Gravity
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A/N: So sorry for the delay, all - I meant to have this finished and posted long ago. As always, you have been the BEST readers ever and I appreciate all of the support so very much! Thank you!!
Now, without further ado... the good stuff.
Time had played a joke, had slowed itself to an incomprehensible crawl as it etched a malicious version of reality. Seconds perverted into long hours, edging deliberately by while mocking viewers with a horrific stage show of monumental proportions. Witnesses suffered the intense weight of an impending catastrophe settling into their bodies, crushing all belief in reality and deftly sieving air from lungs. Churning clouds only added to the sight, spelling out the wrath of God and discharging a furious whiteout to hinder sight and complicate matters further.
Of the hundreds of eyes that witnessed the tragedy develop, none were as sickeningly shocked as the two staring out the window of the large dump truck. Of the many spontaneous shrieks of panic that chorused around rapidly, none were as horror-struck as the one emitting from the cab.
His view of the cataclysm was clear and abysmal, and Kurt Bitterman found his heart literally stopping while he watched the events sadistically unfold. His hands, callused and worn from years of hard labor, clutched onto the cooled leather of the steering wheel with inhuman strength as he struggled to disregard what he was beholding.
Reaction effortlessly overcame reason and safety, and a heavy foot was applied to the brake, deadlocking the squealing tires as he silently begged the uncontrollable tonnage to comply with his with demands. But the unspoken plea was to no avail, and his hasty recklessness only served to send the truck spinning right into a massive slick of ice. Tires fought valiantly to grip, but instead made the situation worse by sliding along the sleek surface. The intensity of the sudden centrifugal force sent the back end of the truck into a dangerous fishtail, while the domineering bumper insisted on making a clean, clear path to his certain doom as it pushed cars unceremoniously away as though they were mere toys.
A harsh wind howled viciously, all but drowning out the shrieks of metal grinding and clashing as the substantial vehicle slid perilously across one lane...and then another. The discordant clamor of the metal fender breaking through the guardrail was chilling, but slighted by his terrified screams.
Oblivion, stretched out as the cruel drop-off beyond the flimsy rails, beckoned the heavy truck into its depths with assistance from natural force. Gravity saw fit to follow along, cruelly allowing the vehicle to plunge over the side and off of the asphalt thoroughfare...
...Right into traffic below.
His cobalt blue eyes burned fiercely, stunned body attempting to absorb and believe what played out before him. For Bosco, there was no sound to accompany the devastating images, just the bitter and deafening silence of sheer dread and shock. The sluggishness of passing time ought to have permitted the actuality of it all to sink in, but it was all entirely too much, and his breath, along with his reflexes, left him without a glance back.
No, this isn't happening, his thoughts screamed vainly. However, reality promptly crushed his foolish denial with a myriad of verifications.
The overpass, only a second before glittering cheerfully with the glint of many headlights, was now a screaming mess of angry, red brake lights and raucously flying metal. Car after car after car smashed and crashed into the one ahead, the sadistic skidding of the vehicles suggesting a strong desperation to avoid the metal monster that threatened to end all and bring assured death.
Bosco could do naught but watch in morbid fascination as the thoroughly unrestrained truck took a wicked turn towards the edge of the overpass, its cab spitefully threatening to hurtle into his lane...into him.
"Shit!" he heard someone cry, obviously terrified, but the barely audible voice was far-off and distant. "Oh my God!"
He himself would have voiced something similar if the cruelly disjointed state of his body would have permitted it, but every nerve was deadened beyond his control, leaving him feeling strangely disconnected and numb. The next second served up another heaping helping of torturous imagery, these even more frightening and atrocious then the preceding, emblazoning the next chapter of the drama with wicked glee.
Ultimately, Time righted itself and allowed natural speed to resume, intimidating him and all eyewitnesses with its callous sense of humor and melodramatic version of the Apocalypse.
Oh God, help me! he mentally sobbed -- pleading, begging. I don't want to die!
