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 42 Landing
As the chopper flew over on its way north along Huber Wash, all four men glanced up. Only one recognized the man who impassively looked down at them from the passenger's seat.
Stafford carefully composed his expression so the others would not catch on.
That's Jackson. He's looking for Captain Murdock, too.
"If it wasn't for you, B. A., and your fear of flying, we might have been able to search from the air in one of those. Might have found them already, too." Face gave the black Sergeant a pointed look and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a monogrammed white handkerchief. He folded it and put it back in his pants pocket before swallowing some water from a bottle he took from his pack.
B. A. glared at the con man. "We don't find the fool an' Amy this way, ya may hafta look for 'em that way. I just ain' gettin' in no plane or chopper."
Hannibal took a swig from his own water bottle and shielded his eyes from the sun as he followed the helicopter's flight pattern. "Might be a tour chopper, but would they be flying in this sector of the park?"
Face agreed. "Yeah, the real scenery is around the Zion Canyon and Kolob Terrace areas." He took a rueful look around at the scrub desert vegetation and lifted his pack higher on his shoulders. "Certainly not here."
The Colonel glanced at Doctor Stafford and offered water to him. The scientist shrugged and accepted it with a faint "thanks." He kept his eyes on the chopper as he drank.
If Jackson gets to Murdock first, and it's looking like that's what's going to happen, I'll have to watch for an opportunity to escape. I can't let Jackson send the Captain on that suicide mission. There has to be another way to get rid of Cazador.
"Something wrong, doc?" Hannibal eyed the doctor suspiciously.
"No. Nothing at all." Even as he spoke, the helicopter stopped moving forward and hovered over a section of the wash far ahead, another half-hour's worth of hiking.
oooooo
Colonel Jackson straightened in his seat as they passed over the four men on the trail. He trained the binoculars on the middle two hikers and recognized the medical man.
"There you are. I had a feeling I'd see you sooner or later, doctor," he muttered under his breath.
To the chopper pilot he gave a thumbs-up and pointed ahead. "We're on the right track. Those four are looking for the same two people I am."
The pilot nodded and kept the chopper flying over the middle of the wash. Just as they approached the place where the plateau with the petrified forest remains and Rockville Bench intersected, he jabbed his finger ahead to get Colonel Jackson's attention. "Are those the two missing hikers?"
The military man aimed the binoculars at the two people lying on the desert soil near the base of the slope that marked the end of the Huber Wash Trail.
"Yeah, it is. Looks like they've had a bit of trouble. Can you land somewhere near them?" Jackson kept his eyes on the Captain as he peered up at the helicopter and struggled to his knees. He feebly waved his arms to get their attention.
Moments later, Murdock bent over the prone woman on the ground and stroked her face, trying to rouse her. Jackson located the Captain's pack at the bottom of the slope and narrowed his eyes.
Murdock hasn't been listening to the music on the radio. No wonder his thoughts were so scrambled. Right now, that music is the only thing keeping him from going insane.
At least, that was what the doctor told him would eventually happen. The more Murdock listened to the special broadcasts Jackson had programmed for that frequency, the more focused on the mission he would become. The music and the underlying subliminal messages and tones would form a new neural framework for the pilot's brain. Even so, Jackson continued to monitor Murdock's thoughts and plant false memories to fine tune the program and keep the pilot on track with the mission.
"I really shouldn't take the chopper down on federal land without clearance, sir. I'm just an aerial tour guide, not a paramedic. I can call for help . . . " The pilot's voice came over the headset. He sounded apprehensive.
"Those two may be dying down there and you're worried over some federal regulations? I am a Colonel with the United States Army, sir, and one of those two hikers is a runaway from an important federal project. Are you going to stand in the way of your government?" The military man made his voice as authoritative as he could.
If you don't land this bird now, I'll be forced to draw my weapon and make you do it.
He could see the hesitation in the other man's face. The chopper continued to hover.
He was suddenly aware of someone probing his thoughts. He cursed under his breath.
It's Murdock. He's gotten better at this than I thought he ever would.
Jackson trained the field glasses on Murdock again. The Captain had recognized him and was attempting to crawl toward his duffel bag. His hands clawed at the desert rock as he pulled himself inches at a time toward the slope.
I can't let you do that, Captain.
His message got through to the man on the ground. Murdock glanced up over his shoulder once more before collapsing, his arm stretched out toward the bag. His fingers were less than a yard from it. His limbs twitched with the onset of a sun-induced seizure.
Jackson let the binoculars fall to his chest from their strap. He reached under his jacket and removed his pistol from its shoulder holster. Clicking off the safety and pointing the barrel at the other man's head, he gestured toward the two hikers.
"Take us down or this will be the last flight you ever make."
oooooo
Amy drifted in and out of consciousness as Murdock told his story about M and Ms battling each other, one color against the other, to take over the candy dish on the table. Every time he slipped a candy between her lips, she captured it with her tongue and let it melt in her mouth. She couldn't chew; she could barely raise her voice above a whisper.
