The Denali took corners at dangerous speeds; Jim Brass floored it as fast as he could considering the twisty curves and dangerous ravine. Warrick tensed in his seat to keep his head from cracking along the passenger side window and he could see the Captain risk fleeting glances at the rear view, his focus getting them to the MedEvac as quickly as possible. Grissom was twisted in his seat, riding shotgun, his pensive expression never leaving the occupants of the backseat.
Nick was dead weight between Tina and his still frantic partner. The ice water jolt that had been a last ditch effort at kicking Nick's system into overdrive left him shivering, the air on full blast making it even frostier in the car. Grissom concluded that his incipient hypothermia was worth it to keep Nick's natural system pumping any amount of adrenaline. Tina agreed, knowing that this was their only shot at keeping him going.
Warrick kept a firm grasp on Nick's shoulder in order to keep him steady and as a sign of constant encouragement. Nick's mouth hung open, his irregular inhalations of air making his partner cringe involuntarily. Tina checked Nick's pulse every few minutes, then would lean over to listen to his airway, her expression of worry increasing at each minute that ticked by.
"Can you tell me anything about the scorpion that stung him?"
Grissom's question earned him a look of confusion and disbelief. Warrick shook his head to clear the cobwebs out, stunned by his boss's apparent curiosity in a time like this. "W-what? No…I mean, I dunno…Why?"
Grissom rubbed briefly at the bridge of his nose with a small sigh. "Identifying the type of scorpion can only give the doctors a clearer picture of what they are dealing with," he explained calmly.
Warrick adjusted slightly in his seat, his eyes darting up, thinking. "Jeez, Gris. I don't really remember; it was dark in that room."
"Please try. Where did it come from? Was it outside? Local, I mean?"
Warrick didn't know if his superior's questions were his lousy attempt to distract him from Nick's fast deterioration since they entered the car, but trusted that the answers might help his partner. He replayed the moments he tried so hard to forget, that hour in the room, a permanent memory never to be erased from his mind. "There was this psycho doctor in the house. She put it on him. She said it was one of the rarest ones, from Asia, I think," he said with an angry headshake.
Tina flushed, furious at knowing that the person responsible for this was someone who was supposed to heal people.
Grissom's expression was one of deep concentration. "Dark colored body?"
Warrick squeezed Nick's shoulder when the sounds escaping his throat became less frequent, rousing him gently closer back to consciousness.
"Dark," Warrick answered with a clipped tone. His eyes met those of his wife. The corner of Tina's lip quivered as her hand rested on Nick's carotid.
Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe Gil Grissom was trying to distract himself in order to feel useful in an absolutely helpless situation.
"Go faster," Warrick barked at Brass.
"Warrick, I need more. What about its pincers?"
"Its what?" he asked incredulously.
"The claws on the front. Like a lobster's. Were they big or small, in proportion to its body?"
"I don't… I… small. Yeah, small. Does that help?"
Grissom sighed. "Generally, the smaller the pincers the more potent the venom. The scorpion doesn't need large pincers if the sting does the job fast and well enough. Sounds like genera Buthotus."
"Yeah, I think that's what she said," Warrick affirmed.
He didn't have time to see the solemn expression on the entomologist as the truck came to an abrupt stop as they reached their destination.
The whirlwind to get Nick out of the SUV and into the hands of the awaiting medics was a blur of motion. Without realizing it his partner was laid on a stretcher, his wife, his beautiful, wonderful wife relaying to the emergency crew all the things his exhausted brain couldn't get his mouth to express in words. He stood there frozen as they worked on his partner, stabilizing him for the ride to the hospital. A quick look over showed another medic giving Kenny oxygen and helping him into the waiting chopper. His childhood friend turned to look back at him, giving him a thumbs up and a nod, then was gone from view.
Warrick felt arms around his waist, sweet lips on his neck and the quiet mumbled reassurances of his lover that he knew were optimistic at best. Minutes later the MedEvac was airborne, his friends waiting for him to return to the truck so they could follow.
Warrick felt his face crumble, burying it into the smaller shoulders of the woman next to him. After several agonizing minutes of unloading so many hours of frustration and sorrow he collected himself enough to stand straight and re-enter the Denali. The car ride was tense, as Brass continued to ignore the speed limit, although not at the dangerous levels of before.
He didn't know how much time had passed, but it was at least an hour by car to the hospital. Warrick held his wife close, pressing small kisses along her cheek, but had not said a thing. After a while the silence was interrupted by the question he had hoped to dodge just a little bit longer, until he could be rest assured that his partner was going to be all right.
"Warrick. Do you think you could tell us what the Hell happened?"
Green eyes met blue ones, and he exhaled a shaky breath before reliving the nightmare to his colleague.
