Death Waits In the Wings
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
Chapter 55 No Hospital
Face clasped Cyndy's hand in his as they followed Doctor Freedman up the path to the old farmhouse. He was tempted to stay out on the veranda with her. Two nights before they spent half the night watching the fireflies skim the tops of weeds and settle on the porch railings. They were so comfortable together he had not wanted to do anything more than hold her closely and breathe in the vanilla scent of her hair. He never felt that way around a beautiful woman like her.
From her worried expression most of the night, he realized Murdock was in worse condition than ever before. She was distracted throughout the opening night party and said very little to anyone.
So when they neared the farmhouse door, he leaned over to whisper in her ear. "He's tougher than he was twenty years ago, you know. A lot tougher. He'll beat this, whatever it is."
She shook her head. "He's getting worse and worse every day. He tries so hard to keep it from all of us, especially from Hannibal. But I can tell."
Face let the doctor enter the house before them. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he drew her near. "He'll beat this." He repeated it more to convince himself than to encourage her. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair as she buried her face into his shoulder and cried.
As he thought about his friend's delirium, the coughing fits that wouldn't stop, his increasingly gaunt and pale appearance, he couldn't deny what she said. His stomach knotted with the memory of the grave and what Murdock said to him when they found him. "Shoulda . . . left me 'lone. Billy said . . . it'd be alright."
It can't be that serious. I mean, he survived Nam. He's walked away from plane and chopper accidents that should've killed him. Hannibal won't let him die. We won't let him.
The farmhouse door opened and B. A. came out. Cyndy pulled away from the Lieutenant, questioning the black man with her intense gaze.
"He's been sleepin' ever since we got home. Hard to wake 'im up 'nough to get 'im inside." He stepped aside as Cyndy swept past him and into the farmhouse. The Sergeant settled himself on the porch steps and stared into the distance toward the tree line framing the farm.
"He'll be alright, B. A. I mean, you know Murdock. He just needs a lot of rest. Two more performances and then we can let him rest as much as he needs until next weekend. He'll get better." Face knew he was talking fast, saying anything to fill the silence.
When B. A. looked up, his expression was unreadable. He said nothing, just stared at him, then turned his eyes away. "Maybe you better go inside, Faceman. Help Hannibal."
"What about you?" Face paused, his hand on the door knob.
"Need some fresh air. I'll be there'n a few minutes." He heard the mumbled answer but did not see the expression accompanying it.
Probably better if I didn't.
He frowned and went inside.
Doctor Freedman and Hannibal stood together at the foot of the couch. As he moved over to sit beside his friend lying there, Face sensed he had come into a heated argument.
Cyndy perched in the kitchen chair at the head of the couch. A chipped enamel basin was on the floor beside her and she rinsed a washcloth out in the water with her uninjured hand. She folded it and gently placed it on Murdock's forehead. His eyes were closed but his lips moved as the two men argued. He seemed too weak to make his words more than a whisper.
Face met the young woman's gaze and cringed inside with the sorrow and worry he saw.
How come I didn't notice how bad Murdock's condition was getting? Was I that much in denial?
"I've observed enough of his actions backstage to know that he's very ill and should have been checked at the hospital when he first got injured." The doctor's face was flushed as he argued with the Colonel.
"And Mrs. Bartleman told you that if questions were to be asked when he was receiving that medical attention, all of us would have to leave Texas in a hurry. All of us, including him." Hannibal's eyes were flinty blue as he acknowledged Face's presence in the room with a brief nod.
"Rest alone isn't going to heal him. He shouldn't be on stage the remainder of this weekend. He should be in the hospital." The doctor crossed his arms. "What kind of leader pushes his men until they die from the effort?"
Face glanced at the Colonel. An expression of remorse made Hannibal seem ten years older than he was. Anger driving his outburst, the Lieutenant pushed himself to his feet and faced the doctor. "He's one helluva good leader. You don't know him. We do. Don't ever question his leadership. You got that?"
Hannibal silenced him with a raised hand. His gaze landed on Murdock, then on his Lieutenant. "I appreciate your loyalty, Face, but . . ."
Murdock's whispers had become a rasp. "No hospital." The three men stared at him as he repeated the words with more force. "No . . . hospital!"
Hannibal lowered his voice. "I've respected his wishes until now. Is there any way of treating him here instead?"
Even as the Colonel asked the question, Doctor Freedman was shaking his head. "What I've seen and what you've told me indicates something more than bruised ribs. It could be pneumonia but I wouldn't rule out a partially collapsed lung. If the lung was more damaged than that, he would be dead by now. The only way I can be sure is by having X-rays taken of his chest and running samples of his sputum through the lab. If it's pneumonia, the treatment depends on whether it's bacterial or viral."
B. A. entered the room, his hand clenched around a white crumpled piece of paper. When he heard the doctor's words, he stopped where he was. His other hand formed a fist.
"Crazy man don't have no choice, Colonel. Neither do we. We gotta know how ta take care of 'im."
Murdock forced his eyes open. "Help me sit up, Cyndy," he whispered. She shook her head.
He bent his arms and propped himself up on his elbows. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he glared at the doctor. "No . . . hospital. That's . . . final." His strength gave out and he fell back into the pillows. For several seconds he struggled to control his breathing before adding, "Still got more revs in this engine than ya'll think. Do what ya gotta do to keep the engine runnin' 'til this weekend's over. Then we'll talk."
Face watched in stunned silence as his best friend drifted back into a semi-conscious delirium and then sleep.
"You heard him, doc." Hannibal clenched his teeth and folded his arms, regretting the words he had to say. "How do we keep him running through the weekend?"
"Hannibal!" B. A. gripped the older man's shoulder. He glanced at the sleeping pilot and then at his CO. Dropping his hand to his side in resignation, he muttered, "Like the man said, we'll do what we gotta."
The doctor looked at each of them in turn and sighed. "If one of you gentlemen will go out to my car and get my bag, I'll see what I can do for now."
