A/N: Okay, so I know I said this would be the last chapter, but this one kind of got out of hand. Again. And I thought you guys deserved an update. The first half of what was originally the last chapter.
11. The Death of Me
Baird had been shot before.
Well, maybe a more apt description was shot at before. He'd had his fair share of near misses, grazes, and even a few more serious injuries. But nothing like this. And he definitely could have happily lived his life without experiencing it.
He kept his face blank as Cole and Jace helped him into the Centaur. Even though it felt like someone was jamming a screwdriver into his intestines, Baird noticed that every indication of pain he gave made Cole freak out. Not normal people freaking out, of course, but it was still enough to unnerve Baird. Cole was always chipper and optimistic. If he was acting this way, it meant this was bad. Seriously bad.
Dying bad.
Sam clambered into the tank behind him. Oh yeah. After the initial shock of being shot, he'd almost forgotten why he'd stupidly thrown himself in front of a loaded gun. Jace manned the guns while Anya dug out the field medkit.
"Cole, I need you to apply pressure to the wound." Anya's voice had shifted back to her CIC-tone, when shit was going down and she was doing her best to stay focused. "We have to slow the blood loss." How encouraging.
Cole took a wad of gauze from the lieutenant and pressed it against Baird's stomach. He clenched his fists as pain laced through his abdomen. Keep it together, man. Every one else in the Centaur was losing it, in their own subtle ways. Some one had to stay in control. He would have laughed, but he knew how much that would hurt.
Marcus drove the tank forward, as fast as it would go. Baird dimly remembered one of his more exciting adventures in this vehicle: the trek from New Hope to Mount Kadar. He supposed he should be thankful they were only going after a platoon of Stranded, instead of fending off Reapers and Seeders while crossing a fragile frozen lake.
Since when am I the one to see the silver lining? Must have lost more blood than I thought…
He found himself staring at Sam. She was crouched by his side, looking lost as Anya fumbled around in the medkit. He was still vaguely pissed that Sam and Cole had showed up. What was Marcus thinking? Sergeant Safety never put anyone in harm's way. But, then again, Sam had probably saved Baird's life—not that he'd ever admit that. And he'd paid her back rather quickly.
Funny. I'm not the hero type.
Cole chuckled nervously. Shit, did I say that out loud? Baird couldn't even keep his inner monologue inner. He was losing control of his filter. That couldn't be good.
"Marcus." Jace broke the tense silence. "I think I see something through the trees. Yeah, it's—shit, what is that?"
Instinct and curiosity had Baird pushing himself up to see, but Anya grabbed his shoulders. He would have snapped something, but his brain was having problems conjuring up his usual sass. No matter. Marcus soon cleared up the confusion.
"It's a Pariah tank."
A book title popped into Baird's head. Armoured Fighting Vehicles of the Pendulum Wars. It was one of the last books published before E-Day. Some poor, dedicated bastard must have been working on it throughout the fuel wars. Why was Baird fixating on this? But then he saw the top of a page in his mind's eye—The Union of Independent Republics: The Pariah.
Ah, there it was. There must have been a picture of the tank in the book somewhere, but Baird couldn't recall it. All he could see was the red cover of the book, the title embossed with gold lettering. God, how much time had he spent pouring over the contents of the Baird Family Library?
"How is one of those even still running?" Anya asked.
Oh right. Back to reality. I'm bleeding to death, remember?
"Ollivar," Marcus said, like that explained everything.
Baird rolled his eyes. Lyle Ollivar was a pirate trader, not a wizard. The Pariah had been out of commission since the end of the Pendulum Wars. It would take a hell of a lot of work to get one of those up and running again.
"Shit, there's more!" Jace yelled. "Three!"
Three frigging old UIR tanks? Okay, maybe Ollivar was a wizard.
The Centaur rumbled over something, shifting the contents inside—including Baird. Cole's hand pushed slightly into Baird's stomach, and he sucked in a pained breath. Immediately, his friend pulled his hands away, but Anya grabbed him.
"Constant pressure," she said forcefully. "This is dicey already."
That's reassuring. But Baird kept quiet. Cole wasn't a trained field medic. Yeah, they all went through a crash course during basic training, but most wounds during actual combat were either too minimal to require immediate attention, or too serious to bother. And all that training had a way of slipping into some forgotten corner of your mind when it was your buddy that needed saving.