"Ya still with me, Amy darlin'? Try 'n' picture it. The red M 'n' M's got hold o' some guns. Stuck 'em in a cave, see. Cazador, he was the one all th' other candies wanted t' be eaten. They got a chopper pilot t' fly 'im inta th' cave where all those guns were." Murdock popped another red M and M into her mouth.
She squinted at him. The name Cazador seemed familiar somehow but she wasn't thinking clearly enough to associate the name with any memory she had of people she had interviewed.
Cazador?
Murdock gently cupped the back of her head in his hand and raised it. "Here. Li'l water'll wash th' candy down."
He lightly pressed the bottle rim to her lips but she kept her mouth closed.
Shaking her head, she glared at him through blurred vision. "You . . . drink."
He put the bottle to his lips and she tried to watch to make sure he got some.
He didn't. He was faking it and she hadn't caught on until now. She groaned at her stupidity.
He's going to die if he doesn't drink some water. Why, Murdock, why?
She gathered as much energy as she could spare and scolded him. "You . . . drink . . . or I . . . won't."
Her words had the desired effect. He gazed at her for a second and shook his head in exasperation before taking two gulps of the water.
"There. Happy now? I was trained by th' Army t' survive th' worst conditions. You weren't. Now you drink 'n' don' give me no more trouble." His voice had a sharp angry edge to it and she knew he would force her to stay alive if he could.
As long as he stayed with her, she knew she would survive. But what about him?
oooooo
Murdock lay beside Amy, on his side facing her so he could see immediately if her condition worsened. He had finished telling her the story and feeding her the M and Ms several minutes ago. He couldn't remember the details of the fantasy tale he related but somehow the name Cazador stuck in his mind. Had he used the name in the story or was he imagining it? Where had he come up with that name?
Halfway through the story, Amy refused any more water, suspicious he wasn't drinking any. He kept pressuring her to drink and managed to get a few mouthfuls in her after he drank one or two himself.
Didn' wanna do that. Ain' got 'nough for both o' us but if it keeps her from dyin' . . .
He glanced at his duffel bag and regretted not going to get it when he still had the strength.
Thinkin' 'bout it ain' gonna bring it here. I'm gonna hafta make a try t' get it.
Willing his body to move, he managed to raise his head and put one hand in front of him to push himself up. "Amy, darlin'? I gotta leave ya for a couple minutes t' go get that other bag." He anxiously searched her face for a response. Her lips moved but no words came out. "Amy?"
He heard the thump-thump of a chopper engine and wondered for a second if it was part of his heat exhaustion. At the familiar sound, he forced himself up on his forearm and squinted in the direction it came from. Then he saw it flying low along the wash toward them.
"Maybe a tour chopper? No one else but th' doctor knows we're out here. I gotta get their 'ttention. But how?" He tried to think but delirium and the bright images associated with remote viewing exercises muddled his mind. Amy hadn't packed a lighter or matches. Even if she had, he didn't have enough energy left to gather the dry grasses and kindling around them to start a signal fire.
He turned his worried eyes back on Amy. She moaned softly and blindly reached for his hand. "Don't leave me, Murdock," she whispered.
"I won't, chica. I won't." He felt her grip weaken as she lapsed back into a semi-conscious state. "Don' give up. Help's comin'. I jus' gotta show 'em where we are."
He forced himself back up on his knees, ignoring the sharp cuts the rock shards made in his skin. Summoning as much strength as he could, he waved his arms to get the pilot's attention.
"We're here. Don' go 'way," he gasped over the sandpaper rawness in his mouth and throat. When it looked as if the pilot realized they needed help, he leaned over the reporter. With one hand, he caressed Amy's cheek and murmured, "Wake up, sweetie. Please, wake up." No response.
Peering closer at the hovering aircraft, he sensed Jackson's presence. Without recognizing what he was doing, he faintly caught the essence of the military man's thoughts. Something about that psychic brush with the Colonel's mind made the alarms go off in Murdock's brain. When he 'heard' Jackson's unspoken threat to take out his pistol and use it to force the pilot to land, the Captain realized the danger he and Amy were in.
His gaze fell on his duffel bag. He remembered packing his Browning and ammo for it before leaving for Mount Kinesava.
I gotta get t' that gun. I gotta protect Amy.
A raspy whine escaped from his throat as he inched across the ground to get to his weapon. He couldn't believe how depleted his strength was. Handful after handful of jagged rock cut into the palms of his hands as he pulled himself along.
When he was a yard away from his goal, Jackson pierced through the terror and confusion in his mind and warned him.
I can't let you do that, Captain.
He shot a look over his shoulder at the military man in the chopper and stretched his arm out as far as it would go. He groaned as he realized the weapon was still out of reach. His combined movements drained every last bit of energy from him and plunged him into unconsciousness.
"Murdock? Where are you?" The noise of the landing helicopter drowned out Amy's weak cries.