They watched the helicopter rise into the overcast sky, the wind from the rotors whipping at their clothing and blowing storm debris around them. Everything had gone to hell in a hand basket in mere minutes. Red could see Liz in the window looking down at them, and he'd have given anything to trade places with her. The chopper hovered over them a moment more before it turned, and Red lost sight of her.
Eric screamed at the helicopter, begging them to come back for him. He staggered around as his arm bled all over him, holding his other hand up to the sky as if trying to grab the helicopter.
"Come baaaack! Pleeeaasse!"
As the chopper left the mountain, he took his eyes off it and looked helplessly at Red and Dembe. Letting out a cry of utter anguish, as tears streamed down his face, he turned and ran. He headed unsteadily toward the pickup, crying loudly as he went.
Red watched him go, actually feeling sorry for the young man. Physically the kid was early to mid 20s. Mentally, well, he wasn't too sure, but right now he was behaving like a 6 year old throwing a tantrum. Red rose to his feet, glancing at Ressler on the ground nearby as he did so. He had known something was seriously wrong with the agent, and now the medic that was here to help him lay dead beside him. He would check on Ressler in a minute.
"Raymond. We need to help Agent Ressler," Dembe said beside him.
Red ignored Dembe for the moment, his attention back on the helicopter, needing to see what direction it went in. When, or if, they followed it they'd have some bearing to work on. It flew in the opposite direction it had come from, heading over the mountains and across the border between Virginia and West Virginia. He stepped away from Dembe now, getting a better view, concentrating on the chopper as it faded to a small speck now, heading in a straight line across the border. It finally disappeared from view, and he stared at the position he'd last seen it, imprinting it in his mind.
"Raymond."
"Yes Dembe, I know."
He strode toward Ressler now, still hearing Eric sobbing and yelling loudly from the pickup, and punching something by the sounds of it. He approached the unconscious agent, avoiding the dead medic on the ground. Dembe followed and dutifully dragged the dead man a few feet out of the way.
Red kneeled on the wet ground beside the downed agent, his hand to Ressler's forehead. "Help me roll him over," he asked Dembe.
Between them, they gently rolled Ressler onto his back. He was still out cold and showed no reaction. Red pocketed Liz's gun that Ressler was miraculously still holding onto. He smiled a little at that. Even as he was passing out, obviously feeling like hell, Ressler had still secured a wayward weapon. Red leaned down to hear his breathing. It was very labored, and his face was pale, cold and sweaty to the touch. Unfortunately, he'd seen Donald looking like that before.
"What is wrong with him?" Dembe asked his boss.
"He's bleeding," said Red.
Dembe quickly checked for wounds, looking up and down Ressler. "I don't see any blood, Raymond."
"Internally. He's got broken ribs and I daresay they punctured something. He's been slowly bleeding out since then, and now he's going into shock from blood loss."
He looked to the pickup, needing to get in touch with the Sheriff and explain what had happened. And Ressler needed a hospital.
"Stay with him. See if you can help him come round." Red got to his feet, and turned toward the pickup. He stopped and then looked back to Dembe. "Actually, let him be. He can come to when he's ready. Let's give the man a few more minutes without searing pain."
He strode over to the pickup. Eric was still inside, but was quieter now. As Red approached, the young man climbed out of the driver's seat.
"There's no keys. I couldn't go after them," he said sullenly, sniffing back tears.
Red shook his head. The kid was crazy if he thought he could follow the chopper that way. He tried to explain that, but Eric was stomping away. Red ignored him now, and climbed into the passenger seat, not wanting to sit in the blood on the driver's side that Eric had left there - and stopped dead.
Eric had trashed the console of the truck completely. The ignition switch had been bashed in on the steering column. The glass in the displays was cracked. Dials from the radio lay on the floor.
"Eric. I swear..."
Red's worst fears were confirmed when he looked at the CB. The mic was torn off, and nowhere in sight. The radio had been pulled from its mounting in the glove box and been hit with a rock that he now spied on the floor. In his frustration and despair at Jeremy and Phil leaving him, Eric had destroyed Jeremy's truck.
