Chapter 6
Disclaimer
HEAR YE! HEAR YE! HEAR YE! As much as it pleases you good burghers of the virtual world of Fanfictionville, let it be hearby known that the author has no claim over the contents, characters or stories of Numb3rs, the hit televisual entertainment made of moving images, but has sole ownership of the characters of Alex Carter/Diane Armstrong and the story! This has been a town-cryer announcement! And now a word from our sponsors…
Warning: This story does contain some strong langauge and scenes of violence. If you're part of the moral majority and that thing gets you all hot and bothered, don't say I didn't warn you...
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David hit the double doors of the hospital ward at a flat run, panic rising up inside him like bitter bile. Megan Reeves heard the doors crash back on their hinges and spun around, startled by the excessive noise in the normally tranquil surroundings of the hospital ward. David ran towards her. She could see the desperate concern written clearly across his face. She moved forward to meet him, her arms outstretched, trying to calm him before he brought nurses and doctors running from all points due to the noise of his entrance. "David! It's okay, they're alive, Dave, their both alive!" She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight.
"What the hell happened?" David embraced her back, the physical contact as much a support for him as it was for her. He felt his legs almost buckle with relief at the news that his two friends were still alive. Megan guided him to the vinyl-covered chairs that lined the corridor and sat him down gently. David sat down and ran a shaking hand over his face, taking just a second to get his composure back. He stared at Megan intently, his brown eyes still mirrors of concern.
"We don't know for certain. Forensics are still at the scene. They were driving back from the beach, I still don't know why they were out there at that time of the morning…"
David's eyes narrowed. "I do. Diane." He hissed the woman's name through gritted teeth. "Colby said he was gonna meet with her. Don must've gone with him." Megan noticed his hands tighten into balled fists. "Christ, Meg! That bitch is freakin' toxic! Everyone she touches ends up dead or damn as near!" He took a shaking breath. "How are they?"
"Hurt. Don's resting."
"Colby?"
"He's still out cold."
"We need to talk to Don, Meg. Now…"
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Don winced as the sharp jab of pain stabbed into his side. He gingerly touched his hand to his ribs and winced again. At least two busted. He struggled to try and sit up, gritting his teeth against the wave of pain and nausea that swept through him. His eyes screwed closed in agony and he couldn't stop a grunt of pain escaping his lips.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What in the hell do you think you're tryin' to do, Don?" David and Megan moved quickly to either side of Don's bed, laying gentle but firm hands on his shoulders and easing him back down onto the pillows. Don tensed in protestation but eventually gave in and lay back with another grunt of pain.
"I'm okay, guys, really. I'm okay." Don gasped for breath as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position. His ribs hurt like a bitch…
"Yeah? That ain't what the doctor's said, buddy!" David frowned. "You're damn lucky to be alive!"
"I know, I know." Don's breathing eased and he opened his eyes painfully and looked up at David. "How's Col?"
"Still unconscious." Megan tried, unsuccessfully, to hide the concern in her voice.
"Shit…" Don covered his eyes with a hand, trying to clear his head, trying to think…
David sat down next to his boss and stared intently at him. "What happened Don? Who did this?"
"We got run off the road. A semi. Came up behind us and pushed us through the barrier. Trust me guys, this was very deliberate." Don told the two agents what had happened – the meeting with Diane, his conversation with Colby, the accident, everything. They listened to every word, taking in every detail. Eventually, Don paused. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and full of emotion. "After we landed, I knew we were both hurt, but I couldn't move. All I could think of was I could smell gasoline. I must've blacked out for a minute 'cause next thing I knew Colby was practically ripping the door off and yelling my name at me. He cut me loose from the safety belt – I reckon that was what did my ribs – and yanked me out of the car. He was covered in blood, man. I don't remember anything after that. Guess I must've blacked out again." He fell quiet, closing his eyes against the bright glare of the hospital lights.
Megan tenderly stroked his forehead and Don's eyes flickered open again. She smiled gently at him. "Granger was the one who called it in, Don. He left the phone connection on so we could trace his signal. Otherwise we would've never have gotten to you in time."
Don smiled weakly. "Someone better go sit with him in case he comes around. You know how difficult a patient he can be!"
For the first time that day, David let a small smile pass his lips. He nodded in agreement. He knew that Colby hated feeling vulnerable. "I'll go. Meg, you stay here, just in case he tries somethin' dumb like trying to sit up again, okay?"
"Do I have permission to use soft cuffs on him if he won't comply?" Megan smiled, the relief in her eyes tempered still with concern for Colby.
"Oh, hell yes!"
