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 40 Heat
"Where's Murdock? Tell us or I'll let the Sergeant here practice some interrogation techniques on you. He learned most of them from the VC."
If he hadn't heard the voice, he would have thought it was a nightmare come true. Being careful to shift only his eyes until they located the Colonel's reflection in the rearview mirror, Doctor Stafford stifled his first reaction.
No. Bolting from the van will likely get me a bullet in the back at this point.
"How . . . ?" he managed to croak over the lump of fear in the back of his throat. He focused on the steel-gray eyes of the man that he thought was dead.
He wasn't reassured by the chilling smile that spread slowly across the Colonel's face.
"Wrong answer but I'll let that one go. Do you mind explaining, Face?"
"Not at all, Colonel. Blanks. Real bullets were in the bottom of the magazine. Just enough there so that if he checked, he would think the gun was loaded with live ammo." That was the Lieutenant's voice. There was a trace of wry amusement in the tone.
"You mean, you didn't trust your own man, Smith?" The doctor chided himself for asking such an obvious question but he had to buy some time to think his way through this situation.
Instead of answering, the Colonel gestured with his head toward State Highway 9. "Start driving. If the owners of this establishment see us out here with you, we'll get some unwanted attention from the local authorities."
"Where to?" Stafford gripped the steering wheel tightly. He had no options available to him. The black Sergeant had not removed the barrel of the gun from the base of his skull.
"Wherever you dropped him and Miss Allen off, doc. And they'd better be in good health."
Stafford turned the van toward the southwestern entrance to Zion National Park and hoped the pilot and reporter had not succumbed to the heat of the midsummer desert conditions in Huber Wash.
oooooo
Murdock had not realized how hot the late afternoon could be on the wash trail he was hiking.
He removed his cap and drew a sweaty wrist across his forehead. Beads of moisture sprang back up within seconds after he adjusted the cap back on his head. Looking down at his T-shirt, he realized there was barely a part of it that wasn't drenched.
Maybe this ain' such a good idea after all.
Glancing back, he noted that the female hiker, his shadow, had shortened the distance between them. She was still far enough behind. If he should pull out his Browning and place the barrel under his chin, she would not know what had happened until she heard the shot and saw him crumple to the ground.
But that ain' what I gotta do right now. I can make that d'cision soon as I've had time t' think.
And that choice would wait until he got to Mount Kinesava and the place he saw in his remote viewing session.
oooooo
Colonel Jackson tried once again to locate the Captain. He was within five minutes of Hurricane. Instead of a clear picture of Murdock's surroundings, he "saw" a progression of corpses that currently littered the pilot's thoughts.
Some he recognized from interrogations Henderson and he had conducted in Nam, brutal questioning which Murdock witnessed as one of Henderson's men. One image was of the teenaged Vietnamese girl the Captain had befriended. Another was the body of the Lieutenant who had posed as the geology professor in the attempt to free Murdock.
He could only guess at the identity of two or three of the others. The NVA soldier lying on his back on the jungle trail? The Vietnamese man with blood spurting from the slash across his carotid artery, his heart slowing and stopping? That had to be the one the ex-POW Captain remembered as Ferret. The only reason Jackson knew the name was because he had gained access to Murdock's deepest thoughts, memories the pilot had buried.
Jackson sniffed in disdain.
Murdock never did get used to what we had to do over there in Nam. It's too bad really. With all the training we gave him and his intelligence and devotion to his country, he could have been the best in our arsenal of assassins.
Jackson had to pull over when the first twinge of pain assaulted his head. For a few minutes, the Colonel rubbed at his temples with the palms of both hands but the pain worsened.
The Captain must be getting a headache. It might mean he's out in the heat. But I can't get a good idea of where he's at. He's too disoriented.
The Colonel decided to change his focus. No point in suffering along with Murdock. His new target was Doctor Stafford. He couldn't read the medical man's mind but he could find him through a remote viewing session. He would find Stafford and force him to lead him to the pilot.
oooooo
Murdock felt the faint drum beat of a headache starting in his temples. Stopping for a moment, he removed his cap again and tried to massage out the tension with his fingertips.
Heat's prob'ly jus' gettin' t' me, but th' music ain' helpin' any.
Impatiently, he removed the ear buds, turned off the radio and tossed them into the bag. His fingers traced the stitches Smith had discovered. He didn't remember clearly how they got there, only that the doctor had something to do with it.
Did I get hurt 'n' the doc had t' stitch me up?
