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Old 05-10-2017, 11:05 PM   #146
Icelander
 
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Join Date: Mar 2006
Location: Iceland*
Default Through Early Morning Fog I See...

With an exhausted gesture, Taylor drops the blood-drenched knife to the floor. The closest rats bustle around it, picking it up and start to carry it away. Other, more distant rats seem to be disappearing into various nooks and crannies in the tunnel. Taylor can hear them still screeching in uncanny unison, but he doesn’t make out any English words.

From what he can tell, the rats sound pleased, but Taylor can’t figure whether they are anticipating something or feel they’ve accomplished something. As the rats stream away, hiding and crawling into smaller openings, their screeching coalesces into a single English word.

Rat swarm: “Live.”

As he scans the area, trying to figure the rats, Taylor can hear someone working on the lock and bars on the other side of the blast door. With a subvocalized curse, he starts running toward the cellar door. The door starts to open. As he runs, the grenade sways precariously in Taylor’s weakened left hand. Taylor dives for the door, but can’t reach it before it opens completely. Terrified, Taylor scans for rats around him, as he falls before the doorway.

Taylor: “Darn it, doc! Close it right now!”

Grabbing the door with his right hand, Taylor rolls inside, dragging it closed behind him. Falling to his knees, he lacks the strength to latch the blast doors, but Dr. Anderson comes up to do it for him. Overcome, Taylor sinks forward, the live grenade in his left hand touching the floor.

Taylor: “Awww, Jesus, doc. Why you gotta take a risk like that?”
Dr. Anderson: “Because you were acting like a damn fool!”
Taylor: “I’m sorry, doc. I’m so darn sorry! I ain’t mean to mess up so bad. I jes’ couldn’t find no other way. You weren’t supposed to risk yourself. Sorry…”
Anderson: “Oh, stop blaming yourself, boy. Here, have a soda, avoid dehydration, at least. Let me take that so I can look at you. What is that in your hand, anyway?”
Taylor: “Grenade. Be real careful, it’s live. You got any tape?”
Anderson: “I should be able to bandage you up with something better than tape.”
Taylor: “Naw, I mean to wrap around the safety lever. Left the pin in them tunnels. An’ thank you kindly, but I ain’t got time for bandaging.”

Dr. Anderson takes up some adhesive bandage and starts to wrap it around the part of the grenade that Taylor indicates. After wrapping it thoroughly, they place it on the floor with infinite care. In exchange for the grenade, Dr. Anderson hands Taylor the can of Coca Cola he had been carrying in his tactical gear since he removed it from Deputy Warden Tyrrell’s mini-fridge. Then he shines a flashlight at Taylor.

Dr. Anderson: “What on Earth happened to your arm?”
Taylor: “I done cut it up.”
Anderson: “I can see that, but why?”
Taylor: “Them rats done told me to.”
Anderson: “Naturally. Well, no matter how you got it, that is a terrible cut and you could bleed to death. Frankly, it is no wonder that you are starting to behave erratically. You are a mass of bruises, abrasions, cuts and burns and you have been pushing yourself way past any reasonable limit for more hours than I can count.”
Taylor: “I know I’ma real sight, doc, but we ain’t got time to waste on flesh wounds an’ aches an’ such.”
Anderson: “Flesh wounds! You must be aware that systemic shock can easily be fatal, not to mention your blood loss. No matter how much you try to conceal the pain of your injuries, you cannot just trick your body into continuing past certain limits!”
Taylor: “Aww, shucks, doc, I’ve played through worse in high school.”
Anderson: “These are not football scuffle injuries! I should hope you were taught better in the Special Forces. Hiding serious injuries gets soldiers killed.”
Taylor: “I ain’t hiding nothin’, doc. Jes’ saying we gotta deal with that later. There’s still guards in them towers an’ as long as it ain’t been confirmed that them heavy weapons cain't shoot at them, the Coast Guard is gonna have to suppress them afore they land here. An’ that’s gonna be done with boat cannon an’ helicopter fire. Killing anybody still up there.”
Anderson: “Do you really think you have not done enough?”
Taylor: “What’s that got to do with anything? There’s still people at risk, so I ain’t done yet.”

While they talk, Dr. Anderson slaps cloth over the burn on Taylor’s right arm and fastens some gauze with an adhesive tape over the cut on his left arm. Dr. Anderson is working extremely fast, seeking to prevent any worse injuries, at least, but he doesn’t have nearly enough time for proper first aid. After several sips of his Coke, Taylor stands up. He’s shaky on his feet, swaying like a drunken sailor, but he manages to stay upright.

