Emergency: Tragedy Falling (Copyright 2015)
Chapter One: Falling Fury
28 year-old pilot, Mark Holbrook tightly gripped the smooth, grey joystick of his beloved plane. His heart was racing, beads of sweat rolling in thin rivulets, prominent on his ashen white face. Normally a happy-go-lucky cargo plane flier, he had always stood out as being a jokester, the center of every party. He had a sunny grin on his freckled face nearly all the time, brightening every corner of a room when he entered one. His tousled brown hair and dark auburn eyes matched perfectly. The eyes usually sparkled with innocent mischief and plenty of daring and spunk. But not today.
The cargo plane he was flying, The Fortress, was faltering. It shuddered, increasing Mark’s rising anxiety. His white knuckled hands shook as he tried to keep the plane steady. She would not listen and gave a jolting buck that would have sent Mark flying if he hadn’t been tightly strapped into the captain’s chair.
“No, no girlie!” Mark protested. “Come on. Steady girl.” his voice was unusually high as he fought to stay calm and sooth his growing panic. Never before had he been in such danger.
The Fortress sputtered and choked out last dying breaths as her life ebbed quickly away. Mark was helpless to do anything about it. He strained to find some flat stretch of land among the lush rolling hills rushing up to greet him, but to his dismay, could see nothing. No level ground met his searching eyes. Mark glanced at a small picture taped to the plane’s ceiling. Four smiling faces met his gaze.
The one in the middle was him, looking smart and handsome in his dark blue Captain’s suit. A slightly taller figure to Mark’s right, equally handsome with neatly groomed nearly black hair, was mischievously grinning from ear to ear as his hazel eyes were locked onto the unseen camera. His hand was settled behind Mark’s head giving the impression of “bunny ears” with his index and middle finger. To Mark’s left was a short but slim lady. Her short wavy mahogany brown hair down to her shoulders gave her a business-like impression. Her lips were pursed tightly though she was smiling, but the smile did not reach her sharp eyes. To her left was a young boy who couldn’t have been more than 6. He was looking at Mark with obvious adoration in his crystal blue eyes. His light blonde hair seemed out of place with the other’s coloration.
Salty tears blurred Mark’s vision as he recalled the moment the picture was taken. A warning “Ding” sound grabbed his attention from the photograph. Low altitude. Mark could see a small town in the distance and hoped he wouldn’t crash into it. There was no escaping that fact. He would be making a crash-landing. There was no other option. The land below sped up its sprint towards his beloved plane and seemed to be sealing both the Fortress, and Mark’s doom. He was too young to die. His whole life lay ahead of him! But fate sometimes played unexpected hands.
The Fortress sputtered once more, coughed and was still. The cabin filled with an eerie silence that was deafening to the experienced ears of the pilot. Planes were not made to be silent. The constant relaxing hum of the engines was no longer. Mark was in a deadly free fall and he was helpless to do anything about it. Frantically pressing buttons and knobs, Mark tried desperately to restart the plane but the Fortress had breathed her last. The usually faithful engines would not start. Glancing once more at the photograph, Mark closed his eyes for the end. He was sure he wouldn’t make it. This would be his last flight. He hoped the rest of his crew wouldn’t miss him too badly, though his heart achingly told him they would.
Another tear slipped out of Mark’s closed eyes and rolled down his cheek as the doomed captain braced for impact. Only 200 feet to go.
Two weeks earlier…
Dr. Kelsey leaned heavily against the reception counter in the Silver Springs county hospital. Nestled amongst the rolling hills in upper Montana, Silver Springs was a small settlement nearly an hour from the nearest large town. A handful of residents, and a laid-back atmosphere, made the town a popular place to visit despite its size and secluded location. The medical center, a small independently owned building usually did not see an overwhelming amount of patients, but the workers there were kept busy with sicknesses and injuries, both minor and major.
The lady standing next to Kelsey smiled brightly. Kelsey, a slender woman of about 25 glanced out of the spotlessly clean glass window to her left. Her dark blue scrubs with hot pink polka-dots brought a cheery splash of color to the white walls and corridors of the hospital. She was of medium height, petite and quite attractive. Her auburn hair was pulled back tightly into a perfectly round bun with hardly a strand of hair out of place. Her small nose and faint freckles, fair complexion and expressive brown eyes immediately demanded attention to her face. Her smiling lips parted as she turned to her friend, standing impatiently beside her.
The latter, a female of almost equal height was wearing baby blue colored scrubs with a small print of darker blue hearts scattered across them. She had a slightly larger build but was not at all plump. Her wavy golden hair was tumbled across her shoulders, reaching down to her elbows. An un-blemished complexion, deep blue eyes and pert nose graced her facial features.
“Why do you keep looking out the window, Kelsey?”
Kelsey turned to her friend. “Sandra, you look out the window and tell me what you see.” the doctor grinned and stepped away from the paned glass.
“It’s just the airfield, nothing important.”
Kelsey rolled her eyes. “That, my friend, is not just any airfield. That is our town’s future. We are going to grow. More people mean more patients…” Kelsey’s clear, soft voice was cut off by her friends, equally caring one.
“More patients mean more money. Is that what you’re trying to say?” Sandra laughed a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. It was easy to tell that the girls were close.
Both ladies turned as the front glass doors to the hospital opened. Into the small waiting room filled with chairs stepped a tall figure of a man. His hazel eyes peered searchingly around the interior before settling on the two girls.
“Might one of you be Kelsey?” he asked with an extremely proper British accent.
“I am she,” Kelsey spoke up. “Can I help you?” she asked with an amused glance at Sandra.
The man smiled politely though his eyes hinted a twinge of apprehension at the age of the latter, as it seemed she was in charge of the hospital. “Perhaps…” his masculine voice trailed off. It is a deep voice, extremely clear and resin. “I’m here to apply for the job.”
Kelsey’s eyes widened.
“The job, Sir?” Sandra questioned curiously.
“Oh, sorry.” The man reached into the inner pocket of his black suit and pulled out a neatly folded newspaper. He laid it on the counter and Sandra picked it up, unfolded the paper and began reading the advertisement.
Kelsey smiled. “You have medical experience?” she asked significantly.
The man nodded. “Yes, six years at medical school. I was working at a hospital in England but as we…my friends and I are moving to the United States, I will be needing to find another place to work. My friends will be arriving from England shortly. I just need a job to earn some extra money. We’re buying the air field.”
“Really?” Sandra lifted her eyes from the small print she was reading and stared at the newcomer.
“Yes. We own a small airline and will be buying the property to expand our business.” the man confirmed. He extended out his hand to the two girls. “Excuse my manners. I am Dr. Dylan.”
“Nice to meet you, Dylan. I’m Dr. Sandra and this here is Dr. Kelsey as you already know.”
Dylan nodded his head. “A pleasure to meet you both.” he turned back to Kelsey who began to question him thoroughly. A few hours later, all the necessary paperwork had been signed and Dylan had a new job.
The next few days were filled with routine changes as the medical workers made necessary adjustments to fit the schedule due to the new doctor.
Dylan proved himself to be as good as could be expected and quickly proved he knew what he was doing.
One day, Kelsey was impatiently filing some paperwork when out of the corner of her eyes, happened to spot something unusual out of the window. Quickly exiting her seat, she hastened over to the glass and gaped in astonishment. It was a white plane, very low to the ground and disappearing out of sight behind one of the hills. “What in the world…” Kelsey muttered.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor behind her. “What’s up, Kelsey?” came Sandra’s voice.
“I just saw a plane!”
Sandra rolled her eyes. “So,”
“Sandra, something was wrong with it.”
“Look. It’s highly unlikely. You know nothing about planes. Come on. We need to check up on Mr. Watkins.” Sandra shrugged off Kelsey’s remark.
But both girls jumped as an explosion sounded faintly through the trees. A thin wisp of smoke rose up, soon followed by towering black billows less than a mile away. “Told you, Sandra,” Kelsey said, irritated as she grabbed her black medical bag. “This is serious. We need to get out there now. Come on!”
Sandra followed Kelsey to the small red and white ambulance parked outside the front doors. “Hey! Watch where you’re going!” a voice sounded.
“Sorry Myst, we’ve got an emergency!” Sandra’s voice sounded urgent.
“I’m coming with you. You need an extra hand. Dylan can stay here and keep things running smoothly.”
“Fine. Get in.” Sandra agreed, jumping into the driver’s seat.
Myst ran to the other side as Kelsey got in the back of the ambulance. Hastily turning the key in the ignition, Sandra pushed the gas and drove quickly towards the scene of the accident. Ten minutes later, they arrived at the crash-site. “Oh…this is bad.” Sandra whispered.
The plane…or what was left of it was a ruined mess of twisted steel, smoke, fire and the unpleasant smell of burning fuel was prominent in the normally clear mountain air. Black clouds and vastly scattered sections of the plane’s body around the downed airplane gave evidence of total destruction. Hurriedly parking the vehicle, Sandra jumped out as did Kelsey and Myst.
“Kelsey, the odds of anyone surviving this is very slim.” Sandra pointed out as she cringed at the thought of the pilot somewhere in the burning wreckage.
Kelsey maintained a safe distance but tried to peer through the un-cooperating bright orange flames. “Can you see anything moving or anyone?”
“No, nothing. Nothing at all.” Myst sighed.
“Wait! What’s that?” Sandra exclaimed excitedly. Through the smoke, a slight hint of movement could be made out. Not much, but it was something.
“Hello! Is anyone there?” Kelsey shouted above the crackling roar of the fire.
Just then, two more cars pulled up and neighbors began to emerge, curious as to what had just happened. “Hey! People! Back up. All of you. This is very dangerous. Stay back!” Myst yelled to the curious onlookers.
Sirens could now be heard echoing through the trees as the police made their way to the downed plane. Help was on the way.
“Is anyone there?” Kelsey’s voice repeated again. Still keeping her distance, she circled the wreckage to where the unusual movement had been seen.
A small dog, tan in color was in the midst of the wreck, tugging on what looked like a strip of dirt spattered fabric. Her four small paws were braced against the newly upturned earth, scarred by the plane as it landed. Her muscles rippled dramatically as she gave another fierce tug.
A soft breeze began to blow, slightly clearing some of the chokingly thick smoke. Kelsey gasped in horrified astonishment as she made out the figure of a hand stretched out in the midst of where the cockpit had been. The dog was pulling harder now, slowly, painstakingly, sliding a limp form out of the burning cockpit.
Leaving all thought of safety behind, Kelsey plunged into the clouds of fire and smoke towards the person, obviously the pilot, as his tattered and torn clothes were a deep blue color. Her eyes smarted as the smoke filled her lungs though she held her breath as long as she could. Kelsey could feel the blazing heat of the fire creeping towards her. Gripping the man’s bloody hand, Kelsey, with the dog’s assistance managed to drag the limp body to a safer area.
Sandra and Myst ran over. “What do you think you are doing, Kelsey? You could have been killed!” Sandra shouted, furious.
Kelsey ignored the comment as she choked on the smoke swirling around them. “Help me get this mask on him!” she gasped.” He’s got a pulse. Very weak though.”
The two doctors knelt down and eased a plastic oxygen mask over the pilot’s grimy, blood and mud spattered face. Several deep cuts oozed bright red blood around his jaw and forehead. “Come on buddy, wake up!” Kelsey urged.
With a coughing moan, the man’s eyes opened slightly, obviously trying to focus on the two figures above him. His face was deathly pale. His breathing quickened as his formerly unconscious body slowly awoke, bringing with it, waves of intense pain.
“That’s right. Stay with me.” Kelsey encouraged.
The man let out another choking gasp. “M…My c…chest!” he moaned weekly, clutching at a clump of grass in a feeble attempt to ward off some of the pain. Kelsey gently ripped the pilot’s already torn shirt fully open to expose what was clearly a set of broken ribs, and most likely, a large amount of internal bleeding.
“He’s got several broken ribs. Looks really bad.” Sandra said softly.
Kelsey nodded as she prepared an IV. Carefully sliding the needle into the man’s arm, a large amount of morphine began to course through the man’s body.
