Every Thought Captive
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
Chapter 6 Waking
Amy's eyes moved rapidly back and forth under her closed lids and her lips bore a faint smile as she started to wake up.
Her dream environment, one filled with a candlelight dinner and Face's presence, had been so pleasant that she didn't want to open her eyes to reality.
But reality demanded attention.
From somewhere in the building she heard faint terrified cries of "No! No! Stay away!" that sounded way too much like Murdock's voice.
The pilot she knew faced danger with a thick veneer of craziness, not with frightened ranting.
That couldn't be Murdock, could it? It has to be someone else, right?
The thought it might be someone else was even more alarming.
Maybe they'll take me next?
The fear she remembered feeling at Jamestown when she and all but Murdock had been captured and prepared to die flooded back into her being. As she listened more closely, her stomach knotted when she realized it was the voice of Captain H. M. Murdock.
She rarely heard him yell with such obvious fear. The few times she had, she was kept out of the room until one of the guys, usually Face or Hannibal, brought him out of the nightmare or flashback. She never knew if it was to protect her from his more violent behavior or to protect him from the humiliation of being unable to control his outburst.
When she finally saw him after one of those episodes, he looked like he had been wrestled out of the tormenting grips of a myriad of demons. His smile wasn't as genuine and his bloodshot red-rimmed eyes darted around watching every shadow for invisible enemies that never materialized.
Sometimes he bore visible bruises and cuts from the internal battle. She wasn't sure how that could have happened when the guys watched his mental condition so closely. The guys wouldn't have done that to him. And they would protect him from himself.
But the guys aren't here to help him this time, are they? Wherever here is, that is.
The wailing cries alone were enough to wake her the rest of the way.
I have to help him.
For a few moments she stared in confusion at the off-white acoustic tile ceiling and then around her. There wasn't much to see. A light gray plastic wastecan was located beside the bed on which she lay. The bed was the only piece of furniture in the room. The gray metal door opposite her had a small observation window with a wire screen over it. Fluorescent lights set into the ceiling lit the windowless room.
Murdock's room at the V. A. hospital is fancier than this.
She sat up abruptly, her eyes wide with concern, with the next tormented howl she heard. "You ain' real!" the pilot screamed.
That's Murdock and he sounds like he's in pain.
Too late, she realized she should have risen more slowly. The queasy feeling that gripped her increased until she had to grab the wastecan and use it to empty her stomach of its contents. Once done, she collapsed back onto the bed and closed her eyes.
I can't do him much good until I figure out how badly I'm hurt. My guess? A mild concussion.
Her head throbbed all over but especially in the back. With trembling fingers she explored the back of her skull and discovered a large matted area in her hair and under it a gash that was very tender to the touch and still seeping fluid.
The memories of what happened to cause that wound came back. Four men charging up the stairwell as she was scurrying down. All four in black ski masks, all four with handguns. She met them, turned to retrace her steps back to where Murdock was and felt one of them grab her arms from behind.
Shouting a warning was out of the question. She would bring Tannini's men in on top of them and they would be caught in the crossfire. She struggled briefly, then felt a searing white hot pain at the back of her head and fell backwards, her head connecting with the wall, before everything turned black.
Whoever gave me this headache must have captured Murdock as well.
She remembered waking to the sight of the near naked pilot strapped into a chair, IV tubes in both arms, a long black blindfold over his eyes and knotted at the back of his head. He spoke to her with a worried voice, wanted her to tell him something . . .
. . . but I don't remember what.
He didn't sound afraid until the man with the cold eyes wheeled the gurney she was strapped to out of the door. She heard him shout her name. Then the man plunged a needle into her arm and she drifted off to sleep. Amy shivered at the memory of Murdock's desperate voice.
Why didn't I listen to Hannibal and Face and let them figure out how to get Tannini's records? Maybe Murdock would have been able to get away from these men if I hadn't been in danger.
A door swooshed open and a squeaking sound of wheels accompanied by choked sobs and wails drew nearer. Another door creaked open and the anguished sounds faded as it slammed shut.
She attempted to sit up again and noticed she was still wearing the dress she was disguised in when captured. Holding her breath, she slipped her hand into the pocket.
If the camera is still there, Hannibal, Face and B. A. will know where to look for us.
But her hand came up empty. She sighed in frustration and stood. Stumbling to the door, she tried the door knob and found it locked.
I should have guessed as much.
The door opened inward so she couldn't have broken it down if she tried. She peered as far as she could up and down the hall outside. She saw nothing but other gray metal doors like hers.
Murdock, where are you? And what do these people want from you and me?
A gray-haired man in a lab coat, its white sleeves speckled with red splotches left a room down the hall.