Metaphorically, it was as though a bomb had gone off, ruthlessly barraging the highway before him with steel, glass, and human beings as it exploded into a brutish fury of pandemonium. Wild, frightened shouts and the irritating screech of gnashing metal peppered the air with resonant confusion, adding a strident, unrelenting soundtrack to the performance as it sang out a mournful dirge of death. Participants in the impromptu scene acted their parts out flawlessly; creating chaotic drama that was second to none.
The direness transpiring before him instantly stole his breath and the grave magnitude of the moment won precedence over his thoughts, drawing uncomprehending panic and horror to mind.
God, no...
Recent events and long-gone memories tugged at the edge of his consciousness, suggesting the dreadful cliché of his 'life flashing before him'. If it were so, he'd be dead within moments, he was sure. The thought was too much for him to bear and his harshly constricted chest managed to tighten even more, cutting off all air.
Please...
He heard his name being called out -- by his frantic partner, he assumed -- but he was far too intent on avoiding a collision with the soaring truck to pay heed.
Against all good judgment, he wrenched the wheel to the left, knowing full well that his futile efforts to evade impact would never do.
Ty slammed deep into his seat, vainly pushing himself a few measly inches away from the horror that was sure to strike them at any moment. Evasion could never be accomplished in such a circumstance, but the will and instinct to survive was strong and listened to no reason.
Shock settled in as outright disavowal, evicting every other emotion. Perhaps it was all a bad dream, this upheaval of natural laws, this deplorable animation of sights and sounds. Logic would suggest its erroneousness, for the young officer had never seen such a thing, and his wits were intent on questioning its legitimacy. The dramatic display was an amazing and intense unrealism, he was sure - something Hollywood would deem a praiseworthy action sequence.
The next moment assured him of the genuineness of it all, though, with a bombardment of compiled highlights that were fit to behold.
His equally startled partner saw fit to haul the cruiser to their immediate left -- trying at all costs to avoid a head-on collision, but only succeeding to spin the squad out of control. The fantastic sense of vertigo stemming from the instantaneous change of direction was shattered and then heightened by a swift crash and jerk from behind as the car following them mercilessly crushed their rear bumper and pushed them forward -- right into the predictable path of the ominous truck.
Oh my God! his mind shrieked along with his involuntary, panic-stricken cries. No!
All that not withstanding, the unwieldy truck was completely airborne now and pummeling downward, racing directly towards them with astounding speed, headlights glaring back at him defiantly as they locked on their target. Closer and closer it fell, spawning a surreal indifference to settle into his body, until Ty could make out the driver clearly. The man's features were crossed with a miscellany of fear, panic, astonishment, and incredulity -- a mirror of his own face, he was sure.
His heart sank, throwing his stomach violently into his throat.
This was it. This was how he was to die -- a freak accident.
He had barely time to brace himself before the hood of the squad car erupted, and Ty felt himself being ruthlessly yanked and jerked around, the harsh movements barely discernable as a vicious somersault. Bitterly cold air assaulted exposed skin as windows shattered, and simultaneously, his face was brutally slapped by the discharging airbag. A horrified, sobbing yelp of pain and terror resounding from beside him was obliterated by the braying crack of his head snapping back, and then his own agonized cry.
In an instant, it was altogether over for him, and he was immersed into an inclusive obscurity that was surpassed by none.
The world exploded into vivid color, igniting a million sparks as the cab of the truck touched down. It nailed its intention dead center, and the hood of the police cruiser instantly doubled in half on impact. The force of the collision threw the chary vehicle into the air and then venomously spun it so that it flipped end-over-end, side-over-side, seemingly with no rhyme or reason.
Glass shattered vociferously, an infinite number of tiny pieces spraying in all directions as they broke and scattered from the mother pane, burying themselves deeply into anything and everything that they came in contact with, tattooing flesh with their bitterly sharp edges and ruthless insistency. Metal bent and warped into peculiar designs, caring not what it ripped and shredded in the process, unsympathetically thrusting anything and everything to the side -- inanimate objects and human beings alike.