“It’s ok. You’re going to be all right.” Was the last thing Mark heard before drifting away into another blessed unconsciousness.
Chapter 2: Unexpected Reunion
Bright lights met Mark’s gaze when he next opened his eyes. The white brilliance shining above him onto the exam table seemed to blind him, drilling into his brain and pulling him out from an unconscious slumber. Suddenly, the harshness was blocked out by a hovering shadow. Mark’s blurry vision slowly cleared, revealing the kind face of Kelsey looking down upon his. As she saw that he was awake, her expression immediately changed into that of determination. It was an expression that gave the impression that whatever was going to be said needed to be obeyed without question.
“Hey, listen to me ok?” Kelsey’s voice was gentle but firm with resolve. “I need you to stay perfectly still for me. Don’t move a muscle. Do you hear?”
Mark groaned as the pain began to force its way back to haunt him. “W…who are you?” he asked, panic beginning to rise in his voice. A voice he didn’t recognize as his own.
“I’m Doctor Kelsey. I’m going to take good care of you.” she smiled.
“N…No! D…don’t hurt me! P…please!” Mark begged, misinterpreting her words, he frantically struggled to sit up.
Firm hands pushed him back down. “Stop moving! Please!” Kelsey urged.
Mark began to thrash, his mind screaming out that she was here to harm him. “N…No! Get away from me!” he yelled. With surprising strength he didn’t know he had, Mark shoved Kelsey backwards and sat up. Bad idea. Immediately, pain seemed to shoot through his entire body. Unable to suppress a sobbing groan, he collapsed back onto the table, writhing, his breath coming in short, frantic gasps.
Kelsey quickly recovered from her surprise and rushed back to his side. “I’m not going to hurt you. Just listen to my voice. I’m here to help.”
Mark’s eyes slid shut as his breathing suddenly stopped.
“No, no no!” Kelsey exclaimed. Quickly placing her hands on Mark chest, she began CPR, yelling for Sandra as she did so.
Mark awoke again, several hours later. He blinked his eyes, trying to make out where he was. To his relief, the sharp stabbing pains in his chest had been replaced by a dull throb that was uncomfortable, but bearable. His eyes took in the pure white walls around him and he shuddered. What type of torture room was he in?
Just then, Dr. Kelsey entered the room. “Hey buddy!” she greeted kindly. “Did you have a good rest? We thought we’d lost you there. An emergency surgery to fix a punctured lung and set your ribs…you had quite a nasty fall from that plane. What happened?” Kelsey asked kindly, but curiously.
Mark struggled to find the words to answer her question. His mind was racing. Should he tell her? No, it was too risky. He couldn’t afford to trust anyone. Better make up something. “A…a bird.” he croaked, his voice cracking. The sound of it startled him.
“Hey, take it easy. You’re all right.” Kelsey assured Mark.
Mark nodded, though his expression was not at all relaxed. “I…it was a bird.” he repeated. “I…it flew into my e…engine. I tried to land…couldn’t make it.” he said in nearly a whisper. He was already exhausted from the simple effort of talking. It was frustrating. Suddenly remembering something, Mark gave a start. “M…My plane! I…is she ok?”
Kelsey’s face fell. “The plane is completely torn apart. There’s no way it can be repaired. I’m so sorry.” she admitted truthfully.
“No! Not my plane! Not Fortress!” Mark sobbed uncontrollably. “What have I done…no…please no. Why did you do this to me?” he asked, suddenly exploding in a combination of anger and tears.
“Do what?”
Mark tried to get out of bed and ended up being pushed back down again. Knowing he was too weak to fight, he watched helplessly as Sandra came in with some leather straps. “W…what are you going to do?” Mark trembled in obvious fright.
“Mark, we really can’t afford for you to hurt yourself worse.” Kelsey said sympathetically as she began putting restraints onto Mark’s wrists. Mark began to struggle again.
“Please, just calm down. We’re not going to hurt you.” Sandra urged.
A third set of footsteps echo down the hall before stopping outside of Mark’s room. The doorknob turned slowly before the door opened.Mark trembled. What type of torture had these people planned for him? He didn’t know how much more he could take.
Dr. Dylan entered the room with a ready smile on his face. “Hello there…” his voice trailed off as his jaw dropped and tears sprang to his eyes. The clipboard he was carrying fell to the floor with a loud clatter. “M…Mark?” he gaped in horrified astonishment. “Mark you were the one who crashed the plane? Oh no…”
Kelsey watched, amazed, as Mark’s face went from ashen white and terrified to a hope-filled, joyous expression. “D…Dylan?” he gasped, raising a trembling hand in the latter’s direction.
Dylan ran over and wrapped his arms carefully around Mark’s tattered and bruised body. Both men were crying out a tear-filled reunion as Kelsey and Sandra watched, unsure of what to make of the scene.
“Y…you know this…this Mark?” Kelsey finally stammered.
“Yes, yes!” Dylan nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from Mark’s face. “He was bringing the plane over from England…” his deep voice trailed off again as the color drained rapidly from his face. He grasped Mark’s hand tightly. “Were Garrett and Barbara…” Dylan paused, unable to finish his sentence.
Mark shook his head and lay back wearily against the plump white pillows. “They w…weren’t on the plane. Barbara was trying to finish up some last m…minute work.”
Dylan’s eyes closed in relief. “Thank God.” he sighed. “I couldn’t have lived with the thought of them gone.” Dylan looked up to see the two girls had quietly slipped out of the room.
Chapter Three: A Past Not Forgotten
Over the next few days, Mark journeyed on the path to recovery. His ribs were healing quite well, but his damaged lung was still giving him trouble. He could not be off the oxygen mask for long periods of time before he was wheezing and gasping for air.
Almost a week after the incident, Mark was sitting alone in the quiet hospital room, gazing up at the ceiling thinking about his plane. The only sound was the soft ticking of the black bordered clock slowly counting away the hours. Under Dylan's suggestion and now that Mark figured he was not in danger at the hospital, the restraints had been removed. He jumped as a cold hand grabbed his wrist. Turning his head towards a figure standing over him, his heart nearly stopped beating. "Smirnov? W...what are you doing here?!" Mark gasped, trying to wrench his arm out of the iron grasp clamped around his wrist.
"Hello, Mark!" the man smiled coldly. His voice was too calm and his piercing black eyes burned with a fury that could only mean one thing, revenge. "I'm glad to see you still remember me. I was hoping you would have been dead by now but ahh...your time will come." The speaker's voice was thin and not at all pleasant.
Mark stared horrified into the face of a man he had hoped never to see again. His shaggy black hair was messy, bushy black eyebrows and narrowed eyes gave him a shifty, un-kept appearance. His grip tightened on Mark's arm, making him wince.
"Am I hurting the poor captain?" the evil figure sneered mockingly. "I thought you'd be tougher than that. Apparently not."
Mark's eyes darted frantically around the room, looking for someone, anyone to help him. He contemplated crying out for help.
"Do it and your friends will die." Smirnov warned menacingly. "I have already taken care of them. You're next on the list."
Mark paled. "D...don't touch them. Take me instead. I'll do anything. Don't hurt them! Please!"
"Captain, do you not listen?" Smirnov sighed. "I said I have already taken care of them. Now, come on." he pried off the oxygen mask. "I hope you won't be needing this...or this." Smirnov roughly yanked out the IV line, nearly causing Mark to cry out in pain.
A sharp blow on the head caught Mark by surprise and the world suddenly went dark.
"Mark, Mark! Can you hear me?" a manly voice urged. The comforting British accent and tone seemed familiar. "Mark wake up!"
"I...I'm awake..." Mark groaned. His memory suddenly returned, crashing down on him like a brick wall as he remembered what had happened. "W...where are we? Dylan! They got you too?"
"Hush." Dylan warned. "Yes. Myst too."
Mark glanced to his right and saw the dim outline of Myst huddled in the corner. She seemed to be crying. Dylan helped prop Mark up against a cold cinderblock wall as he took in his surroundings. They were in a small room. Concrete surrounded them with no windows. In front of him were bars from the low ceiling to the floor, giving them the impression of a jail-cell. The room was dark and not at all inviting.
"Where are we?" Mark repeated, taking a slightly labored breath.
"I don't know. We all got knocked out, same as you." Dylan gestured to a fairly large lump on his forehead. "Mark, who is this man? He obviously knows you..."
Mark swallowed hard, wishing he could disappear. "I...I don't know." he lied, hoping Dylan wouldn't be able to tell. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.
Dylan looked at him worriedly but didn't press further. "Myst are you ok?" he asked instead.
"Yeah, fine." came an unconvincing reply. "Where's Sandra?"
"They didn't get her?" Dylan asked excitedly, a faint ray of hope emerging into his mind.
"Apparently not." Myst replied sourly. "I didn't ask for any of this!" she nearly shouted.
"I didn't either." a new voice broke in, thin, low, and sickeningly gentle. "No, no dearest Mark. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Don't you?"
Mark's eyes popped open but he said not a word.
"Listen, you," Smirnov’s voice rumbled, obviously directed at Mark. "I'm going to make you pay dearly for what you did. I'm your worst nightmare. You are going to pay the ultimate price. But first..." he went on coolly, "You are going to suffer, just as I did. How about watching your friends..." he broke off his sentence as the doors to the cell rattled loudly open. Stepping into the cell, Smirnov grabbed Dylan roughly by the arm and drug him out of the chamber. Shoving him onto the floor, Smirnov locked the cell door and pulled a 45 pistol out of the leather holster hanging by his side.
"W...what are you going to do with that?" Myst asked, trembling.
"Patience my dear, patience. All in due time." Smirnov grinned evilly, enjoying Myst's helplessness. He grabbed Dylan's collar and pulled him off the floor, thrusting the weapon into his hand. "Shoot her." he commanded fiercely, ready to make a move if Dylan dare try something else.
Dylan's voice trembled. "N...no. I won't. Not ever." he stammered, his face as white as a sheet.
Smirnov rolled his eyes. "Then I will assist you. Really Dylan, I thought this would be more entertaining." He gripped Dylan's hand around the gun, forcing the doctor to keep the weapon in his grasp. His finger slid towards the trigger.
Myst stood up, shaking with fear. "P...please no!" she begged.
Smirnov laughed, sending chills down his captive's spine. He prepared to press Dylan's hand to squeeze the trigger. It inched backwards.
"Noooo!" Myst screamed as the gun resounded with a bang that echoed like a bomb going off around the room. Simultaneously, a figure jumped in front of Myst's body and crumpled to the floor. "Mark!" Myst gasped in horror.
Mark had lept up and stepped in front of Myst to take the deadly bullet for her. He moaned and clutched at his chest as blood oozed from the wound. Smirnov's face was a mask of rage. He wrenched the gun from Dylan's hand, preparing to finish what he had started. Dylan took the opportunity to knock the burly figure off balance and he crashed to the floor, striking his head with a thudding crack.
"Oh, Mark!" Myst sobbed, kneeling beside him.
Mark struggled to breathe, already weak from loss of blood and his lung, still not fully healed, did not help. "I...I h...had to...Myst." he gasped. It was all he could manage.
Dylan had unlocked the cell with Smirnov's keys and was now beside Mark's limp body. "Come on, buddy! It's going to be ok. Stay with me!" Dylan begged.
"Dylan! Myst! Mark!" a panic-stricken voice echoed from far away. "Are you down there?"
"Yes! Sandra! Thank God. We're down here! Hurry! Mark has been shot!"
Chapter Four: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
Mark lay in bed, scenes of the nightmare the day before replaying themselves over and over in his mind. The bullet had barely missed his lung. He had been told he was lucky to be alive. Mark sighed tiredly. The time off of the oxygen had really put a strain on him and he was exhausted. His hand reached out to touch the bandage around his chest. Even the slightest hint of pressure caused him pain.
A knock sounded softly on the door. "Mark, you awake?" Dylan's voice sounded muffled.
"Yeah, come in."
The door opened softly and Dylan stepped in with a forced smile. "How are you feeling?" he asked gently.
Mark rolled his eyes. "I've been better."