Red gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and willed himself to breathe. That idiot kid had probably just signed Donald's death warrant. And how would they find Lizzie. They had no way to contact anyone now to get more help up here. With a last look at the demolished console and radio, he got out of the truck, walking deliberately toward Eric.
Eric took one look at the fury in Red's eyes, and fled down the road.
###
Liz kneeled on the floor of the chopper, leaning on the window as she looked out. As the chopper turned into it's new course, she lost sight of the fire tower as they turned away from it. "No... No..." she whispered. Moving to the seat now, she fell into it in disbelief. She folded her arms, checked the time on her watch and exhaled heavily, looking across at Phil.
"Why did you do that?!" she yelled at him over the roar of the helicopter. "Why?!"
"Because my boss told me to!" he shouted, nodding toward Jeremy Cole in the pilot seat.
"That's no reason!" she yelled at him.
"Hey, it's all the reason I need, darlin'. Jer and I go way back."
"But we saved your life at the river!" she cried. "Isn't that worth anything to you?!" She shook her head, looking at his calm demeanor as he gazed back at her.
He got up and moved to the seat beside her, so he didn't have to yell as much. "Yes, you did, and I thank you for that. But that man in there," he pointed to Jeremy, "saved my life long before you guys did," he said, reaching up to hold a strap above his head as the helicopter hit some turbulence.
She looked at him beside her, seeing a little of the Phil they'd first seen, instead of the homicidal killer he'd just become right in front of her. "You killed two people in cold blood! They didn't deserve that!" she told him, furious at them for what they had done.
Phil looked at her silently, which made her angrier at him. And she knew why - it was what Ressler did to her. She could be furious at him, and he'd simply look silently back at her. She both liked and hated that about her partner. At the thought of Ressler she suddenly looked away, glancing out the window again at the almost featureless mountains and trees below. She didn't know what had happened to him. She spun around to Phil again, her mind filled with the image of Ressler lying unconscious on the ground.
"And my partner needed that medic! You could clearly see that!"
He ignored her comment about her partner. Inwardly, he'd actually felt bad about that. It was obvious the FBI agent was sick and needed medical help. He wanted this conversation done. "Yeah, we killed two people, and if you don't want me to make it three people, I suggest you shut up," he told her, getting up and moving to the seat on the other side of the chopper again.
Liz opened her mouth to say more, and then gave up, sitting back heavily in the seat. Her conversation wasn't in vain though. She had established something. Phil might kill a man for his boss, but he had a conscience about some things. His refusal to comment on Ressler not getting the medic showed that. She sighed, looking around at the empty seats. It wasn't supposed to be like this. They were ALL supposed to be in here, and landing in Harrisonburg about now.
"Can you at least tell me where we're going?" she asked, knowing Phil wouldn't tell her, but it was worth a try. And she was right, he just stared at her, with his "Ressler silence" and she couldn't bear looking at that a second longer as he reminded her of her downed partner.
She turned and looked out the window again. All she could see below them were mountains and trees, and the occasional overflowing waterway. They were flying in a straight line which hadn't wavered since they had left the fire tower. Wherever Jeremy Cole was taking them, he knew the route.
She kept watching, hoping to catch a glimpse of anything that might help later. The mountains gave way to smaller hills now, and a few homes and rural properties appeared. She kept watching, and saw a barn. The name "Hiller" was painted on the roof. She filed that away, and kept looking. They were turning now, and a small town came into view in the distance. The only distinguishing feature was a large church steeple with a weather vane on the spire. An airport came into view, in the shape of an X she noticed. They kept turning, and now she noticed they were descending, crossing over a double lane highway. Flood water was standing in the ditches and in low lying fields. They were still in a rural area, as the chopper headed away from the highway, still descending.
"What are you going to do with me?" she called out to Phil, almost afraid of the answer.
"Oh, that's up to the boss here, darlin'." He'd apparently regained some of his homicidal maniac terminology again, she noticed with concern.
Liz looked toward the back of Jeremy's helmeted head as he flew the chopper. After all they'd done to Jeremy, keeping him handcuffed under armed guard - not to mention that she'd shot his brother, of course - her fate was now in his hands.
