Not quite camping
By Mapu
Disclaimer: CBS and the creators of Numb3rs own the rights to the series and characters
Thanks to Angela and Elaine for their work and suggestions without which this would never see the light of day. For my dad, the stick he found me and the wild strawberries that grow on the banks of the Tully river.
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They stood side by side on the hot, wind-swept tarmac, their bags at their feet waiting for the small government jet to arrive. The younger man could barely stand still, constantly fidgeting and moving his weight from foot to foot. Don was finding his brother's obvious enthusiasm more than a little baffling. The whole thought of this trip was grating on Don's nerves, and Charlie's eagerness was only intensifying his bad mood. His brother behaved as though going to Virginia for the agency conference at Quantico was the most thrilling thing that had happened in months; whereas Don really begrudged the time he would be spending away from his team and the dozen active cases they were working. Unfortunately he had no option, he was required to attend. It had come as a direct order from Merrick, and one Don had been unable to avoid.
The small jet came into view, the high-pitched whine from its powerful and compact engines deepening and fading as it approached and taxied to a stop a short distance away. Don sighed. Sometimes he simply didn't understand Charlie. When he'd first approached the mathematician a week ago about the possibility of presenting a talk to the FBI experts at head office, his brother had been anything but thrilled. In fact he'd seemed almost sullen at the prospect.
Don had called Charlie over to his desk during a break to talk to him about the trip, "Charlie, how would you like to go to Quantico next week, and give a presentation on those equations you used to help us in that counterfeiting case? Head office has a number of their experts interested in talking to you."
Charlie's expression had closed over and Don could tell his brother didn't think much of the idea at all. "Don, I do have other things to do, you know? I have classes, and university commitments, not to mention my own work. I can't just take off and leave because the FBI wants me to."
In the face of the younger man's unforeseen bitterness, Don held up a hand. Charlie's rant subsided but he still looked anything but happy.
"Hey, I know that, okay? We had a request and I just thought I'd ask. If I could get out of going myself I would. It's not a big deal, I can give them the basic outline of how we used it, and they have the work itself. It's fine. I just thought you might like to, that's all. I know how much you enjoy teaching."
"You're going?"
Don looked at the other man in confusion. "Yeah, I have to, Charlie, I'm a team leader and I've been ordered to. This is not something I can avoid, believe me, I tried."
"Oh… okay I'll go. Um, I'll have to get someone to cover for me, how long will we be there?"
"What? I thought you just said you were too busy?"
Charlie didn't respond; he just shrugged and waited for Don's answer. Don knew the shrug was all he'd get from his brother and shook his head. "The conference lasts four days but you don't have to stay the whole time, we could have you there and back in a day, two at the most, if you want."
Charlie shrugged again. "No, that's okay."
The rapid about turn of his decision had taken Don by surprise and, during the following days, he'd half expected Charlie to have another sudden reversal and decide not to come after all, but if anything his brother's anticipation for the trip had built to near frenzied levels. Don wished he had even a small measure of that interest; then the trip might not seem such a waste of his time.
Don hefted his bag and headed for the plane, as the fuselage door swung out and down to form steps, Charlie following close behind him. Before they reached the plane a man in a pilot's uniform stepped out to greet them.
"Agent Don Eppes?" he asked.
Don nodded and shook the offered hand. "Yeah, and this is my brother, Dr. Charles Eppes."
"Paul Rogers."
Charlie shook the pilot's hand, a shy smile on his face. Charlie, who could think rings around almost anyone, always seemed a little awed by people who had high achievements in physically based talents or professions, and a commercial pilot contracted to the FBI definitely fell into that category.
"If you gentlemen are ready we'll be on our way. It would be best if you took the rear seats; there is a military witness in protective custody and his escort already onboard occupying the front row and I think it would be best to leave them a little space."
Don frowned. "Is he dangerous?"
Rogers hesitated for a moment then shrugged. "He's listed as a witness on my manifest, but he's restrained and has an armed escort."
Don cast a glance toward his brother, having a momentary second thought about the flight. Charlie looked mildly curious but not at all concerned, which didn't make Don feel any better; his brother was not the best judge of these types of situations. That had always been Don's responsibility.