Dylan pat Mark's left uninjured shoulder. "I'm sorry buddy. Listen. I have some good news. Barbara and Garrett are going to be here shortly. They just left from England."
Mark sighed. "Good. It will be nice to see them again.
Dylan nodded and watched as Mark slowly drifted off into a restless sleep.
Meanwhile, Kelsey was driving back to Silver Springs. After several hours of driving, she was nearly home. Having been told what had happened by Sandra, She had left the conference immediately. It was late at right...or rather, early morning. "Come on Kelsey, don't fall asleep." she forced her heavy eyes to stay open. The soothing drone of the engine had other plans though. Despite herself, Kelsey began to drift off to sleep. Her head slumped forwards and she awoke with a jerk. "No, no. Come on. We're almost home." Kelsey chided herself. "Just a bit longer." It was no use. She was lulled off to sleep again, not noticing she was drifting out of her lane.
Faint voices swirled around, sometimes closer, sometimes further away. They sounded worried. What was wrong? A hand tugged at something around her head. That couldn't be normal. What was it?" The voices were closer now, words began to make sense. An accident? What had happened? They kept saying the name Kelsey. Who was Kelsey?
Finally summoning the strength to open her eyes, Kelsey gazed into the tear-filled face of a complete stranger.
"Oh, Kelsey!" the woman sobbed. "I'm so sorry, honey. What happened?"
"W...who's Kelsey?"
The face registered surprise. "You are Kelsey. Don't you remember?" Her voice was rising higher. "Do you remember me?"
Kelsey peered into the eyes of her friend Sandra, trying desperately to recall some memory of who she was. It was no use. "N...No. I don't. Do I know you?" she mumbled.
Sandra gave a heartbroken sob, turned away, and left the room. Now a man was standing over her. He looked concerned. "Hey, Kelsey, it's me, Dylan."
"Dylan?" Kelsey repeated. "Where am I?" she shifted her head slightly. "Oww! Oh, my head. Oww. What's happening?"
"Hey, stay put. It's ok. Don't try to move around. You were driving home when you hit a tree. It seems you fell asleep. You are in the Silver Springs hospital."
"Silver Springs? Where's that?" Kelsey asked, confused. She had no idea who any of these people were or what they wanted. Her head ached dreadfully, and she was so tired her eyes could hardly stay open.
"I want you to get some rest now." Dylan suggested. "I'm going to turn off the lights. Your head should stop hurting soon. Just rest ok? One of us will be in to check on you shortly."
Kelsey didn't answer. She was already asleep.
Dylan made his way to the office where he found Sandra sobbing. "Hey, sorry to bother you." he apologized.
Sandra looked up and hastily brushed away tears. "She has amnesia, doesn't she?"
Dylan sighed and placed his hands on the wooden desk, leaning on them heavily. "It sure seems like it. She has a pretty severe head injury."
Sandra buried her face in her hands. "What are we going to do?" she sobbed..
"Sandra, listen. From what little I know of Kelsey, she's as tough as nails and can pull through just about anything. Amnesia's a tricky injury. Sometimes it only lasts a few days...sometimes it takes a while to regain full memory. She'll pull through."
"I know. Thanks. I guess I’m just pretty shaken up."
"Don't worry about it. We all are. Hey, want to come check on Mark with me?"
Sandra hesitated. "Actually, I need to go talk to Myst. She's having a hard time accepting what happened with you and Mark. I need to go try and talk some sense into her. I made her take a nap in one of the rooms."
Dylan nodded worriedly and stepped out of the office.
Sandra quietly opened the door to Myst's room. The young girl with long black hair and a girlish face was lying in the bed, asleep. Her peaceful expression diminished. "N...no no! Don't do it. D...don't do it!" sweat broke out on Myst's face as she began to thrash around, in the middle of a nightmare. Her fingers clutched at the light blue sheets.
"Myst! Myst honey, wake up. It's just a dream."
Myst sleepily opened her eyes. "Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed.
Deciding it wasn't the time for a talk, Sandra slipped out of the room and headed over to Mark's. To her surprise, just outside the door sat a dog looking extremely similar to the one who had helped pull Mark out of the plane's burning wreck. She was staring earnestly at the door, her liquid brown eyes giving a pleading expression that would have caused a rock to waver. A small whine escaped her throat. Hearing footsteps, she turned to see Sandra approaching.
"Hey, girl! How in the world did you get in here?" Sandra wondered out loud. The dog circled Sandra's legs, tail wagging at ninety miles an hour. "You want in, don't you? Well, let's see what happens. Mark could use a friend right about now."
Opening the door, the dog raced through the crack, nearly running into Dylan who was about to step through from the other direction. "Whoa! What's going on here?" he jumped, startled. The dog jumped onto Mark's bed and began to lick his face.
"I have no clue who she is, but that dog has certainly has taken a fancy to him." Sandra admitted.
Dylan nodded distractedly. "We have another problem. Mark tore his stitches."
Chapter Five: Aftermath
"Well, how did he do that?" Sandra asked Dylan curiously as she helped him ease Mark into a wheelchair.
"I...it was just a nightmare. T...that's all." Mark answered for him.
"You're not the only one..." Sandra admitted, thinking of Myst. Sandra herself had not been sleeping well either. How could anyone rest peacefully when their best friend was lying critically injured in a hospital bed?
Dylan eased the oxygen mask off Mark's face, unfolded the footrests on the wheelchair and placed Mark's slippered feet onto them. Sandra stepped behind the wheelchair and began to push it down the long halls towards the ER exam rooms. Mark glanced longingly towards a glass door that led to an open section in the middle of the hospital, a courtyard filled with green grass and shady oak trees.
"Ok, here we are." Sandra announced as Dylan opened the door to the exam room.
Parking the wheelchair, Sandra carefully washed her hands and put on a small pair of dark blue rubber gloves. "We can do this without you having to get out of the wheelchair, but I need you to hold still. I'm going to put some antiseptic and a numbing agent on. You won't feel a thing. I promise."
Mark nodded anxiously as Sandra began to clean the open wound. Mark winced, more out of fright than pain.
"Sorry buddy," Sandra apologized sympathetically. "Close your eyes for me ok?"
Mark sighed but did as instructed. "Good work...now just hold still." Sandra carefully began to suture up the gash. She worked skillfully and quickly. "You doing ok?" she asked, pausing in her work.
"I'm fine." Mark mumbled almost incoherently.
"Good. I'm almost done." Tying and cutting the cordage, she stepped back to inspect her work. "Ok I'm finished. You did great."
Mark opened his eyes and gave Sandra the ghost of a smile. "That wasn't so bad."
Dylan had left the room and had just returned. He glanced critically at the stitches. "Good work, Sandra. Mark, are you ready to head back to your room?"
Sandra placed a hefty bandage over the wound, pulled off the gloves and tossed them into the trash. "Actually, Dylan, I was thinking that maybe he could sit outside in the courtyard for a while. It's so cheery out today..."
"Now that's an idea! How about it, Mark?" Dylan grinned.
Mark hesitated. "I don't know...it would be nice..."
"Then it's settled. He can use the portable oxygen tank. The change in scenery will do him a world of good." Sandra smiled.
Ten minutes later, Mark was comfortably seated next to a bubbling fountain. A relaxing sound if he'd ever heard one. The only thing that could be better was the steady hum in the cockpit of a plane. Dylan and Sandra sat down on opposite benches around the crystal clear water. The temperature was a lovely 72 degrees Fahrenheit. The cheerful chirping of birds could be heard and the spring grasses waved slightly as a cool but pleasant breeze played with the sprouts, making them dance and wave to a silent beat. The sun shone brightly, bathing the courtyard in a magical light.
Mark glanced at the blue sky above. Clouds lazily drifted overhead, along with the occasional bird. "I wish I was up there..." Mark whispered. "Up there in those clouds is where I belong. I'm just a pilot. It's all I'll ever be. The only place I feel truly at peace is in the quiet vastness of blue and white."
Dylan overheard and placed a comforting hand on Mark's shoulder. "I know, pal." he said, his voice unusually husky. "You'll be up there doing what you do best soon enough."
"I hate to interrupt but I need to go check on Myst and Kelsey. You two catch up a bit. I will be back soon." Sandra announced as she stood up.
Both men watched her leave. Dylan turned back to Mark who had tears in his eyes.
"I...I feel so helpless stuck down here, like I'm trapped. Up there," Mark pointed to the sky, "It's so different, so peaceful. Nothing can replace the feeling of being perfectly free, away from the world's troubles below." Mark sighed. "I can't be up there. Down here I'm a nobody."
Dylan pursed his lips. "That's why you need to put all your energy into getting better. You've got to fight. You always were a feisty headstrong lad."
Mark nodded sleepily. "I...I'm getting tired." he yawned.
Dylan placed his arm behind Mark's neck. "Take a nap." he urged. "We could both use one."
Sandra found them both asleep thirty minutes later. Dylan's head was slumped over his chest, his arm still around Mark's shoulders, supporting his head. Sandra smiled as she stepped quietly over to them.
The shadows were getting longer and the sun was setting. The temperature was dropping and it was time Mark headed back to his room. Sandra pursed her lips, hating to wake him. Hesitating several times, she finally placed her hand on his shoulder. "Mark, Mark, you need to wake up." she called gently.
Mark awoke with a start. Terror filled his eyes and his fists clenched. Sandra jumped back, surprised at his reaction.
The terror faded to that of recognition and shame. "Sorry," Mark mumbled. "I have PTSD. I get shaken up pretty easily."
Sandra nodded. "O...ok... It's time to head back to your room.
Chapter Six: Emergency Flight
Kelsey awoke to the debilitating pain of a massive headache. Clutching her aching head with her left hand, she pressed the red call button on the remote beside her. To her relief, Sandra came quickly to the door. "M...my head is killing me!" Kelsey groaned.
Sandra placed a cool, comforting hand on Kelsey's forehead. "I'll get you some more painkiller, ok?"
Kelsey smiled weakly and closed her eyes as Sandra hurried out of the room. She came back a few minutes later trying to look cheerful but Kelsey noticed the concern in her eyes. "Kelsey...umm...do you think you could...ah...possibly...wait a bit?" she asked, her hands empty.
Kelsey moaned. "I...I don't know, w...why?"
Sandra stared hard at her white and gray tennis shoes as her cheeks grew bright red with embarrassment. "I...I'm so, so sorry Kelsey...w...we're out of painkillers."
Despite her pounding head, the words registered. "B...but you c...can't be!" Kelsey tried to sit up, increasing the pain. "Agh! Ouch." easing herself back down, Kelsey bit her lip until the level of throbbing eased down a notch. "G...go find something. P...please. I can t...try to wait."
Sandra nodded and hastily ran out of Kelsey's room and over to Mark's. Urgently knocking on the light wooden door, she waited impatiently for him to answer.
"Come in,"
Sandra burst through the door. "Mark, we need your help!"
Mark's eyes narrowed in confusion as he pulled the oxygen mask off of his face. "Help with what? What's going on?" he questioned.
Sandra stopped short. Maybe this plan was not such a good idea. She weighed her options. Yes, it was the best one she could come up with. "Dylan is out of town today...it's his day off. He won’t answer his phone and w...we've run out of painkillers. Kelsey needs them badly. The fastest way to get to the nearest hospital is by helicopter...but I can't fly."
Mark nodded. "So...you're asking me if I can fly it?" he wondered aloud.
Sandra hesitated before nodding. "Y...yes. I know it's not the best idea but it's the only one I've got. Do you think you could?"
Mark stared grimly at his oxygen tank and the IV slowly administering the last of the painkillers into his body. "I'll do it." he said confidently. It was an easy decision despite the fact that he was still not fully healed.
Sandra closed her eyes in relief. "Thank you." she whispered.
Getting Mark to the helicopter on the roof of the hospital was no easy task. Mark was weak from lack of exercise and only his grim determination kept him going as he slowly climbed the stairs. When they finally reached the small red and white helicopter, Sandra watched anxiously as he made the pre-flight checks and settled into the pilot's seat. Placing the black headphones onto his ears, he pressed a few switches and the blades began to whip around. Sandra was seated to Mark's right. She noticed his hands trembling slightly but didn't say anything. The helicopter rose smoothly upwards and Sandra began to slightly relax.
