Rats in a Maze




The last few minutes had been surreal to him. One moment he had been dragging himself along the metal beam, the following second there was a large crash and light had filtered into his surroundings. Things just didn't register. Where did Mark go and what had caused the sudden noise? Then he realized with some stupidity that his friend had fallen thought the ceiling, an act he had been desperately trying to avoid. He was in the midst of trying to figure out how he could help or see how his friend was doing, when he heard his name being called.



It was Peter's voice, but wasn't he being held hostage? Was it possible that this whole disaster was nearing an end? Apparently this was not the time for such an analysis as his name was being called again, with more insistence. This would require that he get down from his position, so he pulled himself across the beam, while keeping his hand a raging ball of fire, in the air. He pushed his legs out and sat in the ceiling a while before pushing off and landing on his feet.



'Whoa the world was spinning a bit,' he thought to himself.



Carter felt a bit light headed, but decided to move around despite some hands of support. That was a mistake as he felt his legs go weak and give out beneath his weight. Carter sagged to the floor as Mark and Peter caught him. He was lead to a sitting position and blinked several times.



"Umph...That was weird," he said surprised by the dizziness. His vision clouded up, then returned back to normal as he peered up at his friends.



Peter had that concerned, scowl and Mark had that silent, deep in thought expression. Both of which were being sent in his direction while he was busying trying to understand if they should be running away at this very moment.



"Are they gone?" Carter asked trying to look past his two co-workers.



"No, those guys are still running around here." Mark explained, while badly trying to keep the alarm out of his voice.



"Where's Dave?" Carter asked still trying to see where he was.



"He and Dr. Ebright went to another floor, I found a security room to stay in. We need to go back there while the halls are clear," Peter explained. The surgeon kept his anxiety at bay about Carter's unsteadiness, but that was the least of their worries if they didn't leave soon.



"Let's go," Carter said, while trying to get up.



"You all right, Carter?" Mark asked as he tried to ascertain their current situation. His co-worker appeared alert and orientated. There wasn't really any time to properly assess his friend or determine if he had hurt himself when he had fallen. But, gunmen didn't wait on the health conditions of others.



Carter slowly got to his feet without any dizziness and attributed his lightheadedness from earlier to the stress of being trapped in an overheated ceiling. He used his left hand to hold onto his right wrist to keep it stable. He gritted his teeth and turned towards the door, but froze when he saw his former captor. The gunman's blood had stained his entire shirt red, and a very large puddle had formed beneath him. Carter didn't even have to look for a pulse; the man had lost so much volume that it was obvious he was dead.



"Who shot him?" He asked, his voice worried.



Peter stood beside his former student, "His leader did."



Carter shook his head in astonishment and in relief. He didn't think one of his co-workers could have shot someone, but given the circumstances, it could have happened. He was glad that neither Mark nor Peter was involved, but then his mind drifted to the reasons why his own boss would have killed him. The applications chilled him. The leader did not care for his men, and the implication was that L.T had done something to warrant his wrath. 'Something like losing his prisoners,' Carter thought.



Carter averted his eyes from the scene and walked around the body without looking back. The witnessing of the body silenced his pain. He had seen how many dead people in his rotations? It was always afterwards, in trauma in the middle of chaos. This man had been wounded, his life taken, and the man who had done it was still walking around the building.



Peter watched how Carter's body had stiffened at the sight of the body, he had come across it when he entered the room, but there was nothing to be done for the man. Peter sighed; this was no time for anything. They needed to leave now. Once they were in a more secured location then they could think of a way out, find Dave, and to attend to any medical problems. The surgeon ushered Carter along and lead the way down the hall.



Mark followed the trio out of the room. He watched out for the cameras and entered the stairwell. He wondered how Peter could all of a sudden take charge of such a situation, but in a way, he was glad it wasn't his responsibility. He was thankful that the other doctor had such an effect on Carter; the younger man seemed to be obeying Benton on some kind of autopilot.



Mark didn't ask why they were able to enter all the secured doors; he didn't have time to inspect the locks or asked questions. It was possible that Peter found a way around locks, he was a resourceful man. The surgeon was in a hurry, and kept looking behind his shoulder to verify that everyone was behind him. Mark could see how irritated he was. They were climbing the stairs as fast as they could, but Carter was dragging behind.



Peter stopped at a door, and methodically opened it. He poked his head out to scan the area, seeing that the coast was clear, he signaled Mark to enter the corridor. When the attending brushed past him, Peter grabbed his shoulder, "It's the eighth door on the right, just push it open," he whispered.



Mark nodded his head, and like in some spy movie, he darted down the hallway. Peter turned and went down a few steps and grabbed Carter by his shoulder. He pushed the man forward, a bit roughly. Despite a slight in take of breath, the younger man numbly allowed himself to be practically manhandled into the hallway. Peter continued to push Carter from behind, muttering to himself softly, "Come on man, let's move."



Carter was trying to convince his legs to run, but his energy was being zapped from that damn throbbing in his hand. It was battle over the mind; right now he was losing to a bunch of pain receptors. Oddly, there was still enough fear connected with the Benton wrath to keep him going down the hallway without question. He hated it when that man was angry with him.



