Oh, nothing major in this chapter, I just wanted to let everyone know that I have no medical training. Everything here is to the best of my knowledge. Sorry if it's wrong.
Ed started his search for a spectator talking on his phone. From the voice, he sounded emotional. He looked for hand gestures or any expression aside from the panic cause by either being inside the building or witnessing it.
It didn't take him long. Ed rounded to the West wing where evacuations were still ongoing. If the man could see this, he had to be nearby. And Ed was right. He moved around the back of a man who was pacing back and forth, running his hand through already disheveled hair. "It's too late," The man was saying in sync with the tipper on the com system.
He was by the van in less than a minute. The Boss came out and stood in front of him. He had dishwater blonde hair and no facial hair. He wore jeans and a winter coat. With his hands cuffed behind his back and the crushed expression on his face, he looked like the wrong guy. Ed knew he wasn't.
This was the man responsible for the fake bomb. He was responsible for the explosions that littered the building, injuring four of his men. He was the reason they were trapped in the building with no way out. Ed knew this guy knew what was going to happen in two minutes. Ed hoped that he knew a way to stop it.
"You have to understand," the man said before Sarge could even begin. "I didn't mean for this. You're supposed to have the building cleared. It was 'posed to be cleared before the first ones went off. I gave you twice the time that I thought it was gonna take for evacuation. Why weren't they out?"
The Boss took on his negotiation demeanor, clear and to the point. Ed had always admired the way he could transform at a moment's notice to be exactly what was required for the situation. Time was of the essence. They needed information five minutes ago.
"I have four men still in the building. We know of at least six civilians. There are still people unaccounted for. If something is going to happen at two, we need to know how to stop it."
The man was shaking his head before Sarge had even finished. "I can't," he was hyperventilating at this point. "It's too late, it's too late for me t' change anythin'. There's nothin' I can do."
"What's going to happen at two?"
"We have sixty seconds before the whole place collapses," he mumbled. "I jus' wanted to fix the mistakes. I left a warning."
Ed swore under his breath. There was nothing left to do. Suppose they knew where the bomb was, there was no way to reach it in time to disarm it.
"I don't want to kill anybody," the man practically moaned. Sarge put his hands on the man's arms.
"I need you to tell me where the bomb is." His voice was still collected, despite the horror that seemed to be immanent.
"It's too late. It's too late."
Ed looked at his watch and swore again. Only ten seconds left. "We need to get under cover," he said, moving both himself and the suspect behind the van.
. . .
Lou listened to the conversation going on outside. They had apprehended the suspect, but there was no time left. They had to move these people out, now. They had minutes left. He glanced at Wordy. He didn't want this to be the end. If the bomb went off, especially if it was in their vicinity… He didn't want to finish the thought.
"Everybody get under the tables," he shouted to the six remaining men. "Fast and calm, guys. Cover your necks and get low."
The man from before, the young man who had asked about the news coverage, he was one of the six. Lou got under the table with Wordy on one side and the man on the other. He closed his eyes and thought about his mom, about how he wanted to talk to her.
He knew this was the job, about how they were supposed to protect lives above all else. He covered the man next to him as best as possible and waited for the countdown to end.
What he expected never came. Instead, a whooshing sound echoed beneath him, far beneath him. The floor they were on shuddered before he heard the crash of the ceiling collapsing on top of them. Concrete and wood rained down. Everything seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time. He could hear each heartbeat reverberate in his chest, pounding harder than any of the debris could.
He was not aware of how much his surroundings had disintegrated or how much the sounds of crashing and tearing vibrated the very air around him. He was aware of the fact that he had Wordy on one side of him, a true friend and amazing coworker, and on the other an innocent who needed the little protection he could offer. If he had to die, he wanted to die protecting these people.
. . .
Sam listened to the sounds of people trying to stop his death. He heard the conversation over the tip line and he heard when they had the suspect in company. He heard the unnamed man repeating that it was too late, that there was nothing left to do.
At that point, he stopped listening to the com system. He glanced over at Spike, who was gone, either asleep or unconscious at this point. Part of him wished that he could be in the same state, oblivious to their immediate deaths. He glanced at his watch. They had one minute.
There were a lot of things Sam would have guessed he would do given only a minute left. The first thing that came to mind was to call Jules, the love of his life. He could also talk to his mother or father, say a prayer, cry. There were a lot of things he would have guessed he would do, but he did none of them. He looked down to his leg, burning and painful with every jostle, even as light as an inhale or exhale. He looked over at his unconscious friend.
In the last minute of his life, Sam Braddock slumped painfully back down next to Spike and covered his body with his own, wincing as he moved the injured limb. Sam had spent his whole life fighting, in war, in the SRU, for his relationship with Jules. In the last minute of his life, Sam closed his eyes and was glad that fought as hard as he could.
. . .
There was no mushroom cloud, no giant bonfire or whoosh of hot air. At first, there was less of a show than with the first bombs. It was two o'clock. The building shifted with the initial sound of faint explosives, then began to fold inward as the support columns were destroyed.
Sergeant Greg Parker watched as the building containing at least ten lives collapsed in front of his very eyes. He had been warned. The false bomb was the final warning. It all ended at two o'clock. After a good moment of shifting and moaning, the dust began to settle. Greg allowed himself that moment to think the worst, that his team was gone and it was because he could find the subject who loitered around at the crime scene.
As soon as the building stopped falling apart, the world started again. Greg could not explain the fire that took him over, as if one of the explosions had been set in his very core. The details of those moments, the moments where he was commanding what was left of his team to do their jobs, he could never give.
His mind was with those inside, with the six men he did not know and the four he did. His rational brain was making the decisions that needed to be made, but his emotional half was gone, completely out of himself and with the others.
Most of the flames had already been extinguished. The rescue men on scene moved to extraction, going off of the last known locations. It was unclear whether they were in search of injured men or bodies. Greg received no response through the com system. Jules, voice trembling with unshed tears, got no response through the com system. Greg hoped for the best and assumed the worst as he worked to get his men out.
Want to find out what happens next? Review!