Yet the prime horror of the unnerving scene was the pitching and heaving dump truck, whose sadistic course of action was hardly over. After mutilating the squad car that unintentionally moved into its angered path, it proceeded to rebound off the pavement into an aggressive revolution, flying through the air once more. The marred police car took a similar route, and while airborne, it spun not once, but three times before slamming into the unyielding asphalt with brutal assertion. Laws of nature had no trouble toying with kismet, and settled on flinging the beleaguered RMP a good distance, skidding it foot after foot on its topside.
All the while, the boulevard beneath the onramp erupted into a competitive state, rivaling the action overhead with it's own outstanding display of mayhem and a worthy compilation of atrocious torture.
A monstrous pileup was rapidly assembled, as nearly every car that traversed the road was thrown into the horrific mix without a second thought. The epitome of the ordeal was emphasized by the demise of the dump truck -- which had miraculously come out of the nightmare just about completely upright -- and as it decelerated to a halt, it threatened to give way, tipping precariously. Rocking slightly on two wheels, its carriage declined to support its weight and groaned in defeat as it conceded to fall over.
The cruiser, still sliding hideously on its roof, sent glowing embers flying along the street as metal against rock triggered an irate montage of brilliant sparks. Finally, after an extensively long moment of belligerent sliding and slewing, it slowed to an inert rest - in the shadow of the tilting truck.
For one, fleeting second, it was as though the world held its breath, waiting and watching in shock and repulsion to see the finale of the drama, the closing moments that promised to be of unearthly proportions. Onlookers gasped in awe as the author of the terror elected to have a bit more fun, giving free rein to the perilous leaning of the stressed, massive vehicle, and allowing it to tip over.
God might have had a hand in the perfect placement of the lumbering truck, as it missed the prone police car by mere inches when it came to rest on its side, but he appeared to relinquish his power to permit the heavy, industrial covering of the truck's bed to tear off easily and dispel the hauled load with no qualms. The RMP, holding the two officers, was instantly buried beneath the shipment of dirt and sand, the pitiless burden not relenting in its unloading until all of the cruiser was covered -- save the back bumper and taillights. And if that weren't enough, the menacing collisions of cars that were incapable of stopping rammed the beaten squad car time and again, firmly pressing it deep into the loose earth.
Ultimately, the remaining, itinerant traffic on both routes were given enough warning and the shocked drivers were able to brake in time, though there was no hope for the scads of automobiles that already made up the vast amasses of twisted metal.
All at once, the sickening animation came to an end, but the effects would be lasting and a clear reminder of the abysmal events that disfigured the once peaceful roadways.
"Bundle up, New York! Tonight's goin' to be a nasty one!" chirped the announcer, his tone suggesting a mirth that annoyed Jimmy to the nth degree. Of course, the weather guy would be all warm and cozy in his studio, his gleeful warnings never to apply to himself. If he only knew how the men and women of the emergency services would have to force themselves out into the cold to protect the city and offer aid, he'd have shut up a long time ago.
"Well, there's the understatement of the year..." Billy Walsh scoffed, looking up from his cereal bowl to glare at the imposing radio. His playful smirk betrayed the exasperated look, however, and suggested an amusement in the more-then-obvious broadcast.
"Yeah," Jimmy agreed, shaking his head while displaying his jovial dimples, "tell me about it..."
"Temperatures are expected to plummet into the double-digit negative numbers as the storm moves through the city. Brrrr! Makes me cold just thinking about it! Winds of-"
Jimmy, who could take no more of the incessantly cheerful meteorologist, turned the radio off with a swift flick if his wrist. "Thanks, Bob," he mimicked the galling voice perfectly, drawing a pleased laugh from his cohort, "but I'd rather not know..."
Walsh nodded his approval and put his hands together in a prayerful position, puppy-dog eyes begging the heavens. "Please, Lord," he articulated slowly and reverently, "I'm asking you as a friend... No more calls tonight, okay?"
This time, it was Jimmy who let out a chuckle. Walsh looked for all the world as though he were making a deal with the Almighty, buddy-to-buddy. "Let's hope he hears you, man..."