Carter vaguely noticed Mark disappearing into a room ahead of him, and he felt himself guided to a space on the wall. He leaned there for a moment, noticing how Peter kept him there in place, with his hand on his left shoulder. Peter opened the door next to him and he was pushed inside from behind. Carter realized they were in one of those security rooms, but didn't have time to take in the whole area. Peter had both hands on both of his shoulders and he was being lead to a corner of the room, where he was 'encouraged' to sit on the floor.



He slumped down and shot Peter a look to protest about his rough treatment. The surgeon just ignored him as he went to the door and locked it. Carter stared at the magazines and belt that contained the source of his pain. He couldn't even feel anything beyond the burning sensation that had been plaguing him since his hand had been crushed by a gunman's boot. He tilted his head and stared at the ceiling, paying little attention to the conversation going on. All he wanted was some kind of detachment, anything to keep his mind off of his agony.



Mark kept his back to the door, in some false sense of security. He watched Peter take a seat in front of the control panels and began flipping switches and turning dials. The attending watched in morbid fascination at all the various screens. All they revealed were empty hallways and no signs any terrorists.



Peter cursed under his breath, his irritation evident in the way he kept rubbing his chin. "I can't find, Malucci or Dr. Ebright. These damn cameras are not hooked up everywhere."



"Maybe there are other security rooms," Mark proposed.



Peter whipped around in his chair, "Yeah, but that doesn't help us out in the meantime." The surgeon was frustrated and he dragged his gaze over at Carter who was oblivious to what was going on.



Peter turned his attention back to Mark who had followed his gaze. "Mind telling me whose idiotic idea it was to go scaling the damn ceiling?"



Mark snapped his head back, "It was Carter's."



Peter muttered under his breath, "Figures." He then turned his full attention over at the younger man, "Why the Hell did you think that was a good idea, Carter?"



When the younger doctor did not give him an immediate reply the surgeon got out of his seat and squatted before the other doctor. "You've done some stupid things before, but that one takes the cake."



"Peter." Mark said, his voice full of warning.



The surgeon ignored the attending and continued to press his co-worker. "Carter...Carter!"



The younger man seemed to shake out of his reprieve, and looked up at Peter, "It seemed the best thing to do at the time."



Peter almost tore into his friend for such reckless thinking, but there was something about Carter's tone that made him reconsider. The surgeon really got a good chance to see the immobilizer combination of Reader's Digests and Mark's belt and soon realized that no one had a decent look at his hand.



Peter sighed, "Until we spot Malucci or Dr. Ebright, then we will just have to wait here. I'm going to undo this belt and take a look," Peter said, his voice calmer.



The surgeon slowly unwrapped the leather belt, while keeping the magazines in place, without them slipping off. Carter gritted his teeth and balled up his left fist and hit the floor several times. Peter lowered Carter's hand to the ground and slipped off the first magazine. He winced in sympathy as it was revealed that Carter's hand had swollen to double its size and was turning black and blue.



Peter recalled how painful one of his fingers had been when he had decked a guy in anger. None of his fingers had been fractured, but he had dislocated one and that was bad enough. From the looks of things, Carter had multiple hand and finger fractures. The flesh was warm to the touch, which caused Peter to frown. The surgeon could feel Mark standing next to him and he glanced over to him to shoot him an expression of worry. Peter moved each finger ever so slightly to test flexation, but all that did was cause Carter to gasp.



"Please!!!! Dr. Benton!" He pleaded as loudly as he dared and tried to snatch his hand back.



Peter let go, "Sorry, Carter." The surgeon saw the lines of pain etched in the younger man's face and he noticed large amount of perspiration and matted hair. Peter placed his palm on the younger man's forehead and felt the heat emanating from it.



Carter opened weary eyes and spoke out loud the thoughts of his co-workers. "I'm developing erythematous from the looks of things. I know I have a low grade fever, which means that it's likely that I have an infection." Carter's voice was actually calm and very to the point. The younger man sighed in resignation. "I guess we should find Dave and Dr. Ebright and get out of here pretty soon, huh?"



"Yeah, we'll just use these cameras here," Mark said while giving the console a puzzled look. His face furrowed he looked up, his voice artificially upbeat, "And once we see what room they are hiding in, we'll just gather back up and leave."



Carter smiled, but it was a reaction of sympathy at their hopeless situation. "Sure thing," he replied.



Peter turned his head towards the attending, "We use those things to find them or we locate an infirmary and get some antibiotics. There has to be some kind of medical facility here."



Mark nodded, "Right, um, you know how to use this?"



Peter kept the obvious frustration at bay and went over to the controls. He began his tedious chore once again, never taking his eyes off the screen.



Xxx



Dave was still contemplating the ramifications of what Jill had just told him. Some military Corneal who was off his rocker to begin with, was furious at the members of the Hope Center and was running around the hospital with a small army of men. The resident looked over at the psychiatrist, "Do you have any idea what this guy wants?"