He found a large boulder in the dry stream bed and sat down. Rummaging in his bag, he drew out a bottle of water and unscrewed the top to take a drink. He grimaced and forced himself to gulp down several mouthfuls of the tepid liquid before replacing the cap.
Seconds later, his stomach revolted and doubled him up with a cramp.
Might not make it t' th' mountain, I guess.
Looking behind him, he froze. The woman had quickened her pace when she noted his distress. She would be on him within a couple of minutes.
That was the last thing he needed. Scrambling to his feet, he staggered away.
Mind over matter. Mind over matter. I am what I think. I'm a bird, I'm a plane . . .
His thoughts jumbled. The bright images of his best friend lying in a heap on the motel room floor mingled with memories of Sky's bloodied corpse and the intense blue-eyed gaze of a dying soldier. The camp guard they called Ferret stared at him through lifeless eyes, his blood still spurting from a knife wound Murdock had inflicted.
Not real. Not real.
"Not real. Not real. Not real!" His internal mumbling became a frenzied chant.
But every one o' those things happened. I killed the guys, Sky, Ferret, that young G. I. . . . Okay, so maybe I didn' kill Sky 'n' that guy in my chopper but I didn' get 'em t' safety fast 'nough either.
He wasn't sure whether the heat was affecting his brain but it was beginning to affect his body. The nausea that tormented his stomach and the onset of dizziness were one thing. Now a strange weakness in his muscles made him feel like lying down and resting.
Ahead of him the walls of the Rockville Bench to his right and the petrified forest plateau to his left met in a dryfall. Long ago what little water flowed over the rock edge brought with it large chunks of petrified wood and other debris to clog the waterfall. A splash of green, what was called a hanging garden, clung to the sandstone surface and spilled over the sides of the walls.
The Huber Wash Trail officially ended here. He allowed his instinct, schooled by the remote viewing session, to guide him about a hundred feet to the west. This spot was where he could climb up to find the Chinle Trail. From there, he would find a way to get to the mountain.
It was what climbers considered a Class Three scramble, steep but requiring no equipment to carry out. Any use of his hands would be to keep his balance, not to support the weight of his body. An easy climb or a more difficult hike, whichever way you looked at it. Ordinarily that kind of rock face was something he would have had no trouble scaling.
After all, I've shimmied up my share o' ladders, obstacle course walls 'n' drain pipes on th' sides o' buildin's. Should be a piece o' . . .
He sucked in a breath as the mental image of Hannibal falling dead to the motel floor mocked him.
"Murdock! Wait!"
He paled at the sound of Sky's voice. The next moment, he began wildly clawing his way to the top of the rocky slope. He didn't look back. He couldn't. Too many ghosts were pursuing him now for him to risk looking back.
Not real. Not real.
"Murdock! Please! Wait!"
He ignored the voice. If he turned he was afraid the face he saw would be bruised and bloodied almost beyond recognition.
Like Sky's was th' last time I saw 'er.
A sob escaped. He wasn't sure if it was the exertion of the climb or the release of pent-up emotion.
I am what I think I am. A bird, a plane . . .
He was almost to the top and reaching for the edge so he could keep his balance when all the corpses from his past formed a collage in his mind. The images immobilized him and made him shudder with their combined impact.
. . . a murderer.
oooooo
Amy saw Murdock stop to rub his head and drink some of the water in his bag. While she was relieved he was trying to keep himself hydrated, she knew he was massaging away a headache, and headache was one of the symptoms of heat exhaustion.
I can't hold back now. I have to intervene. He can't continue at this pace or he'll kill himself.
When Murdock doubled up over his stomach, she made her feet move faster.
Stomach cramping. That's another sign. Oh God, Murdock! You're killing yourself.
He looked back at her and she realized from the look on his face that he was going to bolt.
She began to jog to keep up, hoping the pace would not increase her own risk for heat exhaustion.
No one but Doctor Stafford knows we're out here and the likelihood of him telling anyone is next to nil.
The thought made her panic.
Her only chance was to call out to him, to get him to stop.
But will he?
"Murdock! Wait!"
He didn't look back again but started to frantically scramble up the sandstone slope.
He heard me. I know he heard me. Why won't he stop?
She called out again, more loudly this time. "Murdock! Please! Wait!"
He had almost reached the top of the climb. If he made it to the plateau, she would never catch up. She started to climb, keeping her eyes on the man on the slope above her.
Please. Stop.
And then he did. At first she thought he would turn around and come back down the rock face to let her help him.
She wasn't ready when he lost his balance and fell, tumbling backwards toward her.