Yelina Salas rounded the back end of the Mack Truck, glancing at the damaged purple compact and the trio of people aiding the two victims inside. Seeing the large group of rescuers working on the dark blue station wagon, she headed that way. She reached the back of the family car in time to see Horatio lay his hand on the window and call out, a hint of desperation in his voice, "Madison, it's Horatio. I'm here, Sweetheart."
Exhaling a soft groan, the Colombian woman sprinted towards the wreck. If Madison was in that car, HR would be too: Horatio's son had gone to a party with Susie and Madison. Yelina slid to a stop, bumping into Ryan in her haste, but he merely grunted and caught her before she fell. Yelina could see the blood, the destruction, the limp bodies of the adults and the little boy. Her hand flew to her mouth and she couldn't hold back a sob. But for the grace of God, her son would have been with them . . . Ray junior had been running a fever so Yelina had forbidden him to attend Alexx's party. That fever may have saved her son's life. She trembled, weakly leaning into Ryan's tightening grasp at the thought of her son among those bodies. Another sob escaped as she tore her eyes from the pirate-costumed little boy.
Realizing the woman in his arms was close to collapse, Ryan pulled her from the scene, guiding her back around the foot of the truck. He pushed her firmly to the ground then, hand on the back of her head, forced her head between her knees. "Deep breaths, Detective Salas. Take deep breaths." Ryan fought his own nausea at the memory of Horatio's kids in that crumpled car. He'd never met Alexx's husband, but had to assume by her reaction that the driver was Jeffrey Woods. The woman must have been Madison's mother. He glanced back towards the car then around at the rest of the vehicles. Making a quick decision, the former patrol officer gave Yelina a firm squeeze of the arms. "We've got lives to save. Come on." Ryan tugged her to her feet and pulled her over to the purple compact close by.
The Miami detective allowed the CSI to guide her, pulling her mind back to the duty at hand. She would grieve with Horatio later.
Like Ryan, Eric backed up from the station wagon to give the rescuers room. He headed back to the rest of the vehicles, circling the big rig to take up where Horatio left off with that survivor. Pushing the image of Alexx's breakdown and Horatio's desperation to the back of his mind, Eric took a steadying breath. "You able to answer some questions?"
Looking up from his step, the trucker asked "is the lady who screamed gonna make it?" They could still hear Horatio calling encouragingly to Madison, but Alexx's screams had subsided and the noise of rescue efforts and the Jaws of Life screeching covered any sound she made.
Eric nodded. "She's gonna be okay," he assured the man but didn't elaborate about who the screamer was. Pulling out his pen and pad, he said "can you tell me what happened?"
Groaning, the man began to cry. "I ran them over. I killed them." Shudders wracked his body: a strong man brought to tears.
With a sigh, Eric looked down at the driver and gentled his voice. "I need you to tell me what happened. You had the widest view of the road from your truck."
As Eric questioned the Mack Truck driver, Calleigh skirted the two station wagons and joined the still steadily working Rain. The other CSI looked up, nodded once, then turned back to her photographs. Calleigh signaled Tyler, one of their techs, to come measure for them. She pulled out her sketch pad and began quickly drawing the scene, walking behind Rain, in front of Tyler as they worked. The blonde investigator kept her face turned from the desperately working rescue crews swarming the second station wagon, tuning out Horatio's voice. The larger scene degraded with each new helper, each broken window, each rescue effort. Things needed to be recorded before it was destroyed completely.
Pausing by the wall near the front of the lighter family car, Rain stretched her five foot four inch frame to see the top. With a frown, the slim woman narrowed liquid hazel eyes, studying the stones. Something felt wrong, and Rain always trusted her instincts. Her innate senses spooked some members of the lab, most notably the very superstitious Ryan, but she didn't care: her instincts served her well and she never ignored them. Now, a sense of something missing, something important, seeped over the woman, sending a shiver down her back. Her arms prickled into goose-bumps which had nothing to do with the pre-dawn cold.