The helicopter came in to land at a rural farmhouse, touching down behind it in a large field. She checked her watch, noting it was 17 minutes flight time. Jeremy Cole reached up and flipped off several switches, and undid his seat belt. Above her, the rotors changed pitch as they slowed and it felt almost quiet in comparison.
She looked outside at the field, saturated in floodwater toward the lower end of it where it dipped down to a river that was overflowing its banks.
She felt her heart sink. Apart from the fact she was in West Virginia judging by the direction they'd headed away from Harrisonburg, she had no idea where she was.
###
Ressler thought he had died – again. He was floating in the dark, aware of pain in his torso and a loud sound in the distance. His mind was scrambled, clinging to thoughts and sounds.
Is that a helicopter? There was a helicopter... wasn't there...? Yes...there was. I remember that now...
Did I get shot? I always get shot... I think I'm running out of places to get shot...
Maybe I didn't... I'm not sure about that part. No, wait... I got the gun... It's under me... I better not shoot myself...
I didn't get shot. Well I did though, but it hit my vest. Right...? Left, it was on the left...
I got the gun off the ground after...who? ...someone shot... Red shot Eric! Yes, I remember now. The kid was screaming and bleeding... I remember that...
Phil had my gun on Liz! No! She called my name as I... died? Liz! Liz might get shot!
You're my best friend Liz... Sorry Audrey... you are too... you were too...
Audrey... I miss you sweetie...
I don't think I'm dead... I've been here before... I really should be more careful... especially of falling trees...
So Red shot Eric... yes he did... I think... ET phone home...
And then... And then, I don't know what happened after that...
It's quiet now though... no helicopter... No screaming ET...
Am I dead...? No...Audrey's not here...
No...I don't think I am...
Am I...?
###
Red stopped walking. Unclenching his fists, he turned away from Eric, realizing the kid was not his concern right now. He was actually angrier at himself for not keeping tabs on the distraught young man. He gave a final disgusted glance at the idiot kid running crazily down the road and walked back to Dembe.
"We are unable to use the radio," he told Dembe and didn't elaborate further. Dembe looked up at his boss and knew that look - and knew not to ask why.
"How's he doing?" he asked Dembe, kneeling down to Ressler again.
"He hasn't moved."
Red reached out and lifted one eyelid, seeing the pupil contract in the light. That was a good sign though. "Help me get his vest off so we can finally get a look at his ribs here."
Dembe moved the sling out of the way. Ressler's arm had come out of it as he'd lunged at Eric, and Dembe carefully moved his left arm to the side now. Moving Ressler's jacket out the way, he reached down and pulled up the Velcro holding the FBI vest in place. He pulled the vest off now, carefully removing it from under the unconscious agent. Red lifted up Ressler's t-shirt, and they both gasped.
"That is not good, Raymond," Dembe said to his boss.
Ressler's chest was almost one solid black and purple bruise, apart from the area below his right arm. Below his heart was the worst, where the ribs were broken. Ribs that had endured being shot, had a tree fall on them, been punched, almost gone over a cliff, and rolled on the ground. But that wasn't what was worrying Red the most. It was the dark red bruise on the upper left side of his abdomen below the broken ribs that concerned him. Red spots of blood covered the region indicating bleeding under the surface, radiating from the dark red bruise.
"No, that's not good at all," said Red, feeling gently around Ressler's upper abdomen, feeling how distended with blood it was becoming. "I'd say a broken rib pierced his spleen, judging by the position. I don't believe it's a large puncture or rupture though, or he'd have bled out fast and been dead yesterday. This has been a slow, steady bleed."
He looked at Ressler's ashen face now, and almost tenderly placed his hand on the agent's cool, sweaty forehead. "Donald, you must have been in agony, my friend..."
Dembe watched his boss tend to the agent. "We have a come a long way since Brussels," he said, and Red turned to face him.
"Yes we have. In a great many ways." He looked at Ressler again. The agent who had pursued him relentlessly for five years. The agent who had tried to kill him in Brussels. The agent whom he'd taken a great deal of pleasure in ribbing and making fun of relentlessly. The agent whose life he had saved once before, and would save again today, if possible. And was he doing it only because Lizzie cared for Donald? No, he was doing it because he, Raymond Reddington, was just that kind of man.
