Rescue and Waiting

Brighton Complex

"GOT HIM!" Spike held the thermal imager, his eyes widening as he realized just where Sam was located.

Ed trotted over. "Where?"

"Up there … halfway between the third and fourth floors, behind the new bricks." Spike swallowed as he met Greg's gaze. "If they hadn't smashed the vent at this point to fit behind this wall, Sam would've fallen to the ground floor."

"Small favor," Lou said as he moved a desk over to the wall. "Where's the fire crew? We're gonna need a sledgehammer to knock down these bricks."

"ETA five minutes," Winnie called over the headset.

"Not waiting that long," Ed growled as he began searching for anything heavy he could use ... coming up empty, finding only staplers, monitors, pencils, chairs … nothing which would break through.

Wordy ran in with Jules trailing him a few minutes later wearing a grin. "Decided this might come in handy." He jumped up on the desk with the rammer he typically used to bust down doors. Putting all his effort into his swings, Wordy aimed for below where Spike indicated Sam's body was wedged … he didn't want to cause further injury.

Ed joined Wordy when the entry specialist began dripping with sweat. The building was just as hot now as it had been when they were here an hour ago. They took turns ramming the brick wall, and pieces began crumbling.

"STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING THIS INSTANT! YOU ARE RUINING MY WALL!" Mr. Frankston yelled as he entered the room.

Greg moved to intervene with the building's manager, firmly gripping his arm and maneuvering him out to the hallway. "My officer is trapped. Perhaps you should go to your office and prepare for the planning commission's inquiry as to why the vertical ductwork was left off your blueprints."

"THE CITY MUST PAY—"

"Please lower your voice. What the city will and won't do isn't up to me. Saving the life of a respected SRU constable is my paramount concern … as it should be yours too. A wrongful death suit filed by his family would likely be more costly than a brick wall." Greg eyed the flustered man as he reeled and stepped back a few feet. As the fire rescue crew stepped off the elevator carrying their equipment, Greg called out, "Over here. This way."

Team One stood back as the firemen finished knocking down the wall, ripping the plaster wallboard out, sending dust in all directions. One man started up a handheld circular saw to cut the vent below Sam's position. Then another used metal snips to cut open the metal near Sam. The blood which ran out when they reached thigh level caused them to blanch.

The paramedic moved in to assess the wound, applying a pressure dressing, then stepped back to allow the rescue men to finish extracting his patient. The team desired to help, hated standing by, but just as they would want other first responders to allow them to do what they were trained for without interference, they figured the fire crew and medics felt the same way. And besides … Sam deserved the care of people trained in rescue.

Once he was strapped to a backboard and lowered onto the gurney, a flurry of medical terms they didn't comprehend filled the air. What they did understand was his temperature was too high … as evidenced by the medics efficiently removing his tactical gear, and cutting off his clothing before placing cold packs on his groin, in both armpits, and the back of his neck.

Captain McKay approached them with Sam's gear. "Sergeant Parker, I believe you will want custody of these."

Greg nodded as Ed took the vest, handgun, and Remi. "What hospital will he be transported to?"

"Toronto General, I suspect. It is the closest trauma center."

"Thank you for getting Sam out for us."

McKay took off his helmet and ran a hand over his sweaty brow. "How long was he trapped?"

Guilt gnawed at Greg. "Trapped about an hour … but he was in the vents for a little over five."

"You're damned lucky he is even alive. How the hell he lasted that long we may never know." McKay nodded to the rest and rejoined his men to gather their tools, as the paramedics began pushing Sam out the door.

Brad turned back and asked, "Who can provide us emergency contact details?"

"That would be me," Greg said as he moved forward. He pivoted back to his team. "I'll call once I know anything. We're off shift as of now. Holleran will want a full inquiry. I suggest you each write out your statement before heading home." Jogging after the gurney, Greg said over the comms, "Winnie, send me an electronic version of Sam's personnel file."

