CHAPTER 4

Caitlin wandered into the living room, no sign of him. Seeing a dim light in the kitchen, she walked over there. String was lying in the floor, sweat covered and she couldn't even tell if he was breathing at all.

Saint John quickly flung open the door, not even thinking to shut off the helicopter. He rushed inside to hear what the matter was.

She knelt down to see if he was still alive. He was breathing, just barely and had a faint pulse. "Help me get him to the chopper. We got to get him to a hospital now!"

Every critical second dragged on endlessly. The miles to the hospital had to be multiplying, never before had it taken so long to get there. Shallow breaths became even less frequent, he was slipping away. His body temperature had already dropped well below normal.

"Hang on," Saint John silently prayed. Everything would turn out ok; it had to.

After a tormenting long time, the hospital finally came into view, just a little farther.

"Saint John we're losing him!" Caitlin cried out urgently from the back.

"We're almost there," she answered, desperately hoping they wouldn't be just seconds too late.

\A/

Midnight, Dominic Santini's apartment…

The phone rang continuously. Muttering all the way, Dom rolled to the edge of the bed and shuffled tiredly down the hall. Who was crazy enough to call at this hour?

Panic stricken, Caitlin was on the other end. "Dom," she began trying to get her message out before worry overtook her again.

"What is it?"

"I'm here…. At the hospital…"

"You're where?"

"With String. Come please, there's something wrong, really wrong."

"Ok, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Please hurry."

She returned to Saint John and her son in the waiting room. "I called Michael," he told her, "he's on his way."

Thanks. Any new news?" she asked weakly.

"None."

She blinked back a few tears, but more fell.

"Oh God, please let him be ok."

They sat in silence for the next ten minutes, each wanting to hear some good news, but only if it was good.

"You have any idea what is wrong with him?" Saint John asked.

"No, He didn't feel too great this morning, but that was because of being shot. He never said anything about being sick and…. I just don't know."

Dom came in, shirt untacked and his red Santini Air cap shoved on his head rather than combing his hair. "Is he alright?"

"I don't know," both of them answered. That wasn't a good sign. Not even a single encouraging word.

Michael entered the room. Even Mr. Clean looked a little rumpled; maybe midnight hospital runs weren't their best thing.

At long last, one of the doctor immerged from the emergency room, but it didn't look like he had much good news. They all tried to brace themselves for the worst, but they knew what the worst was, and if he wasn't there yet he wasn't far away.

The doctor could sense the tension, but that only made his news harder. "Well, he's not dead. Unfortunately, he's not much better. We have him on the ventilator and are regularly checking his vitals, all of which are extremely low. As far as what's wrong with him, the gunshots were far more complex than anyone ever realized. We removed two bullets, but since he left before he had a chance to do a second check, somehow we missed one. This isn't your typical light machine gun fire. They are slow acting poison filled. By removing the first two and them being slow release, we didn't see the results until now.

"Currently I have him on just about ever painkiller and antibiotic we have, but nothing has helped yet. In thirty years of practice I've never seen anything like this."

He wasn't dead, that was good; he was dying and there wasn't a thing they could do about it, that was very, very bad.

"How long?" Cait asked.

"I'm sorry, but a week and a half if he's lucky. Without an antidote, it's like fighting blindfolded; you don't know where your enemies are and how to defeat them."

"What about with an antidote?" Saint John inquired.

"If he fights and the antidote is strong and given soon, he might make it, but the probability of survival is still only about ten percent," the doctor answered. "I'm sorry, I really am. If there's anything is anything I can explain or help you with just let me know."

"Can we see him?"

"The poison is only spread throughout the body by the blood, so you can see him, but only one at a time."

The doctor led them down the hall in the ICU to a little window they could see him from. "If you want to go in just tell one of the nurses over there."

"Saint John, you go first," Caitlin told him. "String would want to see you."

He politely declined and turned to leave.

Dom gaped. He couldn't just leave. His brother that had risked his life countless times for him was dying here, and he planned to just walk out. Dominic didn't care how much he disliked these places or whatever his problem was. He needed to stay. Dom started down the hall after him, but he was gone.