He ended the story with where the others had come in. "We met you guys out on the road. From what Kenny told me, the psycho doctor bitch burned up in the fire, and her two goon partners are probably still hightailin' through the woods, running away from the fire. Hope it burns them up too," he muttered darkly.
He cleared his throat, still scratchy from his cold and fidgeted in his seat, unable to find a comfortable position. The heat on high had replaced the a/c the minute they'd gotten Nick out of the truck and the warmth wrapped him in its cocoon as he nestled closer to Tina. He laid his head back on the seat, and closed his eyes in exhaustion.
"So, now I told you my tale, hows about you telling me how you wound up here with us?" he asked tiredly.
Brass spoke up from the drivers seat. "You have your neighbor, Marge Korchynski, to thank for that, Warrick."
"The old lady from across the street?" Tina asked.
"Yeah. Score another one for Community Watch. She got a plate off one of your pursuer's vehicles. Then Grissom and Archie worked their mojo and figured out where your Voice was holed up."
Grissom quickly piped in, "It was mostly Archie. Our AV Tech is a fount of valuable information. He was really the reason we found you."
"Archie…huh. That boy is getting the box sets of every Star Trek, Star Wars, and Stargate I can find," Warrick said with a small laugh. "Archie. Whoda thunk it."
"Catherine helped as well," Grissom amended, failing to notice Tina raise an eyebrow at his last comment.
Warrick felt Tina tense next to him and quickly hugged her in closer, her head falling onto his shoulder. He cracked an eye open and looked at her. She had a smile on her face that said she knew her reaction was foolish. He gave her arm another squeeze, then let his eyes fall shut once more as he tried to keep his dark thoughts at bay. He was back in the comfort of friends and loved ones, headed back to civilization and medicine and light and warmth, but he couldn't relax until he knew what was going on with Nick.
The last image he had of his partner was of the medics cutting open the hated Longhorns sweatshirt to apply the paddles to his chest. Nick's body barely flinched as the voltage entered his body. Warrick watched apprehensively, the wavy lines on the monitor completely foreign to him, but the medics seemed satisfied after the third attempt. And Tina had said something about normal sinus rhythm, his mind seizing only on the word normal. Nothing about this situation had been normal.
He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, Tina was whispering, "We're here," gently into his ear. He roused himself painfully and groaned out loud, grabbing at his shoulder.
Tina looked at him, concern filling her eyes. Her hands went to his shirt, trying to undo the buttons to look at his shoulder. "Did you hurt yourself? Why didn't you say anything?"
He took her hand away from his shirt and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly. "It's okay. Banged it in the crash. It's fine."
The look she gave him said she wouldn't leave it at that. He quirked a small tired smile at her. "Yeah, okay. I'll let them look at it. C'mon. Let's go in."
Lovell Canyon Medical was a small hospital, a one story building situated at the foot of the Spring Mountains. The tiny waiting area held only two people, a man holding a bloody cloth to his hand, and his wife reading a magazine quietly next to him. The sudden influx of four strangers caused staff and visitors to stare in curiosity. Warrick paid them no mind and headed straight for the nurses' desk where a pony-tailed receptionist sat watching him approach.
"You folks must be here with the patients on the Mercy Flight. Hang on a second. I'll see if I can pull away Dr. Crowheart."
A few minutes later she emerged with a doctor, plaid flannel shirt under his white coat, clipboard in hand. American Indian, if his bronzed complexion and black hair pulled back in a short braid were any indication.
He allowed the time for brief introductions, shaking hands with the men, then ushering them into a small office for a bit more privacy away from the continued stares of staff and the waiting patients.
"Sorry about that," he said as he shut the door behind him. "We don't get many strangers in these parts, and I think the chopper landing outside gave them all quite the thrill. I'm sure we'll be hearing about it at the local diner for weeks.
So, lets get you up to speed on your friends. I'll skip the formalities of consent, since I think you'll be as close to family as we'll get for a bit. I'll start with Mr.…" He checked the chart in his hand. "Longman. Smoke inhalation. He told me has a history of asthma so we'll be admitting him for observation. The lacerations on his arm weren't too deep, and we sutured him up. Seems fine otherwise."
Warrick shuffled his feet uneasily at the wait, gratified to hear that Kenny would be okay, but anxious for news on his partner. He felt Tina's hand snake back around his waist and he grabbed her hand and squeezed it in silent thanks for the comfort she offered.
"Mr. Stokes has a bit of a grocery list here, but I'll break it down as best as I can. I'm hoping someone here can fill in some of the blanks."
He sighed and sat on the corner of the desk as four pairs of eyes stared at him anxiously.
"Medics cardioverted him at the scene. Mr. Stokes was in ventricular fibrillation, his heart valves not opening and closing properly. It returned in flight--" he held up a hand at the small gasps he heard, "but they successfully brought him back to normal sinus rhythm, and he's stayed there since his arrival. We had to administer another epinephrine injection to combat the anaphylaxis, so we have him on an external pacemaker and digoxin to help strengthen his heart for this last dose."