"Find something, Rain?" Calleigh's voice slid into Rain's consciousness but didn't jar her into losing her concentration.
Rain nodded, red hair swinging in its ponytail. "The cars never reached this far."
Calleigh and Tyler looked back over the massive wreck and Tyler ventured "no, the station wagons are the furthest along, stopped by the wall." He, too, tried to ignore Alexx and Horatio, though he hoped by all that was holy that Madison would be rescued. He didn't know just how Horatio had wound up with a daughter out of wedlock, but Tyler also didn't care. The kid was so gentle and adorable; no one could hate her for a mistake made by her parents. Tyler turned back to Calleigh and Rain. "You find debris? Probably flung by the impact."
Slowly, Rain lifted her camera and took a picture of the top of the wall. "Not debris, Jensen. Skid marks. Something scraped this wall and fell onto the other side."
The audio-visual tech sighed. "Then even this wall couldn't contain that crash." He shook his head and began measuring the long black burnt drag mark Rain pointed out. "Looks like our scene just got bigger."
Calleigh stepped over to sketch the marks but paused. "That mark was made by something large." She turned to call back, "Frank, we need you!" As the rugged costumed officer trotted over, Calleigh kept her further opinions to herself, but the others didn't ask for clarification.
When Frank reached the trio, he looked the wall up and down, mouth slightly open as he pondered the sight. Finally, he barked, "what you need, Calleigh?"
"I need a lift, Frank," she offered a sweet smile, her voice determinedly pleasant as she avoided glancing behind him at the mayhem.
Tyler's eyes widened as Rain threw a glare at the petite blonde woman . . . the obviously pregnant, petite blonde woman.
Fortunately, Frank Tripp wasn't stupid. "No can do, Calleigh. You're on restricted duty. Even if I thought it was a good idea, H'll kill me if I toss you around." The six foot two inch man worried just as much as Horatio about the investigators on the team.
"Lift me," Rain ordered, her voice steady, unemotional.
Frank gave her a look of annoyance, a frown flitting over his normally severe expression. He'd been avoiding coming near her on work hours if at all possible and now she wanted him to man-handle her. Terrific.
With a chuckle, Tyler offered, "or you can toss me up." The tech knew the large officer wouldn't take him up on the suggestion. While Tyler was taller than the women, he wasn't tall enough to see over the wall, but that didn't mean Frank Tripp would be willing to lift him. Frank's dark look and low grunt rewarded him.
Dismissing Tyler's joking offer, Frank turned abruptly to Rain. He cupped his hands, lacing his fingers together as if he offered her a boost onto a tall horse. Without a word, he set his leg so she could walk up him and get into position. It was either this or grab her waist and toss. Frank waited patiently.
Rain seemed unmoved as she grabbed Frank's fringed vest and placed one foot on his hands. She stepped onto his thigh, her strong hands steadying her as she literally walked up the large man's legs. He kept steady, not actually lifting her, letting her control the movement. Once her head was above his, Frank set his back and continued to support her; she turned to look over the markings on the top of the wall.
A black skid accompanied with some crumbling rock streaks and burned debris stretched across a ten foot swath and ended at the other side. With a grunt, Rain balanced, one foot in Tripp's hands and the other on his thigh, knee leaning into his chest. Snapping a couple of photos, Rain then offered the camera downwards.
Tyler leaped forward to grab the camera.
"Lifting tape, scalpel . . ." Rain listed the equipment she wanted to gather the trace from the top of the wall. She ignored the fact that Frank would have to hold her up the entire slow, delicate process. She could easily have scrambled up onto the sturdy surface, but this was more fun. She loved to needle Frank; he was so damn gruff.
Below Rain, Frank stayed as still as possible, thankful the small woman didn't weigh as much as Tyler would have. Having her stomach almost pressed against his face was uncomfortable for its own reasons, but he pushed that from his mind. It'd been too long since Melissa had left him; he'd just have to cope.
Tyler passed the requested supplies up to Rain and watched as best he could while the woman worked.