"What was that about?" Michael questioned upon Dom's return.

"He left. He just turned tail and left," he said exasperatedly. "How can he do that?"

Michael gave a puzzled expression. "I don't know, Dominic. I've always considered those two closer than Hawke and I, but even I can't turn a cold shoulder on this one, and I sure as hell know Hawke wouldn't do that if it were Saint John in there. He might not be useful to the rest of the world. But he would spend every last moment he had with his brother."

\A/

Mike gathered his bags from the baggage claim and started out the door. On the trip back he'd had a nice nap, but it would be nice to get back home. He signaled for a taxi, nothing. He tried again. Instead of a taxi, a different kind of car pulled up. Shrugging, he threw his bags into the back and hopped inside Saint John's vehicle.

"Thanks for the pickup buddy, but I wasn't expecting a pickup. Aren't you supposed to be working? Oh wait, it's two in the morning. Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"

"I'm not the only one missing out on a restful night, but if you'll fly I can catch up on our way to England." He continued focusing on the road. Now onto the interstate, they headed out for the outskirts of town.

"I like to travel as much as anybody and England's alright, but we just left the airport and you can't drive to England. Cars and miles of water don't mix well."

"We're flying- in Airwolf."

"Oh. That's better than the airport anyway, no baggage checks. What're we going for?"

"Not pleasure. By the way, don't get shot, even a graze could kill you."

"I wasn't planning on getting shot, but I don't think a graze would literally kill me."

"It could if this doesn't go well."

"What'd you mean?"

"String got out of the hospital yesterday; he's back in today."

"Why?" Mike queried.

"Those bullets are filled with slow acting poison."

"Not cool. He's gonna be alright though, right?" he asked, his voice full of serious concern.

"I hope so; that's why we're going to England. We have to find a cure."

"That bad?"

"The doctor gave him maybe a week," Saint John answered gravely.

"Let's get going then; the clock is ticking."

Saint John pulled into the entrance of the cave. Before long, both of them had changed into their flight suits and done a thorough pre-flight check. Each climbing in, they started up the chimney.

\A/

The nurse rushed out of String's room. "Doctor, Dr. Thomas! We need you in the ICU!"

"Who?"

"Hawke, Stringfellow Hawke."

Joining the hustle, he came in.

"We're losing him!"

"Get the crash cart," the doctor instructed.

\A/

Cait walked numbly out of the room.

"How is he?" Dom asked, somehow missing the flurry down the hallway.

"Worse."

What could they do to get him back? They had to do something. Caitlin was already a wreck, and wouldn't be much better. Even Michael had had better days. String had battled some pretty fierce things, had close calls with death more times than anyone wanted to count, but at least the doctors had been able to try something; they had been able to try something; they had something left to try. Now, it was a matter of how long he hangs on, and there wasn't anything for him to hang onto this time.

\A/

"England's coming up," Saint John reported. "Let's go in now. We can't afford to wait."

"I'll go in," Mike volunteered, "you can stay and provide a diversion."

"She's not here."

"What?"

"Chrissy Moffet isn't inside that building."

A beep from the communications panel warned them of the incoming transmission.

"It's Locke."

"Hi-uh Jason," Mike greeted, "we're currently a little busy, so please try again later."

He ignored them. "How fast can you get to England?"

"Pretty fast."

"Marella's being held captive there by someone named Chris who wants to make an exchange."

"What exchange?"

"Airwolf for Marella and an antidote, she said you'd know what she meant."

"I do. Where do we make the exchange?" Mike asked.

"By the Thames River. Mike, you can't let her have Airwolf, but you've got to get Marella back; I don't know anything about the antidote."

"It's for String."

"Mike, I just heard from Michael. Hawke's probably only got a few hours; he's going down hill fast. The doctors are doing all they can just to keep him alive and he's definitely not doing any better."

"Sounds like we had better get a move on then."

"By the time you get there; it'll probably be too late already," Jason told him. "He won't be able to hang on long enough for you to get there and back."

"We're already in England. Got to go, Jason."

Somehow, they had to save Marella, get rid of Chrissy, find and antidote, and get back with it before String was dead, and right now it didn't look like that gave them very long.