Rats in a Maze




Mark knew that he couldn't read Carter's mind as to what the younger man had planned, but he knew when it came to put his idea into action, that he would try to help out. Right now Mark knew he needed to keep his friend from moving his hand to prevent any further damage. The attending feared that there were three broken bones, if not more.

Right now his priority was to immobilize Carter's hand anyway he could. As there were no medical supplies to be had, Mark looked around, finally spotting a couple of Reader's Digest magazines on the table in front of him; their size would have to do the trick. Under the watch eye of their captor, Mark picked them up and brought them back to the chair where Carter was sitting. Mark then took his belt off, careful to do it out in the open, as to not alarm the gunman

Mark looked up at his co-worker and noted the set jaw and the eyelids that were being squeezed shut to block out the pain. Mark frowned as he spoke, "Carter, I need to bind your hand to these magazines. They're not the best thing in the world, but maybe they can restrict any movement."

Carter wearily opened his eyes and peered down at the make shift immobilizer. He drew in a deep breath and placed his injured hand on top of the magazine. His right arm was shaking and he placed his left hand over his wrist to keep it from jarring the broken bones.

Mark carefully sandwiched Carter's hand in between both magazines, then he wrapped his belt around them both. Carter hissed from the pressure bearing down on his swollen hand. It sent a million little pricks of pain that seemed to seize into a collective burning sensation. He placed his left hand over his mouth to keep from crying out, as his friend continued to wrap the belt tighter around the make- shift bandage.

After wrapping the belt two times, Mark buckled it into place. It barely kept the magazines bound to the hand, but it did appear to hold together, and Mark was grateful for that. Carter opened his eyes and looked at Mark. Carter appeared as if he was trying to prepare himself for something as he drew in a deep, shaky breath and turned his attention to the gunman.

"Is your leader in the military?"

L.T jerked up at the sound of Carter's voice and his eyes narrowed. "He used to be, but he doesn't belong to an illegal army anymore," he spat.

Carter nodded as he shifted in his seat uneasily. "He must get pretty upset when things don't go his way."

The gunman didn't respond, but he did squirm in his seat, his posture indicating his displeasure at the topic at hand. Carter wet his dry lips, and pounded his head lightly against the wall behind him. He was losing his concentration, his mind distracted by the unmerciful throbbing of his hand. After a moment of composure he resumed, "I met a few high ranking military officers before and have seen firsthand their terrible tempers."

L.T. bolted up from his seat, "Where would you have met any officers? They don't hang out at saunas," the gunmen sneered.

"My grandfather is a very rich businessman, he has a lot of contracts with the army." Carter replied evenly, but hastily added, "But, I guess I should keep my mouth closed. Your boss might find that tidbit interesting."

Mark watched as the gunman digested the last piece of information that Carter let slip. L.T. sat back down, eyeing Carter with a little more curiosity. Mark didn't know why Carter had stirred the conversation the way he did, but he grew concerned when it seemed to have left the younger man exhausted.

"Why don't you just relax and take it easy, Carter," Mark told the other doctor.

The attending could hear Carter's laborious breathing and was puzzled at the rate in which he was deteriorating. Mark wondered if there were any other injuries that had gone unnoticed. The room was so still that it was making the other doctor's struggles that more noticeable.

The gunman was staring at Carter and Mark wondered what was going through his head. He looked nervous, and with each audible breath that Carter took, the twitchier the gunman appeared. Suddenly he stalked over to where Carter was sitting and Mark instinctually placed himself in front of the ill man.

"What is wrong with him? Is that...that...infection thing killing him?" L.T., asked flustered.

Mark was surprised at the gunman's reaction; he was hovering over both of them, obviously upset at Carter's medical status. The gunman was sweating and couldn't seem to remain still. It was then that Mark knew what Carter was up to and he didn't like it at all.