Jill crossed her arms in front of her, "I don't have a clue. Its not like I was part of the team who evaluated him, I just knew about some of the scuttlebutt."



"Which you kept to yourself, " Dave pointed out.



"Which was none of my business and was and IS still just speculation," Jill retorted.



"This guy was convinced that the U.S army was planning a massive invasion of Chicago in the first steps of military taking over the government. He was in the process of stealing huge canisters of nerve gas and was going to dynamite them at the base he was stationed at for the good of the country and you say its just speculation that he might be insane?" Dave asked sarcastically.



Jill inched her way closer to the other doctor, "I know as much as you do. The press has a way of sensationalizing mental illness and convicting people in the court of public opinion. Most of the people I treat are in need of consoling and professional help. So, I would appreciate it if you mind your tone when speaking of such things."



"I'm so sorry for ruffling up your feathers, but you were just not thrown into a filing cabinet and had to force a gun away from some muscled up gunman." Dave hissed right back.



Jill opened her mouth to continue the fight when the both of them heard the heavy footsteps of someone wearing a pair of boots. The female doctor franticly scanned the little room for a spot to hide. All there were in their current location were rows of file cabinets that stood against the wall and a small desk with a computer in front of them. There was a worktable that was in between the last cabinet along the far end of the wall. Jill grabbed Dave's hand and led the both of them to that corner.



"Get under the table," She commanded.



"What?" Dave whispered, but was pushed down when the familiar noise of a pass card being inserted into a door was heard.



Dave crawled on his hands and knees until his back hit the wall. Jill ducked her head and went under the table along side Dave. In a few seconds her body was pressing against his in an attempt to keep both of the hidden from view. If the solider walked to the end of the room and simply looked down, they would be caught.



Under any other circumstances Dave would enjoy the close proximity of a woman's body laying against his chest and holding onto his shoulders. However, he was just concentrating at controlling his breathing as someone entered the room. They heard footsteps and one of the drawers being opened. There were sounds of rifling through files, and doors being slammed shut.



Whoever was in the room, they seemed to remain in the front. Several minutes went by as Dave kept his arms wrapped around Jill. He held on to her so that she remained hidden from view. He breathed in her hair and closed his eyes. He let his mind wonder and he imagined holding onto the attractive doctor in bed after the throws of some heavy action. The smell of her perfume radiated through his nostrils and his heart started pounding within his chest. His hands were sweating and buried his face in those long strands of hair to keep his breathing quiet.



He began counting in his head hoping by the time he reached a hundred that the man would have gone, but by the time he reached 80, two more people had entered the room. His mind was going crazy and he wished that the wall could just swallow them both up. This flight of fancy was unattainable and he held his breath as he caught some of the conversation.



"I located the file you were looking for, Sir." Came a voice.



"Very good," A more authoritative voice replied.



There were more sounds of paper shoveling and the air in the room was tense. It would seem that one of the gunmen was reading an important file and Dave just wanted them to get done and leave. Jill tried to squirm closer, obviously unnerved by the presence of the other men. Dave tried not to move, as not to create any more noise.



"This is very interesting indeed. I think one of our trouble makers has quite a few problems of his own."



There was some movement in the room and the guy who was talking earlier continued to speak. "I need you to get me something, Captain. Let's go play with our little mice." There was some chuckling and the three men left the room.



The door clicked closed and Dave let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Jill rested her head against the resident's shoulder. Dave decided to keep any smart assed comment to himself and he simply stroked her hair slightly. All the while he worried what was going to happen to his friends and how he and Jill could stop it from happening.



XX





Dave was beginning to really enjoy Jill's company until the other doctor realized just how much so. As soon as a sufficient time had passed Jill unclinged herself from the resident and got out from under the table. Knowing it was time to get back to work Dave followed her, and leaned against the wall, awaiting some kind of command. He knew one was forthcoming.



"I want to make our way to the sixth floor and check up on all staff and patients. Then we can find a way to contact some help."



Dave shook his head in astonishment, "You have no idea how to reach anyone. If the phone lines are down, then how exactly are we going to reach the police?"



Jill's eyes narrowed, she seemed like a woman who was not used to being questioned. "I think in one of faculity rooms there's a CB radio we can use."



"A what? Are you full of it or what?" Dave asked, annoyed.



"Don't you go mocking me, Dr. Malucci, it so happens that Dr. Perkins, a resident has one in his office. Its one of his annoying hobbies." Jill explained defensiveky.



Dave smiled slightly, "Why do I get the feeling that I shouldn't trust you, Dr. Ebright?" Dave asked, his voice half in jest.



"I don't know why, because maybe I'm right?" Jill remarked as she strode passed him. "So are you going with me? Or are you going to stay behind like that other guy?"



Dave rubbed his sore shoulder as he followed, "I'm with you as long as it helps my friends."



Jill opened the door and looked down the hallway, "Then I guess you can follow me then."



Dave bit his lip and followed the good doctor once again to another floor. He just prayed that this was the best way to help out the others.



Part 9
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