Casey woke from a restlessly drugged sleep on the couch in Dr. Brennan's office, where she had been ordered by first Dr. Brennan then Dr. Saroyan the second time her head hit the table she was working on, by something hitting her face repeatedly. She wiped the item away, then struggled to sit up. Opening her eyes, she saw Booth standing about six feet away with a handful of paper clips, one in his right hand poised to throw it at her. Seeing she was awake, he smiled. "Hey, kid. Naptime's over. Ready to join the grown-ups and do actual work?"
After the long night of vomiting from the ultram, Zack had called the doctor the next morning. The doctor had gone through the PDR, looking for something he could give her. Finally, he decided on simple codeine. It helped with the pain, but it knocked her out good. She could hardly hold her head up, but she had been trying her best to function until she had been banished to the couch under the threat of knocking her out with a femur to the back of the head.
Casey smiled. Booth sounded like he was being snotty, like he thought she was being lazy, but she knew better. He knew she was tired of being babied, being looked after. Everyone was being so helpful, Zack carrying her duffel bag could be overlooked as an attempt at chivalry, but everyone else opening doors for her and packing her tools and the bones she was working on around for her was beginning to make her feel useless. Booth understood that she didn't need to be treated like she was breakable. "That depends. Are they going to let me do actual work? Or am I going to make a coffee run that will end with Angela meeting me in the parking lot to help carry it all?"
Booth shrugged. "I don't know. How does going out in the field with Zack suit you?"
"You guys are letting me out in the field?!"
"Can you hold a camera?"
"Yeah."
"Great. You and Zack are taking a little road trip. How long has it been since your last knock-out pill?"
She looked at her watch. 'Bout four hours."
"Good. You're driving, you know." She hurried to put her shoes on, but her fingers fumbled on the laces. Booth winced watching her, but stopped himself before he offered to help. She would smack his hand away if he even tried. Finally, she gave up, tucked the strings into her shoes and headed for the main lab. Booth followed, wondering if this was such a good idea.
"So, where are we going?" she asked him.
"A gardener found 8 wooden boxes with bodies in them in his employer's back yard. His employer is a candidate for the senate, so the FBI thought it necessary to send their brain trust. Bones is finishing up on the last case, so she said to send Zack. And, of course, it's a long walk, and he could probably use an extra pair of hands…so to speak…and you want experience, so, hey…" He shrugged. "Win-win."
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The scene was processed, the pictures and video taken, and all eight of the boxes were dug up. It was nearly six o'clock in the evening, and Casey and Zack were worn out. The three hour drive was rough in itself, on the narrow, winding roads into the outskirts of Duffield, Virginia. Zack had gotten very carsick, and the codeine had worn off and Casey's arm was throbbing. They were packing their equipment into Casey's Honda SUV, getting ready to leave when Agent Matthews came up to them. "We got a problem," he said.
"What's up?" asked Casey.
"Found another box inside. Must be the newest victim, it hasn't been buried yet. Body's still relatively fresh."
"Okay," said Zack. "Let me get the camera and we'll be inside to photograph the scene."
"That's fine, but that's not the problem. The problem is that we don't have room to transport another body."
"You're kidding, right?" asked Casey. "This kind of thing doesn't happen twice in a week!"
Matthews shook his head. "Transportation department has been a little screwed up lately. Our boss had a heart attack, and we're just running around like chickens with their heads cut off." Casey thought for a second that the cliché sounded funny when used in plural.
"Okay," said Casey. "I guess we don't mind taking it back with us." Zack shrugged, then handed her a camera as he set up the video.
An hour later, Zack and Matthews loaded the box into the back of the little silver Honda. "Just follow behind us," said Matthews. "Try to keep up."
Casey was already in the driver's seat when Zack got in. "Try to keep up!" she grumbled. "Yeah! I can blow their sorry asses out of the water!"
"Yeah, I'm sure you could," said Zack. "But how about we try to get home alive, instead?"
Casey smirked. It was cute how easy it was to scare him. He'd crap his pants if he ever saw how she drove when she was alone. "Okay, I'll be careful."
They pulled out behind the black GMC Matthews was driving and the black Ford in front of him. Casey wondered bleakly if the myth about the black FBI vehicles was true, or if they were simply making fun of the myth. Zack plugged in her iPod and turned it on through the stereo, and they rode in peace, listening to the old country and 80's rock songs Casey preferred. Bob Seger was halfway through "Old Time Rock and Roll" when a car suddenly flew past them, way too fast. It cut over there in front of them, left the road. Zack yelped and covered his eyes as Casey slammed on her brakes, skidding to a stop. The little sports car crashed through the guardrail into a tree and lay on its side, wheels still spinning.
Casey pulled the vehicle to the side of the road and threw open the door. "Come on, Zack! Get the blue bag from the back! Gloves in the front pocket. Hurry!"
She was out of the car and halfway to the wreck when she heard Zack. "But wait!" he called. "We're supposed to be following the FBI guys!"
"They're already gone!" she yelled back. "We have to help this guy! He's not moving! Call 911, and toss me my bag!"
He did as he was instructed, grabbing the bag and her cell phone, and followed her. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel, bleeding from everywhere. Casey took her trauma kit from Zack, took out a cervical collar and checked the driver over while Zack called for a real ambulance.