Ultimately there was no choice, since he'd never be able to justify the expense to the department for commercial tickets based only on a vague bad feeling. They boarded the aircraft. Don ran a professional eye over the other passengers as they passed. A big man, who was obviously the escort to the thinner man beside him, sat in the first row of seats and glanced up at them calm and confident. The witness gave them a far more interested and intense stare. Don didn't like the speculation he saw in the other's eyes as his gaze focused on Charlie. Both men looked to be older than Don, somewhere in their mid forties but both appeared fit.
With sudden recognition Don realised he knew the thin man. Keith Simmons, the man wasn't just dangerous, he was a killer. Simmons, ex-military himself, had flipped and killed four federal and military personnel before his capture. Don hadn't been directly involved in the case but like most federal agents in the area had kept and interested eye on developments. As he remembered it, Simmons had spouted some kind of anti-government conspiracy rubbish and claimed he was acting for the people. It had ended up with the man given a life sentence. What he was doing on this plane was a mystery. Don's first impulse was to take his brother back off the plane but that wasn't really an option so he made sure Charlie took the seat at the rear of the plane farthest from the secured witness.
As soon as he was settled into his seat, his belt done up, Charlie dug into the bag at his feet and took out his notebook. Within minutes, before the small jet had taxied for take-off, he was totally absorbed in his work. A soft smile curved the edge of Charlie's mouth and his head bent forward slightly as he concentrated on the equations and figures on the paper. Don took out the case reports he'd brought with him, and keeping an eye on the men in front of them settled down. It was going to be a long flight.
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Charlie, lost in his math, didn't notice anything amiss until Don grabbed the back of his head and forced him forward and down.
"Charlie, stay down," his brother ordered.
Don released him; when Charlie saw his older brother reach under his coat for the gun strapped there he realised he could hear raised voices in the cabin. Lifting his head high enough to see over the seat in front, Charlie understood what had Don so worried. Ahead the witness and his escort stood facing each other, both with guns in their hands. Charlie had no idea how the situation had developed but it looked bad. Don's hand found the back of his head again and pushed it back under cover.
"I said keep down, damn it," Don growled.
This time Charlie did as he was told, his heart beating painfully fast in his chest.
"Simmons, give it up. You got no where to go. Put the gun down now," an unfamiliar voice shouted. Charlie guessed it had to be the escort yelling.
"You put down your weapon or I'll kill us all!"
Charlie couldn't understand how the military escort had let his supposedly restrained prisoner get free, let alone become armed, and he was more relieved than he could express that Don was beside him. Just having Don on the plane allowed Charlie to believe the situation was survivable. He didn't know how he would have handled it had Don not come.
All week Charlie had been worried something would come up that his brother could use as a reason not to go on the trip; leaving him to go alone. Charlie had very little interest in the conference; he was interested in spending a little time with Don. Don's entire life in Virginia, and the years after it, was a closed book to Charlie. He knew nearly nothing about what had happened to his brother during that time. He thought that maybe during the conference Don might feel like showing him around a little, but even if he didn't, they would get to spend time together. It would be just like having a holiday together or at least as close as they had ever come.
Despite the danger and Don's instructions, Charlie couldn't help it; he needed to see what was happening. Raising his head as much as he dared Charlie watched as Don moved carefully forward.
--
Don slowly got to his feet and moved forward with his gun raised, providing the other law enforcement officer backup.
Events transpired rapidly, falling into chaos in moments. Don's movement distracted Simmons and drew his attention away from his escort for a moment. In that split second the guard tried to act, throwing himself toward Simmons. No! You idiot, Don thought frantically, as the man made his move. The distance between the two men was far too great for a simple frontal tactic like that to work.
As Don had feared the escort didn't manage to get a complete grip on Simmons. As they fell, Simmons's gun hand swung in a wide arc and the weapon discharged, going through the open cockpit door. Don heard a cry of pain and the co-pilot slumped sideways in his seat. A second bullet followed the first into the cockpit.
