Chapter Eleven: Fears
Angela elbowed and pushed her way past the crowd of reporters and onlookers. She worriedly scanned the swarm of Good Samaritans and medics, hoping to catch a glimpse of Brennan , J.C, or even Booth. Her eyes picked up on a familiar face, and Angela felt her heart plummet to her feet.
"Oh, sweetie!"
She ducked under the yellow tape, ignoring the cries of protest from police officers. Brennan on the other hand , was oblivious to the world around her as she supported an injured woman with her left arm, and a little boy with her right. Just as she was about to slip and fall, Angela caught her.
"Oh my God, Bren, let me help!"
Brennan lifted her eyes, exhaustion clearly taking a toll. Her face and clothes were covered with the blood of others. Angela spotted scratches and minor cuts from digging in the rubble along with torn clothes. Brennan let Angela take the crying little boy from her arms, murmuring, "Thanks, Ange."
Once the two were given to medics, Angela brought Brennan to a curb to rest.
"Tempe, take a break, please," Angela urged.
"Wait, what are you doing here?"
"To make sure you were alright…you look like absolute hell."
"There's so many more people. The damage on the outside doesn't look that bad, but because the blasts came from within, it took out more levels, andIcan'tgetaholdofBooth--" Brennan started panicking.
"Whoa, slow down," Angela fretted.
"Rationally, Booth would be here by now. Even if he made I all the way to the Bestings, he would have heard about the bombs and come back here. No one knows where he is," Brennan said darkly.
Angela placed an arm around Brennan's shoulders.
"It's going to be okay," she tried. "Booth can look out for himself."
"I'm…Ange, I'm scared."
Angela looked at her friend with sympathy and shared fear.
"I know. I know, Tempe."
Booth felt water trickling down onto his face, but didn't bother opening his eyes. The water was probably turning into mud anyway from the dust and blood.
But I'm really thirsty…won't matter soon anyway.
His eyes snapped open. What was he thinking? He didn't want to die, he couldn't. He'd been in some bad places before, but he always survived. But this…this seems different.
"Need to call…" he muttered weakly to himself. He went to push the redial button, but stopped. She hung-up last time. Or was that a dream? If he could have shaken his head, he would have. He couldn't remember. Maybe I'm dreaming now…
Booth opened his eyes again, this time the water wasn't splashing his face anymore. He sighed, knowing that his continued blackouts were a bad sign. He needed medical help, soon. He went to dial the number again but discovered he had dropped the cell during his last bout of delirium. It was now out of reach.
Great.
Booth tried pushing the drywall and debris off him, but only accomplished wasting what little strength he had left. The phone lay a few inches past his hand, mocking him. His eyes traveled to his outstretched hand and grimaced when he saw extensive burns. Where the hell did those come from? He also saw a large pool of blood under his leg, and watched with a dull fascination as it swallowed little pieces of plaster. At least he didn't feel his broken arm anymore…
So this is how it's gonna be. Waiting to die. How could have things come to this?
"You ignored the letter," he muttered. The one that point-blankly said he would meet Kay-Anne Boome again.
But what about the others? Jake Graceland, Carla Summers, the attempt on Zoey Arnolds, Jeff Hastings, Abigail Mohn, and Tanya Bestings? What do they have to do with me?
"Everything…" he answered himself.
They were killed to get to me. To draw me out. She's probably watched me this entire time, waiting for the right moment. Who the hell is she anyway? What would Kay-Anne have to do with Wycliffe anyway? He's been dead for years, one of my first cases. And holy hell, I think I'm going to throw-up…
Booth was overcome with dizziness and a sickening grip on his stomach. He was able to turn his head before vomiting, his ribs wracking.
"Oh, God," he choked out.
No way in hell am I gonna die now. Too many things left unfinished. Too many people left behind…he needed to get a hold of Brennan so she could send for help.
"This is gonna hurt," he groaned.
He tensed, his arm outstretched and reaching for the phone. With his last ebb of strength, he jerked his upper body toward the cell, causing his broken arm to grind against the ground, the nerves and torn tendons tearing against each other. Booth screamed in pain as his hand clamped down on the cell. Shaking violently, he brought the phone to his chest where he would not lose it again.
"Okay," he wheezed, darkness creeping onto his vision. He dialed Brennan's number. "Come on, Bones, pickup…"