"Ah shit, they've seen us," Marcus growled. "Jace, take out those tanks."
There was a thunderous boom as Jace fired one of the cannon's shells. Baird craned his neck, hoping to see the orange glow of an explosion—the sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can not die—but all he saw was Sam. She looked how he must have felt when she came stumbling out of the trees after getting herself shot by the sniper.
Yeah, payback's a bitch.
"Hang on, it's about to get rough!" Jace called.
Before Baird could even ask what he meant, something slammed into the side of the Centaur. That couldn't be good. Three tanks on one—and Baird had already experienced Marcus' driving skills.
"We are so dead," he grunted.
At least if they blew up, it would save him bleeding out. Fast and simple. And then his brain realized what he'd just thought. His chest tightened uncomfortably. Dom. Suddenly, the sounds around him muted. He was acutely aware of his breathing, speeding up to a panicked pace. Shit, he was going into shock—but this long after he'd been shot? Why now?
Dom, that's why.
Baird had always thought Delta was indestructible. He knew that was a load of crap, but some part of him still felt invincible on the squad. But then Dom had died—and Baird still sometimes had problems facing that—and everything changed. Common sense told him that he could die at any time, but he always felt special. He couldn't die. He was Damon Baird. But if Dom Santiago was gone, the universe wasn't fair at all.
Shit. I could die. I could actually die. Shit.
He'd never panicked like this before. Not when seeing a grub for the first time, not when facing his first E-Hole, not even when the Locust had thrown him into that metal cell down in the Hollow. All those times, he'd known that Cole had his back. But not even The Cole Train could fend off death.
"Guys," he began, attempting to smother the fear in his voice. "Don't let me die, okay?"
Silence fell over the back of the Centaur. Cole opened his mouth, probably about to say something inspirational and encouraging, but then out of nowhere, Sam slapped Baird. Cole looked completely dumbfounded, while Anya awkwardly pretended not to have noticed. What the hell? His cheek stung, briefly taking his mind off the stabbing pain in his abdomen. He gaped up at her, completely lost for words.
"You lazy bastard." She was furious; he'd never managed to make her this angry, not even when he was trying. "You're not just going to sit back and pin this on us. Fight, you fuckstick."
Baird knew that he should say something, but his brain couldn't keep up with all that was happening. The last time someone had hit him, it had been Bernie, and he hadn't taken that well. He didn't know whether to yell at Sam or attempt some sort of comfort. Luckily, he was spared any further internal debate as another shot from one of the Pariahs slammed into the Centaur.
The tank's movement slowed considerably. That couldn't be good.
"Baird—" Marcus started, because it was habitual.
If something broke, Baird was always the one to fix it. He struggled up onto his elbows, despite Anya's protests. I can fix it. This is what I do. "I need—"
Anya cut him off. "You need to stay still."
She had that no-nonsense tone in her voice, so Baird knew there was no point in arguing. He didn't really have the energy for it anyway. But he also knew they were all screwed if he didn't get a look at the engine—and soon.
"Just… lift up that panel. I need to see."
Sam, Cole and Anya all exchanged a look, apparently having developed telepathic powers in the last few minutes. Baird was tempted to roll his eyes, but they all seemed to agree, so he got what he wanted. Sam lifted up the metal square that covered access to the engine, and shuffled back so he could see. His jaw tightened as he stared down into the hole.
Oh… great.
It was bad. The Centaur wasn't going to last much longer like this, and once it slowed down they'd be sitting ducks. Marcus was barely managing to dodge the three Pariahs as it was. Looks like I get to save the day again. And then I'll die. Wonderful. But the sight of a broken device was all that Baird needed to snap him out of his panicked mindset. He was an engineer again, Sera's greatest. Death wasn't going to hold him back now.
His hand groped in the direction of the tool bag stashed under the seats of every Centaur. That set Anya off again. "You have—"
"To stay still, yeah, I know." She was really starting to get under Baird's skin, even if she was saving his life. "Sam, you're up."
It was Sam's turn to look stunned. "You're daft."
He ignored her protest. "No choice. Either you fix it, or we're fucked."
That might have been the wrong thing to say; her expression became even more panicked. "But I can't—I don't know the first thing about—"
"I've seen you work on your bike's engine plenty of times. It's basically the same." It wasn't. At all. But she didn't need to know that. The Centaur swerved to the side, and Baird gritted his teeth as pain flared up in his gut. "I just need you to be my hands."