From the immediate and disastrous result Don's first thought was that the pilot had been hit too. The jet twisted and fell into a steep dive. He heard the pilot try to radio in a mayday call and was relieved the man was still alive. He began pulling himself backward to find a seat, but it wasn't easy against the plane's steep angle of descent.
--
Charlie yelled in terror as the plane began to fall, his notebook flying from his hands to flutter away. Don, still on his feet in the aisle, clutched at a seat one-handed, trying to keep his feet under him, without losing his weapon from the other hand. It terrified Charlie to see his brother so exposed. Using more strength than Charlie would have thought possible Don pushed himself back until he wedged himself into a seat and fumbled for the restraints.
"Strap yourselves in! We're going down!" their pilot, Paul Rogers, yelled from the cockpit.
Then Charlie could hear him attempting to send out a mayday, but from the anxious tone and repeated calls for a response Charlie was pretty sure the radio was a part of the equipment the gunfire had destroyed.
Don, to Charlie's intense relief, had managed to strap himself into the seat one row in front and across from him. Don turned to face him, fear in his eyes.
"Charlie, get your head down and hold on. Okay, Buddy?"
Nodding, because he could no longer speak past the lump of fear in his throat, Charlie did as he was told. The last time he'd prayed he'd been a child, but he prayed now, for himself, for the others on the plane, for his father, but most especially Charlie prayed for Don.
A solid weight settled over Charlie, crushing him down into his seat, as the pilot began to win the battle against their rate of descent and the jet's path changed, pulling the centre of gravity toward the rear of the plane. The general motion equations, xVox t yVoy t – ½ gt2, and their many derivatives flashed into Charlie's mind, and, unable to help it, he began to calculate the plane's most likely trajectory, guessing at the complementary angles and variables. He'd almost reached a solution when, with a sudden jolt, the plane hit the trees. Metal screamed and tore and his body slammed hard against the restraints, first forward then savagely to the right. Charlie's head hit the wall beside him with a brutal blow and after a blinding instant of white pain there was only darkness.
--
The jet crashed through the treetops taking several violent hits, hard enough to change the direction of travel and jerk Don's body savagely from side to side. Don hoped the impacts were slowing them down as well. Then they were on the ground, sliding through the underbrush, the horrific screeching roar of twisting metal and crack of breaking wood marked their passage. It was a sound that Don knew he would never forget. The plane suddenly stopped its forward momentum and slipped slightly side-wards leaving what was left of the aircraft on a distinct angle. As soon as they stopped moving Don looked over toward his brother. Charlie lay slumped slightly forward in his seat, his unmoving body supported by the wall beside him and his eyes closed. With his face so calm and relaxed Don would have thought the young genius was merely asleep, if he hadn't known better. Dread filled Don's heart as he looked to his brother's calm, still face, and he refused to even consider the thought that Charlie was dead, but it was obvious he was hurt.
Smoke began to fill the cabin and he knew there wasn't much time; the plane was on fire. Fumbling to release his seatbelt, Don knew he had to get to Charlie and get him out before the fire took hold and cut off their escape, but first he had to find out what had happened to the gunman.
Standing without sliding across the sloping deck was difficult, especially with his weapon out, but Don managed to move forward far enough to see what had happened to the others. The front of the plane was gone, totally destroyed, and there was very little doubt in Don's mind that their pilot, Paul Rogers, was dead. Also obviously dead was the escort. The man lay face upward, his eyes open and staring unseeingly at the ceiling.
A slight movement alerted Don to the location of the prisoner and he threw himself back moments before the man fired. Simmons had been seated against the wall with one arm cradled across his lap, his hand obviously broken and useless, but the other hand held a gun. Don swore. The plane could go up at any moment, Charlie was hurt and there really wasn't time for this.
"Simmons, the plane is on fire, we have to get out of here," Don called hoping to reason with the man.
"Just back off, Fed, or I'll kill you."
Don didn't really have a choice. "Okay, I'll move back."
The smoke had thickened ominously by the time Don had backed up far enough that Simmons felt it safe to make a break for it. Don let him go. Charlie was far more important. The fire spread quickly, and Don had no time to check his brother's condition or spend any time being gentle with him. Dragging the limp body across his shoulders in a fireman's carry, Don hefted Charlie's weight and staggered away from the building flames and choking smoke.