Finding a weak and rapid pulse, Casey fought in vain with the C-collar before giving up. Zack, you have to help me!"
Zack had a lot of experience with human bodies but none of them had still been breathing. "What do I do?" he asked.
She quickly talked him through the c-collar, and then reassessed him. "He's getting blood in his airway," she said. "We have to get him out!" Before Zack could ask, she ran back to the car and came back with a flat piece of cardboard. "Here's what we have to do…"
She and Zack had the patient out of the vehicle, partially immobilized by the piece of cardboard, and turned over on his side to keep his airway clear by the time the ambulance arrived. She had most of the bleeding under control with gauze pads. She gave the EMS crew her name and EMT number, gave a statement to the police. Zack just sort of sat there, dazed. This was apparently routine for her, but he wasn't used to this. Blood covered his hands, his clothes, there were even a few smears on his face. A sick feeling filled the pit of his stomach, and he didn't understand it. He had been covered in virtually every fluid that could come from a body, had discussed his plans for lunch with Hodgins over decaying guts, burned flesh, even that mess with all those chemicals in the bathtub, and never felt like this. He couldn't believe that a simple mechanism of continued breathing made such a difference in his feelings. What he worked with were bodies. This was a person, and that was a different thing altogether. He watched Casey interact with the paramedics, how easily they joked while she helped them perform a proper immobilization on a person-sized plastic board, then she stood back as they lifted the patient into the ambulance.
She walked back to him, and he saw that she was an even bigger mess than he was. The paramedics had given her a handful of antibacterial wipes to clean up with, and she passed half of them to Zack. She was smiling. "Now, that's what I call a good time!"
Zack looked at her funny. "You are really weird, you know that?"
She ignored him. When the last of the police left the scene, Casey pulled out a bag from her back seat. "Want to change clothes?" she asked. "I think I have a pair of sweatpants in here that may fit you."
He was eager to get out of the bloody clothes, so he accepted the grey sweatpants and black t-shirt. Looking around to make sure they were alone, he stripped out of the soiled clothes, cleaned any blood that soaked through off with the wipes, and got dressed quickly. Surprisingly, the girl's sweatpants almost fit him, they were just a little bit short. When he went around the vehicle, he saw Casey was dressed in fresh jeans and a MASH t-shirt. He was amazed that she had been able to dress herself so quickly, even with the bad arm. What he didn't see was how bad it had hurt. And she would die before she would let him see. "Lets go," she said.
He got in the car, and as the sun was going down they realized they had another problem. "So,…uh…" Casey began. "You have a photographic memory. Which way is home?"
Zack winced. "I think I was dozing off a little…"
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"Oh, shit!" exclaimed Casey, doing a double-take. "Did that sign say Pike county, Kentucky?!"
"That's not good," Zack commented unnecessarily.
"We're lost," said Casey.
"Apparently quite badly," Zack added.
The two-lane road they had been on had degenerated into little more than a goat path with weeds growing down the middle. "No cell service, I suppose," she said, checking her phone. "Nope."
She looked at Zack. "What now?"
His eyes widened. "I don't know! Am I supposed to know?"
She shook her head. "No, of course not. I was just looking for suggestions. Do you have any?"
He also shook his head. "Do we have a map?"
"Sure," she said cheerily. "Of D.C., Maryland, Virginia, and West Virginia. They're all at least six years out of date and we're in the wrong state." She laid her head over on the steering wheel. "It's almost midnight, we're about ten miles past the back door to Hell, with no idea how we got here, we have no map, and we're low on gas. I'm living proof of Murphy's Law." She was actually laughing, at least until she tried to turn and face Zack, and bumped her arm. Nearly 12 hours without a pain pill was well past caught up with her, and she let out a sound that was half-way between a yelp and a whine.
"Are you due for another pill?" asked Zack. The look on her face told him all he needed to know. "Oh, hell, you haven't had one all day, have you? Because you had to drive!" He dropped his head. "Got, Casey, I'm sorry! If I had thought I'd have…"
"What, learned to drive?" She felt guilty as soon as the words were out of her mouth, and even worse when she saw the look on Zack's face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't snap at you. It's not your fault. When I'm hurt, I get bitchy. I guess it's just my way of dealing with pain. I don't mean to take it out on you." She squeezed his hand, and he looked up at her with a weak smile.
She laughed again. "Isn't this going to make a great story to tell when we get back!"
"If we get back," he added.
"Yeah, road falling apart, middle of the night, lost in the woods. I've seen this movie!"
"What movie?" Zack asked, and Casey let that one go. "Hey, look!" he exclaimed. "There a police car up there!"
They caught up with the police car, and drove behind it for a short while before the car pulled over and let them pass. They weren't sure what to do then, but it became a moot point when the blue lights flicked on. Casey pulled over. "Maybe he can take us to civilization," she said.
"What are you kids doing out here at this time of night?"
"We're lost," said Zack. "I'm Dr. Zack Addy, a forensic anthropologist with the Jeffersonian institute and-"
The cop cut him off. "Stay put, both of you." They looked at each other uncertainly as he circled the vehicle, their faces suddenly breaking into near identical expressions of horror. The cop made his way back to the driver's side, weapon drawn. "So," he said conversationally. "Which of you wants to explain the bloody clothes and the box leaking blood in the back?"