The screamed pleas increased in frequency and volume for a few brief moments. "Don' leave me 'lone with them! Don' leave me. . ." As the door closed and the man's two assistants followed him, the voice muffled again.
One of the assistants pushed a gurney. As the doctor approached, Amy shrank back toward the far corner of the room. A key rattled in the lock and the door opened. The three men eyed her from the hallway before entering and pulling the door shut behind them.
"Miss Allen?" The man with the pronounced limp smiled at her and motioned for his helpers to take hold of her and restrain her on the gurney.
oooooo
B. A. opened his eyes to find Hannibal smoking his cigar and scrutinizing him from the front passenger's seat of the van.
He propped himself on one elbow and scrubbed at his eyes with a fleshy hand. "Oh man. Don't tell me ya did it to me again, Colonel."
Hannibal gave him a grim smile and said, "Okay, I won't tell you."
The Sergeant slowly sat up from his position on the floor. "Where are we and who's been messin' wit' my ride?"
"Between Face and me, we got it here to Simpson Springs without much problem." Hannibal squinted at him through the cigar smoke with a sly gleam in his eye. "And you got some rest."
The black man frowned his confusion. "Where the heck's Simpson Springs? I thought you said the chopper went to Dugway Proving Grounds." He glanced toward the driver's seat. "An' where's Faceman? We gotta go rescue the fool an' Amy."
The Colonel shook his head and put out a restraining hand as the Sergeant moved to open the side door of the van and get out. "Not so fast, B. A. We have a good idea where the mini-camera is but there's no guarantee Amy and Murdock are in the same place with it. We have to figure out the security around the perimeter of the area and where they are being held before we run in there. It's a military installation, after all."
B. A. growled his impatience.
"We're going to set up our base camp here in the campground. It's the closest spot we could find to Granite Peak where the signal seems to be originating. It's still a little over an hour away." The Colonel gauged the other man's reaction. Only when B. A. scowled and seemed to agree did Hannibal open the van door to climb out.
"So where's Faceman?" The Sergeant craned his neck around as he got out and stood stretching his cramped limbs.
"Well, if he's going to be a geology professor looking for geodes he has to get a few tools to look the part. We rented a car in Tooele and he's getting what he needs. He'll meet us back here." The older man busied himself setting up a tent. After a sharp look to see if Hannibal was joking, the black man moved to help the Colonel.
"You're not thinkin' of havin' Faceman crash the perimeter just to test the security."
"No, I'm thinking of having Professor Horace Pepper accidentally stumble across the Proving Ground boundaries around the Granite Peak area in his quest to find the perfect geode."
B. A. couldn't tell for sure but he thought he caught a familiar tone to the Colonel's response. He rolled his eyes and muttered, "He's on the jazz again."
oooooo
The equidistant white dots reshaped into helicopter rotor blades rapidly rotating and inching toward him. At the center of each set of blades a sharp-toothed mouth gaped open and waited to feed on his shredded flesh. He almost thought he saw the mouths grin with his first outburst.
"No! No! Stay away!" He heard the anguished scream before he realized it came from his own mouth. He couldn't prevent the cries from continuing. The nightmarish white dot shapes were too real in his mind.
Murdock remembered. The part of his CIA training he had blocked from his memory after the last mission gone south came back to him. This was the real reason he went insane and was committed to the V. A. hospital psych ward. The remote viewing he did for the Agency eventually showed its darker side. He had to get out in order to survive.
The first set of blades neared and skimmed his chest. He felt a patch of skin pared away before the next white dot image darted toward him and peeled back the skin on another area around his rib cage. He felt rather than saw blood streaming from the two wounds down his sweat-slick torso.
He yelled out at the dots, "You ain' real!"
Someone chuckled nearby. He hadn't been aware of anyone entering the room where he was until now.
"Do you remember us now, Captain Murdock?"
Oh God, no!
It was the voice he hoped he would not hear ever again. At the sound of authority from the speaker the white rotor blades with the slavering toothed maws morphed back into white dots.
He had never been so terrified . . . or so thankful . . . to hear Jackson's voice as he was now.
But instead of acknowledging Jackson's question, Murdock broke down into a series of choked sobs and wails.
He felt himself being unstrapped from the chair and restrapped onto a gurney. Resistance was useless.
They ain' gonna take off the blindfold. They ain' takin' out the IVs either.
They were on the move, the wheels of the gurney loudly squeaking under him. Cool air whooshed around him as a door opened and the gurney passed through it.
He couldn't prevent his cries and sobbing. His mind had become his own enemy.
Another door opened. Three men unbuckled the straps and lifted him onto what felt like a firm mattress. His wrists and ankles were secured with soft restraints to the bed frame. As he heard his captors leave with the gurney, he screamed again and again.
"Don' leave me 'lone with them! Don' leave me 'lone!"