"What can we do for him?" asked Dembe and Red looked up at his companion, and then pointed to the dead medic's case. "Slide that over here for me, will you."
He pulled the bag closer to him as Dembe slid it over, reading the name of the flight paramedic engraved on the outside of the sturdy leather bag. 'David Klassen, FP-C' "David, I am very sorry you got caught up in this mess," he said, addressing the dead medic now.
He opened the case and looked inside. "Oh, excellent... this will do very nicely..." he said, mostly to himself as he perused the contents of the bag, "Donald, this is your lucky day."
###
"Get down," Phil told her, and motioned to the door of the helicopter. Liz did as she was told, standing on wet ground in a field at the back of a large farmhouse. A large, low shed lay across the field, filled with hay bales from the early summer mowing. She looked briefly around at her surroundings beyond the property for some sign of life. Low hills rose beyond the river at the lower end of the field. Trees that had previously lined the banks were now standing in the flooded, fast moving river. It didn't compare to the raging torrent at the bottom of the mountain, but it had a fair clip to it. She looked around to the other side now. There were no other homes or buildings in sight.
Jeremy jumped down from the pilot's seat, loosening the strap on his flight helmet before tossing it on the pilots' seat. He faced her. "It's nothing personal. You're just my insurance. If you don't give me any trouble, I'll do likewise."
Liz stared at him as the man's eyes looked calmly back at her. She looked away, and nodded.
"Where are we?" she asked Jeremy, but he ignored her. He motioned to the house. "Get inside."
As she walked to the house, with Jeremy in front and Phil behind her, she studied the house. It was an old farmhouse, built of brick, with ivy growing up one side. Like an English home, she suddenly thought. A barn sat to the right of the house, complete with horse runs and a large tack room. There were no horses in sight though. The farm had a quiet, almost deserted feel to it.
They reached the back door and Jeremy stepped in through the unlocked door, entering the large kitchen. Is the door unlocked because there is no one around, or because someone else is home, Liz wondered.
"Sit down," Phil told her from behind and she did as she was told, sitting at a large kitchen table.
Jeremy turned to face her. "I'm going to return the favor you gave me. Phil here will keep his gun on you. Actually, he will keep your partner's gun on you. Irony can be a bitch sometimes." He nodded to Phil and left the room, exiting through the back door again. She lost sight of him, and looked at the helicopter standing outside. They had needed that chopper, and there it was, sitting there and everyone else was still on the mountain. And Ressler... he was down and she... well, she couldn't help him anymore...
Phil was her only chance in this. Jeremy could never be reached, but Phil, maybe... she thought, and looked at the man. She was going to need to study him carefully and see where his weaknesses were.
You're a profiler, Liz. So profile, she told herself.
###
Dembe sat inside the pickup truck, surveying the damage left by Eric. He had the keys from Red and was trying to get the key into the busted ignition switch. It was no good though. It was too damaged. They weren't going to be driving down the mountain and back to the cabin any time soon. And with the injured agent down, he thought, they couldn't walk it. Sure, he could sling the unconscious man over his shoulder, but not with the internal bleeding he had. Picking up the demolished radio, he turned it over in his hands. Without spare parts, it wasn't fixable. It had been rendered completely useless and he threw it aside. Looking in the rear view mirror, he saw his boss still kneeling down to the agent on the ground, working on him. His eyes moved around, and settled on the fire tower.
"There." he said out loud, and climbed out of the pickup truck, striding over to the tower. He felt a drop of water on his arm, and looked up at the cloudy sky. It had been overcast all morning, but was growing darker now as darker clouds built. Another large drop fell. It was starting to rain. He jogged to the tower now, looking at the glassed in area at the top. He wasn't sure they could get the injured agent up those stairs on the outside of the building. At the tower now, he walked quickly around the base of it and came to the door under the stairs. It was padlocked, but Dembe thought he could get through it. Large rocks lay on the ground several feet from the tower, left over from building the tower itself. He picked one up, aimed at the door, and with his best baseball throw he hurled the rock at the door, hitting the padlock dead center. The padlock itself held, but the catch it was on broke under the onslaught. As the padlock dropped to the ground, he allowed himself a satisfied smile. He still had it.
