he remembered was driving... that was it, nothing else. He felt cold and damp, like he'd been dunked in the ocean.
Trying to open his eyes, he groaned and pushed through the headrush that came afterwards. He was lying down on a beach of some sort, clothes drenched to the core. The sun was just starting to peel from behind the clouds. Things were still a little blurry, but he could make out someone lying next to him. The figure was clutching their leg, there was blood, a lot of it. The Sergeant quickly screwed his eyes shut.
"Face, don' move 'round so much." The voice slured tiredly. It sounded exhausted.
"It hurts, Murdock." Another voice said
"I know it does, but try t' keep still, 'kay? Jus' fer a lil' while..." The first voice faded away quietly.
B.A fought his way into lucidity and realised that Face was injured. His dark eyes snapped open once again, despite them wanting to stay closed. The first thing he noticed was that Murdock was passed out on the ground. His cap was missing and his clothes and hair were soaked through. The Pilot's chest was heaving up and down at a tremendous speed.
"B.A?" Face utterered a pained whisper.
The Mechanic's head whipped around and he began to examine the Lieutenant carefully. There were large shards of glass stuck in his shin. B.A was shocked.
"How come the fool didn' do somethin' 'bout this while I was out?" He asked.
"Don't blame him, it's not his fault-"
"Your leg is torn up!"
"He saved us, B.A," the Conman hissed. "We would have died had he not shot through the windshield and got us out."
The Sergeant was lost. "What?"
Face sighed heavily as B.A gently took out the glass shards. "The van went over the side of a bridge. You, Hannibal and I were unconscious, Murdock, thank God, was awake. As soon as we hit the water, he shot through the windshield and pulled you and I out..."
B.A watched as the Lieutenant's face twisted in pain, though it wasn't psychical.
"What about Hannibal?" He asked.
Face lowered his head.
"No..."
"Hannibal's seat belt... it was jammed-"
"No!"
"It was either all of us drowning or sacrificing him-"
"Shut up, man! He was our Colonel- our father, and you just let him drown."
"B.A,"
The Sergeant turned his head to the other voice calling him.
"I had t' do it," Murdock uttered, slowly crawling on his hands and knees towards the two other men. "I had t'. We would've all died. Hannibal would'a wanted it this way."
B.A would have punched the Pilot if he wasn't feeling so weak. The most he could do was crawl towards him and clutch his damp jacket collar. "I can't believe you. We're a Team; all for one remember? Never leave a man behind."
The Captain's eyes narrowed and his lip flared dangerously. "Don't you dare try sendin' me on a guilt trip, B.A. Don't be givin' me that bullshit."
The Pilot pushed the bigger man away from him, and though it was a pathetic and weak push, it was still a sign of aggression towards B.A.
"Man," he spat, "You really are insane."
A minute of awkward silence passed before a sharp cry of pain from Face sent both men rushing over to him. Murdock threw his jacket on the ground and ripped some material from his flannel shirt to use as a bandage for Face's leg. B.A continued to remove the glass.
After a couple of moments, they sat back and scrutinized their handy work. It wasn't the best patch-up they had done but it would do for now.
"Where are we, anyway?" Face asked.
"I don't know; I can't remember." Mumbled the Sergeant.
The Conman gave a curious glance over to Murdock, who was facing away from them. Face noticed that he was shaking.
"You cold, buddy?" He called to him as nonchalant as he could muster.
When he didn't receive an answer, he scooted nearer to the Captain and realised that Murdock wasn't shivering, he was sobbing.
"It's all my fault," he choked out. "I murdered 'im, I let 'im drown."
Face rested a hand on his shoulder but Murdock shrugged it off. His brown eyes, filled with a thousand sorrows, stared at the water tiredly. He sighed and rested his forehead on his knees. "I killed 'im, Peck. I let 'im die."
"But you saved us, Murdock. Like you said, Hannibal would have wanted it this way." The blonde tried the assure him.
He just shook his head. "It should've been me," he whispered in that broken, husky voice of his.
Face couldn't quite hear him properly. "What?"
"IT SHOULD'VE BEEN ME, GOD DAMMIT!" Screamed the Pilot.
The Lieutenant scooted back at the Captain's outburst and continued to keep his distance when Murdock released a stricken howl. He cried and shrieked and throttled about on the ground like a possessed man. B.A just looked on, acting like his friend's fit was a normal occurrence.
Face, shocked at B.A's cold demeanour, hissed at him. "Aren't you going to do something? He'll hurt himself."
"Not my problem," the Sergeant grumbled and folded his muscular arms across his now gold-less chest.
"Are you serious?" Face spat, "You're acting like a little kid!"
"Really? I'm actin' like a lil' kid? I'm not the one throwin' a temper tantrum, am I? He is!" The Mechanic argued.
"Fine, you carry on being stubborn, B.A. I'll go and help out our friend." Said the Lieutenant angrily.
He crawled as best he could over to the squirming Pilot and threw an arm over his shoulder and another over his stomach and began to rock him back and fourth. The hellish, agonised screams stopped, but the hysterical sobbing continued.
It was late. Probably 3 in the morning, and for some strange reason B.A couldn't sleep. He was still dead tired, his eyelids drooped heavily but they wouldn't close. His body felt like an anvil. His head was pounding. His heart was racing.
He looked around him slowly. Face was out like a light, he could hear his snoring as clear as day. Murdock was awake, he assumed. He wasn't exactly sure, because the Pilot was just lying there, dull, brown, lifeless eyes focused on the stars above. He hadn't even blinked for a good 20 minutes.
B.A shuddered.
How was it that only a day ago, Murdock was full of all this life and energy, and now he was as still as a stone. B.A wasn't an expert in psychology but he guessed that the weight of the past few hours had come down on top of the Pilot like a load of bricks.
But, he shrugged off the psychological problems that consumed the Captain and finally closed his eyes, drifting off into an uneasy sleep.
A scream. Was it Murdock again? It sounded like Face.
B.A awoke with a start. It was morning. The previous day, they had decided that in the morning they would set off and try to find someone to help them. So B.A lifted himself up from the ground and stretched his aching muscles.
He heard the shuddering breath of Face somewhere to his right and walked over to him. Face was crouched into a little ball, his hands raking through his damp, blonde locks.
"What's wr-" B.A was cut off.
The Lieutenant shuffled out of the way and covered his eyes with his fingers.
There was a note, written crudely in the sand.
Went to go find Hannibal. See you soon.
There was a moment of silence before B.A registered what the Pilot had done.
"He... but..." The Mechanic stuttered.
"I know," whispered the Lieutenant sadly.
And he realised, as he cried out in anger and guilt, that it was his fault.
He should have pulled over when he could have. It was his decision, his choice, and he blamed Murdock for the death of Hannibal, even after he saved them all from drowning.
It was his fault Murdock had done what he did. B.A had filled him with shame, driven him towards complete and utter insanity, for something he hadn't even done.
And it was his fault that they were on this little piece of land, two of their own family gone.
Dead.
And that's when the weight of the whole world crashed down on him, and he broke.