By the time he got them clear of the wreckage the plane was totally engulfed. Don moved forward until the radiant heat scorching his back reached a bearable level. Don slipped to the ground, and finally able to extend a measure of consideration toward his injured brother, gently laid Charlie out flat. It was at that moment that he realized Charlie wasn't breathing. Panic gripped his heart and he felt his brother's neck for a pulse. There was one, but it was fading, becoming increasingly erratic. Smoke inhalation, Don realized. Clearing Charlie's airway, tilting the younger man's head back, Don began artificial respiration and tried desperately to overlook the fact that it was his brother's life that hung in the balance.
With a weak cough Charlie began to breathe for himself once more. Don waited anxiously. After a few gasping breaths he began coughing in earnest. The harsh ragged coughs convulsing Charlie's whole body had the benefit of bringing him back to consciousness, and Don was relieved beyond words to see the dark eyes split open and cringe against the brightness of the late afternoon daylight.
"Easy, Charlie… breathe slower, Buddy," Don encouraged and he could tell that the other man was trying to do as he'd asked.
"Hey there, how are you feeling?" Don asked when the breathing settled into a more even rhythm, only disturbed by the occasional cough.
"Headache," Charlie rasped.
Don wasn't surprised. Blood matted the side of his brother's head just above his right temple and an angry bruise had already begun to form on that side.
"Charlie, I need you to look at me for a second. Come on, open your eyes for me."
He sighed with relief to see the pupils were even and reactive to the change in light as they should be. It meant that as bad as the head injury looked it was not life-threatening.
"What's happened, Don?"
The question reminded him that, although they were clear of danger from the plane, Simmons was still unaccounted for. They needed a more secure position to wait for rescue. Don didn't answer his question, not wanting to worry the injured man. Instead he pulled Charlie to his feet and, supporting him, began to lead him toward the nearby trees.
"Come on, Buddy, can't stay here."
Charlie wasn't able to walk far and the best Don could do for cover was to find a freshly fallen tree. From the splintered wood it was most likely brought down in the crash. He helped settle Charlie under the thickest part and pulled himself in next to him. Don took off his jacket and then his cotton shirt. Putting the jacket back on for warmth in the cool mountain air Don began to tear his work shirt into long strips. As soon as he had enough to work with he gently bound the wound on Charlie's head. It only took seconds for the blood to soak through the thin bandages but it seemed to be slowing the flow and it was the best Don could do.
The situation was not great. Daylight was fading fast, Charlie was injured and somewhere in the gathering darkness lurked a madman with a gun. Just when Don thought their circumstances couldn't get much worse it began to rain. What started as a few scattered drops quickly increased to a constant downpour. Within moments the brothers were soaked to the skin, and Don could feel the trembling in the thin body beside him. He moved closer and put his arm around his brother pulling him in so they could share body warmth.
"Don, I'm really tired."
"I know, Buddy, but I need you to stay awake for a little while longer, I'll let you know when it's safe for you to rest. Deal?"
"Yeah, okay… Don?"
"Yeah, Charlie?"
"You didn't tell me what happened," Charlie said, a slight tone of accusation in his voice.
Don sighed. "What do you remember?"
"I remember getting on the plane and somebody yelling, then you telling me to breathe."
"The escort got slack, made a rookie mistake. He released his prisoner to take him for a bathroom break but turned his back on him. The prisoner, a man named Simmons, took his gun and knocked him down, but the guard had a backup gun. We tried to get Simmons to surrender but he started firing instead. He hit something in the cockpit and we crashed."
"Where's everyone else?"
Don really hadn't wanted to tell Charlie this. "Simmons made it out but I'm afraid he's the only other one who did. It's just you and me, Buddy."
To his surprise Charlie took the news far better than he'd expected.
They were quiet for a while. Just as Don had begun to worry that Charlie might have slipped into unconsciousness, he spoke.
"Don, are you afraid?"
