All in a Day
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.
A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are to wonderful beta readers.
I didn't notice that gun in Sara's hands, I only learned about it later. My attention was all in the phone conversation of our captor. He was pacing nervously, waiting for the person on the other end to pick up.
"It's Marvin." He listened
"He isn't coming." Another pause, longer this time.
"I do. It will all happen as you foresaw -one way or another. At sundown, the world will rise from the ashes and we will all be rewarded." He clicked the phone off. I quickly looked away from him, fervently hoping that he wasn't going to shoot me. But he wasn't. He needed us to keep the police from shooting him. He raised his gun again.
"Move, slowly." He directed us out in the corridor. It was a grotesque and surreal at best scene -walking past Greg's body, through the waiting room, out into the corridor. I felt like being outside myself. I wasn't really afraid, it's hard to describe how it felt. I knew that the FBI would never let them get away. They had not demonstrated any willingness to negotiate as far as I could tell. The FBI would have no choice but to use force. The history of law enforcement has no shortage of hostage situations gone bad where the interventions designed to rescue the hostages ended in a bloodbath. There were significant chances that Sara and I might suffer a similar fate. I felt worse for Sara than I did for myself.
In the corridor the rest of the cultists were waiting. They looked distraught, but determined. Determined to kill and determined to die.
"We're gonna keep them up front, so they won't shoot us." Marvin laid out their strategy.
I briefly marveled at his logic which didn't include the possibility of snipers or any of the other means at the HRTs disposal. Amazing what one still thinks about in a situation like this.
The corridor seemed a lot longer than it had when the three of us had walked it down in the other direction. To me, it felt like the distant past. The thought brought Greg's death hours earlier to mind, something that I had registered but not processed. I keep thinking about the series of events that had to come together to create this outcome. Does the fault lie with me as well, for asking him to work out in the field that day? Rationally, no it doesn't. I could not know what was going to happen, so I'm innocent. But it just doesn't feel that way to me.
We were approaching the end of the corridor where we had a choice of taking either the stairs or the elevator. Our captors went towards the elevator but Marvin, who had kept in the back, stopped them.
"Not the elevator, we'd be trapped there," Marvin commanded. Now that Marks was apparently dead, he had taken charge of the remaining group. The man who was holding me at gunpoint jabbed the barrel into my back, indicating for me to head towards the door leading to the stairs. I slowly walked in that direction, scared of what was going to happen next. My experience told me that the stair well was most probably filled with agents. The cultists didn't stand much of a chance, but the problem was that in a messy bloodbath, Sara or I could easily be wounded or killed as well.
Again, it became clear that the cultists hadn't planned the hostage situation thoroughly, While the murder of Tina Rivers and the Delaney family had been premeditated, the cultists had most probably not intended to take hostages. Or if they had they at least didn't expect Marks to die before they had a chance of leaving the hospital with him. They were cornered and I was afraid that their irrational actions could cause a disastrous ending.
A narrow staircase is a huge disadvantage, limiting the view and making hiding or escape very difficult. But one way or another, they knew that they could not stay, and they had run out of options. Even if they hadn't decided to make their way out, the HRT had been on the verge of storming the building. The fact that two hostages had already been killed, that the cultists were not entering in any negotiations and the fact that another shot, the one which had killed the girl, had been fired, promoted their decision to intervene.
The HRT must have picked up our approach to their stairwell, because in that moment they stormed the corridor.
Much of what I know about what happened next is from the case reports. My own memory is sketchy, probably due to shock and the overflow of sensory inputs.
What I remember is a sudden explosion of sound and light. I hit the floor, but I don't know whether I was pushed down or ducked driven by survival instinct. The floor was cold, as odd is it may seem I remember that clearly. I also remember yelling, agents screaming commands to drop weapons. There was gunfire. I didn't think about anything that I can recall now, my only intention was not to get hit. I did think of Sara, hoping that she wasn't hit.
The noise toned down, and the gunfire had come to a halt, but still I didn't dare move. I remained frozen on the ground, until I noticed someone feeling my neck. They were probably searching for a pulse, since I was on the floor, not moving.
"I'm ok," I said and struggled to sit up, but hardly managed to do so. Partly because my arms were still tied up, and partly because my muscles simply refused to do my mind's bidding.
The paramedic had to help me sit up and cut the sheets which had bound my wrists. After the adrenaline rush of the past hours had faded I felt drained, tired and old. I barely noticed the paramedic talking. I take it that she was talking to me, but I couldn't quite get myself to pay attention.
I just sat on the floor, watching my surroundings. My mind told me that it was over now, but my feelings couldn't catch up. Too much had happened, too many things that would never be over for me. Memories live on and that's not always a good thing. The real event happens only once, but the memories can replay over and over again. That's why they are often worse than the reality.
A thought hit me, where was Sara? I couldn't see her. For a moment I almost panicked, which hasn't happened to me in more than a decade. I can't even remember the last time. It was probably in my teens. I knew that she had been behind me before the HRT had stormed the corridor. I turned around, much to the dismay of the paramedic who was trying to check whether I was all right.
To my great relief, Sara looked all right. She was being helped to her feet by a paramedic. She looked shocked and disturbed, but given the circumstances, that was to be expected. I probably didn't look any better. I started noticing the pain in my shoulders and blood on my shirt. I couldn't quite remember how that had gotten there.
"Are you in any pain, sir?" the paramedic asked me, I assume not for the first time.
"My head and my arms," I answered truthfully.
Amidst the mass of medical and law enforcement personnel populating the scene, I now spotted a familiar face. Brass was headed in my direction and he didn't look too happy.