Dr. Anderson: “They were told to surrender, first by that Dr. Cotton and then by Townsend. Probably they already did and are walking back toward the main buildings.”
Taylor: “We still gonna need to confirm it, doc. Besides, even if some guards come back, ain’t nobody we trust who know how many were in them towers, so we always gotta check up there.”
Anderson: “Be reasonable, man! Someone else can do it.”
Taylor: “If’n you kin name anybody willing an’ able right now, I’d sure enough be glad of some rest. But you an’ I both know there ain’t nobody else going out there soon enough to make no difference.”
Anderson: “Hell, I can do it, just as soon as I finish bandaging you.”
Taylor: “I reckon they gonna start shooting at some point in the next five minutes, so we ain’t waiting. An’ I’ma real sorry to say so, doc, but if’n somebody don’t wanna give up, I figure he gonna see you before you see him, an’ I don’t think you oughta get shot.”
Anderson: “What do you expect to do if someone refuses to give up? You can hardly walk! You really think you can overpower any more guards in your condition?”
Taylor: “Don’t you worry none, I ain’t gonna do nothin’ too active. I figure I jes’ try an’ talk them down an’ if’n that don’t work, well, I’ma gonna leave it to the Coast Guard.”
Anderson: “If you insist on doing such a damn fool thing, you should know that I am coming with you.”
Taylor: “That’s real Christian of you, doc. I always knew the Good Lord made some decent men among y’all Yankees too, if’n He even made some in Sodom. An’ thank you kindly for the Co-Cola.”

With Dr. Anderson supporting Taylor, they start walking up the stairs and out of C Wing. The shortest way to the observation towers lies across the yard in the direction of the barracks. On their way, they come across Hayden Avery, the guard Dr. Anderson interviewed in the barracks. Avery is limping, holding an M16/AR-15 type marksman’s rifle with a heavy free-floating barrel, Magpul PRS stock, ATN Thor-HD 384 2-8x smart thermal rifle scope, offset Docter red dot sight and Insight AN/PEQ-2 Target Pointer/Illuminator/Aiming Light.

Avery seems confused about what day it is and what has been happening. He doesn’t seem to remember having met either Dr. Anderson or Taylor before, but readily believes them when they show him credentials as Department of Homeland Security employees. He is glad to get some kind of explanation for the circling helicopters and agrees to go inside to talk to Agent O’Toole and Townsend.

Taylor: “An’ Avery? You’d best leave that weapon. There’s marksmen in them helicopters an’ the people shootin’ at federal agents were dressed as SRT guards.”
Avery: “Oh. Well. I don’t feel right just leaving it out here.”
Taylor: “Why doncha exchange weapons with the doc? You kin turn the M16 in to the armoury for him an’ as soon as we’re done, we go an’ do the same with the marksman’s rifle. Not that we aim to shoot anybody, but seein’ as we is gonna be lookin’ for stragglers, having that thermal sight might could be handy.”
Avery: “I don’t know what’s going on, but I suspect there’s plenty of trouble to pass around. Guess I might as well avoid as much of it as I can and not start arguing with the people in charge of the armed helicopters.”
Taylor: “Anybody asks me, y’all were as polite as you could be, soon as things started returning to normal. Speaking of which, could you call up them towers an’ confirm the orders they got earlier ‘bout standing down? Tell them to join you, turn in any weapons an’ then report to the main building.”
Avery: “Aye, aye, sir.”
Taylor: “Ain’t no sir. Worked for a living when I was in. Never got higher than Sergeant First Class an’ I ain’t in charge of nobody now. All the same, I’d take it right kindly if’n you made that call.”

As Avery gets on his radio, Taylor and Dr. Anderson continue to walk toward the observation towers. Anderson can feel Taylor growing heavier, as he leans more on his support and before long, he starts to stagger. Before Dr. Anderson can catch him, Taylor collapses to the ground. As Dr. Anderson bends over him and uses his flashlight to check him, he can see that not only is Taylor alarmingly pale, but that he’s bled through his quick bandage and his entire left side is soaked in blood. He must have lost at least a pint of blood, in addition to whatever he left in the tunnels.

Dr. Anderson: “Easy there, easy. You are going into shock, you obstinate, infuriating boy, because you have been bleeding without telling me. Lay back, control your breathing, Taylor. You know the symptoms, it should help you avoid panic. Focus on regular, calm breathing. I am going to apply a tourniquet to your arm. If it is not too much trouble, please endeavour not to die in the meantime. After all the trouble you have caused me, I suspect I should dislike it extremely if you do.”

Elevating Taylor’s feet and adjusting his position on the ground, Dr. Anderson begins to tourniquet his arm, while he talks soothingly to him.

Anderson: “Shush. Just breathe. For once, relax and let somebody else help you. Whatever is wrong, dying is not the answer. For one thing, it would be the easy way out. Do not tell me you plan to break the habit of a lifetime.”
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Last edited by Icelander; 05-14-2017 at 10:43 AM.
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