I told myself I was going to wait at least until tomorrow to post this, but I'm excited for people for read this, so I suppose I can post one more chapter today =)
It hurt. It hurt more than he cared to think about, if he could even think anymore. Then again, if he couldn't think then he would be dead because to be alive was to think. Or maybe. He didn't really like thinking anymore. His thoughts felt like they had been put through the blender, as with the rest of his body.
It was not a discriminatory pain either. It radiated through his whole body without a single focus point. All of his nerves were firing and it was just too much information. He wanted to surrender to it, make it all go away. That wasn't a choice, though. Sam tried to pull his eyes opened and let out a groan simultaneously, without his permission or awareness.
It was dark where he was. Where was he? WhitCo. There had been a false bomb. There were no explosives. But as he became more and more alert to the crumbling surroundings and smoke in the air, he had to disagree with Spike. He might not be a bomb expert, but he was pretty sure explosives had been involved.
Spike. The thought of his coworker and friend had him attempting to role onto his stomach. He didn't have the strength to get up. His chest and legs protested violently and Sam had to take a moment to keep himself from puking at the sensation of bone against bone.
"Spike?" He tried to call out. It sounded more like a croak, cracking on the short word. "Spike?" He tried again, this time a little louder and a little clearer.
Still no response. Sam felt forward with his hands, trying to feel for his companion in the dark space. He had been right there. Spike had handed him the note and he was about to leave. That was the last thing he could remember. Spike should be right here.
More blind searching. Sam dragged himself with his hands, fighting the how light-headed he suddenly felt. "Spike?" He called out for a third time.
It felt like he had crawled miles, had moved in a circle more than once, when his hand connected with something other than drywall and wood. Something warm, soft, and moving slightly. Sam moved closer to the body and sagged against it for a moment.
He gathered his strength and moved against a wall in order to prop himself up to get a better look. Spike hadn't been answering. He had no idea how long he sat there before he felt like he could breathe, and more importantly see. He looked at Spike, saw the blood matted in his hair, but otherwise he didn't look too bad. Sam took a breath, and started to feel Spike's limbs for breaks. Everything looked okay. He felt around the wound on his head. That, on the other hand, did not look good. There was a lot of blood, but none from his ear or nose. No bone fragments in the wound. That was at least something.
Sam had to concentrate. Another deep breath. He rummaged around for something to place against the wound until he found a piece of cloth- from whose clothing he did not know- that looked clean enough. He pressed it against the wound, but Spike didn't stir. Another breath. Breathing hurt, but it cleared his mind a little more. The others. They were in the building too. The moment he thought of his comrades, both in and out of the building, he moved around to find his only way of communication. For a brief second he thought it was lost before his hand moved to where it dangled against his shoulder.
He fumbled with it as he tried to put it back into his ear, another moment for it to be working. He heard Ed talking, and then Sarge. He let the calm and authoritative voices take him back to the days where this situation was not that uncommon, back when he listened to orders without question. He gave himself the order to pay attention, to stay calm, and to listen for just a moment, distinguish the words before he made contact.
. . .
Sergeant Greg Parker was not someone to be messed with at the moment. He had Winnie set up a tip line, helped Jules and her sort through them. He explained the situation they were in to the firefighters. He gave the last known locations of all his men and civilians they knew of. He calmed and assessed both Lou and Wordy, all while frequently calling out Spike and Sam's name. He managed this in a manner of minutes.
It still wasn't enough. Spike and Sam were not responding, and that was all it took for Greg to feel off kilter. He was standing outside the West wing, watching as the firemen came out with people cradled in their arms or thrown over their shoulders.
"No casualties so far," Ed said as reassurance. Greg knew he was trying to say that the odds were in their favor, that he was doing everything he could.
"That's good. Has the tip line come up with anything yet?" He asked, knowing that Ed was checking any leads.
"Not yet, but there are calls pouring in. It may take time."
Greg shook his head. "We don't have time. If there is something else planned, we need to know."
Greg heard Ed start to respond when he was interrupted.
"Sarge?" He heard. Soft and in pain. "Ed?"
Before he could question whether this was Spike or Sam, because the voice was not a lot to go on, another voice kicked in. "Sam, are you alright?" Jules's voice sound close to panicking.
"Sam, is that you buddy?" Greg asked. He kept his voice devoid of any emotion other than calm. If it was Sam, he didn't sound alright.
"Yeah, it's Sam," he replied, barely audible.
"How are you doing?"