Sam relented; she nodded and pulled the tool bag out from underneath the seat. As she rooted around inside, Baird tried to remember what exactly needed to be done. Normally these things came to him in a flash, but right now his mind felt numbed. Every memory was hazy. He knew that he knew what to do, but he just couldn't picture it yet. Sam stared at him expectantly. Finally, recollection burst through the fog in his brain.
"Screwdriver," he said through clenched teeth. "We need to relieve the pressure on the engine." Before it either craps out completely or explodes.
Holding the screwdriver like a weapon, Sam turned her attention to the engine panel. Her face blanched, and Baird couldn't really blame her. He knew full well that the Centaur's engine was a great deal more complicated than a rat bike's. Irritation prickled at the back of his skull, because he'd never adjust to people who lacked his knowledge.
Suddenly, Jace let out a whoop. "Got one!"
"Nice job," Marcus said.
One down, two to go.
Baird turned his eyes to the engine hole. How the hell do I explain this? He could see what needed to be done and it confounded him that Sam didn't understand how to fix it. But that wasn't her fault, he knew.
"There, that one." He gestured to the problem valve, and Sam wasted no time in loosening it. Almost instantly, the Centaur picked up speed—but not as much as Baird hoped. There was still pressure building somewhere. His eyes frantically scanned the engine, but nothing jumped out at him.
His stomach dropped. He couldn't see the problem. Black was beginning to invade the edges of his vision. Not good. Not good at all. If he was going to die, he didn't want to go out as a failure. He just needed to fix this stupid machine.
Come on, think! You know this tank inside and out. How many hours did I spend holed up in the warehouse, getting greased up and knots in my shoulders. Think, dammit. I'm not going to let them die.
The Centaur shuddered with another direct hit. Luckily, the shell seemed to have missed anything important. Baird's head swung to the side, slamming the right side of his face against the metal floor. He bit back the curse that threatened to come bursting forth, and then—
Oh.
How had he not seen it before? It was so obvious, right there in front of him. Sam was watching him, anxiety all over her face. Was she worried about him, or about dying? Either was logical. The sound seemed to be drifting away.
"There," he said, pointing with his index finger. His own voice sounded far away. That should have worried him, but he found himself feeling strangely calm.
Sam reached down into the panel as the darkness spread slowly over Baird's eyes. Cole was saying something, but he couldn't quite make it out. Sorry, buddy. He didn't want to hurt Cole—any of them—but he didn't really have a choice.
At least the pain was gone. That was comforting.
Baird watched dimly as Sam turned her gaze back to him. Her triumphant expression melted. And the moment leaked away.
Ice poured into her veins as Sam saw Baird's head loll back. While she locked up, Cole had a more practical reaction. As his face screwed up in a mix of agony and determination, he pressed his hands harder to Baird's wound.
"Marcus!" Anya called over her shoulder.
The sergeant didn't even have to look. "Fuck," he snarled, dodging another blast from a Pariah.
"He's just unconscious," Anya said, but Sam could hear the strain in her voice.
"Head's up, they're trying to flank us!" Jace warned.
Sam's gut was churning; she thought she might be sick. Her body was pumping chemicals into her system, trying to convince her to get the hell out of there. She wouldn't, even if there was somewhere safe to go. These were her friends—her family. She would gladly die before she abandoned them.
The Centaur veered right abruptly, and a muffled explosion signalled that yet another shell had missed them. Marcus' driving was phenomenal, considering the circumstances: trying to outmanoeuvre two tanks, while a friend bled out in the back.
Unconscious. Not dead. Not yet.
There was still time, still hope. She just had to grit her teeth, and trust her friends to get them through this. As Marcus wrestled the Centaur around the two Pariahs, Sam felt completely and utterly useless. She stared at the growing red patch beneath Cole's fingers, and her insides twisted into a giant knot.
"Jace—" Marcus started, an edge to his voice.
"I see him, I see—shit!"
The force of the impact sent Sam lurching forward. Her hands barely made it out in time, but she managed to stop herself face-planting into the floor.
"Jace, did you get him?"
"Shit. Yeah. That was a nice move, by the way. And now…" Jace sucked in his breath, and then let out a hoot. "Oh hell yeah! Take that, you sons of bitches!"
"Marcus man, what's going on?" Cole had to shout over Jace's celebrating.
"Pariahs are down. The Stranded are starting to scatter. But the comms are still down."
