by Laura Acton
He blinked, not believing his eyes had seen the red-shirted man’s head explode two ways. A hand under his armpit and another drawing his arm over someone’s shoulders broke his daze, and he discovered Blaze lifting him.
As soon as the first shots rang out, Blaze raced to Blondie. Time seemed to stand still as the kid collapsed. Rage spurred him to cross the distance at a speed he never achieved before. No, he can’t die. Not so close to being out. I shouldn’t have left him as the last man. Reaching Blondie, he aimed and fired at Panin’s guard hitting him in the head.
A second burst of blood spraying from the guard’s head freaked him out for a split second because he knew Blondie hadn’t fired again. He reached down to lift Blondie, and he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
His head whipped up, and his gaze landed on the same Arab he observed on the second floor. As he assisted Blondie up, he spoke to the man in Arabic, “Thank you for saving my much-loved son’s life. I owe you a debt of gratitude. Peace be with you.”
Jaasir grinned, nodded, and disappeared into the hallway.
Gaining his feet, Dan leaned heavily on Blaze. “What did you say?”
“Only thanked him. Almost there, kid. You can rest in a moment. You rescued eighteen innocents. I’m proud of the man you continue to be.”
Winds smiled as he viewed Papa Bear helping the son of his heart to the vehicle. As the only other member of the unit who spoke Arabic, he understood precisely what Blaze said.
Dan crawled in next to Ripsaw with Blaze’s help and curled up in a ball. Gripping his stomach, he let out a plaintive moan.
Ripsaw reached out and placed a comforting hand on Blondie’s shoulder. His brother was in terrible shape … in excruciating pain, soaked in sweat.
Blaze closed the door and got into the front passenger seat. “Lioness, sitrep on Patch and Galahad.”
As she responded through the now open window informing them the guys just left the clinic, Brody glanced back at Dan. Immensely worried, Brody shifted into drive. “We need to pick them up.”
In a quiet undertone, so his voice did not carry to Danny, Brody informed Blaze. “The way Patch reacted when he read about the neurotoxin scared me shitless. Depending on how much he ingested it can be lethal.”
“Fucking fabulous. I survive torture only to die because I drank poisoned cherry vodka,” Dan said in their headsets.
Brody’s eyes flashed back to Dan. He had forgotten he unmuted his headset. He slammed the steering wheel. Flinty steel edged his words, “You are not dying. You hear me, Danny? You will not die. Patch will fix you up.”
Dan only moaned in response as his gut burned.
“Let’s go,” Blaze ordered as he peered back at Blondie’s balled up form. Blaze’s gut reeled, and his heart squeezed painfully tight at the soft moans escaping. He spotted Ripsaw’s pain etched features as his explosives expert rubbed the kid’s back. Two men injured … two too many in his book.
Will they pay the price of Prometheus for bringing light to the life of these children and their families? Not on my watch. I’m not losing them. Soon we’ll be in the air and on the way back to Kandahar where they will receive proper medical treatment.
Catching Ripsaw’s gaze, Blaze silently communicated strength and resolve to him that all would be fine … scratch fine … everything will be alright.
Two black vans turned left out of the alley as the first police car screeched to a halt at the front of the Cherry Club. A few moments later a stretch limousine pulled out of the underground parking garage and turned right.
Van with Brody Driving
Brody spotted Patch and Mike and pulled to the curb as Anastasia slowed but kept going. Mike yanked open the sliding door and Patch jumped in first. Mike climbed in and shut the door. Both men knelt in the cramped space. With four adults and five children in the rear, moving around would be tight but doable.
“Hold on. We gotta go quick. Police are swarming the area.” Brody pressed the gas and drove through the deserted streets at the speed limit so as not to draw attention to them. He glimpsed Anastasia stopped at the next red light and breathed a little easier. Although he memorized the route, having her in the lead would be better since she understood the signs.
As Mike shrugged off his backpack, he grinned at Misha and the other four youths who clung to each other and gaped at Dan and Ripsaw. “It is alright. You are safe, and you will be going home. We have to take care of our friends on the way,” he spoke in Russian.
A spark of bravery lit in Misha. “Can I do anything to help?”
