PART II

"…have an officer down…"

Officer down. Bad. If they were close by, they should respond.

"…rush the bus. Suspect seen fleeing towards…"

Or they could go after the suspect. Unless there was a black and white closer? They should radio.

"…out."

They should radio. Someone should radio. Where was the radio…?

He realized, with a sense of faint surprise, that he wasn't reaching for the radio, wasn't actually moving. In fact, he seemed to be pinned down, held in place by a broad steel band that kept tightening around his head. Which made no sense, if they were driving…muddled, he lifted his hand to feel the band, to maybe loosen it and see what was going on. His hand seemed weak and uncoordinated though, wandering aimlessly until something grasped it and pushed it gently back down.

"…easy. Don't touch that. There's an ambulance on the way."

Yeah. The bus - he'd heard. Officer down. They should…he tried to reach for his head again, to rub the crushing weight away so he could think more clearly. His hand was stopped again and, frustrated, he tried to lift his other hand instead. Oddly, he couldn't find it. His heart thumped loudly. There was nothing where it should be, just empty air…

Okay. Okay, this was a nightmare, that was it. All he had to do was wake himself up and everything would be fine. He inhaled a slow, careful breath, drew in a lungful of - something - and coughed. That sent a blade slicing through his head, so ferocious that for a second darkness plucked at him again and he groaned aloud before he could stop himself, arching his back against it.

"Ssh, ssh, easy, now - help's on the way. Just try not to move."

Try not to move. That was pretty funny, considering that he couldn't move, but a few of the broken shards of memory were starting to fit together and after a second he licked his dry lips and offered tentatively, "…Cheryl…?"

"Yeah, that's right." Something caressed his cheek lightly, and even though it sent a ripple of pain through his scalp, it felt good. "You just relax, okay?"

Another of couple of bits of memory swam to the surface and he coughed again to clear his throat. Man, the air was bad in here. "Drummond…?"

There was a pause, but the light, rhythmic motion against his cheek continued. "They're looking for him. He can't get far."

He hissed his disappointment, trying to shift into a more comfortable position. It was just starting to come to his attention that he was lying at an awkward angle, almost upside down, a series of hard projectiles poking into his back at regular intervals. Something else flashed into his memory and he made a move to sit up.

"Hey - " The hand left his cheek and pressed gently just below his clavicle instead. "I said easy. I'm already going to catch it with some paramedic for shifting you without a cervical collar so don't make it any worse, okay? You just looked so uncomfortable…"

The word "uncomfortable" was such an understatement of what he was feeling that Steve felt inclined to laugh, but that would require more energy that he had available. Besides, there was a funny note lingering in Cheryl's voice, despite her efforts to disguise it, that gave him pause. He tried to twist his head, to relieve some of the burgeoning agony there, grew still again as the clamor inside his skull rose to a roar. "My …gun…" he choked.

"I have your gun. " Cheryl seemed to understand what he was asking. "He must not have seen it on the stairs. Guess we got lucky."

This time Steve did laugh, an abrupt, strangled sound that pierced his brain like a dagger. He groaned again, trying to twist away from the pain.

"There, you see? I told you not to move. I'm trying to keep some of the bleeding down here, so it would really help if you would keep still."

This time he obeyed, drained from his efforts to focus. He licked his lips again, letting the memories of the past hour flicker through his mind. "Bagged…the weapon…?"

He heard Cheryl sigh. "No. Not yet. I was a little busy with you. The crime scene team will take care of that, I promise. They should be here soon."

Cheryl's voice had an edge to it. She sounded nervous and upset, so he tried to push down the other questions that were prodding at him. He coughed again. The air in here was so…suddenly remembered his leg. "Oh. I think -" he gave an experimental pull, to see if it was still trapped. A sickening fist gripped him, squeezing, digging in sharp talons, swallowing him, and everything went black again.