"Tower, this is Gulf India Echo. Take off is complete." Mark's voice could barely be heard above the high pitched whine of the engines but Sandra knew the tower could hear it plainly through the headset. Mark turned to Sandra. "Ok, tell me where we're headed. Quickly!"
Sandra put on an identical set of headphones and adjusted the microphone. "The Jackson County Hospital. It's about 45 minutes away."
Mark nodded and concentrated on keeping the helicopter steady.
Back at the hospital, Myst was making her rounds and checking on the patients. To her surprise, she met Dylan in the hall. "Back so soon?" she asked. "I thought this was your day off."
"It is but I can't stay away from Mark for too long. He'll go bonkers." Dylan grinned.
"Yeah, ok." Myst mumbled, hurrying away from the friendly doctor.
Dylan's eyes were puzzled as he opened the door to Mark's room...to find him gone! "Myst, Myst! Get in here now!" Dylan yelled, beginning to panic.
Myst quickly skidded to a halt, changed direction and rushed over to Dylan. "What...oh no. Where's Mark?"
"I was just about to ask you...when was he last seen?" Dylan's eyes looked urgent as he struggled to keep his calm.
"I don't know...maybe twenty minutes ago?" Myst shrugged. "I haven't seen him recently. Come to think of it, I haven't seen Sandra around either."
A slight noise caused the two to spin around. Kelsey, white as a ghost was gripping the door frame looking absolutely miserable.
"Kelsey! You shouldn't be up!" Dylan remarked shortly, too distracted to notice the harshness in his voice.
Kelsey closed her eyes and leaned her head gently against the wall. "I...I heard a h...helicopter..."
Dylan clenched his fists. "Oh, this is not good. If Mark has gotten into that helicopter...h...he could die. Is there any way to contact the air traffic control?"
Myst racked her brain trying to think. "We put a radio in the helicopter...we have another in the office."
Dylan raced towards the directed room with Myst hot on his heels.
The helicopter shuddered. "Mark are you ok?" Sandra asked worriedly. His face seemed abnormally pale.
"Y...yeah...f...fine, just getting...a...bit hard to...breathe." Mark grit his teeth and kept his gaze out the window.
"Listen! What's that?" Sandra asked, feeling beside her seat. "The radio! Someone's trying to contact us!"
Dylan put on the headset. Gulf India Echo, this is Pilot Dylan Robertson. Do you copy?" Hearing muffled voices, he paused. "Mark, I know you can hear me. There's someone talking on the other end. Mark, flying before you are healed is not the way to do it."
"I'm fine. Just a little breathing...trouble is all."
"A little?" Dylan's voice was exasperated. "Mark you sound terrible! Talk me through you symptoms. Come on pal."
"N...no. I...I'm fine."
"Dylan," Sandra's voice broke in. "Look, this is all my fault. The hospital ran out of painkiller..."
Dylan sighed heavily, trying to stay calm. "Whatever. All I'm worried about is getting him down right now. He sounds like he's in a lot of pain."
Myst sat down in the swivel chair belonging to the desk. "Let me try." Maybe I can reason with him."
Dylan reluctantly took off the headset and Myst put it on. "Mark?" Mark, listen to me. This is Myst. If you don't land, you're going to be critically injured. You shouldn't be flying in your condition. Dylan is back...he can pick up the medicine. I need you to come back. Please?
"N...No!" Mark gasped. "I...I have to do this." he began coughing, trying to suck in another breath. "B...besides, I'm at the post getting the painkillers now. I'll...be home in an hour. I...I'm nothing but a pilot. When I'm n...not in the air, I'm a nobody. T...this is what I was born to do." Mark's voice was weak and strained.
"Dylan and Myst, we're taking off right now. We have the painkillers and I'm giving him some so he should start to feel better soon." Sandra announced after a moment of uncomfortable silence. Turning back to Mark, she looked at him worriedly. "Maybe I should fly. You need to rest. Just tell me what to do. It can't be that hard..."
Mark shook his head. "N...no. It's harder than you t...think. I...it takes years to learn to f...fly...just radio the h...hospital and tell them to be r...ready."
45 minutes seemed like an eternity before the helicopter settled roughly onto the landing pad as Mark slumped over, unconscious and in both respiratory and cardiac distress. Myst and Dylan raced over with a stretcher and with Sandra's help, managed to lift him onto it. Mark's face was a dull ashen blue and his heartbeat was sluggish and slow.
"I need help. I need help right now! Please or Mark will die!" Dylan begged.
Chapter Seven: Shadow of Death
Mark was wheeled down the hall by Sandra and Dylan while Myst ran along side the gurney holding and IV with painkillers and saline solution. "What are we looking at here?" Sandra panted, guiding the bulky stretcher around a corner.
"He's got massive internal bleeding and is on the verge of cardiac arrest. His blood pressure's dropping. We're losing him."
In the OR, Sandra quickly slipped an oxygen mask over Mark's mouth and nose and the bluish color slightly faded from his face. "We need to get this bleeding under control now." Sandra exclaimed urgently, scrubbing her hands and arms with a tan bar of strong soap. Carefully rinsing them, Myst assisted her in putting on the blue gloves.
Dylan injected a dose on anesthetic into Mark's IV and connected him to a heart monitor. Watching his stats, Dylan shook his head grimly. "We need to hurry. He isn't going to make it much longer."
"Yep, yep, I know." Sandra replied. "I'm going as fast as I can." Checking to make sure Mark was fully under the effects of the anesthetic, she nodded her satisfaction. Carefully draping the blue fabric over Mark's body with the square cutout over the incision sight, she reached out her hand. "Iodine please."
Dylan, who had also prepped for surgery handed her swab with the brownish-orange liquid. Sandra generously applied the cleaning solution. "I want him on some blood now." she directed.
Myst carefully checked and rechecked Mark's blood type and grabbed an IV bag with the red platelets. She hung the bag and carefully slid the needle into Mark's vein. "There."
"Hand me that marker. Hurry." Sandra instructed.
Dylan watched as Sandra carefully marked the incision site with the blue ink. "Come on, Mark. Keep fighting buddy!" he whispered under his breath.
"Blood pressure's stabilizing." Myst announced.
Sandra nodded as she picked up the metal scalpel and prepared to make the incision. Taking a deep breath, she slid the knife into Mark's skin with gentle pressure.
Dylan bit his lip. "Be careful, Sandra. Please." he urged, his voice slightly muffled by the mask he wore. "Myst, keep that defibrillator close. His heart rate is very weak."
Sandra's blue eyes squinted in concentration. "Okay, I've found the lung...trying to find where the bleeding is coming from. Goodness what a mess. It's so hard to see..."
Time seemed to stand still. For the next few minutes, the OR was barren of human voices and no sounds except for the heart rate monitor, faithfully mapping out Mark's heartbeats could be heard. For now, they were steady.
"Ah ha! Found it. Hand me the clamp please." Sandra held out her hand.
Dylan picked up the metal clamp and reached out his hand to hand it to Sandra. At that moment, the monitor made a sickening plunge as Mark's heart rate dropped dramatically. "Sandra..." Dylan's voice warned.
"No, no! Come on. Not now!" Sandra begged. Mark's heart rate continued to plummet.
"Sandra!"
Mark's heart gave one last beat and was still.
"Give me that defibrillator, NOW!" Dylan yelled, the clamp dropping to the floor with a clatter. Myst thrust the paddles into Dylan's outstretched hands. "Come on, charge! Hurry up!" he muttered. A quiet buzz rising in tone could be heard. "Hands off!" Sandra raised her hands, as did Myst. "Clear!" Quickly placing the paddles on Mark's chest, he pushed the button. Mark's body jumped as Dylan anxiously watched the heart monitor which did not reward his efforts.
"Try again!" Sandra urged.
"Clear!" Applying the paddles again, Dylan delivered another shock. Again, Mark's body reacted to the voltage and he jolted. "Come on, Mark! You need to stick around. Fight buddy!" Dylan yelled to Mark's now prostrate form.
"Blood pressure's dropping again..." Myst warned.
Suddenly, as if Death had changed her mind, the monitor suddenly let out a loud beep, then another and another. "We've got a pulse!" Sandra announced. "Myst, hand me another clamp."
Dylan's hands shook as he set the paddles down. The monitor registered a slow but regular rhythm that began to strengthen. "That was too close..." Dylan's voice trembled with emotion.
Quickly clamping the leaking vessel, Mark's blood pressure began to steady and rise to a safer level. Sandra breathed a long sigh of relief.
"Good work, Sandra." Dylan praised.
"Hey. It was a joint effort. Just another day in the ER." Sandra grinned weakly.
"No. This was different. Perspectives are never the same when it's your friend lying on the table. Come on. Let's finish up."
"He tore the stitches in his lung. Hang on, I've got to fix that too."
"Don't rush Sandra. We've got all the time we need.'"
"You're the one telling me to finish up, Dylan," Sandra retorted teasingly.
"Fine. Just do a good job. I don't want to have to go through this again. This is one fortunate fellow here. I don't want to push his luck."
"You're telling me..."
Ten minutes later, Sandra carefully sutured up the incision site, cleaned the area once more and placed a white bandage over the wound. "There. All finished." Sandra announced. "Myst, please take...Myst? Dylan, where's Myst?!"
Chapter Eight: Desperate Measures
Myst raced down the hall, stopping only momentarily to make a quick glance behind her. Good. She was not being followed but she had to hurry. They would notice her gone any minute. Reaching the closed door to Mark's room, Myst hesitated. A single sheet of white paper was carefully held in her hand. Attached to it was a strip of clear tape. Carefully pressing it to the door, Myst glanced at the paper, her neat handwriting and the black print on white paper jumping out at her. "They'll see it here." she thought. A faint voice echoed down the corridor. Myst bit her lip and glanced anxiously around. No one was in sight...yet. Giving one last look to the paper, Myst ran into the waiting room and out the front doors of the hospital.
"Myst? Myst where are you?" Sandra gasped in the hallway, panting from a long sprint. Gripping her sides, she tried to catch her breath. "What in the world..." Noticing the white rectangle shape attached to Mark's door, she made her way over to the item of curiosity. Carefully peeling the tape off the wood, she began to read the note.
"To Sandra or Dylan; I know this may come as a surprise, but I can't stay here anymore..." Sandra's face turned a shade paler. "Looking at Mark on that table made me realize something. All this was my fault. I should have taken that bullet. Mark would have been better by now. I can't stay here. That will only make things worse. I will just be a burden. You have my phone number so if you truly need something...I may come. But please don't try to find me. I'm fine. Trust me. It's better this way. Yours truly, Myst."
Sandra's eyes were filled with tears as she walked quickly back towards the OR.
Meanwhile, Dylan had pulled up a wooden chair and was sitting besides Mark's still body lying on the operating table. He gently picked up Mark's right hand being mindful of the IV lines. "Oh Mark...I don't know what to say. W...we almost lost you buddy." tears were forming in Dylan's hazel eyes. "Mark, if you had died...I couldn't have lived with myself. You are the one who holds us together. Our airline wouldn't be the same without you. I know you probably don't realize that but it's true. None of us would be the same...if you left. I can't fight for you. You have to do that. But I want you to know that we are all here for you, cheering you on. I know you can't hear me Mark, but we're all here for you. Just...please...get better soon." The tears were rolling down Dylan's face now as he squeezed Mark's hand gently. Dylan swore he felt Mark's hand squeeze back.
Sandra burst into the room, her face pale with fright. "Major problem...oh..sorry to...interrupt." she quickly apologized.
Dylan brushed away his tears and straightened. "I...it's ok. What's the matter?" Sandra handed him the paper. Dylan scanned the contents, his face registering no emotion...at first. Letting the paper flutter to the floor, he stood up, his brain still processing the information.
"Dylan, are you ok?" Sandra asked, growing concerned at his blank expression.
"She seriously did that?" Dylan asked slowly.
"She's not here." Sandra remarked quietly.