"Hey, right here in the room, guys!" Don grinned at their banter, but the grin turned into a grimace as another stab of pain hit him. "Seriously, guys, don't worry. I ain't movin' any time soon, okay?"
"Make sure you don't, Don. You may be our boss, but see that monitor?" He pointed at the machine by Don's bed. "That gives me and Meg a trump card over you, got it?" He turned and started to walk out of the room.
"Dave…" Don's voice stopped David and he turned back. "Diane gave Colby a phone. A black Nokia. Make sure he's still got it and then get it to me, would you?"
"Sure." David nodded and quietly left the room…
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Colby's room was silent except for the incessant beeping of a monitor. David stopped at the open door, a sickening punch of dread hitting him in the gut as he saw his best friend for the first time since the accident. The nurse had given him the Nokia and he'd delivered it back to Don. He'd resisted the temptation to wash his hands after handling the phone. It seemed to him that anything touched by Diane Armstrong was tainted – poison. Yet his friend, his partner and a man who despite being seriously hurt had thought first and foremost about the life of his boss before his own, seemed to care about her, possibly even in some strange, twisted way love her…
David moved quietly into the room and pulled up a chair next to the bed. He looked at his friend. Colby's skin had a sickly, grey pallor. A livid bruise ran across his right cheekbone, the skin around his eye already nearly black. A vicious cut ran across his forehead and over his temple, held closed with at least eight white, surgical plaster strips. His right forearm was bandaged, hiding a mass of lacerations where he had punched through the windscreen to escape the wrecked SUV. Ugly, purple bruising surrounded the cut over his temple. He knew from his brief talk with the doctors that Colby had suffered extensive bruising to his torso and had four broken ribs. David laid a gentle hand on Colby's battered shoulder. "Jesus, Colby! You gotta stop doin' this, man!"
Colby didn't respond. David sighed and sat back, resting his chin on his hand and watching the prone figure in the bed intently…
In the darkness of unconsciousness, Colby saw the images flash in front of him…
The splintering crash barrier as the SUV punched its way through, hanging for a second on the edge of the drop before tipping forward and barrelling down the slope. Like a movie-goer watching a film, he saw himself throw a protective arm across his face as the SUV lurched to the right and tipped over onto its side, rolling onto its roof and crumpling as it bounced off boulders and rocks on its relentless journey to the bottom of the slope…
The silence.
For a few seconds, Colby lay, suspended by the safety belt upside down in the car, the blood running into his eyes. He fought against the welcoming blackness of unconsciousness. If he lost consciousness now, they would both die – he could smell the gasoline already spilling out from the ruptured fuel tank of the SUV. Gritting his teeth against the agony that slammed into him, he fumbled for the release catch of the safety belt, knowing the drop would bring with it fresh pain. His hands, slick with his own blood, scrabbled at the catch and finally it gave. He dropped onto the roof of the cab with a yelp of pain, gasping as he felt the sharp stab of a broken rib jab into his skin. He called out to Don. Nothing. He reached across, dreading what he might find. Fighting against another wave of blackness that threatened to overtake him, he felt for a pulse in Don's neck. It was there. He was alive. Colby shifted his body, this time welcoming the pain to focus his mind from succumbing to unconsciousness. Memories of a burning Hummer in Afghanistan spurred him on – he was not gonna die like that, not here, not there, not ever! His deepest fear surfaced – dying trapped and helpless in a burning vehicle. This time there was no buddy to pull him out. This time, he had to get them out…
His legs were folded underneath him and the only way out was through the crazed glass of the windscreen. His door was twisted and crushed beyond any chance of opening. The adrenaline was coursing through his body; he could feel its effects giving him the ability to tap into a reserve of strength and effort that would otherwise have long since abandoned him. He let out a bellow of sheer rage as his balled fist made contact with the already weakened glass and it shattered under his blow. He felt the glass cut deep into his arm, but ignored the fresh source of pain. Withdrawing his arm through the glass, he pushed hard and the windscreen tipped out of the frame in a single, green opaque block. Still running on adrenaline and a determination to get both of them clear of a potential fireball and an agonising death, he dragged his battered body out of the car through the gaping windscreen and collapsed in a heap on the dusty ground. It wasn't enough. He knew it wasn't enough…
With a massive effort, he staggered to his feet, blinded by the blood that poured from the headwound and into his right eye. It stung. Stung like a bitch. His head span - he knew he'd taken a blow to his skull but head wounds always bled like a bastard... He took a couple of deep, shaking breaths and waited for the dizziness to subside... Supporting his shaking body by grabbing hold of the edge of the SUV, he made it around to Don's door. It was wedged. Gritting his teeth, he let out a roar of pain, effort and sheer hatred at a world that kept beating the fucking CRAP out of him and wrenched at the door, his arm muscles bulging with the strain as he hauled on the handle. The metal screamed in protest but finally gave, sending him stumbling backwards and down back into the dirt. He called out Don's name again, his voice hoarse and frantic. The smell of gasoline was getting stronger…
He staggered to his feet a second time and toppled forward, landing on his knees in the dirt next to Don's unconscious form. The safety belt was still on and Colby scrabbled at the catch. It wouldn't give. Reaching into a back pocket, he pulled out a non-FBI issue lock knife. Don had told him about carrying it before, but old habits died hard. Rangers didn't go anywhere without a battle knife of some kind… He flicked the knife open and sawed through the straps, supporting Don's head with one hand.