"Spike's with me. He's out, but his pulse and breathing are steady. He's bleeding a lot though," Sam avoided the question. This sparked immediate fear into Greg. In the field, Sam was a solider. He obeyed orders and answered questions. Something was wrong.
"What about you, buddy? How are you doing?"
Even if the rest of the team was not near him, Greg could feel them hanging on Sam's words just as much as he was.
"I'm not so bad."
If he wasn't in this situation, if he was in any other situation, he would have laughed at the understatement. Without even seeing him, he knew something was wrong. It was bad.
"Can you give me specifics? What hurts?"
"I'm alright. I found the note."
As much as Greg wanted to disregard the stupid note and demand answers, he needed what was written on the page. They needed to know what it said and he prayed there was some sort of clue as to who was behind this on there.
"Good. You think you can read me that note?"
"It says, I think it says-" Silence for a moment. Greg shook his head. This wasn't good. He still listened to the words that Sam began to read in that same tired, pained voice.
There is a time for justice. This is the time. You have made too many mistakes. They must be righted. There is a bomb. It will go off at 2:00p.m. If you had listened to the warnings, this would not have to be done. This is the final warning.
Greg shook his head again at the end of the note. "There any signature at the bottom, Sam?"
"Uh, no, I don't see one."
"Jules, you have that transcribed?"
"Yes, Sir,"
"Okay, I'm headed your way. Sam, can you tell me where you are? What you see?" He needed to make sure they were safe to stay where they were for the time being, until rescue could come.
"In the filing room. The door isn't there anymore. It's caved in, pretty tight in here."
Greg didn't think this day could get any better.
. . .
Lou glanced over at Wordy every few minutes as they calmed the panicked workers down. Rescue workers were on scene and carrying the injured out first. Six were critically injured. The rest, Wordy included, had minor bumps and scrapes. Lou watched out for his teammate though, he still seemed pretty confused, even if he was hiding it.
And it was just like him to hide the severity of his injury in the middle of a call. Then again, it was just like the entire SRU to do the same. As he listened to Sam and the Boss talking on the com system, he could feel Sarge's frustration as Sam's lack of willingness to talk about himself.
At least they knew Spike was alright for the time being, or at least not dead yet. Lou tried to stay optimistic. He was an optimistic person. Things just kept getting worse. The note sounded bad. He glanced at his watch. It was already 1:43. If there was another bomb, the note said it was going off at two. He didn't profile like Sarge did, but he knew he didn't want to find out what happens at two.
"Is this on the news?" A man in a crumpled suit asked him. He had blond hair, spiked slightly in the front. He could almost pass as a teenager with the roundness of his face giving him a baby-like appearance. Blood dripped from his nose, but he appeared otherwise unharmed. "You think we're going to be on the news?"
"I wouldn't be surprised," Lou responded, not having any further information to give the guy. He hoped it was the right thing to say, he didn't deal as well with people as Sarge or Ed. He definitely beat Sam and his negotiations though. His were almost comical, if the idea that their lives might depend on them someday didn't ring in the back of his mind.
The man nodded. "I wonder if my girlfriend is watching," he said before following one of the fireman's outstretched arms.
Lou glanced at Wordy once again. He still looked pale and slightly out of it, but he was doing his job just as well as the rest of them, so Lou resigned to just have him checked out when they escaped this fire trap.
The entire building was in shambles. Upon looking into it, there had been small explosives in trashcans around the building. They weren't enough to send the whole building up in flames, but enough to do some serious damage. Lou wasn't sure all of the injured were going to make it.
As an SRU officer, he knew civilians came first. He still worried just as much as he heard Sam's loud breathing as he tried to talk over the com system. The fact that Spike still hadn't woke up yet set off even more alarms in his head. He had to worry about facts he could change, though. And right now, that meant getting Wordy and the rest of the civilians out of here. They still had to search the rest of the building for stragglers as well. At least North and East wings were confirmed empty. That was one less thing to worry about.
"How many left in there?" He heard Ed ask.
"About a dozen, including me an' Lou," Wordy said. He sounded slightly better than before.
"We're going to need to move faster than that," Ed said, but Lou wasn't sure if that was to them or himself. It was nearing two. If the building was going to blow again, civilians needed to be clear.
With less than twenty minutes left, the chance of the whole building being empty was slim to none. This thought cleared him of the aches and pains he felt in his joints and back, pushing him to save the innocents, and his friends. He hoped it would be enough.
I know every author puts this at the end of each chapter, but I really, really, really would love some reviews. So, out of the kindness of your heart, please tell me what you think!