Slamming his right fist into his palm, Dylan plopped down in the chair again, exasperated. "I...I can't keep going on like this." he finally admitted, giving a heavy sigh.
"You can stay here...I'll go try to find her." Sandra offered, picking up the now wrinkled sheet of paper off the floor.
"But the letter said..."
"Look. I know what it says. But Myst isn't thinking clearly. Someone needs to go talk some sense into her."
Dylan stared at the wall for a long moment before nodding slowly, reluctantly. "You're right." he whispered. "Go find her."
Sandra hurried out of the OR and raced to her cyber blue ZO6 Corvette sitting in the driveway. It was dark outside and the headlights of her car weren't the best at penetrating the blackness but they would have to do. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Sandra set out on one of the few roads winding around the town. "Look at me! Late at night, driving a sports car to find a missing person in the middle of a forest." Sandra shook her head. "Where could she be? Hmm...when Myst wants to get away she usually goes somewhere secluded and isolated. Ah ha! Maybe she's at that old abandoned shack a mile or so from here. It's worth a look."
Myst shuddered as the cool night breeze began to penetrate her light jacket and chill her. "What a good idea, girl. Running away to an old shack to get away from the world's troubles. Yeah. Great idea." angrily kicking at a clump of grass, she wrapped her cold arms around her body. "It's really chilly out here. I almost wish I hadn't have left. No! It's best that I did." she argued with herself.
Carefully making her way to the tumble-down shack's wooden door, she pushed on it. The door grated reluctantly on the floor in protest as if it was not willing to reveal its dark inner secrets. Anger gave Myst strength and she shoved it. It surrendered with another horrendous creak and slammed against the interior of the shack.
Leaves were scattered in piles on the worn gray wooden floors and the shack was anything but cozy. Parts of the roof had rotted-or rather rusted away, leaving a cold damp draft in the air tainted with the smell of rotting wet leaves. A bed sat in the far left corner and a tiny kitchen in the right. Nothing of value though. No food, no water and certainly no warmth.
"Welcome home, Myst." she told herself sourly, plopping onto the grimy bed. The recent rain had soaked through the shabby quilted bedspread and the dampness slowly began to creep up her body. A brief buzzing sound captured Myst's attention. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. "Oh great, it's from Dylan. Wonder what he wants..." she rolled her eyes and prepared to set the phone down. Curiosity got the better of her though and she read the text.
"Myst, please come back to the hospital. We can talk about this. -Dylan."
Rolling her eyes again, Myst tossed the phone carelessly towards the end of the bed. "Not happening, Dylan, not happening."
The bright yellow headlights of a car awoke Myst about fifteen minutes later. For a moment, she thought she'd been dreaming. Staring up through the hole in the ceiling above her, Myst gazed at the peaceful stars intermingled with the slightly waving forms of leafy branches overhead. Then a car door slammed and footfalls could be heard, shuffling around in the leaves outside. Sitting up, Myst began to tremble in fright. Who was outside?
"Myst are you in there?" It was Sandra and she sounded worried.
Myst breathed a sigh of relief but refrained from answering.
"Myst?" the voice was louder now. A disfigured shadow fell across the floor from the moonlight outside and Sandra stepped in, trying to peer through the darkness of the shack. "Myst are you in here? It's me. Sandra."
Myst sighed again. "Yeah, I'm here. I told you not to come looking."
"Where are you...oh, there. Wow it's dark in here! I've got a flashlight..."
"Don't turn it on." Myst snapped.
"Fine. Listen Myst, we're worried about you. What's going on?"
"Nothing." her reply was anything but convincing.
"Running away isn't going to solve anything. That just makes everything worse."
"I'll live with the consequences then. That's all I'm doing anyway." Myst tried to keep her voice flat and unemotional but she was quickly losing the fight.
"Myst, we just want to help. Come on, please tell me what's wrong." Sandra urged gently.
Her words were met with silence until Myst sniffled, obviously crying. Sandra groped her way to the figure and placed her hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "Myst please come home. This is no place for a sweet girl like you. We'll get you cleaned up and something warm to eat and you'll feel much better. How about it?"
Myst nodded, defeated. "I'll come." she whispered.
Chapter Nine: New Arrivals
Thirty minutes later, Myst and Sandra arrived back at the Silver Springs hospital. Dylan met them at the front doors and his worried expression quickly faded to that of relief.
"You ok, Myst?" he asked.
Myst, still shaken up, simply nodded her answer. Sandra took her to the office and handed her a fresh set of scrubs and a bowl of steaming chicken noodle soup. "Dylan wants to see you when you're finished. Sandra announced, watching Myst hungrily sip the soup.
Dylan entered the office as soon as Myst was done. "I've got a job for you."
Myst looked at him quizzically. "What's that? I'm really not needed around here."
Dylan stiffened slightly and let out his breath slowly. "Yes, you are."
Myst yawned tiredly.
"Hey, if you are too tired to help tonight...it can wait..."
Myst quickly shook her head. "No, I'll help. What do you need?"
"Could you watch Mark for us tonight? Sandra and I are both tired..." he looked at Sandra significantly.
Sandra caught the gaze and quickly agreed. "Yes, very tired. We could use the help."
Myst paused, thinking. "I guess I could..."
Sandra grinned triumphantly behind Myst's back. "Thank you."
Myst handed Sandra the empty bowl, exited her chair and headed over to Mark's room.
The hours passed slowly. Myst made her rounds every few minutes keeping a close eye on all the patients. Since she was working the night-shift, the hospital was fairly quiet. Sandra had some unfinished work to do and was trying to catch up in the office. It was way passed her bedtime but she couldn't let the paperwork go another day.
Myst came into the office after taking a glass of water to one of their patients. She flung herself into the chair and yawned. "I...I'm so t...tired."
Sandra looked up from her work. "Want me to take over?" she offered.
Myst shook her head. "N...no...I'll just rest here for a minute."
Sandra nodded and turned her eyes back to the stack of paperwork. Twenty minutes later, Myst still hadn't moved. Sandra slipped out of her chair and smiled. Myst had fallen asleep. Taking a blanket out of a cabinet, she gently covered the resting figure and began to make the rounds herself. In Mark's room, she found Bella, Mark's newly adopted dog looking deeply into her eyes with a pleading expression. "What's wrong, Bella?" Sandra asked, glancing at Mark's face.
Mark stirred slightly and his fingers twitched. Sandra checked the iv. There were enough sedative and painkillers left to last another hour. Sandra watched as Mark's eyes briefly fluttered open, but the amount of sedative coursing through his body proved too much for it to override and he surrendered to the drugs once more.
Another hour passed. Sandra returned to replace the fluids and medications in the iv. Mark's eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling, his throat straining against the breathing tube as if he were trying to say something. Sandra stepped over to his bedside. "Do you need something, Mark?" she asked kindly.
Mark's eyes drifted lazily over to Sandra's face but there was no hint of recognition in their cloudy gaze. Mark sighed and drifted back into unconsciousness. Sandra smiled sadly and left the room.
The next morning, Sandra was finishing up the paperwork when the sound of voices drifting into the office caught her attention. One of them she recognized. It was the unmistakable voice of Dylan. The other two she did not recognize. Hastily setting down the stack of papers, she followed her ears in the direction the sounds were coming from.
A short lady was standing in the waiting room. She was slim, very fit and had what was later made known to Sandra, occurrence, a smile on her face. She had a business look about her, wearing a gray work skirt, black top and black high-heeled shoes. A younger lad of about twelve was standing beside her. He was wearing jeans, a collared green shirt and gray and black tennis shoes. His blonde hair looked like a tousled cloud of gold.
"I'm so glad you're finally here, Barbara." Dylan smiled a genuine smile.
Barbara flashed one in return but her eyes were not for Dylan. They were searching, piercing. "Where is that Mark?" she asked, her beautiful British accent very pronounced and slightly annoyed.
"Yes please, Dylan. Tell us!" Garrett begged with an equally clear accent.
Sandra hurried over. "Barbara, Garrett, it's a pleasure to meet you both." she extended her hand.
Dylan smiled. "I'd like you to meet Dr. Sandra. She and I are Mark's doctors."
Barbara quickly scrutinized Sandra and nodded her approval. "Take me to him please." her voice meant business.
"Of course, Barbara. Right this way please." Dylan replied promptly.
Walking down the hallway, they arrived at the door to Mark's room. Dylan opened it as Barbara stepped confidently through with Garrett hot on her heels. Right there, her business-like demeanor ended. Her head tilted slightly forwards as she nearly gaped. Her sharp eyes widened into a look of horrified surprise as her hand fell limply to her side. "Oh no..."
Garret's reaction was hardly different. "Mum?" his boyish voice rose higher in panic. "Mum, what's wrong with him? He looks awful!" Garrett ran to Mark's side and grabbed the pilot's limp hand.
Barbara swallowed hard. "I...umm...Garrett dear, he's in a coma. H...he was severely hurt. But Dylan said he was doing better...right?" she looked questioningly at the doctor.
Dylan slowly nodded. "Y...yes, he's on the mend." his voice was not quite convincing.
Barbara turned back to Garrett. "You see?" He'll be better in no time at all."
"Mum...he looks...kinda dead. That tube down his throat is scary."
Barbara was slightly taken aback at the choice of words. She coughed slightly. "Ah...yes. It does look sort of like he's...dead."
"Is he gonna be all right?" Garrett asked worriedly.
Sandra forced a smile. "He's been through a lot but he can pull through. That tube helps him breathe." She explained. "We are giving him medicine to keep him asleep so he won't tear his stitches...again. In a few days we'll take him off the sedative but he won't be flying again for quite some time."
Garrett looked distressed. "But when Mark can't fly, he gets all depressed!"
Barbara searched anxiously around the room. "Garrett, look! A puppy!"
Garrett scrambled over to where Bella was sleeping and began to pat her soft tan fur. Barbara pulled Sandra and Dylan aside. "Please. Tell me what happened. Spare me no details. I want to know." she begged earnestly.
Sandra spoke up. "He told us a bird flew into his engine and he couldn't control the plane. He crashed and was pulled out of the burning wreck by...by Kelsey and the dog Bella. He suffered burns, a ripped lung, several broken ribs, and severe internal bleeding. He's extremely lucky to be alive."
Barbara covered her mouth with her hand and pent up tears began to flow down her cheeks. "I yelled at him just before he left. A...and he almost died! I feel terrible!"
Sandra laid a comforting hand on Barbara's shoulder. "Shh...it's ok." she soothed gently. "I...uh...we expect him to make a full recovery. Do you have a place to stay?"
Barbara nodded. "Yes, we're renting that old house next to the airfield for now. After a moment of awkward silence, she spoke again. "Well, we'd best be going now. Garrett, come along. We need to get settled in at the house. Dylan, I'll be seeing you." With that, the two left.
Chapter Ten: Ocean Of Death
Mark awoke out of a dead sleep the next morning to unbearable pressure on his chest. He began to panic, feeling as if he were going to be crushed. Weakly pressing the call button, he waited for help, gasping as the pressure intensified.
Sandra hurried into the room. "Do you need something, Mark?" he seemed paler than usual. Odd. Sandra picked up the pad of paper off the nightstand and handed him the pen and notebook.
Mark scrawled out his symptoms and lay gasping with the effort. Sandra read the note and immediately tried to mask her concern. "I'm going to take an x-ray." Donning the metal plated "jacket," Sandra quickly took the pictures and waited impatiently for them to develop. When they did, her heart sank. "Oh boy. This is just perfect." she mumbled sarcastically.
Returning to Mark, she tried to look cheerful. "Hey buddy, I've got some news for you. I...I hate to say this but you you're going to have to have another surgery."
Mark's eyes grew wide with surprise with disbelief.
"I'm really, really sorry." Sandra apologized, wheeling Mark's bed to the surgery prep rooms. Once there, she added a dose of anesthetics to his iv. Mark grew more and more restless though. "Hey, try to calm down!" Sandra urged. "Relax. It's just going to make you sleepy."
