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 62 Donor
Cazador grasped Hannibal by the elbow as they walked toward the house, the others trailing after them. Murdock wasn't sure if it was to prevent the Colonel from trying something or if it was a friendly gesture. With snipers on the roof, he was inclined to believe Cazador intended on making sure none of them did anything to force him to give the signal to fire.
"I got 'em inta this mess, Billy. How could I o' been so wrong 'bout Mister Cazador? What if he d'cides t' turn 'em in?"
He won' do that, brother. He ain' gonna risk havin' his smugglin' op'ration found out. 'N' you made sure th' guys knew 'bout th' men on th' roof. Cazador's caught in jus' as big a mess as yer friends 'n' he's lookin' fer a peaceful way out. But not if it means he goes t' prison.
As he reassured his brother, Billy led Murdock toward the farmhouse, both arms around him so he didn't collapse. The pilot sagged against his baby brother, drinking in the heat generated by the light surrounding him. If only the heat could penetrate and unthaw his bones. He shivered violently.
Other parts of his spirit body were beginning to feel as if they were freezing up on him. It was more of an effort to move his feet now. Like he waded up to his knees in quickly setting cement.
They left no settling dust trail behind them, he noticed. Course we wouldn' if we're spirit 'n' not flesh 'n' blood.
Blood reminded him of the figure Cazador's men carried past. The bloodied figure that Billy said was him. But couldn' be, he reminded himself.
As he reached out for the door handle, he was stunned to see his own arm bathed in a soft glowing light like Billy was.
"What's happenin' t' me, Billy?" he whispered in awe.
Ya have t' go inside t' fin' out. I'm with ya. I ain' gonna leave ya t' sort it all out 'lone.
"I s'pose we don' have t' use the door t' get in there either, huh?" As Murdock said it, they passed through the glass and wrought iron door as if it weren't there.
Nope.
He had an uneasy feeling that what his spirit was doing wasn't remote viewing. This was a wider chasm between body and spirit than he had ever experienced. Like he was d . . .
Face's in here.
Billy motioned to a closed door to their left and helped his brother over to it. Murdock placed his hand in the center of the solid mahogany door and shuddered. Something wasn't right about any of this. His arm was bathed in even more light but he was no warmer than before. He rubbed that arm with his hand but none of the glow went away.
Spooky.
He heard Face's weak voice from inside the room. He sounded both angry and panicked."What's happening to him?"
There was a low response but either the door was too thick or the white noise cocooning Murdock's ears was too loud for him to comprehend what was said. He drew back in confusion and gazed into Billy's solemn eyes. "I can't! I hear Face. I know he's alright 'nough t' talk. They said he wasn' gonna die. Ain' that 'nough?"
I know yer 'fraid t' know, brother, but I gotta show ya. Come on. I'm right here with ya all th' way.
There was no other choice but to allow Billy to ease their spirit bodies through the closed door. Murdock didn't have the strength to do it himself. He wondered if, when the time came, he would have the strength to reunite his spirit with his body.
On his left, Face threw back covers and struggled to a half-sit before collapsing into the pillows behind him. He directed his glassy gaze toward the bed with the massive carved oak headboard and moaned his frustration.
"Tell me! What's happening to him?"
The man and woman hovering over the patient on the bed were too busy to answer. The assistant handed things to the doctor as he requested them from a tray covered with a spotless white towel. The medical man muttered under his breath as he bent over the patient and worked.
Murdock moved closer to Face, wanting so badly to calm him down. Someone had stripped the con man of everything but his boxers. Someone, probably the doctor, had balled up a wad of gauze and taped it firmly to the gash in his side to apply as much pressure as possible. Until they stabilized the man in the other bed, the wound Face had would have to wait.
"He's gonna bleed out if he don' lay still. Ain' there somethin' I can do t' keep 'im quiet?" The pilot knelt at Face's side and reached for his arm. Face shivered as Murdock's fingers gripped his bicep. The con man tried again to get to his feet. Except for the chill Murdock's hand imparted, he was unaware of his friend's gesture.
He ain' gonna feel ya.
The drama was centered around the queen-sized bed and the Lieutenant seemed determined to be there.
"Lucky devil! If that mad man had nicked this man's carotid or cut into his trachea, he would be dead by now. I repaired as much as I could find." The medical man swiped at his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "Closing now. How's his signs?"
"Not good, Doctor." The assistant's voice drew the pilot's attention. Murdock glanced back over his shoulder. Alarm etched the faces of the man and woman attending the patient.
A blood-soaked beige canvas jacket lay draped over a nearby chair. The jacket looked so much like the one Jackson gave him to wear, he had to look down to see he was still wearing it.
The patient's breaths were shallow and rapid. He laid on his right side, his right arm extended out toward the edge of the bed. At least two blankets covered the man's lower body up to his chest. Murdock couldn't see the man's face. He wasn't sure he wanted to.
"Damn!" He heard the doctor curse as his assistant gave the latest vitals. "We have to try to get his blood pressure stabilized. He needs a transfusion but I can't wait for his blood to be typed. We'll have to start him on Ringer's lactate and see how he responds."
"Doc." Face swayed on his feet by the futon looking as if he might pass out any moment. Murdock stood by him, unsure what he could do if his friend should collapse. Billy waited patiently beside them, watching his brother's reaction to what was happening.