000

When he came round again, he couldn't tell how much time had passed, but he thought not more than a minute or two. He heard Cheryl barking something into her phone again, something about ETA, but she must have seen or felt him shift because she stopped talking abruptly and turned her attention to him.

"Hey. See what I mean about not moving? Do you ever listen to anybody?"

He started to nod, but even with his eyes closed the world slewed into a wild, vertiginous spiral and he stopped, reaching for his head again. His hand was knocked away.

"I said not to touch that. See what I mean? You don't listen."

"Do." He couldn't imagine why he was arguing about it. He tried to focus on feeling his foot, but didn't try to pull on it again. "Can't - get it free."

"I know. Me either. It's - well. Needs a professional. They'll be here in a minute."

The air was heavier than ever, sitting leaden in his lungs. It had an odd, pungent tang to it - familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. "What's - that - smell…?"

There was a longer pause. "Which one? It's a pretty aromatic place."

The words were light, but there was that odd note in Cheryl's voice again. He tried to squint open his eyes to study her face, but even the faint glimmer of light available stabbed at them, blinding him, and he closed them quickly again. Hot in here. He didn't really remember it as being so hot before. "Help me…sit up?"

"Steve, I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Please…" He was upside down - sort of - stretched out along the steps head downward as he must have fallen when he was struck. His awkward position made the blood pound in his temples and the shattered stair gouge into his leg against the drag of his weight. "I - " He tried to sit up again, but he would never be able to pull himself up against gravity without help - not in his current condition. All those stomach crunches for nothing.

"All right, all right, all right - just let's do it nice and slow or you'll pass out again. And if the paramedic asks, I found you like this."

"Deal." The word got swallowed on a grunt of pain as Cheryl tried to move him forward, using the wall to help balance him. He could feel the muscles strain in the arms she had clasped around his chest and the moist heat of her breath against his cheek. She almost had him upright when his right shoulder jostled against the wall. He let out a howl as lightning struck there.

Oh, God. There was that right arm, all right. Might be better if it went away again.

"What? What? Steve, what hurts?"

It was Cheryl's frantic voice that kept him from going under this time. He slumped back against her, breathing through his mouth and through the pain, trying to make it go away or at least to ratchet it down to some manageable proportion.

"Is it inside? Are you bleeding inside?"

Unable to speak, he raised his good hand slightly to show her he was okay - at least he hoped that was what it showed her. He felt her arms tighten around his chest, her cheek press against his hair. Which couldn't be very pleasant, because now he was soaked with sweat. "S'okay…" he managed at last.

He heard her half-hysterical giggle in response, felt her the shake of her laughter where his back pressed against her.

He couldn't quite suppress a ghostly grin in response. "Know what I …mean…"

"Oh, yeah."

He felt her sink further backward, pulling him close. He tried to spare her some of his weight, but it was impossible - every ounce of strength had been sucked out of him.

"Does that feel better?"

"Mm." Except for his head. And his arm. And his stomach. But at least it took a little of the pressure off his leg. He tried to pry his eyes open again, just the slightest bit, to get a look at his arm. If it was hanging at an odd angle Cheryl would have noticed, so maybe it was just fractured? Or even bruised. The light didn't seem so oppressive this time and he blinked, trying to clear his vision. It stayed foggy, and it took him a minute to understand that that wasn't just him - a smudgy haze hung in the air. He stared at it, wondering where he'd seen something like it before.

It was hot in here. But now that his head was a little clearer, he realized that he was hotter on one side than the other - a growing, grasping heat that seemed to reach for him, almost like a living thing. The sounds were familiar, too, now that he realized that they were real and not just the blood roaring in his ears. He had volunteered to fight too many of these over the years not to recognize the sounds and smells and sensations - that realization came quickly.

The implications came more slowly. All the details of the building: the exits, the height, the tinder; wheeled in slow review in his head, ending on the broken stair, the monster that gripped his leg relentlessly in its jagged teeth.

Trying to keep his voice calm he said, "Cheryl. The building's on fire."

TBC