A quick glance out the window was enough to make him want to send up a prayer himself -- the climate outside was undesirable at best. Snow and negative temperatures were bad enough, but coupled with the howling winds and brutally flung ice, the weather was nearly unbearable. The last place on earth he wished to be was out in that squall, which, according to Bob, the trusty weatherman, was only gong to get worse as the night rolled on.
Unfortunately, his partner's entreaty was sent up a few seconds too late, and the screaming sirens of an incoming call broke the mood, dispelling all humor. Like clockwork, the ceiling above became alive with the pounding of footsteps as the rest of the troop suited up, causing the overhead light to flicker unsteadily.
"Hey! I thought we had a deal!" Walsh moaned, throwing up his hands in mock exasperation. Jimmy could tell that he was less then thrilled at the prospect of venturing out, as was he. Nevertheless, both firefighters hurried to be on their way - as the familiar rush that the job provided was an addicting and craved sensation.
"Probably just a fender-bender. We'll be back in no time," Jimmy murmured to himself as he tugged on his heavy FDNY overcoat.
Fate smiled slyly at his assumption.
"Ma'am? Ma'am, you'll have to calm down - I can barely understand you..."
Pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers and squeezing his eyes shut, Larry nearly groaned in frustration when the woman's hysterical cries only intensified at his attempt to pacify her. He knew, as senior dispatcher, that crying could only serve to worsen a situation - especially something that was potentially life-or-death. His gut feeling was that this call was a really bad one, and from the extent of her hysteria, he could easily deduce the gravity of the case. As he was trained, he continued to push the caller for information as to when, where, and what had happened -- before the circumstances took a turn for the worse.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the young dispatcher next to him answer another call, and then the one to his right. He frowned, but allotted the increased amount of incoming emergencies to the hazardous storm moving in.
"Ma'am, what happened?" he tried again, suddenly feeling a bit ill at ease. "We're gonna get you help, but I need to know where you are and what happened..."
It was only when the entire board lit with unanswered cries for help, did his stomach twist into a knot. Something big had just gone down...and judging by the fully illuminated board, it was something really bad.
He swallowed at the nervous lump constricting his throat and persisted to plead with the sobbing woman for answers. "Ma'am, please...Calm down, it's okay...I need to know--"
Abruptly, Larry paused his questioning, listening intently as the frantic sobs morphed into a grave description of what exactly had just transpired. He could only hope that the poor woman was exaggerating, but the slew of calls phoned in confirmed her rather severe descriptions.
Intensely disturbed, his mouth fell open in alarm, pen scribbling vital information onto a worn pad with insatiable haste, free hand reaching for the 'crisis' button. A quick call to his supervisor, the precinct Captain, would make the 'code red' official, but for right now his judgment ruled.
The halls were redolent of antiseptic and stale coffee, but fortunately, after years of regular familiarity, the pungent odor ceased to bother him. Shifting his bulk, he leaned against the admittance counter of the hospital and pulled a chunky black book out of his pocket. The blankness of an unfilled report glared back at him, promising a few mind-numbing minutes of writing, but he was undeterred in his course of action.
"Mary," he spoke to the head RN without looking up from his task, as he was in a hurry to get back out on the streets to aid in the search for the missing child. "You'll sign this for me?"
"Um-hmm," she mumbled around the pen between her teeth as she bustled around the desk, her hands full of files and paperwork - observably busy.
"Thanks."
His pen filled next line out, victim's name and address, time of call, etc. Routine, definitely, yet this time Sully found himself glancing repeatedly up at the trauma room that held the raped woman, nervous for some uncanny reason. The woman would be okay, or at least the doctors thought so, but an innate sense of disquiet was burning the back of his mind, suggesting that something was dreadfully amiss besides the kidnapped little girl.