The assistant got out a bag from the kit Cazador had his men deliver to them and hung it from the bed post near the man's head. She deftly slipped a needle into the crook of the man's right elbow and started the intravenous infusion.
"Doc, listen to me," Face pleaded.
"Miss Bennett, draw a blood sample from the Captain." Doctor Willis turned toward Face. "I must have you lie down. You need to continue to apply pressure to that wound. If you won't do that, I'll have one of Juan's men do it. You're not helping your friend by interfering with what we're doing."
"I know where you can get blood for him," the con man blurted.
"Captain? He called him Captain. Billy, that's me on that bed, ain' it." Murdock took two steps toward the bed and stopped, his eyes intent on the struggling breaths the patient took.
The assistant pumped up the blood pressure cuff on the man's left arm. Moments later, her startled eyes sought out the doctor's. "His blood pressure's 67 over 54. His pulse is 115 and erratic."
His own breathing harsh and short, Face stared at her and then at the doctor. "There's a big black guy that's driving here to meet us. He's the same blood type as my buddy. If he's arrived, you need to get him in here. Trust me. We all served in Nam together. He'll be more than willing to give Captain Murdock some of his blood."
At the mention of his name, Murdock's eyes widened. He opened his mouth but no words would come out. Billy remained silent. The glow around him intensified as though fueled by the patient's deteriorating condition.
The doctor gazed at the Lieutenant for only a second, then went to the door. Speaking to the man stationed outside, he gave a curt command. "Tell Mister Cazador I need to talk to him. Quickly."
"I'm dying? Is that what ya needed t' show me? This is it?" Murdock spun toward Billy and grasped him by the shoulders. His eyes searched his brother's face for confirmation.
Not quite, brother. Ya gotta make a choice.
"I . . . I don' . . . I don' understan' . . . folks don' get choices o' when they're gonna . . . you know . . . do they?" Murdock glanced back over his shoulder as the doctor returned to his patient. The man on the bed took in a shallow breath that seemed to hang in the air and shut out all other sound.
"No!" Face yelled. A second later, the patient exhaled and took another rattling breath. "Do something for him, doc!"
Murdock looked back at Billy.
Ya have t' d'cide now. B'fore the choice ain' yers t' make anymore.
oooooo
"Sergeant Baracus? Doctor Willis tells me you're needed to give blood. There's no time to waste." Cazador returned to the library where Hannibal, B. A., Amy and Doctor Stafford sat, awaiting news of the two men in the guest bedroom. His dark eyes darted from Hannibal to Amy. "I'm afraid I'll have to leave you for a while but feel free to have whatever you like from my personal stock." The businessman ignored Doctor Stafford. He motioned to the liquor bottles behind the glass doors of the cabinet and nodded for the Sergeant to follow him.
B. A. got to his feet and glanced at his friends. "Least I'll get some idea of what's goin' on. Let ya know soon's I get back." Following Cazador into the hallway he cracked his knuckles and muttered, "Lead the way."
They crossed the floor to the door nearly opposite the library. The businessman knocked and entered, beckoning to B. A. to come in.
From the distance he was to the bed, the Sergeant could tell Murdock's breathing was rough. The tank beside the bed hissed slightly as oxygen flowed through the tubes to a mask over Murdock's nose and mouth.
Now that the doctor had completed the repair to the pilot's throat, they had turned the patient on his back and elevated his feet under two pillows to encourage better circulation. A gauze bandage encircled his neck and separated at one spot to allow a drainage tube to stick out. A bloody patch around the tube showed where the wound was. An improvised IV bag hook made from a wire hanger dangled from a bed post. The semi-clear fluid in the bag coursed through a tube and to a needle inserted in the pilot's thin arm.
B. A. knew both of his friends were injured, but he wasn't prepared to see the near-death pallor on Murdock's face.
To B. A.'s right, Face sat on the edge of the futon, elbows on his knees and hands gripped together. His glassy eyes were fixed on the other patient. Whether his glazed stare was from his own injury or the knowledge he could do nothing to save Murdock himself, B. A. didn't know.
"Hey, man. You okay?" he placed a large hand on Face's shoulder. The Lieutenant gazed up at him, paused for a moment as if to think about it and then nodded.
"I'll be okay." His eyes wandered back to the bed. His voice was a low distracted mumble. "I should have stopped him. Hanson wouldn't have gotten a chance to do this if I had."
B. A. frowned as goose bumps rose along his forearm. He looked around for the place where the draft was coming in but found no reason for his arm and now the front of his body to feel chilled. It was like something cold hugged him, then released him again.
Jus' my imagination.
The doctor gestured for him to come over to the bed. "Are you the donor?"
For a moment B. A. thought back to the day in Maggie Sullivan's surgery when Amy drove an escaped Murdock from the VA to Black Rock just to give his blood because B. A. needed it. He protested at the time but the fool had saved his skin by doing it.
The animated features of the crazy man were slack and pallid now. There would be no rhyming words, no mention of sharing a room at the VA to watch walls melt. Closed eyelids hid the warm brown eyes from view.
With a heavy sigh and an even heavier swallow, B. A. gritted his teeth and nodded. "Take as much as he needs, doc."