He jogged to open the door. Raindrops were getting more insistent now. It wasn't raining heavy, but there were more drops now. Hauling the door open, he looked inside, and smiled even more broadly.
"Raymond!" Dembe was jogging over to Red now, as a light wind started to buffet them and the rain increased.
Red looked up, in the process of closing up the medic's case after putting Ressler's vest inside. He had heard the crash of the rock hitting the padlock and seen immediately what Dembe was up to.
"Pick up his feet, I've got this end," he yelled across to Dembe, and the man bent down, threw the strap of the medic bag around his shoulders, and then held Ressler's legs. They lifted him, and together walked with the unconscious agent toward the tower. The rain was settling in now as the wind picked up. Red looked up, eying the clouds. The brief respite in the rain was over, and it was going to rain a while. As they approached the tower they gently laid Ressler down as Dembe opened the door again, then picked him up and took him inside. Red's eyes adjusted to the dimness, and then he chuckled.
The upper part of the fire tower was a simple observation room. A few benches lined the walls, and the round fire finder disk the lookout used to detect where smoke was coming from took center stage. Below the observation room was where the lookouts stayed. In the 20x20 foot space, there was a cot, a small couch, table and chairs, sink, small fridge and microwave, and above that, a loft with another 2 cots. A mini apartment of sorts, right out here in the middle of nowhere. Red doubted it had power, but it was shelter from the rain and would give them somewhere to hole up for the time being.
"Splendid." Red looked down at Ressler. "See Donald, I told you this was your lucky day," and together they placed him on the downstairs cot. The door was still open, letting in the light, but also letting in the rain now.
"We need some light in here." said Red, but Dembe was already on it. After trying the light switches unsuccessfully, and confirming there was no power, he found some hurricane lamps and a few candles in a cupboard. He lit a lamp and placed it near the cot, and as the soft glow filled the small room he went over and closed the door, sealing them inside the little safe house.
"We need to get his jacket and t-shirt off Dembe." Together they sat Ressler up, slipped his jacket off, and then pulled his t-shirt over his head. Supporting him, they looked at the welts and bruising on his back, as well as the swelling and bruising from his dislocated shoulder. Red shook his head, again, wondering how the man had stayed on his feet for so long. They lay him down and Red opened the medic case again. He knew what he needed to do.
David Klassen, the flight medic, had been a very prepared individual. And even in death, he was about to save a life. Red pulled out a blood pressure cuff, a bag of saline solution, a portable IV pump, and some tubing and IVs.
"What do you need me to do, Raymond?"
"I need somewhere to hang an IV." Dembe looked around the room, and then climbed the stairs to the loft. Upstairs he found a simple closet with a few coat hangers. Perfect, he thought, and bent one of them, wrapping one end around the railing, and making a hook at the other end. He went back down, took the bag from his boss, and hung it carefully on the hook. Red attached it to the portable IV pump to control the flow, then leaned down and took Ressler's blood pressure again. It was far too low - and there wasn't enough saline in the bag to give Donald the volume of fluid he needed to bring his blood pressure back up.
"Donald." Red was patting Ressler's cheeks now, trying to rouse him. "Donald, wake up." Ressler showed no sign of waking.
It would be so much easier if you had a gaping wound I could jam a thumb in to wake you, Donald, Red mused.
He went back to setting up the IV, popping up a good vein in the back of Ressler's left hand. After sterilizing the area, he pushed the needle in - and got a slight reaction from Ressler as he moved his head a little. Good, thought Red, and continued. He withdrew the needle, leaving the thin plastic tubing in the vein and after taping it securely to Ressler's hand, he ran the tubing up to the IV pump and started the flow.
"Donald, I need you to wake up now." Red hit his cheek this time, rather than patting it.
Nothing.
He hit him again.
###
Ressler's mind was still confused due to the blood loss. As he floated in the dark, pretty sure he wasn't dead after all, thoughts and memories flooded his mind.
It's so quiet here... no more helicopter... am I in the hospital...? again...? I don't like hospitals...
I didn't get shot though... well, I'm pretty sure I didn't... I don't know...
I'll just stay here... take a nap... I am so tired...