Jules dropped onto a chair, swiping aside the wet bangs plastered to her forehead. "We really screwed up."

"Ya think?" Spike retorted. His face awash in guilt, Spike turned to Ed. "Think Sam will ever forgive us?"

"Me … this is on me. I'm team leader." Ed clenched his fists as the image of a pale, dry, and bloody Braddock filled his mind.

"Not only you. We are a team. We all own a part of this." Wordy leaned on a desk as his eyes roved over the area Sam had been trapped in. Anger welled, and he strode over, picked up the rammer, and slammed the wall several times, bringing down more bricks.

Jules stared at her hands in her lap, covered with glue and dried blood. Sam's blood. "This is my fault. Sam was my partner today. He is the rookie. My job to cover my partner's six. I failed."

Lou's hand landed on Jules' shoulder, and he squeezed. "We share the locker room with him … you don't. One of us guys should've realized when he wasn't there."

Realizing he must take charge, as much as they all wanted to wallow in self-recrimination, Ed clapped his hand once, and strode over to Wordy, stilling his assault on the defenseless wall. "Time to go. You heard Boss. We go back, write out our statements, then we all head to the hospital. We can figure out how to make this up to him as a team … six heads are better than one."

Spike sighed and spoke softly, "Seven … teams are seven."

Jules stood and stomped out, fighting the urge to let tears fall as the number seven swirled in her head. After Rollie left, her mind thought of the team as six … not seven. She couldn't believe she had become so calloused to disregard a teammate so completely … even if he kept trying to hit on her … starting from the first time she set eyes on Braddock.

At a slower pace, the remaining members of Team One filed out. Wordy still had not spent his anger, so he chose to take the stairs, following Jules. Shel would be so disappointed in him when he told her what happened. He prided himself on being kind to the underdog, but in this case, he failed miserably, and he couldn't figure out why.

Ed followed Wordy's lead but for a different reason … being confined in the square box of the lift would be too claustrophobic and too close to what Sam must've experienced in the ducts. He needed to clear his mind if he was going to fix his screw up.

Riding down in the elevator with only Lou, Spike turned to his best friend, his face beseeching, "I laughed at him. From day one, I treated Sam like he was a joke. When Ed sent Sam on the coffee run at the hospital, I chuckled. Why? That isn't me. Why did I treat him different?"

"Don't have an answer for you. I'm asking myself the same question. Perhaps it is how he was placed … tops down … but if he weren't qualified, Holleran never would've put him on Team One."

Spike leaned on the rail. "Sam never answered why he left the military. Why would a hot-shot JTF2 soldier join an SRU team?"

"Again … no answer. And truthfully, it is none of our business." Lou watched the number two button light, the heat stifling. "I'm more interested in how the heck he survived five-plus hours in this heat."

Spike released a loud vocal breath. "Two tours in Afghanistan might've conditioned him to the heat."

"Perhaps."

The doors opened, and waiting for them were Jules, Wordy, and Ed. Words were not needed to convey that the three would not leave until they knew every last member would make it out … and Spike and Lou didn't somehow, someway end up stuck in the damned elevator. They marched out as five-sevenths of a team, each one intent on writing their report as fast as humanly possible so they could go to the hospital.

Toronto General – Waiting Room

Greg sat with his elbows on his thighs, head in his palms. His call to Commander Holleran an hour and a half ago had been painful … admitting his abject failure. He wasn't certain how to take the fact Holleran had not yelled … only quietly informed him he would contact Sam's family and Team One was off rotation until further notice. By all rights, Holleran should file a formal reprimand and Greg would accept a demotion and even being relieved of his shield without a single rebuttal if that is what Holleran chose to do.

A young man was now in the emergency room, fighting for his life because he utterly failed him. During the ride over, Greg did catch an understand some of the medical jargon. Heat stroke. Possible brain damage. Laceration of the right thigh. Excessive blood loss. Dehydration. Potential compression trauma to the left hand. His rookie was left-handed, and if the damage was permanent, Sam's career might be over.

