The One With the Gun
Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.
Don't you understand what I'm trying to say?
And can't you feel the fear that I'm feeling today?
If the button is pushed, there's no running away.
There'll be no one to save with the world in a grave.
Fom Eve of Destruction by Barry Mcguire
Chapter 4 Lost, Now Found
There's another moan. It definitely came from the abandoned Pinto.
Thank God!
"Hold on, buddy! I'm coming!" I pick my way to the end of the shelves and turn the corner. Making my way between the car and the metal shelving unit, I fume at the condition my clothing will be in by the time we get out of the garage. I know it's a selfish thought . . . after all, my best friend is in here and I know I'd search a landfill site to make sure he was safe . . . and he'd do the same for me.
Reaching the rear of the car, I peer in the hatchback window to see Murdock squinting up at me. Am I relieved? Yes, but he doesn't look right. Something is very wrong. Something beyond the split lip, bloodied nose and purpling bruises around his eye and on his cheek.
I tuck my gun in my waistband and try the latch. The hatch opens with a protesting creak.
How did they manage to cram him in there so tightly?
"Shouldn'ta . . . come . . . " he mutters. He squirms ever so slightly, as much as the small space and his bound hands and feet allow him to move. Gasping out a pained breath, he repeats the first word. "Shouldn'ta . . . "
Just like Murdock to insist on everyone else's safety except his own. How do I answer him?
"Well, I did and we'll be out of here soon enough," I respond, my fingers already busy cutting the ropes around my friend's wrists and ankles.
"No . . . don' . . . " Murdock swallows then, squeezing his eyelids tightly shut. "Bomb . . . "
Bomb? Where? How much time do we have? Doesn't matter. I'm not leaving him.
The single word threatens to freeze my efforts to free him. Cursing silently, I squelch my sudden panic and saw even more savagely at the ropes.
If it hasn't gone off yet, maybe we have some time. Or maybe they didn't know what they were doing.
Yeah, right. We could be so lucky.
"Face! Murdock!" That's Hannibal. From the sound of his voice, he knows the danger we're all in. He's at the door I used to enter the garage.
"Here, Colonel!"
There's movement, crashing sounds as Hannibal hurries toward us. He appears at my side just as the last rope falls away from Murdock's ankles.
"Come on, Captain. Let's get you out of here before this whole place goes up." The Colonel is already pulling Murdock's legs out of the car and draping his arm over his shoulder.
"Go! . . . Leave . . . me . . . " My buddy's slurred words end with a sharp cry of pain as the Colonel extracts him from the tight compartment.
"We go out together, Captain," Hannibal mutters, reaffirming to Murdock as well as to me that he has no intentions of leaving a man behind, even to save his own life. My friend groans a protest and sucks in a breath as his abdomen uncurls from the position it has been in for . . . how long now? Maybe from the moment they forced him to make the call to the van?
No time to figure out where he's injured or how badly. No time . . .
And that thought drives everything but the task of getting all of us out of there from my mind. I can see from Hannibal's temporary disregard for Murdock's outcries that his training has kicked in as well. Now to find a way through all this junk to safety. And hope we make it in time.