Xxx

Peter Benton was unable to keep his mind from buzzing with mixed feelings. Anger, fear, and guilt were battling for dominance over his emotions. He stared at Jill and Dave, resisting every urge to turn back the way he came.

His eyes burning, and lips parched, he stopped dead in his tracks. "Where are we going?"

His two companions turned around at the break in silence. Dave glanced at Jill for a moment and approached the surgeon with caution. "Dr. Benton, we're going with Dr. Ebright, to try to get some help. So, we should just keep following...'

"To where? Till we run into more of the maniacs running around here?" Benton's voice thundered.

"We have to contact the authorities so we can get Mark and Carter out of that waiting room..." Dave tried to say in a calming manner.

"Don't you think the gunmen know by now we're not coming back? Who the Hell knows what they've done to Mark and Carter by now!" Peter was nearly shouting.

"We have no way of breaking into that room and fighting that guy. I got into it with one of them earlier and it ended in a disaster." Dave explained, keeping his voice hushed.

Peter's eyes blazed, "Is that what you did back there? You tried to play hotshot and got you and Carter beat up?"

Dave returned Peter's fierce gaze, "I didn't do anything wrong. We got dragged into that room and that bastard was going to shoot Carter, and we got into a scuffle."

Peter shook his head, "A scuffle? It looked like Carter got his hand smashed and you walked away with only a black eye." Peter loomed over the resident.

Dave was fuming, "You act like I'm responsible for this whole mess. Well guess what? Carter's not perfect and neither are you! His problems are the reason we're here and..."

Dave was sent reeling as Peter's fist connect with his jaw, decking him hard. The younger man was about to lunge after Peter when he felt a pair of arms restrain him from behind.

"We don't have time for this testosterone bullshit! I don't know or care what you guys' problems are, but fix it some other time!" Jill hissed as she forcefully pulled Dave back with more strength then the man gave her credit for.

Peter remained still, his chest heaving in and out. In a barely contained voice, he spoke, "Don't you dare blame Carter for this, you arrogant little..."

Dave freed himself from Jill's grasp and spoke just as vehemently, "I wasn't assigning blame in the correct place. Believe me."

Peter didn't look back at the resident after his comments but stared at the floor in fury. He continued to scan around the hallway in order to avoid eye contact with the other doctor. He ignored Jill as she spoke to Dave, trying to calm him down by chastising him. Peter stared at the door in front of him and read the small sign on the wall next to it. His eyes focused on the letters and a sense of purpose formed in his head.

"Use your pass key and unlock this door for me," he ordered the woman before him.

Jill glared at him and was about to protest when Peter interrupted her, "Just open the damn door. You two can go wherever the Hell you want, but get me in there."

Tired of dealing with confrontations, Jill inserted her passkey and unlocked the door. She arched one of her eyebrows and spoke, "I'm going to the fifth floor with or without you guys. I have patients to look after."

Jill began to walk down the hall and Dave began to follow her. "You're not always right," the resident said over his shoulder.

Peter watched as they disappeared down the hall. He entered the room that he thought was the key to getting them out of the jam they were all in. He stared at the various camera screens and monitors and prayed that the security control room would help him remain a step ahead of the gun-toting maniacs who had overrun the building. As he sat to look at all the activity in front of him he pondered Dave's words. He placed his head in his hands at some desperate attempt to keep a solitary sob at bay.

In the stark silence of the room, Peter was unable to keep the door to his guarded emotions closed. With a trembling hand he fiercely wiped away the evidence of his loss of control and re-directed his energy to the task in front of him.

xxx

Mark was stunned when all of a sudden Carter slid out of his chair and landed on the floor. Mark franticly scrambled down beside him and placed his hand on the artery on his neck.

"What's the matter?" L.T asked franticly, peering down at the unconscious man.

"He's becoming tacycardic!" Mark shouted as he placed his head on Carter's chest to listen to his heartbeat.

"Well you're a doctor, do something!" L.T. shouted.

Mark pulled Carter's right eyelid open to view his pupil. "He's unresponsive to stimuli."