To her surprise, Mark managed to sit up and then get out of bed! Pulling his iv out, he made his way down the hall as quickly as he could. It wasn't very fast. Sandra raced over and stood in front of him. "Mark, you have to have this surgery." she said firmly. "You will die if you don't. Then you'll never be able to fly a plane again. Come on, let's get it over with."
Finally realizing the seriousness of the situation, Mark relented and he followed Sandra as they made their way back to the prep room. Sandra replaced the iv. Mark fought off the anesthetics though and Sandra realized she would have to give him another dose.
Calling for Dylan, she waited for him to come. He rushed into the room. "What's going on here?" he asked with a worried glance in Mark's direction.
"Dylan, he's got fluid building up in his lungs...come with me." the two stepped out of the room. "He's going to die if he doesn't get help but he is not cooperating and tried to escape. Maybe you can talk some sense into him, but hurry! Time is of the essence here!" Sandra suggested worriedly in a low voice.
Dylan thought a moment. "We may be able to drain lungs without operation. It's painful but I know someone who can help. Go ahead and get him in the OR. Don't put him under. I'll be right back."
Sandra nodded but Dylan could tell she was upset. "Ok, but he would be much better off asleep."
Dylan entered the office where Myst was. "Myst, we need your help again. Mark has massive fluid buildup in his lungs. He refuses to go under for surgery. We think we can drain them while he's awake but we need you to keep him occupied and breathing regularly. Think you can do that?"
Myst hesitated. “Maybe, but won’t that be painful?”
"Yeah, it's going to hurt like the dickens but his breathing is already bad and it would be dangerous to put him under. All I'm asking is that you would sit by him and make sure he stays calm."
Sandra stepped into the office. "Are you all ready? I know it's dangerous to put him under, but is it worth the risk?" she sighed. "There's only so much medicine can do, I guess. Let's get this over with."
Back in the OR, Myst grabbed a chair and set it next to the operating table. Mark lay on the latter, his eyes wide with unspoken terror. Due to his frantic movements, Sandra was forced to put him in restraints.
"Listen, Mark, we have to drain your lungs or you will die. We are going to do it in a way that won't need surgery but it's going to hurt. Myst is right here with you." Dylan explained soothingly. "Just relax and do your best to breathe regularly. Ok?"
Sandra cleaned the area and sprayed some numbing agent on the site. Dylan picked up the scalpel. "Just close your eyes Mark." he suggested. "Ok, here we go." Making a tiny incision, Dylan guided the thin tube into Mark's lung. Gravity took over and it began to drain.
Mark groaned and the heart monitor indicated that his heart rate was speeding up.
Myst forced a smile. "You're doing great, Mark!" she encouraged. "How much longer, Dylan?"
Dylan nodded. "That's good Myst. Keep talking to him. Maybe even sing. First lung is almost drained. That's it, Mark, deep breaths. You're doing great."
Sandra listened as Myst began to sing. "Wow, Myst! You have an amazing..." her words were cut off by a loud warning beep from the heart rate monitor. She ran to his side but did not look where she was going. Tipping over the container with the fluid, it spilled all over the bottom of her scrubs and shoes. Sandra winced as the lukewarm liquid soaked through. "No heartbeat! He's not breathing!" she yelled. There would be time to worry about wet clothes later.
Dylan struggled to suppress a grin. "Yikes! That's going to be fun to wash out later..." he finally realized what Sandra had just said. "Get the defibrillator!" he yelled. "First lung is done..." he patched up the tiny incision and eased a breathing tube down his throat, turning on the respirator. Alright Sandra, deliver the shock! Quickly!"
Sandra held the pads over Mark's body. "Clear!" she yelled before delivering the shock. Mark's body recoiled like a wave crashing onto a beach. "Still no pulse." she muttered in frustration. "Clear!" she administered another shock. "Come on Mark! Stay with me!" still no pulse. She tried again. Nothing.
Dylan grabbed the pads from Sandra. "Mark I swear to you...Clear!" he hollered, delivering a fourth shock. This time, the heart monitor picked up a steady heartbeat. "Thank goodness." Dylan sighed. "I thought we'd lost him that time."
Sandra bit her lip. "That was close. We can’t' rest yet though. Are you ready for the second lung?" she tried to ignore the wet squelchy feeling in her shoes.
"Right lung's done." Dylan announced ten minutes later as he eased the tube out of Mark's chest. Putting on a black stethoscope, he listened to his breathing. "No more fluid. There. You're done Mark. We're all finished. You did great. Get some rest, ok? We'll move you in a bit." he straightened and turned to Sandra. "I'm going to let him rest here under close monitoring for a while to make sure there are no further complications."
Myst and Sandra left the room.
Dylan turned off all the lights except for the one over the table. He sighed heavily and sat down beside Mark's limp form. Mark was unconscious, but breathing steadily. "Oh, Mark, why did this all have to happen? Why doesn't Myst understand that she's needed here? I don't know how to fix this, Mark. I need you to tell me what to do here. Nothing is the same without you, buddy. Tell me what I need to do to fix this. Please." Dylan dropped his head into his arms, sobbing.
Chapter Eleven: A Brief Respite
Two days later, Sandra was checking on Kelsey when Dylan entered her room. "Sandra," he motioned towards her.
Sandra finished wrapping the last bit of bandage around Kelsey's forehead. "Hang on Dylan, I'm almost finished."
Kelsey smiled sadly and felt of the fabric. "Thanks." she mumbled.
Sandra nodded. There had been little change in the last few days and the doctors were still strangers to Kelsey though she had grown to trust them. But that was of little comfort to Sandra when she remembered the fun times they had shared together in the past. She even missed when Kelsey randomly began speaking in German though it had annoyed her terribly. Sandra, even after years of being around Kelsey still hadn't picked up more than a sentence or two of the foreign language. She much preferred trying to copy Dylan's accent behind his back. That was much easier and tons of fun. He had caught her at it once, practicing in the office, until she noticed him standing there. Until then, Dylan had never seen a person change their whole personality so fast. And when she left the room, she might have set a new world record for fastest escapes. It was rather funny.
But now, all the jokes and pranks were kept to a minimum. Nothing was the same without Kelsey. Patting her hand, Sandra stood up. "If you need anything, just press the red button." she reminded.
"I will. Thank you."
"Ok, Dylan, what's up?" Sandra asked, closing the door to Kelsey's room behind her.
"It's time to take Mark off the sedative, remember?" Dylan asked. "How's Kelsey?"
Sandra sighed. "No change. She still doesn't remember us." she quickly changed the subject. "Come on. Let's head to Mark's room. You look excited!"
Dylan didn't hesitate. "I am. I can't wait! I just wish the breathing tube could come out..."
Sandra nodded her agreement as she opened the door to Mark's room. "Perfect timing. He's just about out of the sedative. This shouldn't take too long."
Sure enough, about an hour later, Mark began to stir. The room spun, making him disoriented. He felt lightheaded, almost as if he were floating in a dream. Fighting the sedative, Mark tried to recall where he was. Swallowing, he felt something abnormal down his throat. His heart rate increased dramatically as he began to panic, his eyes wide with confusion.
Dylan was at Mark's side in an instant. "Hey, hey! Mark it's ok," he comforted soothingly. "You're in the hospital. Everything is ok. Just relax."
Bella jumped on the bed and lay next to Mark, gazing into his eyes with her liquid brown ones. Mark seemed to calm down slightly and he weakly reached out a hand to stroke her soft fur. Bella whined softly and pressed her head against the bed. Mark gestured to the breathing tube and the white bandages on his chest, clearly wanting to know what had happened.
"Mark, you tore your stitches and began bleeding internally. You...you were dead for two whole minutes!" We finally managed to start your heart. You have been in a medically induced coma ever since." Sandra explained.
Myst stepped into the room just then, holding an airplane poster. She taped it to the wall. "There, Mark. Hope you like it."
Mark smiled briefly and lay exhaustedly against his pillows. He pointed to the poster, clearly trying to say something, but he was having a hard time getting his point across. Sandra raced out of the room and returned a minute later with a pad of notebook paper and a ballpoint pen. She handed it to Mark. "Write down what you need to say." she suggested.
With a shaky hand that was still connected to a very drugged up body, Mark began to write; Dylan said the airport was almost finished! I'm going to have a plane to fly again! The scrawling lines on the paper were hardly readable but Mark appeared to be very proud of his accomplishment.
"Mark, can you tell us how you're feeling?" Sandra asked.
Mark began to write down his answer, pursing his lips as he tried to keep his hand steady. When he was finished, Sandra picked up the paper and read the note. "Ok. Chest kinda hurts. This breathing tube is no fun either and I'm very tired."
Myst nodded. "The painkillers should kick in soon. I know the tube isn't pleasant but if you relax, you'll probably barely notice it's there."
Mark nodded and drifted off once more into a blissful slumber, only this time, it was natural sleep.
Chapter Twelve: The Waiting Game
Dylan sat beside Mark's bed, worried. For the last three days, Mark hadn't moved a muscle. He lay as still as death, unconscious and oblivious to anything going on around him. Dylan glanced nervously at Mark's stats. "Sandra, Sandra! Come in here!" he called. "Come on, Mark. Please. Just try to wake up!"
Sandra stepped into the room looking worried. "What's going on?"
Dylan eyed Sandra curiously. "Going somewhere?"
The latter was wearing leather gloves, riding boots and a helmet. She also had on a warm jacket and a backpack. "Yeah." she replied shortly. "Guess who's missing…again."
Dylan didn't need to think twice. "Where did Myst go this time?"
Sandra shrugged. "Who knows? I was just heading out to look for her…on a horse this time. Is everything ok with Mark?"
Dylan sighed, exasperated. "No! Look at him! He hasn't moved in days." without warning, he broke down and began to sob. "I...I can't do this anymore. Mark thinks I'm strong and can fix everything but I can't! I can't fix Myst's problems and I can't fix Mark. I'm tired and haven't slept for days. I'm sitting here watching Mark fight and I can't do anything!"
Sandra unbuckled and removed her helmet. "Go get some sleep." she suggested. "I can watch Mark while you rest. He's in good hands. I can go find Myst later."
Dylan shook his head. "No. No, I'm fine. It's not fair that I should sleep when Mark is working so hard. Besides, Myst could have gotten herself hurt. Mark most likely won't improve until she's here. Go find her. I'll be ok."
Sandra sighed. "She's just going to run away again. This is the second time. But ok..." she strapped her helmet back on and retrieved a cup of coffee from the waiting room for Dylan. "Let me know if anything happens."
At the hideout, Myst lay groaning in the rustic little bed. Having contracted the flu from her damp encounter a few days prior, she wasn't in the best of moods...or shape. Her dog Cooper lay beside her, just barely managing to fit on the bed made for a single body. "J...just stay here, Cooper, I...I'm fine." she begged, drifting off into a feverish sleep.
Sandra cantered along the dirt trail on her palomino mare. She was a sturdy animal, strong and well-built. Sure to cost a pretty penny. Her creamy mane and tail bounced in time to her footfalls as her gray hooves pounded on the dusty road. Spotting movement, Sandra tugged back on the leather reins. "Whoa, Taffy!"
A chocolate brown puppy came up to greet them. Dashing around Taffy's golden legs, it was obvious he had no fear of the mare's size. "Where do you live, little guy? You look oddly familiar..." Sandra dismounted and picked up the wriggling puppy. She examined the two gold-colored tags dangling from a bright red collar. "Wait!" Sandra exclaimed. "That's Myst's dog!"
Hurriedly mounting again, Sandra continued her trek down the trail. At the shack, she hastily entered the tumbledown quarters. "Myst! What are you doing back here? I have been looking everywhere for you! Mark is in bad shape! What's wrong?"
Back at the hospital, Dylan was trying desperately to rouse Mark. "Mark? Can you wake up? Please? You look so helpless lying there. Please! I need you to keep fighting."
Sandra, having tied Taffy to a tree outside, returned to the shanty and pulled up a rickety chair. "So, why did you come out here?" she asked calmly. "Anything interesting happen in the last few hours?" it was obvious that Myst was sick, but not so sick that antibiotics couldn't wait a bit.
Myst blurted out her pitying story. "E...everything is my fault!" she sobbed. "You all know it. If I hadn't have just stood there, Mark would be fine. It my fault. It is!"