He reached for the chart once more to refresh his memory, flipping through the pages, so many pages for just one man.
"We also administered diphenhydramine and cimetidine, otherwise known as Benadryl and Tagamet."
"Tagamet? I take that for my ulcer," Brass said wryly.
The doctor smiled. "The inflammation it helps take care of in your stomach is similar to the inflammation Mr. Stokes is experiencing in his bronchi and lungs. Think of it as backup for the Benadryl."
"Yeah. Back up," Brass said with a grunt. "Guys coulda used that earlier."
Dr. Crowheart continued his litany of Nick's medical woes, the words and terminology starting to blur together. He noticed his audience getting fidgety and paused. "So, I told you what we've done so far. We've addressed his heart, his lungs …the hand will have to wait until he's stabilized but we can cast it for now. Several broken carpals and metacarpals in his hand and wrist. He'll need surgery, and he'll probably wind up with a number of pins but the only problem it should give him is on his next plane flight. Those things never make it through security without setting it off," he said with a small smile. "We aren't equipped to do the surgery so he'll need eventual transport to a larger hospital.
As for the scorpion toxin I was informed caused the initial anaphylaxis, I'm a little in the dark. We've a number of indigenous scorpions in Nevada, but his symptoms don't match those I've seen from usual envenomations. Do we know how and where he came into contact with the thing?"
Four pairs of eyes now looked at each other uneasily. Grissom spoke up first. "It wasn't local, Dr. Crowheart. I'm a doctor of entomology, and while I didn't see the creature, descriptions place it as genera Buthotus. Normally found in Southeast Asia and Africa. I have friends at the University of Arizona where they have an Antivenin Production Lab. They could fly some out on dry ice."
The doctor shook his head solemnly. "I'm afraid that any antivenin would just trigger a new bout of anaphylaxis. No, I'm afraid as far as the toxin is concerned, Mr. Stokes will just have to ride it out. Any idea how long ago he was stung?"
Warrick shook his head, rubbing at his face tiredly. All this medical talk still had him no closer to knowing how Nick was really doing. Telling was not the same as seeing.
"I have no idea what time it is now, but it was late morning."
The doctor nodded. "It should be breaking down in his system shortly. And it's around eight."
He eased up off the desk, clipboard tapping against his hip. Grissom was rubbing at his beard and looked up when he saw the doctor ready to leave. "He'll need a tetanus booster. Scorpions are -"
"Known to carry Clostridium tetani. Yes, Dr. Grissom. Already done. Now if you folks will excuse me, I have a hand laceration waiting for me in chairs."
Warrick took a step forward, causing the doctor to pause as he exited. "Doc? You've told us what you're doing but not how he's doing."
The doctor nodded as four pairs of eyes fixed once more on him. "He's as close to stable as we can get him right now. I'm hoping that improves with time as the venom breaks down in his system. We'll know if there was any permanent damage to his heart when his cardiac enzymes come back." He paused for a moment letting that sink in then plunged on. "His sats- the level of oxygen in his blood, were in the basement when he got here and they still aren't where they should be even on one hundred percent O2. Frankly, if they go any lower we'll most likely have to intubate. We'll give the antihistamines a chance to work and see how he does from there."
Warrick scowled at the less than satisfying response, his hand reaching inside his shirt to rub at his shoulder.
The doctor's clinical eye caught the movement. "You hurt your shoulder?"
Before Warrick could dismiss the man Tina spoke up. "Yes, he did, Dr. Crowheart. Could you have someone take a look at it?"
"I'm the 'someone' on staff tonight," he said with a rueful chuckle. "Let me get Floyd's hand prepped for suturing and I'll come back and take a look at it. You can wait in exam room four down the hall. Your friend Mr. Longman is in there."
"Thanks, Doc. What about Nick? When can we see him?"
The doctor tapped the clipboard on his hip considering the request. "I'll take you back after I look at your shoulder."
Before Warrick could lodge a protest, the doctor had closed the door behind him and was gone.
The next thing he knew Tina was guiding him back out of the room, her slim arm around his waist as she steered him down the hall to stop in front of room four. She tilted her chin up and reached hands around Warrick's neck, pulling him down for a brief but intimate kiss. She broke away with a smile and patted his arm. "You be a good boy for the doctor, now," she teased gently.
"Yeah. I'll be good. Do I get a lollipop after?" he said with a waggle to his eyebrows. She just smiled and turned away to head back to join the rest of the group.
