Ch 8 Rescue

They arrived and screeched to a stop to the sound of gunfire, but thankfully it died down almost immediately. The judge started forward, but Frank held him back.

"We wait until the scene is secure," he ordered.

Milt stopped then, paralyzed, knowing that when he finally made it into the building, to where McCormick was being held, he might have to face his worst fear. His gut twisting into a painful mass, he waited with Frank, until they heard the all clear.

Then he ran inside.

The room was dim, but he could see the kid, and hear him coughing. God, he was coughing. An officer was unlocking the handcuffs and as Mark moved his arms, he groaned and half cried out, and Milt could see his left one was bent in an unnatural position, obviously broken. Milt pushed past the officer and knelt at McCormick's side.

"It's okay kiddo, there's an ambulance coming, you're gonna be okay," he said as he put his hand on Mark's shoulder.

He scanned his body, noting that he was in his gardening clothes and they were in tatters. There were a lot of bruises.

The kid was flat on his back, coughing again, a moist, weak, congested cough, but he was alive and Hardcastle was thankful.

Mark struggled to sit up, "help me," he asked in a weak voice. As Hardcastle reached behind him to support him, he gasped in pain.

The judge immediately moved to ease him back down, but McCormick clutched at him with his uninjured arm, still trying to sit up. Milt helped him as best he could, and when he was upright, he seemed to look better.

When McCormick didn't speak again, Hardcastle's worry spilled out, "talk to me kid."

Mark could hear him, but the pain from his numerous injuries took his breath away. Even so, he seemed to realize that he needed to speak.

"Usually you tell me to be quiet," his whisper was punctuated by a congested cough and a wave of pain. He gripped Hardcastle's arm tightly, until the worst was over.

"I just wanna be sure you're still with me kiddo," the judge whispered back.

"Can I have a day off the yardwork tomorrow?", McCormick joked, and coughed again.

Relief flooded through the judge, and he swiped at the annoying moisture in his eyes as he continued to hold the ex-con in an upright position. But, as the fear subsided, anger took its place.

"McCormick, what the hell were you thinking? That has got to be the stupidest thing you've ever done. Our deal did not include you letting yourself get killed!"

"Wasn't my fault…"

"I don't care whose fault it was," Hardcastle interrupted loudly, "you shoulda told em where I was! You aren't supposed to let yourself get killed! Do you hear me? That wasn't our deal.."

"Will you just stop!" McCormick's voice rose above Hardcastle's and when the judge paused, McCormick began again, loud enough for the officers in the room to give him part of their attention too.

He didn't think he had the energy for this, but the old coot was yelling at him and he couldn't control it.

"Our deal was that you go after the bad guys and I watch your back," he coughed once and breathed hard. "It wasn't that I watch your back until it gets dangerous," he paused for a breath, but his voice still filled the room, "or I watch your back unless I get hurt,... it was," he paused to breathe again, then spoke loudly and slowly, for effect, "I. Watch. Your. Back. Period. That was our deal!"

In the silence that followed, the police officers standing nearby glanced away from the intense exchange. Startled expressions were mirrored on all the faces that were gathered. When Frank motioned them to move away, they quickly left the room. Once outside, snippets of soft conversations drifted to Frank's ears, every one contained the same phrases: "Hardcastle's finally met his match," or "never thought I'd see old Hardcase take that from anybody."

"Alright, let's get this area wrapped up," Frank ordered, trying to deflect the attention from his friend. He shook his head, still finding it hard to believe himself.

Mark coughed again and then moaned, "judge?" he asked softly.

Milt's heart melted, "yeah," he whispered back as he heard another siren in the distance.

"My back," McCormick whispered.

"What?" Milt asked, uncertainly.

"Your turn to watch my back," he whispered again. "Look at my back."

Hardcastle leaned over Mark's shoulder and then focused in on a bloody area. He lifted his head and caught Frank Harper's eye, "we need an ambulance," he called to him.

"It's almost here," Frank replied immediately, motioning to one of his officers to guide the ambulance to their location.

"Don't move McCormick, just sit nice and still," Milt instructed softly.

Mark nodded, "what does it look like?" he whispered.

"It's bleeding, hard to tell how deep it went, so just don't move and I'll get you to a hospital."

Mark closed his eyes and leaned sideways against the judge, "okay," he whispered.

Milt held him still. "Just hang on," he whispered back.

A few minutes later, Mark could feel the pain in his arm suddenly getting worse and his stomach churning. "I'm gonna be sick," he whispered, as dizziness started to claim him and the world began to spin.

Hardcastle felt Mark sagging and watched as he became more and more pale. He was afraid to lay him on his back again, so he eased him across his lap as he felt him slump down, losing consciousness. He kept him as still as he could as he vomited. In this position, he could see more clearly the small red stain that surrounded the cut. There were bubbles forming each time McCormick took a breath and Milt understood that was a very bad sign. He held Mark close to him, and as still as possible as they waited for the ambulance.

Mark opened his eyes slowly after vomiting, unsure where he was at first. He felt denim fabric against his cheek, and suddenly realized the judge was holding him tightly, in a mostly horizontal position across his lap. Before he could give this much thought he heard the judge's voice, close by, repeating instructions, "easy, take it slow, go easy, look at his back." Then he felt himself being lifted gently onto a stretcher and positioned on his side.

"I'll see you at the hospital kiddo, you're gonna be okay." The familiar voice was whispering, close to his ear. Then a door slammed, an oxygen mask suddenly covered his face, and Mark could feel the vehicle start to move as a siren began to wail.