Sandra sighed inwardly. "Myst, it is not your fault. Like I said before, running from your troubles will not help. You hurt yourself and worried everyone else. Instead of focusing on Mark, we are all distracted and out looking for you. Dylan hasn't been sleeping well and now you are sick." she took a deep breath and lay a hand on Myst's shaking shoulder. "Please. Come back and let us help you. When you are safe we can focus on Mark. Promise me you won't run away again. Please."
Myst shook her head, refusing to give in. "All this happened because I couldn't take one lousy bullet. One bullet!"
"Look. Wouldn't you have taken that bullet for Mark if you had been in his place? It's not your fault! You did not know it was going to happen or that Mark would do that so stop kicking yourself for something you could not have changed. At least let me help you. You really need to come back. We could use you help."
Myst buried her head in her arms, sobbing. "I can't go back! I know what's wrong and how it needs to be fixed. I'm not gonna let you fuss over me while Mark is in this condition. He needs you more than me. You can't make me go with you. Just leave. Please."
Sandra weighed her options. Staying in a damp place like this would only worsen her flu, bad as it was already. She couldn't risk a bout of pneumonia. Stepping over to the bed, she slipped a vial filled with sedative out from behind her. "Myst, you are going to be ok. I'm sorry." quickly injecting her with a massive but safe dose, Myst fell asleep almost instantly. Sandra sighed and pulled out her phone. Dylan, please come to the old shack ASAP. I will explain when you get here. Just hurry please. She texted.
Dylan arrived twenty minutes later looking like he could drop at any moment. "What is it?" he growled, looking like he was about to turn into the Hulk.
Sandra hesitated. "C...can you please help me get Myst back to the hospital? Keeping her here is not an option. She's got a nasty virus. Once we get back, I insist that you rest. I will watch Mark."
Dylan sighed. "Fine. Whatever."
When the trio returned to the hospital, Sandra helped Myst to bed and gave her some medicine for the fever. Then she found Dylan who was back in Mark's room. "Any change?" she asked hopefully.
Dylan shook his head. "No. He's still unconscious. He's not breathing on his own but is fully dependent on the ventilator. He's got a fever of 101.2. I have him on antibiotics and a fluid diet. Now I'm going to bed." he said flatly.
Sandra nodded. "I will keep a close eye on him. I promise. Get some rest."
Four hours passed. Sandra faithfully kept her word and was sitting by Mark's bed when his whole body suddenly tensed as he took a full breath, unassisted by the machine. His fingers twitched slightly. Sandra jumped out of her chair, nearly toppling it over in her haste. "Mark? Mark!" she called. "Can you hear me? It's Dr. Sandra. Come on! Wake up!"
Mark's fingers curled slightly and he forced another breath against the machine. It registered the change and began to beep loudly.
Dylan rushed in. "Mark?! Mark can you hear me? Come on! I know you can do it. Please. Just keep trying for me. Fight buddy!"
Mark went limp as his exhausted body tried to recover from the exertion.
"Did you get to sleep?" Sandra asked, watching Mark closely.
Dylan sighed. "A little, I mostly worried over him though." he placed his hand against Mark's forehead. "He's still running a fever but he's fighting. At least he's not given up yet."
Sandra laughed softly. "Why should he give up when he has you watching over him like a hawk? You prove him right. You are not a quitter and you never give up. You should go check up on Myst. She needs to know."
Dylan nodded and headed to her room. "Myst," he called gently. "Mark tried to breathe on his own today. He got two breaths in. He's fighting. Myst, I know if we were both there though, he'd fight harder."
"I know. I'm sorry." Myst muttered. "Do you think I wanted this to happen?"
Back in Mark's room, Mark began to twitch and struggle against his restraints. He managed to suck in another breath, tossing his head a bit and yanking on the breathing tube. Clenching his fists, he took another.
"Good job, Mark!" Sandra praised. "Can you do one more?" she encouraged.
Mark grunted as he struggled to breathe in. His eyes opened briefly, but upon not seeing Myst or Dylan, gave up and slipped back into unconsciousness.
In Myst's room, there was an awkward silence. "Can you hand me my phone please?" she finally asked.
Dylan promptly handed it to her and Myst typed out a quick text to Mark.
Sandra heard the buzzing of Mark's phone. "Hey, Mark! You've got a message from Myst! Want me to read it?" upon getting no response, Sandra sighed but opened the text. "It says, don't give up. I know I'm not there and that's because of an idiotic choice I made, but keep fighting. You can do it. Isn't that nice, Mark?"
A few hours later, Myst awoke from a nap and asked to see Mark. Sandra came in with a wheelchair. "You never stop going, do you?" she teased, wheeling Myst to Mark's room.
Mark, upon hearing Myst's voice in the hall, immediately threw all his strength into breathing against the machine. He managed five breaths one after the other as his head jerked in Myst's direction. For the first time in days, his eyes opened with recognition as they settled on Myst. More frantic breaths against the machine followed as panic began to overtake Mark.
Dylan could hardly breathe. "Myst, y...you did it! You helped pull him out of it! I knew this would work!" he exclaimed, tears of joy streaming down his face. "Sandra, I want to take him off the respirator and just have him on an oxygen mask. Can you get that for me?"
Sandra did as asked. "Ready when you are."
Dylan nodded as he stepped over to Mark. "Ok, buddy, I want you to cough for me." he encouraged. As Mark did, Dylan swiftly but carefully eased the tube out of his throat. "Ok, Sandra, get him on the oxygen. Heart rate's up. Watch his levels."
"Right." Sandra agreed, slipping the mask over Mark's face and making sure it was securely in place. His heart rate continued to climb. "Calm down, Mark!" Sandra urged. "Just take slow deep breaths."
Mark suddenly began to talk rapidly, despite his speech being muffled by the mask. The three doctors could tell he was distressed. His grip on the bed sheets grew tighter and he couldn't seem to calm down.
Dylan laid a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Listen to me, Mark. I know you're scared but everything's all right now. Just slow your breathing down, ok? Nice and slow. In for five, hold for two then out for five. That's it, Mark. Good job. That's very good."
Mark's heart rate gradually returned to normal. "Myst, there's a water bottle in my bag by your feet. Fetch it for me will you? His throat is going to be sore from the breathing tube."
Myst rummaged through the navy blue drawstring bag, found the bottle and tossed it to Dylan who helped Mark sit up. Mark took a few small sips and lay back down. "N...never thought I was going to survive that." he rasped in a hoarse voice.
Dylan gently replaced the mask on Mark's face. "Take it easy, buddy. Focus on breathing for now. Get some rest. When you wake up, Barbara, Garrett and all of us will be here to visit you."
Mark sighed and relaxed against the pillows. "That would be lovely..." his words were muffled by the mask and slurred as the painkillers began to kick in. He smiled briefly before his eyes slipped shut and he fell asleep.
Myst nodded tiredly. "Sleep sounds like a wonderful idea."
Dylan, Sandra and Myst slipped quietly out of the room which grew peaceful as the late afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows and golden sun danced in the doorway.
Chapter Thirteen: When The Going Gets Tough...
Kelsey was now well on the road to recovery. Though her physical injures had almost diminished, only a slight scar on her forehead to remind her of the day she cheated death and a nagging headache that refused to go away, the mental barrier was still an issue. Unbeknownst to the doctors, Kelsey often cried herself to sleep. Her days were spent tagging along with Dylan or Sandra, trying her best to trigger a memory. She found Dylan in Mark's room the next morning. "May I please help?" she asked. When Dylan nodded, Kelsey smiled, now a rare occurrence for her. "I appreciate you all trying to help me remember. It means a lot."
Dylan grinned back and turned to a sleeping Mark. "He's still got a fever so I'm going to take a blood sample so I can figure out what antibiotics to use. Go ahead and put some antiseptic on his chest to keep out infection and then replace the bandages."
Kelsey stepped over to Mark and staggered into the wall. Dylan was just about to draw the blood into the vial when he glanced up. "You ok?" he asked with concern.
Kelsey struggled to regain her balance. "I...I don't know, j...just had a flashback. I remember a plane and fire...and Mark's face." she handed Dylan the tube of antiseptic with a slightly trembling hand. "Maybe you'd better do it. I'm pretty shaken up." her pale face gave added effect to her words.
Dylan took the tube and quickly checked Mark's chest and stomach. Satisfied that there were no abnormalities, he sprayed on the medicine, replaced the bandages and inserted the thin needle into Mark's vein.
Mark moaned slightly at the initial prick and slowly began to drag himself out of sleep. Bell opened one eye but didn't move, sensing that he was ok. Kelsey had sat down in the hardback chair and watched the procedure with almost no interest. She gazed numbly at Mark, not saying a word. Myst entered the room, her eyes red from lack of sleep and a gently used tissue in her hand. "Everything ok in here?" she asked hoarsely.
Dylan glanced up at Myst. "Yes, just drawing some blood for a test. Kelsey, can you please take Myst back to her room and give her some more cough syrup?" he asked, trying to sound cheerful though he was worried about Myst's contagious condition.
Kelsey looked up, dazed. "What?" she mumbled almost incoherently. The words finally tumbled into place. "Sorry, my head is killing me. Can't seem to shake it." standing up, she turned to Myst. "Come on, let's go."
Leading Myst back to her room, Kelsey carefully measured out a dose of the medicine and gave it to Myst who took it gratefully. Suddenly, the room began to spin and Kelsey crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Dylan had finished up and had sent the blood to the lab for testing. He sat dozing in the chair when suddenly a monitor went off, rudely jolting him into the present with its obnoxious beeping. Mark was sweating profusely and his heart rate was nearly off the charts. "Sandra! Get in here now!" Dylan yelled.
Sandra raced in. "You called me at a bad time." she shook her head impatiently, golden hair flouncing. "What's the matter? He looks like he's having a panic attack..." she paused, thinking. "Hopefully not a heart attack...we need to get this resolved ASAP. Kelsey just collapsed in Myst's room!"
Hardly hearing Sandra's announcement, Dylan's mind was only focusing on one thing. "Mark? Mark! You need to wake up!" he urged gently, reaching out his hand to nudge Mark into consciousness. He immediately snatched it back, noticing the irregular and rapid beat of his heart. His fever was severely elevated. "Sandra, he's going to start seizing if we don't get it down now! He'll tear the stitches!"
Sandra threw off the covers and grabbed a container half filled with cool water and a small white towel. "We need to get his body temperature down." she dipped the cloth in the water and laid it over Mark's sweat-soaked forehead. "Sometimes the old fashioned ways of reducing fevers still work." Sandra announced, trying to lighten the fear-charged mood. "Maybe you should adjust his meds?"
Dylan pondered the question. "I can, but what if we gave him an ice-bath? That may work faster."
Sandra shook her head. "It would, but the shock of that may do more harm than good." she re-wet the towel and replaced it on Mark's head. "What do you think?"
Dylan glanced at the heart monitor which seemed to have eased off a bit. "You're right." he agreed. "I'll get those antibiotics. If we can sideline this fever then that should be the final blow to this infection. Let's be thankful it's not internal. Here, his breathing has improved since the tube was removed. Go ahead and take the oxygen mask off. It's probably freaking him out. I'll be back...going to take care of Kelsey."
Sandra nodded and eased the mask off of Mark's flushed face. Then she slid the window open to let in some fresh air. Mark's eyes fluttered open. "W...what's going o...on?" he murmured softly, shivering despite the fever.
"Hey, it's ok! Sandra soothed. "You have an infection which is making your fever so high. Just try to relax and take it easy."
Mark nodded slightly. "I...I feel like I'm on fire...and I'm so thirsty." he rasped, spotting a mug of tea on the bedside table.
Sandra picked up the cup and helped to steady it while Mark's shaking hands tried their best. He took a few sips and pushed it back. "Thanks." he mumbled tiredly.
Kelsey lay on the cold hard floor of Myst's room while the latter looked on helplessly, too numb with shock to know what to do. A look of intense pain was evident on Kelsey's drawn, pale face. She stirred as Dylan's hasty footsteps approached. "Hey, Kelsey, are you ok?" he asked gently.