Mark watched out of the corner of his eye as the gunman tightened the grip on his rifle, causing his knuckles to turn white.

"Come on, Carter, wake up!" Mark began to shake his friend by the shoulders, but to no avail.

"Don't you dare let him die," The gunman threatened.

Mark turned his head to face his captor, "What do you care? You let this happen," Mark accused angrily.

The gunman's face flashed red with rage and he grabbed Mark by his shirt collar, "You will stop this," he said quietly, each word spoken with menace.

"Then get me some help. Go find Dr. Benton or Dr. Malucci," Mark told him forcefully.

The attending watched hesitation spread across the gunman's face. L.T. began to grind his teeth, his inability to make a decision apparent in his expression.

Mark went back to monitoring Carter's vitals, his face betraying his anxiety. "His pulse is weakening and his breathing is becoming shallow. I need assistance, or I'm going to lose him." Mark stared at the gunman with determination. "Can you afford to let him die?"

The gunman straightened up to his full height and he holstered his rifle. "You better keep him alive," the gunman growled as he punched the buttons above the keypad and opened the door. The burly man stood in the doorway, his eyes transfixed on the struggle for life before him.

Mark felt for a pulse again. "Damn it, don't do this to me, Carter!" he yelled as he started chest compressions. When the attending glanced up he noted that the guard had left to get help.

Xxx

Dave climbed the flight of stairs before him with as much stealth as he could muster. It was incredibly hard to keep his shoes from echoing on the steps and he knew that anyone in the stairwell had to hear his harsh breathing. He had followed Jill mainly out of anger, but a few minutes after leaving Benton he began to regret leaving the surgeon behind. Despite their heated argument, he couldn't help but think he had abandoned his co-worker out of spite instead of thinking of the well being of the entire group.

At the time, it was perfectly logical to remain with a person who knew where she was going and had the resources to enter areas of the center that he could not. Dave was certain that contacting the police was the only way to get out of the chaotic situation, but right now it was not helping the queasy feeling gnawing at his gut. He continued to climb the stairs, ignoring his throbbing shoulder and the pain that was engulfing his jaw.

Dave tried flexing his arm to keep the muscles from tightening up just in case he had to spring into action again. However, his body had other ideas and he couldn't get his bruised muscles to cooperate without them screaming at him in protest. He knew his face would probably be black and blue right later from the aching he felt around his jaw. Who knew he would have been involved in two fights in one day?

His musings did not go on for long as he heard the familiar sound of static from a two-way radio. He froze in his spot right behind Jill and both remained motionless as the crackle and hiss of the radio could be heard from a few flights above them.

Dave tried to suppress a nervous tickle in his throat as he scanned the area above him for any movement. Jill silently turned her head to face the doctor and signaled with her finger at the door a few steps away from where she was standing. She pointed at the exit and carefully moved forward and silently withdrew passkey from her pocket. She looked up to make sure that she was unseen and inserted the key into the slot above the door.

The plastic made a clicking noise as it slid in and Dave closed his eyes as he envisioned another terrorist bounding down the stairs to kill them both. The unknown person seemed to be moving around in some kind of pattern, and took it a few minutes for Dave to realize that the guard was probably pacing back and forth.

Dave prayed that the guard remained where he was above them and looked over at Jill. She was methodically pushing the passkey further into the slot until there was a beeping noise.

Dave cringed at the sound, but so far the pacing was still going on above him. He watched as Jill carefully turned the doorknob. Dave was silently praying for some kind of miracle when he heard a door open below him. Dave glared at Jill's back as she slowly opened the door to this level. She was still pushing the door forward when Dave heard a pair of footsteps begin to ascend the flight of stairs.

Dave's heart raced and he felt his hands begin to sweat as the footsteps got closer. He was trapped between two unknown people with probable bad attitudes. As quickly and silently as possible, Dave moved up the three steps separating him from the door.