Anya looked up from the medical bag. "They must have a scrambler in one of the vehicles."
"Hey Marcus." Jace peered out of the tank. "That car's doing its best to stay on the edge of everything. You think—?"
"It's worth a shot. Go for it."
Half a second later, a shell thundered out of the Centaur's gun. It slammed into the side of the offending vehicle, engulfing it in a fiery explosion. Instantly, Sam's earpiece crackled with a gloriously familiar static.
"Hoffman to Fenix. Respond, damn it!"
"Fenix here. We—"
Hoffman cut right in. "What the hell, sergeant? We've been trying to reach you for almost an hour. What's your status?"
"We took out a convoy of Stranded aiming to attack the fort. Threat neutralized, but Baird's been shot. Have a medical team standing by. ETA twenty minutes."
There was a slight pause, and Sam couldn't be sure if she heard a small noise in the background. "Will do. Hoffman out."
It was a tense and agonizing drive back to Anvil Gate. No one said any words; there was really nothing that could be said. Words of sympathy tended to grate on the nerves after years and years of tragedy. Anya tried to keep herself busy, while Jace scanned the woods with forced enthusiasm. Marcus, meanwhile, drove in rigid silence, white-knuckled. Cole didn't even bother trying to hide the torment he was clearly feeling.
Sam was still unable to wrap her head around everything. The last twenty-six hours had been a whirlwind of emotions. Anxiety, ecstasy, panic, utter bewilderment. He'd saved her. He'd actually stepped in front of a bullet for her. She knew Baird was changing, but that still shocked her.
Dom's death was a deep wound, one she wasn't entirely sure would heal. If Baird didn't make it… Sam entertained the idea of asking Jace to pray. He'd been through hell, just like the rest of them, but he was the only person of faith that she knew. Personally, she'd never given much thought to the idea of an old, bearded guy up in the clouds or wherever, watching out for everyone. And then E-Day had happened, and sixteen years of hell had made up Sam's mind for her. But Jace seemed devoted. Did it work, if she got someone else to do it on her behalf?
Sam never did ask.
Anvil Gate appeared suddenly out of the trees. The main gate opened almost instantly, and the Centaur rolled inside. As the door to the tank creaked open, Sam caught sight of the welcome party: Hoffman and Bernie, side by side, looking like concerned parents; Rossi beside Carmine, who was sporting bandages from the ambush that morning; and even Mathieson, in his crutches and prosthetics, distress apparent on his face.
Hayman materialized inside the Centaur, spry for a woman of her age. Harua Tak and Tom Mathieu had Baird on a stretcher before Sam realized what was happening. The urgency in the old doctor's pace sent a chill of dread down her spine.
Before she could open her mouth to say—What? Do I want to ask? Can I?—Hayman and her team had whisked Baird away, off to the infirmary.
Hoffman ambushed Marcus as he jumped down from the Centaur. "What in God's name happened out there, Fenix? It was supposed to be a hostage exchange."
"Yeah, well things didn't go exactly as planned," Marcus snapped.
Anya stepped in. "It was a trap, to lure manpower away from the fort. Griffin sent out a convoy with tanks and a comm scrambler the moment we arrived. We had to cripple the attack before it made it to Anvil Gate."
"And Baird?" Bernie asked, her voice quiet.
"Got himself shot," Cole answered, attempting to downplay the seriousness of the situation. "You know him. He loves himself too much to die on us. 'Sides, Doc Hayman's a miracle worker."
Hoffman's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Sam had never been in Hayman's operating room (not consciously, anyway), but the colonel made it a priority to keep the doctor happy and supplied. He knew better than anyone else just how difficult Hayman's job actually was.
Bernie took Cole by the arm in an overwhelmingly motherly gesture, and led him towards the hospital. Rossi, Carmine and Mathieson trailed after them, and Sam couldn't help but notice how much it all looked like a funeral procession. Anya, Jace and Hoffman walked at the rear of the group, with Anya bringing Hoffman up to speed.
Only Sam and Marcus lingered by the Centaur. She glanced around the inner compound of the fort—from the damaged, decaying walls to the houses of Anvegad—and wondered what the cost for the safety of Anvil Gate would be.
Marcus edged up beside her. "Sam? You okay?"
A lump threatened to appear in her throat, but she swallowed it down. "Yeah. Let's go."
Now all they could do was wait.