He opened the door to find Kenny sitting on the edge of an exam table, clad in a lemon yellow hospital gown, his bare feet swinging like a little kid's. He had new white gauze bandages on one arm and more gauze peeked out from under the short sleeve of the gown at his shoulder. He was receiving a breathing treatment, a mechanical nebulizer droning on the table in front of him as he inhaled from the plastic tube. When he pulled his mouth away wisps of what appeared to be smoke curled from the end of the tube.
"Hey, Dawg. Was wondering when I might get some company," Kenny said, the last part dissolving into another hacking cough.
Warrick gestured for Kenny to put the mouthpiece back in and he hopped up on the table next to him, his feet practically touching the ground.
"Hey, Kenny. How you doin'? Wait. Don't answer that. You just keep suckin' on that thing. I'll try and stick to yes and no a'ight?"
Nod with a roll of the eyes.
"So Chu, the psycho doctor, she really dead?"
Baleful nod. He pulled the mouthpiece free for a second to croak out, "I saw her die."
Warrick nodded. At least that was one loose end tied up. He wasn't sure of the fate of Sang or Lee or whoever the fuck he was, but he'd left the man unconscious and the fire was moving to engulf the whole mountainside, leaving nothing but blackened carbon in its wake.
"She came because you called for help. You were the one who told me we couldn't call. Did you know what you were doing when you called, Kenny?"
Solemn nod.
"Did you panic?"
Narrowed eyes and a stern headshake.
"Did you really think help was going to come?"
Another eye roll and a snort of disgust.
As tired and hungry and mentally fried as he was he'd been a bit slow on the uptake. But the truth was slowly dawning on him.
"Wasn't you who wanted to call at all, was it Kenny?" he asked softly.
Sad eyes as his head shook no.
"He wanted to draw their attention for when I got up there. That's why I didn't have to take on the bitch and her buddies. They were headed off in response to the phone call."
Now his friend's head nodded slowly. "Told him it was crazy," he croaked out with another cough. He shook his head angrily when Warrick tried to get him to stop talking. "Told me to get lost. Leave him there," he said, still wheezing heavily between his stilted choked out words. "And I did. I made it into the woods. I was headed out." He stopped to breathe hungrily at the mouthpiece and Warrick waited patiently for him to resume his story. He knew Kenny wanted to tell him everything, but his lungs were letting him down.
"Saw the bitch show up with two others. Knew he didn't have a chance. Tried to get them to follow me, but only two did. She went into the cabin. I lost my two and went back. Bitch sliced me up, had a blade to my neck. Your boy stuck his pen right in her chest. She croaked right there. "
His last words were practically swallowed up in a paroxysm of hacking and coughing that shook his small frame painfully. Warrick draped his hand over Kenny's shoulder and held him until the coughing eased a bit.
"You did good, Kenny. You did real good."
The doctor came in to join them about twenty minutes later. He took a moment to listen to Kenny's chest and check the amount of medication left in the nebulizer, then turned to Warrick and told him to sit up on the other table in the room and take his shirt off.
Across the CSI's shoulder was a dark purplish bruise that extended on to his sternum.
"Lemme guess," the doctor grunted. "A car accident."
"You could say that, Doc. Just a bruise right?"
"How about you let me play doctor here? Raise your arm. So, a car accident, an exotic scorpion bite, and Mr. Stokes came in sopping wet, yet we haven't had rain in weeks. You folks have had quite the adventure here on our little mountain."
Warrick snorted. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me. You know… okay, straighten your arm… there's always been talk about the house at the top of the mountain. Dark vehicles coming and going on that crappy road night all hours of the night. Walt Sheppard has an old hunting cabin up there. He said he can actually get cell phone service up there. Nearest public cell tower is down here in town. Okay, rotate your arm out for me."
Warm hands continued to manipulate Warrick's shoulder as the Doctor prattled on. He had a very soothing voice and Warrick felt himself relaxing a bit as the Indian continued with his tale.
"My people are all over these mountains, those that left the reservation. Our legends tell of dark spirits living up there. Most won't go anywhere near the top but those that have recently say a new evil lives up there. He has fancy gardens and statues of weird looking gods. And a few times a year boats come down the stream. The kids find them and bring them into town. They're small, made of paper, really intricately made. They'd have to be to survive the trip down. Some of them look singed and smell like incense."
"Your people…Shoshone, right? There's a reservation up north, Wyoming I think? Crowheart Shoshone Res. That where you're from?"
The doctor nodded as he dropped his hands to his hips. "There, I'd have to agree with your initial diagnosis. Just a bruise. Anything else I should know, or do I ask that pretty wife of yours what you're hiding?"
Warrick smiled. "Nah, Doc. I'm good. Just a cold and a sore shoulder."
"I can give you some ibuprofen for the shoulder. As for the cold, you could try some of that over the counter stuff. It doesn't cure the cold, of course, but it'll work for you in a pinch."
Warrick closed his eyes and sighed. "Yeah, in a pinch."
tbc...