Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
A/N: A big thank you to tree979 who betaed this
"Ilsa? You there?" Ilsa nodded before she realized that Winston could only hear her, not see her. The vet was standing in front of her, shoulders slumped, dropping his bloody gloves to the floor, shaking his head in a resigned gesture.
"Sergej", she whispered.
She needn't say more.
A sob from Ames came in via earpiece. The men remained silent for a moment. There was no way to tell how Guerrero reacted to the news, but before Winston tried to speak again, he had to swallow hard.
"Looks like the computer table is a control center for the electronics of another house somewhere. Guerrero can't say yet where it is, the information is encrypted. We think Emma and Chance are in that house and we also think it might have been designed as some sort of giant torture chamber. There's a ground plan – some rooms are labeled with "glass", others with "barbed wire", "electro shock floor" and "deep freezer"."
"Dude wanted to sent them through a labyrinth of horrors like rats." Guerrero's voice, finally. It was concentrated, devoid of any sign of how he felt about Sergej. Ilsa had to confess, even with the dead man's blood all over her body, all she could think about right now was Chance.
"I think I've just switched off the jammer signal that prevented Emma's earpiece from working. If she's still got it with her…"
Ilsa took money from her wallet, enough to make the vet go away for a while. Predictably he didn't feel comfortable with a dead body in his treatment room, but the amount of cash Ilsa stuffed into his hands helped. He exited the room, leaving her alone, barely able to stand.
"Emma? Emma?", she could hear Winston asking while she staggered over to the sink and turned on the water, desperate to get the dried up blood off her hands.
She was very shaken.
… … …
In a house somewhere, Emma slowly woke from deep drug induced slumber. There was a voice that just didn't want to leave her alone. With great difficulty, she raised herself to a sitting position. It took her a moment before she realized that it was Chance's limp body holding her back.
"Yes?", she finally managed to croak.
"Is Chance with you? Is he alive?"
She turned to the body by her side, reached for a wrist. The skin felt warm and yes, a pulse was detectable. "Chance…" She shoved him and he slowly started waking up, too.
"Give him your earpiece." Guerrero's tone made it very clear that this was an order, not a suggestion. Too drowsy to protest, she helped Chance to slip it into his ear.
"You there, bro? Where are you?" Chance's vision was still swimming. It took him a moment to take in the moldy black walls and the dirty stone floor. "Cellar", he finally coughed. Searing pain was shooting upwards from his foot through the rest of his body. He must have sprained his ankle when landing inside the wagon.
"Thought so", Guerrero replied. "The house is like a maze full of nasty traps. All doors are sealed by electronic locks. Guess he wanted to lead you through the traps by opening one door at a time." The look on Guerrero's face, that only Ames and Winston could see, indicated that the bastard got off way too lightly with a quick, clean shot. Had he still been alive, Guerrero would have taken his time with him.
And Winston would have probably helped.
They all knew how much Sergej must have suffered in the last few minutes of his life, and so far nobody wanted to think about Daisy yet.
Ilsa could hear Guerrero's fingers flying quickly over a computer's keyboard.
"I think I've just overridden the lock system. With the ground plan here I think I can guide you outside. I'll keep all doors that lead to traps closed. We don't know where the building is yet, so you've got to get out of there by yourselves."
"What else?", Chance panted. Of course he had picked up the strain in Guerrero's voice.
"Dude pressed a button a second before I shot him. Don't know what it was for yet."
"Gas?" Chance recognized the symptoms of gas poisoning when he felt them. "Carbon monoxide maybe?"
Oh damn. That explained the strange bar chart on the left side of the screen. Gas was continuously streaming in through the air vents.
Continuously and fast.
Winston slammed a fist into one of the walls. He fought the urge to empty the rest of his ammo into the lifeless bastard.
"I'll help you, come on, we need to climb those stairs." Emma's voice, faint, barely caught by the microphone. She pulled Chance to his feet. He was heavy and there was no real strength in his muscles. He gave a pained groan as she threw his arm around her shoulders and started dragging him towards the flight of stairs that led up to the ground floor.
Guerrero was frantically typing into the computer, desperately trying to shut the gas down. "The air conditioning is protected with an additional code. Can't hack it in time. You've got to get the hell out of there!"
"We haven't even made it up half the stairs yet", Emma shouted. She wasn't sure if the team could hear her. "Chance, I need your help here."
But carbon monoxide makes you tired. Very tired. And if you're already tired with everything… with life….
"Drop me here." Chance's voice.
Everyone froze, including Emma.
Ames pressed her hands to her mouth in wordless terror.
"This is senseless. I can't move. The leg is busted. I'm too heavy. We'll never make it out on time." He coughed. "I can hear how fast the gas is streaming in. I'm slowing you down. Get out of here."
Chance wriggled free of Emma's grasp and let himself sink to the floor. Carbon monoxide poisoning wasn't that bad of a death. It made you drowsy, sent you off to sleep, then unconsciousness. You suffocated, yes, but you didn't notice. There were a lot worse ways he could have gone.
He felt at peace with this solution.
Peace.
"No! She's not going to do that!" Ilsa, screaming in the vet's treatment room.
Emma looked at Chance. The expression on his face was so… calm. There was nothing but his silent permission for her to leave him there. And she couldn't lift him up. She really couldn't.
"I'm sorry", they heard her whisper. Then retreating footsteps.
"I'm going to KILL her for that!" Ilsa was beside herself.
"Not if I get to her first", Winston muttered, devastated.
Guerrero shot him a "don't steal my lines"- look and hit the earpiece's communicator button. "Chance, it's not too late. The gas is accumulating in the lowest parts of the house first. If you get up, you'll catch enough fresh air to make it to the outside."
Chance voice was hoarse and a bit croaky, but unmistakably firm: "It's been a hell of a ride, Guerrero, but that's it. I… want to sleep. I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused you… all of you… it's over for good this time…." He paused, then: "Thank you."
Silence.
Ames started sobbing loudly. Ilsa stared at her distorted reflection in one of the vet's stainless steel drawers, lost. Slowly she began to tremble, first her hands, then the rest of her body. This wasn't happening. No.
Guerrero looked at Winston with an expression that said "grasping at straws, dude". Then he hit the communicator button again. He had to do it twice, his wasn't in complete control of his fingers anymore. "Chance, cut the fucking good-bye speech crap." He took a deep breath. This was fifty-fifty.
"You've got a son. You hear me, bro? You've. Got. A. Son. You wanna meet him? GET UP!"