Carefully, Rain ran the blade under the black marking, lifting it up and staring at it intently. "Rubber . . ." she murmured then bagged the sample. Using tweezers, she picked up a sliver of tempered glass and followed that with a scraping of metal. Handing down the bags, Rain lifted her flashlight to shine the beam over the trail and off the edge into the trees behind.
Shock coursed through the investigator when her light glinted off something in the trees. "We have another victim!" she called, scrambling onto the wall with nimble grace. She lowered herself onto the other side and heard Frank grab Tyler and toss him at the top of the wall, the tech scrabbling to catch himself without damaging the evidence still up there.
A pair of rescuers headed off to the Museum's entrance, hoping to make their way through the trees to the newest victim.
Stepping back, Calleigh moved away from the newest rescue attempt, knowing there was still much to do.
A metallic shrieking rent the air and most people turned to witness the triumphant opening of the light blue station wagon. Amid cheers, two medics carefully began to work on the blonde girl, checking her vitals and calling back and forth.
The noise drew Alexx from her consuming horror. She lifted her face from Speed's shoulder, sobbing, trying to catch her breath. "I . . . I'm . . . o . . . kay . . . Ba . . . by," she hiccoughed. As his calloused hand ran tenderly over her trembling shoulders, Alexx grasped his upper arm and met his deep, sad brown eyes. Alexx stroked Speed's cheek. "They . . . need me."
Speed nodded and helped his friend to rise, keeping one arm protectively around her. He deliberately blocked her sight of her husband's crumpled car, turning her towards the unrecognizable twisted metal sandwiched under the front of the big rig. Speed walked Alexx to the vehicle; it would have the most severely damaged victims so she would want to start there.
Alexx took a deep, steadying breath and allowed Speed to help guide her. Once they reached the bright red mess, she hissed. "This was a convertible, Baby."
He nodded in silent agreement then offered "think anyone was thrown free?"
Taking in the horribly crushed vehicle, Alexx turned her searching, haunted brown eyes over the rest of the mayhem. "If someone was thrown, he might have actually lived." The hands on her shoulders instantly released as Speed moved away to tell rescuers to look at a distance for thrown victims, such as the one Rain had found.
Carefully moving amidst twisted metal, broken glass, and other signs of wreckage, Speed headed towards the small group at the wall. Something caught his attention and Speed turned back to Jeffrey's car, curiously squatting next to the door the still form of HR slumped against. Speed tried to ignore the limp form, already passed over as deceased by the triage EMT. Instead, Speed reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a pair of gloves then slid them on, keeping his eyes firmly on the dark blue door. Gingerly, he touched a finger to the door then called out, "bring me a kit!"
When one of the many rescue workers retrieved Speed's kit from where he'd left it by the other station wagon, Speed reached in and grabbed his flashlight. He shone it over the side of the car, a darker streak revealed in the intense beam. As carefully as if he performed surgery, Speed used a tiny scalpel to flake off a piece of the trace: black paint. He held the scalpel steady as he twisted to look at each of the vehicles around him: a pale blue station wagon, Jeffrey's dark blue station wagon, a yellow pick-up truck, a purple and silver eighteen-wheeler, an unrecognizable red convertible, and a purple compact. "Where's the black one?"
He looked again then slipped the paint into a bag and stood quickly. Cupping one hand around his mouth, raising his voice above the cacophony, Speed shouted "there's one missing! Look for a motorcycle!" Whatever had left that streak had been small enough to either be totally hidden under another vehicle or light enough to flip over the museum wall. Either way, they had to find it.
Horatio busily studied the door next to Madison. It had slightly popped from the force of the accident, but he hadn't been able to wrench it open when he'd first seen her movements. Unfortunately, with the little girl mainly unconscious, breaking the window in on her would probably hurt her more than help. As the other investigators shouted about finding victims and looking for motorcycles, as the nerve-wrenching screech of the Jaws of Life sounded from the other family car, H reached into his kit and pulled out a screwdriver. Fortunately, he had managed to cling to the kit even while trying to climb to his injured niece. With speed born of familiarity, H began to pry the window away from its sealant, working steadily as he called through the cracked door, "I'm here, Madison. I'm coming for you."