Oh, but Liz! I gotta help Liz! But I'm here... how do I help her...?
Liz kissed me... Sorry Audrey, she was just... just... yeah...
My shoulder hurts... did it get shot? Oh wait... Liev... pulled me over a cliff.. with his throat cut... wasn't it...?
"Donald"
Who's that...?
"Donald, wake up."
Is that Red...? No, Red's not here... I'm asleep...
Ow! Something on my hand there... a bee sting...?
"Donald, I need you to wake up now."
Someone's hitting me! It's Jeremy Cole! What the? No!
Ressler's eyes flew open.
He shot up to a sitting position, his head swimming at the sudden movement. Instinctively he raised his arms to fend off whoever was hitting him, striking at the person nearest to him, crying out in pain as he moved his left arm. He landed a blow, and then another with his right fist, hearing the person grunt.
"Donald!"
Still lashing out in the semi dark as the room spun violently around him, he attempted to hit the person again, but a pair of strong hands encircled his wrists, holding him still.
"Donald! Stop!"
The hands holding his wrists stopped him from hitting out again, but the fight had gone out of him now as he fought the dizziness and nausea. He panted in pain as the room spun, as Dembe held his arms still.
"It's me. It's Red. Calm down."
Ressler closed his eyes and fell back down, jarring his shoulder and ribs. Gasping at the surge of pain across his torso, he nodded, panting in pain and dizziness. Of course, it was Red and Dembe. Not Jeremy Cole.
"Let go ... let go of me..." he gasped, looking up at Dembe now. Red nodded to the big man, and Dembe gently lay Ressler's arms down and let go of his wrists.
Ressler looked at Red, realizing the man's nose was bleeding from where he'd struck him. Well, he shouldn't have hit me, he reasoned.
"Where... where are we...?" he asked the criminal breathlessly, as the room slowly stopped spinning now that he was laying still.
"It's rather quaint isn't it?" Red said, looking around at the room, taking the cloth Dembe was handing him to stem the bleeding from his nose. "We're inside the fire tower, and I have to say, these fire lookout folks have this place set up remarkably well. Pity there's no power though."
We're still on the mountain, Ressler realized. "What... is this...? He asked, noticing the IV in his hand for the first time.
"Fluids to bring up your blood pressure. It will help with that dizziness you're feeling," answered Red.
Ressler sighed. Of course - Doctor Red just can't help himself. His memory was a little slow and foggy, but it finally caught up. "Liz!" he half sat and looked quickly around, ignoring the surge of dizziness, looking for her. "What happened to Liz?!"
Red gently pushed him back down on the cot. "Lay down. They took her Donald. They took her in the chopper with them - after they killed the pilot and the medic."
Ressler stared up at him, breathing hard. "We need to help her!" He cried, trying to get up again.
"Right now Donald, you are the one who needs help. We can't help Lizzie. But I can help you."
"No! I'll be fine!" he said, as Red gently pushed him back down again.
Red leaned down to him. "Listen to me. You have ruptured something inside. You are bleeding internally and have lost a lot of blood. We may not be in a glass box with your blood spilling all over my shoes, but Donald, this is just as serious."
His eyes searched the criminals as he leaned down to him. "Oh God, you're going to give me more of your blood," panted Ressler, and closed his eyes in exhaustion.
Red patted him on the cheek and chuckled. "Glad to see we're on the same page, Donald."
###
Liz sat in the large kitchen, trying to engage Phil in conversation. He was having none of it, and standing by the window as he apparently watched something outside.
"What's out there that is so interesting...?" Liz finally asked him.
He ignored her.
"Okay, fine. But I really need to visit the ladies room," she told him, wanting to get some reaction out of him. He turned and motioned for her to exit the kitchen to the right and down the hall. As she rose, he followed her. She walked down the hallway, stopping at the door to the bathroom.
"You're not seriously coming in here with me?" she said, giving him an incredulous look.
"Um, no, of course not." he said, and she believed he actually blushed in the dim hallway. Good... very good. More information to file away on the profile of Phil Roberts.
She locked herself in the room, and looked through the small window, needing to stand on the toilet seat to do so. She was looking out to the right of the house toward the large barn and tack room. The tack room door was slightly ajar, revealing some of the interior of the room. What she saw in there made her catch her breath.