Noting Patch shifting to his knees between the injured men, he realized the medic would need more room to treat Ripsaw and Dan. “Yes, can you stack all the other packs in the far corner? Then if you and the kids sit on them, we’ll have more space to work.”
Misha promptly did as instructed, organizing the black bags and the younger kids in the corner.
“How can I help, Patch?” Mike inquired in English.
Upon entering the van, Patch did a quick visual triage. Both appeared to be in critical condition with pain etched across their faces. Ripsaw’s wound continued to bleed as evidenced by the soaked makeshift bandage and the pooling blood under his calf. He made a decision. Blondie first, he was poisoned, and Patch had no idea how much Blondie had ingested.
He took off his pack, aware all Guardians received a bit more than basic medical training, he was relieved to have another pair of hands. “Grab a set of vitals on Ripsaw for me and start a Ringer’s lactate IV … he’s lost a lot of blood. I’ll tend to Blondie.”
Patch moved to the other side of Blondie’s tightly balled up body. He placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. I’m gonna take care of you don’t worry. What is your pain level?”
Sapphire eyes cracked open as Patch squeezed his left bicep. Dan tried to answer but was racked with a fresh wave of pain in his gut and curled up tighter.
“That bad.” Patch opened his bag and started to withdraw an IV kit.
“No … IV … no … needles,” Dan croaked out as the burning ebbed down a slight notch. “I can … manage.”
Thoroughly understanding Blondie’s fear of needles, Patch decided to put off starting the intravenous fluids and pain medication to focus first on getting the bentonite into his system. Twisting, he drew Mike’s pack closer, and withdrew the solution. “How much did you drink?”
At Dan’s groan, Mason answered for him over the com-link. “I estimate about two ounces of that cherry liqueur. Blondie downed it all in one gulp. I’m not sure how or when Panin added the poison. He walked over to a silver tray and poured both drinks from the same bottle and Panin swigged down his entire portion.”
Blaze interjected, “Maybe he already laced the glass with the toxin.”
Recalling the serving tray in the kitchen and the third guard, Ripsaw shared, “I recognized one of the guards in the auction room. He—” As they hit a bump in the road his leg jarred, “Aaarrrghh,” escaped as his fists and jaw clenched while fingers of fire clawed into his calf and long, pointy nails raked all the way up his thigh.
After a swift glance at Ripsaw, Patch said, “Morphine is coming soon, buddy. Hang tight.”
As Ripsaw blew out a breath, Blaze asked, “What about the guard?”
“Was in … kitchen. Got a package from a guard by the back door and added it to a tray with a decanter of something with cherries floating. Put it in the dumbwaiter. He …” Ripsaw trailed off shivering as he became lightheaded.
Patch shared a meaningful look with Blaze, and he witnessed flames surge in his CO’s eyes as he made the same connection he had … the delivery man. He couldn’t spare a moment on discussing the issue now. “Blondie, you need to sit up now. I’ll help.”
As Dan struggled to comply, Mike held off putting in Ripsaw’s IV when Dan’s eyes opened. He swiftly hid the syringe recalling Dan’s reaction to the needle earlier. He didn’t want to cause him to puke now when getting that stuff down him was so impor
tant.
Patch reached out and assisted Blondie to lean against the side of the van in a semi-upright position. He had to hold on when Blondie began to slide back down. “Stay with me. Come on. Drink this.” He moved the bottle of prepared solution to Blondie’s lips. “This will not be tasty, but I need you to drink all this. If you throw up, I got enough, and we can start over. This needs to be in your GI tract to absorb the poison.”
Mike shifted positions to block Dan’s vision as he inserted the IV needle. Once finished setting the drip, he turned to Patch. “How much morphine?”
“Vitals?” Patch requested as Blondie took the first sip. Mike rattled off the details, and Patch grimaced understanding the implications of Ripsaw’s rapid heart rate and low blood pressure. “Raise Ripsaw’s legs above his heart, he’s going into shock. Start a second IV of normal saline in his other arm.”
“You need more hands.” Blaze shifted in his seat and moved from the front to the van’s back. He situated himself so he could lean Blondie on his chest and free Patch from holding him up.