He took a quick look at his watch, noting the three-quarters of an hour that had passed since he and his rookie partner had arrived at the crime scene -- the last time he'd seen or heard from Ty. He'd turned his radio down to almost completely muted while attending to the vic -- for her sake - and hadn't heard a thing from 55-David since he'd returned it to regular volume. Almost as soon he'd turned it back up, however, he had regretted it, for the airwaves were buzzing with excited prattle concerning a traffic incident that was pretty serious -- judging by the amount of concerned relaying going on.
A quick radio in to Central in regards to Bosco and Ty's location would confirm or deny his misgivings. However, the anomalous nausea building in his stomach caused him to dread any such call.
After a few queasy seconds of silently debating his successive action, he persuaded himself to forgo fears, choosing to be competent and not pay heed to his worrywart side. "55-Charlie to Central. Could you give me the status of 55-David?"
A long moment of unnerving static rang out before he was returned with a brusque voice, "Charlie, due to the amount of activity on the frequency, we haven't been able to make contact with David for the last half hour. Standby, and I'll get back to you if I hear something."
For some reason, the logical explanation for the lost communication refused to appease Sully at all, and intuition and a peculiar partner's sixth sense struck him hard, insinuating that something was dreadfully wrong. He frowned, sucking in a deep breath to placate his tightened chest, and returned to hastily scratching out paperwork. Even then, his readiness to finish had barely completed half of the amount rendered.
Every so often, a putrid stench would waft in, stinging his senses with the recognizable aroma of "eau de toilet" -- as the unpleasant smell of human waste was commonly referred to in his field.
Gusler, who had returned from a jaunt to the restroom, stood to his partner's right, hands on his hips, as though trying to play the part of a completely capable officer who was used to handling the horror of rape cases. Unfortunately for his charade, his big eyes held a sad defeat, and his lip couldn't help but be uneasily nibbled between teeth.
After a few seconds of gazing around the ER, the young kid noticed the pungent stench and wrinkled his nose disgustedly. "What's that smell?" he whispered under his breath, as though he were a bit sheepish to voice his curiosity.
His low question wasn't lost to a passing med student, who nodded to a nearby curtain as he tugged off his soiled latex gloves. "Exam 3, hobo verses brewski... The beer won."
Proctor let out a soft titter at the droll phrasing and winked at Sully as she took the forms from him, signing the bottom lines of the report in her neat, feminine handwriting.
"Oh... So he, uh...?"
"Messed himself? Yeah - to put it lightly." The student --whose young face looked positively aged from lack of sleep-- half-smiled as he answered, and then walked off in search of caffeine, no doubt.
The rookie raised his brow and nodded after him, seemingly satisfied with the information. He then stuffed his hands inside his coat pockets and sighed, glancing up at Sully, a strange look playing across his face as he took in the expression warping his supervising officer's.
"You okay?" Gusler asked quietly, as if the senior officer were the one who needed comfort, rather then his perceptibly shaken self. If it'd been earlier that day, Sully might have sniped back at him, but the kid had instinctively sensed the deep-seated emotion that was currently wreaking havoc on his consciousness, and the concerned words were almost comforting.
"Yeah...I'm okay," Sully murmured, glancing out the glass doors of the ER and into the night, searching for answers, though a chillingly dark emptiness and wind-driven snow were all he was granted. "Let's go."
Try as he might, he couldn't rid himself of the vicious feeling of dread that swelled within him; couldn't exonerate the growing alarm that whispered disaster and tragedy in his ear as a nightmarish presage of things to come.
An aghast hush settled about the area, effortlessly smothering out any and all sounds with unadulterated awe. For a long moment, the spine-chillingly ethereal silence refused to be broken, as though an indistinguishable power deliberately held back the expected sounds of terror and anguish to fully display the atrocity that had been compiled.
Then all hell broke loose.
A small sedan abruptly exploded into flame, sending a mushroom of smoke and fire barreling high into the sky while engulfing the innocuous vehicle in a roaring conflagration. The blast sent a pulse of heat and sound, and the intense illumination was eerily reflected off the chaotic mass of twisted metal, shining through the icy flakes that whipped through the air.
