Chapter 1: Terror
The sound of sirens ripped through the air, jolting Tony from his thoughts. He spun around in his seat to see what was going on, and then swore under his breath. Four ambulances were ripping at top speed towards him.
He glanced around and promptly swore again. The street was bumper to bumper with early morning commuters on their way to work, which meant very little room for maneuvering into another lane.
"Come on, someone run the red light!" It was stupid, but it was procedure. If an ambulance was coming and you were stopped at a red light with no other maneuvering room, you were basically supposed to head out into the intersection or the ambulance would do that for you by pushing your bumper. He'd seen it happen before in Philly and had no desire to be on the receiving end.
Thankfully, some of the other vehicles ahead of him seemed to be aware of it as well, because they started pulling out. Tony hit the gas as soon as he could, already feeling the shove of the first ambulance's front bumper. "All right, all right, give me a break." He followed the other vehicles across and pulled over, watching as the four ambulances went screaming past. No, five. No, make that six. Two more had pulled out while he was fighting with traffic. Tony hesitated, wondering whether or not to follow. He was already running late and he knew Gibbs would have his hide for it, but if there were that many injured it might not hurt. Tony nodded grimly and decided to take his chances, before pulling into gear and pressing grimly on the gas.
Three corners later he realized he didn't have to make the choice. The ambulances were pulling into the Navy Yard. Feeling sick, Tony pulled up to the checkpoint behind them.
"What's going on, Lieutenant?"
The young woman handed him back his I.D., her face pale. "Shooting at the NCIS bulding."
Tony stared at her. "How bad?"
0
Ziva pulled her knees up closer to her chest and struggled to hold back a moan. One hand raked at the carpet, while the other pressed against the blood-soaked holes in her stomach.
The shooting appeared to have stopped--at least, she wasn't hearing shots anymore. All she could hear were groans and labored breathing from the other victims around her.
Other victims. Her training dictated that she should be caring for them first. Mossad Officers were taught to ignore their own pain. She pushed one hand against the carpet, gritting her teeth, and attempted to lift her torso up.
"Aaah!" White hot pain ripped through her stomach at the movement and her limbs gave out. Mossad Officers were not taught to fight through agony like this. A low whimper sounded in her throat.
She tried to curl up closer, desperate for relief. A movement at the window caught her eye and she looked over. Two bees appeared to be quarreling over a blossom on the tree outside the window. If she'd had enough strength she would have smiled.
She kept her eyes riveted on the window as tears trickled down her cheeks. Help would come soon. It had to.