Rows of tables, chemicals, beakers and burners. A fully equipped lab, complete with computers on the back wall.
That was no tack room.
Her mind flew back to those briefings with Red on the Cole brothers. They had been going to release a 'weaponized virus of some sort.' It wasn't all a ruse after all. The Cole brothers really DID have a lab where they could produce such a weapon.
And she was looking right at it.
And they had unwittingly provided the means for Jeremy Cole to release the virus, in the Police helicopter parked in the field. She felt sick.
She saw movement as someone's shadow approached the open tack room door and quickly ducked down out of sight.
"You done in there?" called Phil, banging on the door.
"Yes, hold on!" she cried, and flushed the toilet. Her mind was reeling. How soon were they going to release the virus? Where were they going to release it? And what would they do with her when they did...?
She was sitting on a time bomb, and had no way to get word out to anyone.
###
An hour or so later, Ressler suddenly woke up. He didn't even remember falling asleep. That's getting to be a bad habit, he thought.
"We're still here, Donald," Red told him, not wanting the agent to lash out again.
"Yes, I can see that, Red."
Red smiled. Ressler was feeling a little better if he was being snippy again. "Your IV of saline is done. But your blood pressure isn't where it needs to be. You're still bleeding slowly, and this is just a stop gap measure until you can get to a hospital."
"I don't like hospitals." They reminded him of Audrey walking into his room.
Red ignored the comment, and carried on with what he was doing. "I'm glad you're awake though, because now I get to give you more fluids." He undid a small plastic bag with an IV and tubing in it, laying it beside Ressler's IV in the back of his left hand.
"You mean blood. Your blood," said Ressler, resigned to the fact he wasn't going to stop Red doing this. And secretly, the fluids were already making him feel a little steadier. So hey, if Red's blood could help get him back on his feet, then bring it on, he thought.
"Hold still," said Red, concentrating as he attached the new tubing to the IV in Ressler's hand, then pressed the other end of the needle into his own left arm. Dembe reached over and taped it down for him, as Red sat back in the chair, the field transfusion tubing between them now. The blood started to flow from Red into Ressler.
Ressler looked up at the criminal. "What, no 'one more time' speech...?"
Red smiled, but ignored him. He was trying to work out how they were going to get out of here. And how they would track Lizzie.
Ressler settled back, quietly looking around the small room for a few minutes. He was also having the same thoughts as Red. How the hell were they going to get out of here and find Liz... "What's that sound...?" he finally asked.
"What sound...?" Red listened. "Oh that. It's raining again outside."
"Of course it is," Ressler sighed. He moved a little, lifting himself up to a half sitting position. He didn't feel nearly as dizzy as before. He had to hand it to Red. The man knew his stuff.
"Lay down Donald," said Red, and Ressler looked at him. He thought the criminal looked a little pale.
"I'm fine. You can stop now Red," he told him.
Red checked his blood pressure again. "No, your BP isn't where it needs to be," he said tiredly.
"Raymond. I think you have given Agent Ressler enough blood." Dembe leaned forward with concern and spoke to his boss.
"Just a bit more," Red replied, closing his eyes.
"No. We're done." Ressler reached up and ripped the IV out of his left hand, ignoring the bleeding. He reached over to do the same to Red, but Dembe beat him to it. He pulled the tubing from his bosses arm, holding some gauze over the bleeding.
Ressler sat up then, feeling much better. He stood slowly, feeling a little light headed, but kept upright. "Put him here," he told Dembe, and the black man pulled his boss up from the chair and lay him down on the cot.
"You didn't have to go that far, Red," Ressler chided him, trading places now and sitting on the chair. He watched Dembe place a band aid over the bleeding on Red's inner elbow.
"I'll be fine. My blood will replace itself much faster than yours will Donald. I have a working spleen."
"Yes, Doctor Red. Shut up and get some sleep," he told the man, letting Dembe place a band aid on the back of his left hand as he looked around. "And where the hell are my clothes?"
Red chuckled as drifted off to sleep. Mission accomplished. Donald was back on his feet - for now.