A flicker of flame on the underside of the SUV made him look up. He had seconds before it blew…
At last, the straps gave and Don's unconscious body slumped into Colby's waiting arms. He hooked his own, bloodied arms underneath Don and dragged him out of the car. The effect of the adrenaline rush was beginning to subside and the pain came in sickening waves now. With a final, last-ditch effort, he pulled Don clear and away from the burning car, just out of reach of the inferno that he knew was about to engulf the vehicle. He lay back on the dirt, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. Help. They needed help…
Colby reached a shaking hand into his pocket and he pulled out his cell-phone. He could barely see the screen through the blood in his eyes and the mist of pain that descended down on him. Stabbing a speed-dial number, he heard Megan Reeve's voice. Three words. Megan…Help us…
The darkness finally won and wrapped him in a comforting blanket of unconsciousness as he heard Don call out his name…
David glanced up as Colby stirred and moaned quietly. David shushed him softly. "Hey, c'mon, buddy, take it easy. Easy, big fella! C'mon, lie still, Col." Colby let out another groan and his eyes flickered open. He turned his head slowly towards the sound of David's voice. David stared into two blood-red eyes. The blow to Colby's head had caused minor haemorrhaging and his eyeballs were coated with a red layer that dulled the normally bright green eyes. David smiled warmly at his friend, his voice soft and reassuring. "Hey buddy! Welcome back! How ya feelin'?"
"Like I've been hit by a freakin' semi." Colby's voice was a hoarse whisper and filled with pain. "Oh, wait, hang on, I was hit by a freakin' semi!" He gave his partner a lopsided grin that turned into a grimace of pain.
"Take it easy, Col."
"Don…"
"…He's fine, bud. Few bruises and a couple of busted ribs, but he's gonna be just fine."
"Thank god…" Colby's eyes closed again and his breathing steadied. David let out a silent sigh of relief and patted Colby's shoulder. His friend's eyes opened again – he looked calmer now he knew that Don was alive. "Don tell ya what happened?"
"Yeah. You remember anything about the truck?"
"It was big?" Colby grinned again.
"Dude, just because you're harder to kill than a New York fucking cockroach don't mean this is a joking matter, brother!" Despite his pretend annoyance at his partner's flippancy, David felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief to see a touch of colour start to return to Colby's cheeks. "Don told me what you did. Getting him out of the car like that."
"Pure adrenaline, buddy. I promise ya. You'da done the same."
David nodded. "Goes with the job, right?" He smiled.
"You got it."
David sat back and sighed. "Okay, Col. Any ideas who our homicidal trucker might've been?"
"Man, all I remember was hangin' on for dear life when we went through that barrier. But someone knew we were on that road. Someone knew we were at the beach with Dee…oh…SHIT! DEE!" Colby struggled to sit up, gritting his teeth against the pain and making the monitor bleep urgently. For the second time that morning, David had to move quickly to stop a friend from doing themselves any further damage.
"For fuck's sake, Colby! What is with you guys?" He gently but firmly pushed his partner back onto the pillows. "You've just survived a goddamn car-wreck, dude! Just lie still, for the love of God, Granger! For all you know, that crazy bitch was probably driving the damn truck!"
"Dave, she's in trouble!"
"Col, she's…"
"…Scared, Dave, she's scared! Scared for her team, scared for everyone on that list, including me. Dave, listen to me, bud, please. She's not the bad guy here! Look. There's a black Nokia phone in my jacket. I need you to go get it for me. "
"Don's already…"
"…Called me."
Diane Armstrong stood at the door of the room, flanked by two muscular men. David spun around and faced the three figures. Dressed in black fatigues and standing shoulder to shoulder, David felt a knot of dread twist inside his gut as he looked at the British ex-soldiers. It was like coming face to face with three really, really pissed off Dobermans – the wave of menace making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Colby felt David's fingers tense on his shoulder. He smiled inwardly to himself. Yeah. Coming face to face with three of the finest soldiers in the world had that kind of effect on people…
TBC…