Straight away, the strong sent of gasoline was present as it leaked from punctured tanks, not stolen away with the wind but instead lingering in every nostril as a terrorizing threat. The sub-zero air was instantaneously pervaded with shrieks and screams for help, cries of trepidation and fear, and strident sobs of grief as panic set heavily in - the full weight of the predicament hitting home to the numerous people still conscious.
Whereas a few people were unscathed enough to attempt to escape their damaged vehicles, many were not so fortunate. Hands attacked glass, slapping against unbroken windows as the occupants of a few cars became hysterical and struggled to free themselves from the metal monstrosity. Still others suffered an even greater imperil, unconscious and slumped in their seats, entirely unaware of the dangerous predicament that they had been thrown into.
As if planned and timed to bring about the most horror to its audience, another explosion rocked the scene, the car adjacent to the blaze unexpectedly surmounted by the spiteful flames.
"All stations be advised -- Send any and all available units to 19th and the freeway. Multiple MVA and reports of a major pileup. EMS and fire respond."
Lieutenant Johnson's judicious face slackened with concern. A pileup was one thing, but a call put out to surrounding stations was as serious as it was uncommon. The last time such an edict had reached his ears had been over three years before -- and the day he'd lost two of his best men to one of the worst fires in Manhattan.
Choosing to push the dire memories to the side, he concentrated on encouraging his men, turning around partway to address the firefighters seated behind him. "You hear that, boys?" he nodded to them stoically, his mouth firming into an apprehensive line. "This's a big one... Keep your heads and stay safe out there, okay? You know what you're doin'..."
"Sure we do, Lieu," DK called back, amidst the nods and grunts of agreement. "Well...all of us 'cept Jimmy, here." He winked good-naturedly as he elbowed Walsh; referring an incident that took place the previous week when, in a large fire and thick smoke, Jimmy had mistook a life-like doll for a baby and attempted to rescue it. The experienced firefighter had realized his mistake almost immediately, but not before DK had seen his amusing blunder, and the guys were hell-bent on never letting him live it down.
Fortunately, Jimmy could take it as well as he could dish it, and any of the jousting banter was always met by an equally witty rejoinder. Today, conversely, the somber, staid expression crossing his Lieutenant's face was enough to squelch any such retort, and he simply half-smiled and ducked his head, not in the frame of mind to be joking around. "Yeah, yeah..." he waved them off halfheartedly, shaking his head.
"Engine-57, call in your ETA," the radio blared tersely, suggesting the urgency of their arrival on the scene.
"Two minutes out, Central."
Abruptly, the back of the fire truck was encased in a mask of apprehensive silence, and seasoned eyes declined to reach another, each of the men solemnly slipping into their characteristic and respective mindsets. Fortitude, valor, determination, and compassion drove their easygoing faces into the resolute look of a firefighter, their emotions and wills into the gentle strength and stamina that made them exceptional.
The front cab was equally quiet; Johnson's bowed gaze reflecting his prayerful stance and the innate dread that was welling in his body. He could only pray and hope to God that his men would stay out of harm's way, that the call as not as serious as pronounced, that the storm would prove to be of no added danger. But deep within he knew...
Lurching to a halt, the hulking fire engine pulled as close as possible to the destruction, finding a place to park at the beginning of the now crowded-beyond-belief overpass. The breathtaking view was hindered somewhat by the resilient blizzard, but one could plainly distinguish the multitude of wrecked cars, the broken guardrails, and the accretion of distorted metal below. Live flames clawed and chewed at a portion of the madness, devouring the frames of two cars in its formidable jaws and casting an uncanny glow about as a striking contrast to the falling snow.
Reacting normally and wholly unprepared for a sight so beggaring description, Jimmy jumped out of the truck, heavy boots loudly crunching against snow. Artic air hit him instantly, burning and cutting, but was not what caught and stole his breath.
The display before him commanded astonishment and horror, and he stood utterly stunned for a long moment, his deep brown eyes fighting to take it all in. His constricted throat barely permitted an involuntary sigh of awe and a soft whisper to be lost in the lashing wind.
"Oh my God..."
To Be Continued...