He racked his brain and came up blank with a solid reason why he forgot Sam. Something must be figured out so no SRU team would ever experience this type of failure again. Sam had been with them for only three weeks … eleven, twelve-hour shifts … he didn't deserve to be forgotten. In fact, they all should've been more vigilant as they would've been with any other rookie.

Instead, they treated him shabbily. In his time with SRU, Sam received only five hours of team training, though he only struggled with negotiation. Not unexpected given his military background. His first hot call … an almost disastrous result when Sam sent the heart up. Not Sam's fault. Ed should've never sent him for coffee when he became irritated by Sam's full-bore tactical suggestions. Also, not surprising since Sam was a JTF2 sniper.

One tragic warrant call, when an innocent teen was killed by the drug dealer … also not Sam's fault, though Ed took his anger and frustration out on Sam. Yeah, he was privy to what Sam shared. Heartbreaking, but he never took the time to talk to Sam about being the one to shoot his best friend. Like Ed, he turned a blind eye when he should've probed to understand Sam's state of mind … to get to know him, and maybe to help ease his pain and the transition.

The only things Greg knew for certain about Sam were, he was one hell of a sniper, he was a terrible swimmer, and he wouldn't hesitate to take a Scorpio shot, even if it made him complicit in suicide by cop. In retrospect, George was determined to get the money for his ailing wife, and would've fired at him to ensure they killed him … so Sam saved his life that day and he never even thanked him. So wrapped up in his own mind about where he lost connection with George, he didn't bother to find out if Ed briefed Sam on the SUI process, or followed up with Sam after the lethal to ensure he was handling things okay.

"Braddock. Family of Braddock."

Greg lifted his head and spied a man wearing scrubs. He stood and went to where he waited. "I'm Sergeant Parker. Constable Braddock is a member of my team. His family isn't here …" Greg trailed off, Holleran hadn't called to inform him if Sam's parents were coming. He doubted they lived in Toronto because surely if they did, they would be here by now. Perhaps Sam doesn't have family, wait, no, Holleran said he would contact them.

Dr. Sawyer nodded. "I can tell you he is stable. We lowered his temperature, but he has not regained consciousness yet, so we are unable to assess his condition fully. The laceration to his thigh is not the only one, but it is the only significant one. I assume his vest prevented cuts to his torso, but his right arm sustained superficial cuts."

Greg interrupted. "The gash on his leg … how bad is it?"

"Deep. Required internal and external sutures. Until he wakes, we won't be able to tell if he sustained any nerve damage. Likewise, with his left hand. I'm told it was wedged in tight and the lack of circulation might pose an issue, but time will tell. The blood loss and dehydration we corrected … he is still receiving the transfusion and fluids. We will be moving him up to the fifth floor shortly. The nurses will provide you the room number once assigned. Are there any other questions I can answer at this time?"

"Will he be allowed visitors?"

"Yes, but it is wise to keep the number down. When he wakes, if he wakes—"

"Wait … if?" A knot the size of a basketball formed in the pit of Greg's stomach.

"Prolonged exposure to high temperatures and a core body temperature of one hundred four or above can lead to coma and even death. At this time, I am not classifying his unconscious state as a coma. His body underwent excessive stress and needs time to recover. We will be monitoring him closely and providing your officer with the best care possible."

"Thank you, Doctor." Greg remained where he stood as the doors to the ER treatment area opened and closed after the doctor exited. Ten minutes later, the rest of his team found him still there, staring blankly at the wall.

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AN: Now I haven't decided whether Sam's dad is going to be nice or mean ... part of me wants to explore a world where Sam is on the outs with his dad and the team steps in to defend him. My muse is noodling on various options for the next chapter. Weigh in if you want me to go one direction or another.