The little girl gasped suddenly and her blue eyes flew open wide. She looked around, horror and confusion rising, and turned her head to try to see what was all around her. The seven year old shook pitifully. Before she could get her bearings, a concerned voice filtered through the broken door seal. "I'm here, Madison." She looked up at Horatio, relief warring with the fear.
Softly, almost silently, she called back, "Horatio . . . help."
"I'm coming, Sweetheart," he crooned as he worked. Noticing her eyes darting towards the front seat, Horatio commanded her attention with a firm "Madison, look at me."
She turned her wide blue eyes on the man who'd helped and protected her and her mother for the past three years.
Horatio smiled softly at her. "That's right, Sweetheart. Watch me. Can you see the door lock?"
Madison might have been an unusually quiet, shy little girl, but she was a clever one as well. "It doesn't unlock inside, Horatio." Her voice sounded tiny and shaky but certain.
The red-haired man nodded. "That's right. It's called a child safety lock." There was no other point to the conversation than to keep his redheaded niece's attention away from the other occupants of the car. He didn't want her to realize that she was trapped and her family had been killed. Horatio pushed the thought away, still refusing to deal with the loss of his son. Instead, he slid the screwdriver into another section of window and called, "is there a drink holder on the door, Madison?"
Puzzled, the little girl began to study the car door. She was unfamiliar with the Woods's car so it took a little time before she shook her head. "No."
"Very good," Horatio called back. The window wasn't coming loose; his tool wasn't long enough. Pushing away the frustration, Horatio glanced in the car and made a quick decision. Madison was in shock or she would have been aware of her injuries: bloody head and face, twisted arm, and untold hidden wounds. Horatio called, "Close your eyes, Sweetheart, and count to one hundred. Can you do that for me? Nice and loud."
The request puzzled Madison, but she nodded and closed her eyes, her innate trust of her uncle guiding her. "One . . . two . . ."
H closed his kit and scrambled back over the front of the crumpled car, ignoring the jagged metal tearing his suit, scratching his leg. He made it back to HR's window, took a deep breath, said a silent prayer requesting his son's forgiveness, then drew back his arm. With all his strength, the former bomb squad officer slammed his elbow into the window, shattering it and drawing a loud, terrified scream from the girl on the far side. Immediately, he began clearing away the glass, calling out, "I'm here, Madison. Keep your eyes closed. I broke the window. You don't want glass in your eyes, Sweetheart."
Horatio took in the destruction of the back seat then reached in to release his son's seatbelt. He had to move the nine year old's body before he could reach the very alive little girl. Taking a deep breath, Horatio reached in and grasped the belt release.
A soft moan issued from the boy and Horatio froze, eyes widening, skin paling further. "HR?" He slid his fingers to the boy's neck and felt nothing. Frowning, he laid his hand over the boy's chest and sobbed as a fluttering rising and falling answered him. "I need rescue! HR's alive!"
Alexx and Speed tore away from their own investigations and ran to Horatio's side, despite having to once again approach their deceased friends. Alexx slipped directly into her medical mode, calling out, "It's okay, Baby, we've got you! We're coming." As she heard Horatio calming Madison and speaking desperately to his unconscious son, Alex called out, "don't move them, Horatio! We need backboards."
Long minutes crept by: speeding up to a flash of confused noises and colors then slowing to capture the eternal memory. Reporters had stopped shouting questions as they sensed that all concentration was required for the rescue attempts. EMT's, firemen, cops, and investigators worked feverishly to pull the survivors from the two station wagons, the purple compact, and beyond the wall. An eerie silence seemed to envelope the noisy rescue, as if only the sounds of aid were permitted into the small bubble of time and space surrounded by a ribbon of yellow tape. Even the driver of the eighteen-wheeler pushed away his nausea and guilt to join in the rescue, helping pull the passenger from the purple car which had run into the back of his rig.