Relieved when Blaze offered to help, Patch handed the bottle of bentonite to him. “Give Blondie a minute to rest between swallows but make sure he drinks all this.” Shifting his attention to Ripsaw, he took another set of vitals. Searching the bag, Patch pulled out a vial and showed it to Mike. “This the morphine?”
Mike nodded. “Yeah.”
Out of sight of Blondie, Patch drew up a dose and injected the drug into Ripsaw’s port. “Sorry, can’t give you a full dose yet. This should take the edge off when I examine your wound, but you must be awake and alert enough to go through customs. Brought a splint and we’ll say you broke your leg. Once we’re on the plane, I’ll knock you out and remove the slug if I can. If I can’t, I’ll start you on antibiotics, which will help prevent infection until we arrive at the hospital.”
After taking a second mouthful of the godawful tasting stuff, Dan moaned out, “Are you making me drink dirt?”
Patch chuckled releasing some tension building in him. “Well, yes, Blondie, I am. Bentonite is a type of clay. You will enjoy this delightful beverage every few hours. And even better yet, you’ll be pissing in a bottle for me. I must keep close tabs on your urine output.”
“Why?” Dan gagged as Blaze lifted the bottle and made him consume more.
“The shit you drank can cause renal failure.”
Managing to swallow the foul solution, Dan said, “No IVs.”
Patch’s eyes saddened. “Sorry but that’s gotta happen. I wish I didn’t need to but the toxins cause dehydration, and you need fluid to help flush your system. Drink the bentonite now, and we’ll deal with the IV after I check out Ripsaw’s leg. I promise I’ll be fast and painless.”
Seized by the sensation of a thousand hornets stinging him, Dan contracted every muscle trying to curl into nothingness. He couldn’t stop the whimpers that crept out. Tears found their way out between squeezed shut lids.
Compassion and worry lit Patch’s face witnessing Blondie’s suffering. “Once your IV is in place I can give you something to ease your pain.”
Blaze increased his hold embracing Blondie, and one hand stroked his sweat doused hair as he crooned, “Easy now, kid. You rescued the girls. Time to let us take care of you. You can trust me. I’m here for you … always.”
Dan leaned on Blaze seeking something he wanted for years … the care and concern of a father. Accepting the comfort Blaze offered helped him relax somewhat. In so much pain, he was beyond caring what the guys might think of him leaning into Blaze like this.
Waiting for the morphine to kick in for Ripsaw, Patch returned to Blondie. Dampening a piece of gauze, he wiped the blood from under Blondie’s nose, cleaning the trail all the way down to his neck with a gentle touch. Using a dry piece, he dabbed at his sweaty brow. When Blondie’s body began to unfurl and sag into Blaze’s arms, Patch took the bottle from Blaze’s tight fist and put the container to Blondie’s lips. “Drink.”
Opening his eyes, Dan met Patch’s, and he gave a slight nod as he took another mouthful. He gagged as the tan mixture went down and some came out of his mouth, dribbling down his chin. He tried to breathe through nausea to keep the damned stuff down. Dan fell back on Blaze’s chest and shut his eyes. He hurt so badly. “Am I gonna die?”
Unsure how to answer, because frankly, Patch didn’t know, he froze as he reached to wipe off the clay solution and met Blaze’s gaze again.
Blaze took the gauze from Patch and cleaned off the kid’s chin. “No. You’re strong and capable. You will persevere … you dig deep and fight against impossible odds. Put your faith in your brothers. We will help you.”
“K.” Dan reached for Patch’s hand and pulled the solution to him and forced himself to swallow more.
Handing the bentonite back to Blaze, Patch returned his attention to Ripsaw. Blondie is in Papa Bear’s capable hands and we’re doing all we can at the moment. He repeated vitals on Ripsaw, relieved to find a lower heart rate and increased blood pressure. After removing the makeshift bandage, he cut open Ripsaw’s pant leg and did a cursory exam in the dim light of the vehicle.
Patch sat back on his heels. “As I said, I can’t remove the slug here, but I need to wash it out now. Infection is likely to be less of an issue if I do so, but this is gonna hurt like hell.”
“Do it.” Ripsaw prepared himself for the coming agony.