Don squeezed the shoulder under his arm; in truth he was terrified. Seeing Charlie on the ground lifeless and not breathing had been the most frightening moment of his life. "Yeah, a little, but it will be all right. I think we might be a little late to the conference."
"Good, sounded boring anyway."
Don frowned. "I thought you were looking forward to it, you've been talking about nothing else all week."
"It wasn't the conference, Don. I never cared about that. I just thought… We've never had a holiday together, just the two of us. I thought it would be fun to see Virginia with you."
Don was touched and a little surprised at the revelation, although it did explain a lot about Charlie's enthusiasm. Thinking about it he realised Charlie was right, they'd never been anywhere together as brothers. He rested his head gently over the top of his brother's head in a hug, being careful of the bandage. "How do you feel about taking an impromptu camping trip?"
Charlie laughed softly. "We forgot to bring marshmallows."
"Buddy, you don't even like 'em… toasted or not."
"No, but I wouldn't mind having the fire." Don felt him shiver again. It was obvious Charlie wasn't doing too well.
"Sorry, Charlie, I doubt I could get one lit and anyway we can't have one. Simmons is still out there somewhere."
"I know. I was just thinking how nice it would be, that's all."
"You'll be all right, Charlie…" Don tried to inject absolute confidence into his voice, a confidence he didn't feel. "… Trust me."
"I do." Charlie muttered.
Don could hear the utter exhaustion in his brother's tone. "It's okay to sleep for a while, Charlie, if you want to. I'll wake you in a few hours."
Don wasn't sure if Charlie had heard everything he'd said. With a softly mumbled 'thank you' Charlie had fallen silent and his body had grown heavier in his arms before Don had finished speaking.
It was a long night. The rain eased to an eventual stop only a few hours before dawn and the chill stayed with them all night. Feeling bad about it but knowing the necessity, Don had awakened Charlie several times. The first time Charlie had refused to waken to the point where it had scared Don, but after that each time had been progressively easier.
He knew his younger brother still needed the rest and it would be best for Charlie to stay where they were but they were not safe. At some point it was going to occur to Simmons that only two witnesses on the planet knew what had happened on the flight and were aware of the fact that he'd escaped. Don knew it was likely only the shock and chaos of the moment that had stopped the man from killing them both after the crash. If he wanted to stay free then Simmons was going to have to come after them and finish the job. Don was determined not to give him the chance.
"Charlie?"
Charlie moaned but didn't waken and Don tried again, adding a slight shake to his shoulder. "Come on, Charlie, time to get up."
"Don?" The injured man squinted his eyes shut against the morning light and raised a hand to his pounding head.
"That bad?" Don asked.
Charlie started to nod then apparently thought better of it. "Yeah, feels like my head's split in two."
"Not quite, but it was a hard hit. I'm not surprised you feel rotten, but we really have to get moving, Buddy."
Don helped Charlie to his feet and, once Don was sure the other man was able to stand on his own, the pair began to move away from the fallen tree that had provided them a pitiful amount of shelter the night before.
"Don, shouldn't we stay with the downed plane? Statistically we'd have a better chance of surviving and being found if we stay close to the crash site."
"Normally yes, Buddy, but we don't have that choice. We've got to get out of this area and fast. Simmons is going to come looking for us and if we stay here he'll find us long before the rescuers do."
"Oh, I forgot about him," Charlie muttered.
Don felt a little concern at the comment. Charlie might not have the best social skills but when it came to analysing situations, and as a mathematician, the other man was actually extremely observant. It came from working with the exacting detail of numbers all the time. Don guessed this absentmindedness about what was an essentially an extremely important variable had more to do with Charlie's physiology rather than his psychology. There was no doubt the young genius was still suffering the effect of the blow he received to the head during the crash. Don was going to have to keep a close eye on his brother.
They set off through the early morning forest, the quietness of the night still surrounding them. The rain that had fallen the night before had left the heavy scent of wet soil in the air and the weak sunlight of the new day filtering through the trees gave the woods a fairy-tale appearance. If it weren't for the fact that his brother was hurt and they were out here with a desperate, armed man Don would have thought it pleasant. He remembered his comments from the night before, and even if they'd had marshmallows this was definitely not like a camping trip.
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