He pushed Jill into the hallway as he made his way through the exit.

As soon as he was through, Dave pushed the door shut behind him, with a click. Panicked, he looked over at Jill who was staring at him with the same frightened look he knew was written all over his face.

"Run," he said, his teeth clinched

Xxxx

Mark ceased his chest compressions after a few moments had gone by and L.T. had not returned. He peered down at Carter, who opened his eyes when the other doctor had finished pounding on his chest.

"Man, that really hurt. You didn't have to press so hard," Carter complained, as he gingerly got to his feet, careful not to jolt his injured hand.

"You didn't leave me much of choice. You better be glad I caught on to your little scheme," Mark admonished.

"Sorry, it was hard to explain things with King Kong listening to every word, " Carter retorted, annoyed. The younger man was now standing and pulling the coffee table towards him with his good left hand.

"Mind telling me what you have planned?" Mark asked, disgruntled.

Carter stood on top of the coffee table and began to clumsily pry one of the giant ceiling tiles with just one hand. "I know Dave has something planned and we need to get out of here."

The ceiling tile came un-done and Carter began to pull it down, handing it to Mark when it was apparent that it was going to come toppling down on top of them. "We can't get past the security cameras and we don't have any of the pass cards to enter any other rooms."

"So...?" Mark began to ask, antsy that the gunman might be on his way back.

"So, we're going to climb into the ceiling and crawl on top of the beams and by-pass all of our obstacles," Carter replied calmly.

"Are you insane? How are we going to do that? More importantly how are YOU going to climb around with a busted hand?" Mark asked incredulously.

"Anyway I can." Carter stared at Mark, his eyes deadly serious, "We don't have much of a choice. Why don't you give me a boost up?"

Mark was dumbfounded, he felt like he had lost the ability to speak, but he could tell Carter was intent on the idea. "What makes you think we can hide up there? Let alone get anywhere?"

"When I was little and was forced to hang out with my Grandpa, I would be left alone. As a bored kid, I climbed into the ceilings sometimes, believe it or not, there's a lot of support in buildings like these."

Mark shook his head, but climbed on top of the coffee table and locked his hands together for Carter to put his foot in. "Let's do it now, before that guy comes back."

Carter was boosted up into the ceiling. He couldn't see very well in the dark, but he used his left hand to grab hold of a beam, while his legs dangled slightly. Mark pushed his legs upward. He fought to pull himself up, his left arm straining with all of his weight since he couldn't use his right hand to pull himself up.

After a few tense seconds Carter was on his left hand and both knees on a main support beam. His mind screamed from pain that was emanating from his injured hand, but he ignored it as he crawled forward to make room for Mark.

The attending watched as his friend disappeared into the ceiling. He looked down at the tile and cursed. He realized that he would have to bring that up with him to cover up how they escaped. Mark held the tile in one hand and stood on his tiptoes to throw it up in the opening. It took several tries and finally the square piece was balancing half way in and half way out of the ceiling. Mark then searched for one of the support beams with his hands, and his fingers brushed against one. He then used all of his energy and pulled himself into the opening. It took several minutes as no one could help him. After an eternity, his legs were off the table and he pulled himself into the opening. Afterwards, he dragged the tile and placed it back into place.

After closing the opening, whatever light was filtering in was cut off and total darkness engulfed his vision. Mark wondered what the Hell he was doing hunched over in the opening between floors.

"Which way do we go?" Mark whispered.

"Let's...follow the beam straight away," Carter replied hoarsely.

Mark squinted in the darkness and asked a question that was really bugging him, "Did you grandfather really have contracts with the army?"

There was silence while Carter licked his lips, "No."

Mark closed his eyes even though it didn't change his perception. "Do you know where we're going?" Mark opened his eyes when there was no answer forthcoming. `Great,' he thought.

As the two began to make their way, below them they heard the door slam and a slew of curses. The gunman had returned and he sounded very upset.



Part 7
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