“Tell me if it becomes too painful. I can give you a bit more morphine.”
Mike gripped Ripsaw’s hand. “Here for you, buddy.”
Squeezing Mike’s hand with all his might, Ripsaw gritted his teeth as Patch began pouring peroxide into his wound. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as he refused to scream and possibly scare the children. Anguished moans did escape, and he found his other hand gripped. Ripsaw turned thinking it was Blaze but found Blondie holding onto him. Blondie’s face contorted in pain like his. Their eyes met, and both shared the same thought. This sucks!
Attempting to distract Ripsaw and himself from pain, Dan said, “Ever wonder about Kal-El’s costume change?” Dan glinted at Ripsaw when he stared at him with a perplexed expression. “Superman and Ripsaw once had a sparring match with a bet on the outcome. The loser had to wear his underwear on the outside of his pants.”
Ripsaw snorted. Leave it to Blondie to find a way to divert me. The kid has a wicked sense of humor. Returning the favor, Ripsaw deadpanned, “Once a cobra bit Blondie, and after five days of excruciating pain ... the cobra died.”
Dan scrunched his face after swallowing saliva. “If Ripsaw were a Spartan in the movie Three Hundred, the film would’ve been called One.”
“If you can see Blondie, he sees you. If you can’t, you may be only seconds away from death.” Ripsaw squeezed Blondie’s hand as the fiery stinging and bubbling of peroxide sent his pain skyrocketing.
Pushing the pain down, or at least trying, Dan quipped, “The quickest way to a man’s heart is with Ripsaw’s fist.”
Blaze interrupted their banter making Blondie take another sip of the vile concoction. He added a witticism as the kid gagged the stuff down. “Most people fear the Reaper. Blondie considers him a promising rookie.”
He glanced over at Ripsaw. “And the military tried to replicate Ripsaw’s ass-kicking skills, but the only thing remotely close to his destructive power is a nuclear bomb.” Blondie’s retching gained Blaze’s full attention as he turned the kid to the side to puke as he continued to wipe his sweaty brow for him.
“Damn, I should’ve grabbed an emesis basin.” Patch stole a quick look at Blondie, noting the perspiration pouring off him. Worried he might not keep enough of the bentonite down, Patch also understood the power of humor as a distraction, so he said the first quip which came to his mind. “Sweating bullets is literally what happens when Blondie becomes too hot.”
Ripsaw’s distressed groan brought Patch’s focus back to their explosives and combat specialist. As he washed out the wound, searching for bits o
f cloth or debris which could cause infection, he said, “Ripsaw was once in a knife fight, and the knife lost.”
Over the comms, Mason joined in, wishing he could offer more than a minor diversion for both Blondie and Ripsaw. “The bright light before you die is the glint of Sunshine’s pearly whites. And thousands of years ago Ripsaw came across a bear. It was so terrified it fled north into the Arctic, and all its descendants are now white-haired.”
The first one Winds thought of was in poor taste given this mission. Blondie once ate three 72-ounce steaks in one hour. He spent the first forty-five minutes having sex with his waitress. Instead, he said, “If Blondie ever ran out of ammo, his weapon would continue to fire because he never misses his target.”
Winds smiled at Anastasia noting her amused grin. “If you were somehow able to land a punch on Ripsaw your entire arm would shatter upon impact. This is only in theory, since, come on, who in their right mind would try?”
Despite the dire situation, Mike grinned as he became witness to the closeness of this unit. Half-joking, half-serious, he remarked, “When all else fails, Guardians do not.”
Glancing at Galloway, Blaze nodded. All doubt about the man, regardless of the fact he was the general’s security lead, evaporated. Mike, like Anastasia, earned his respect and trust tonight.
Brody chimed in, “Ripsaw will never have a heart attack. His heart isn’t nearly foolish enough to attack him.”
Dan and Ripsaw maintained a death grip on each other as their agony escalated, though both were appreciative of the distractions as their brothers continued to call out absurd Chuck Norris facts with their names supplanted.
When Brody said, “Danny is the reason Waldo is hiding,” Dan let out a small chuckle before the knives stabbing his stomach caused him to squeeze the life out of Ripsaw’s hand, double up compactly, and whimper.