Kelsey made an effort to sit up and gripped her head with her hands. "I...I’ve had a headache for the last few days and it k...keeps getting worse." she grit her teeth, trying to ease the pain. "It feels like my head's in a pressure cooker and going to explode." Kelsey shut her eyes tightly.
Dylan helped Kelsey to her room and the young lady settled into the bed. Dylan smiled reassuringly. "It sounds like you've got some swelling. I'm going to give you a sedative and something to help that."
Kelsey sighed. "But if I have to stay in here, how can I work on remembering?" she took a deep breath, hoping it would ease the intense pain in her head. She glanced up at Dylan and gasped. "Why are there two of you?"
Dylan looked slightly concerned, but said nothing about what he was thinking. "Ok...I'm going to add a sedative to your iv. Sleep is key and you can't do that if you're in pain."
"I can't sleep well anyway. I keep having flashbacks and nightmares." Kelsey sighed.
"That's what the sedative is for." Dylan explained. "No dreams, no pain, just sleep. Trust me." he assured.
Kelsey looked skeptical but nodded. "Ok, I guess. Thanks."
Dylan nodded and left the room.
Myst waited until she knew Dylan and Sandra were completely preoccupied before slipping out of bed and sneaking her way to the front doors of the hospital. Taking one last look behind her, she sighed. "Now I won't be in the way anymore. I'd better hurry while they're busy." she took off on a lonely dirt road that led to a place as dark and cold as evil itself. It was a place that should keep her from being found for quite a while.
An old abandoned mineshaft that had long ago seen its last workdays. Left to whatever fate awaited the lonely hole deep in the earth, no humans had touched her cold stone walls in years. Myst, finally reaching it, hesitated before jumping down the small shaft to the chamber below. She missed her step in the darkness and a sharp crunching in her ankle could be heard as she landed but there was not time to scream. Hitting her head, Myst collapsed into an unconscious heap, far away from home and alone in the middle of nowhere.
Dylan returned to Mark's room with a new bag of saline and antibiotics. "Ok, blood tests came back. Be thankful this isn't sepsis, just infection from the fluid. We've caught it early so these new antibiotics should help." he expertly changed out the iv bag and injected the antibiotics into it. "There. Now that your breathing is much better, it's time you started to eat. Sandra, think you can get some food into him?" he asked.
Sandra grinned. "No problem!" she left the room and came back with a meal fit for a king...or queen. Sandra had taken her own dinner to give to him; a sizzling juicy steak meal complete with a slice of hot, freshly buttered bread and a wedge of creamy peach cobbler for dessert. "How's Kelsey?" Sandra asked worriedly.
Dylan smiled tiredly. "She's got some swelling but I gave her some meds to help that."
Sandra nodded and handed Mark the plate of food. "Eat up!" she encouraged. "The faster you get your strength up, the faster you can fly again."
Mark shook his head. "I'm not hungry. It won't stay down anyways. I'm having enough trouble keeping the tea down as it is. I really don't want to throw up...chest hurts too much."
Sandra thought a moment. "I can give you something for the nausea but you really need to eat. The smell of that steak is probably not helping your stomach. I'm sorry. How about some crackers?"
Mark sighed and nodded reluctantly. "I guess I can try it...rather have you do it than Dylan trying to get food into me."
"And why is that?" Sandra asked curiously as she handed Mark the first cracker.
Grinning slightly, Mark swallowed his mouthful and answered. "He'll pester and very nearly shove the food down my throat."
"Oh, really?" Sandra laughed and handed him another cracker. "How is your stomach?"
"Ok for now. I'm just ready to get out of here."
Kelsey slept soundly until the drugs wore off. Dylan was making his rounds when he heard the sound of slightly labored breathing. Kelsey was gasping and struggling to catch her breath, trying to convince herself that her latest nightmare was just a dream.
Dylan quickly opened the door. "Kelsey, are you ok?" he asked anxiously.
In her dazed state, Kelsey was startled. She scrambled out of bed and backed to the far right corner of the room, pulling out her small pocket knife. "G...go away!" she begged, her voice and the weapon shaking dramatically. Suddenly, a light seemed to flicker on in Kelsey's eyes. The knife dropped to the floor as she remembered that Dylan was a friend. "I...I'm so sorry!" she stammered. "You scared me so badly!"
Dylan tried to recover from his shock. "Hey...it's ok. I understand. This is scary. We're all here for you and we'll get you back to your old self. But we have to get you well first. Back to bed."
Kelsey nodded, still shaken up. "I'll try...no promises." she bent down to pick up the knife and handed it to Dylan. "Keep this for me until I get better, ok?"
Dylan took the knife. "I will." he agreed and left the room. A few minutes later he appeared in Mark's doorway. "Hey, I brought some visitors!" he announced as Barbara and Garrett filed in behind him.
Garrett raced over to Mark's bed. "Mark! I'm so glad to see you're up and no scary tube down your throat!" he grinned. "How are you feeling?"
Barbara nodded her approval upon seeing Mark awake. "Say...I was fully prepared to offer you a pay raise in order to tempt you to wake up but I see that is not needed now!" she tried to keep a stern expression but Dylan noticed tears of joy in her sharp blue eyes.
Sandra exited her chair and held out her hand to the newcomers. "I'm glad you could come!" she smiled. "Mark, are you finished eating?"
Mark sipped at the tea, set the cup back on the nightstand and sank down tiredly amongst the pillows. "Yes, I'm done." he confirmed. "I'm so glad you all are here." he murmured tiredly.
"As much as I hate to say this, I think Mark needs his rest. It would not be good for him to overdo it." Sandra hinted.
Garrett sighed. "Aww! Ok, feel better Mark." he gazed longingly into the pilot's eyes.
Barbara pulled Sandra aside. "How is he doing?" she questioned. "He still looks a little sick and weak."
"Well, that is to be expected." Sandra explained. "He has been through a lot. Considering that, he is doing very well. He just needs to finish healing and get his strength back."
Barbara nodded. "Thank you for all you've done. Ok, come along Garrett. Let Mark get his rest."
"Bye Mark!" Garrett waved.
When they left, Dylan noticed that Mark was already asleep. "Did you get him to eat anything?" he asked.
Sandra nodded. "He ate a few crackers. Not much, but it's progress. He said he was nauseated so I gave him something for that."
"It's because he's on so much medication. Probably should start tapering him off but I don't want any stress on his body while he's still healing. His fever's gone down considerably. As soon as it breaks and he's a bit stronger, I want him to be up and walking around again. It'll be about two weeks before he's fit to fly."
"Yes, he does need a change in scenery." Sandra agreed. "I'd go crazy if I were cooped up as long as he's been!"
Dylan nodded. "Same here. I'd better go check up on Myst." he left and raced back not more than a minute later. "She's gone!" he exclaimed.
Myst awoke many hours later to yellow lights from flashlights bouncing crazily off the walls. They finally settled onto her curled up heap. "Myst, how in the world did you get down here?" Sandra yelled, half furious and half relieved. She turned to Dylan who had accompanied her. "We can head down there if you lower the medical bag. I'll go first. It doesn't look too far down."
Dylan hesitated. "Ok, Sandra." he finally agreed.
Sandra pulled a coiled strip of rope from her backpack and tied to a sturdy oak branch. Gripping it tightly with her hands, she eased her way down into the dark yawning pit. "Ok, I'm down!" she announced a minute later, rubbing her raw hands. Her voice echoed slightly around the carved out interior.
Dylan leaned down and handed her the precious medical bag before he climbed down himself. Dusting his hands on his scrubs, he stepped over to Myst and sat down on the floor so he could be more at her eye level. "Now why did you run away?" he asked while Sandra did a quick checkup. "Is it a customary thing for American patients to escape a hospital before they are fully better?"
Myst rolled her eyes despite the pain. "Of course not. Only patients who mess up something so bad that by them being there they make it worse. I plan on staying here until Mark recovers a bit more."
Dylan sighed, trying to keep calm. "Mark is doing very well actually. Why don't you quit being stubborn and come see him? We can tie a noose in the rope and you can sit in it so we can pull you up."
Myst pretended to ponder the question. "Hmm...nope." I'm good right here. There's no way you're going to get me out. Stubbornness runs in the family." she pointed out. "He may be doing well right now so I'd like to keep it that way..." her voice trailed off.
"Listen to me!" Dylan huffed, exasperated. "Take some deep breaths and think for a minute. How on earth is Mark getting an infection your fault? It doesn't make any sense!"
Myst shrugged carelessly. "You don't get it. No one in this crazy place gets anything I say. Just leave me alone! Please! I didn't ask for any of this. Just go away!" she begged, her anger turning to sobs.
Dylan watched helplessly as he and Sandra tried to figure out what to do next.
Chapter 14: When It Rains, It Pours
Dylan turned to Sandra. "I'll stay here with Myst for now. You need to get back to Mark."
Sandra nodded reluctantly but knew he was right. "Ok...be careful...all of you. I'll send my husky Dipstick with supplies later."
Dylan nodded his thanks. "Take good care of Mark. Please." he begged.
Sandra rolled her eyes teasingly. "Perhaps..." she straightened. "But in all seriousness, you know I will do my best. He's in good hands." with that, she left the gloomy chamber.
Mark awoke to a nauseating burn in his stomach. His eyes popped open as he tried desperately to sooth the sickly feeling that seemed to be growing. His body wouldn't listen. Jolting into a sitting position, he grabbed the pink plastic bedpan on his nightstand and proceeded to lose the meager meal he had just eaten.
His forehead was wet with perspiration from the effort as Sandra looked on, inwardly cringing. She had returned just in time. It would be a miracle if his stitches were still intact. "Come on Mark," she encouraged, her gentle voice not betraying her worried thoughts. "Breathe deeply. Focus on that." Sandra replaced the bedpan and administered another dose of antiemetics to ease the nausea. "You should feel better soon." she promised. "Just focus on breathing, ok?"
Mark weakly shook his head. "C...can't..." he gasped, leaning over the container and heaving. Sandra pulled out her phone to text Dylan what was happening. The promptness of his reply startled her.
His text read; "Tell Mark to take deep breaths and go get him a bottle of grape Gatorade. Hurry!"
Sandra handed Mark a third container and left the room. Mark lay back on the pillows, his face red. His stomach still churned uneasily. He seemed slightly relieved though as Sandra returned. Hastily unscrewing the lid, she helped Mark hold the cool plastic bottle. "Little sips. Don't gulp it down." she instructed. "That should help to settle things."
Mark did as instructed, taking small sips and taking deep breaths regularly between each. "Thanks." he murmured as he finished.
Sandra nodded and picked up the phone again. "I'm going to head over there when Mark starts feeling better." she texted Dylan. "I'm sending Dipstick with supplies."
Whistling, the clacking sound of claws on hard floor could soon be heard. Sandra's dog Dipstick bounded into the room. She was a white and gray husky with one blue eye and one dark brown one. Though full of unbridled energy, she was smart enough to know when to tone it down...slightly. Sandra led her out of the room and strapped a pack of supplies onto her. "Go get Dylan!" she instructed dramatically.
With a small bark, Dipstick raced outside and around the corner. Sandra's phone buzzed. "Try putting on some music for Mark." Dylan's text read. "He has an IPod in the nightstand drawer."
Sandra opened it and found the small device. Hastily flipping through numerous soundtracks, she clicked on one that looked promising and turned it on. "How's this, Mark?" she asked anxiously. "Feeling any better yet?"
"Mm-hm." Mark murmured as the music began to sooth him. "A little bit." as the song continued to play, his eyes slowly drifted shut.
Sandra hastily scribbled a note telling Mark where she would be and placed three more bedpans on his nightstand, another bottle of Gatorade and the IPod charger. Putting another dose of sedative into the iv, Sandra hastened to Kelsey's house where her horse was stabled, saddled up the trusty steed and galloped into the setting sun to a dark, yawning hole, at doctor and a girl with the weight of the world resting on her shoulders.
By the time she arrived, it was almost completely dark. "Dylan, are you still down there?" Sandra yelled. Taffy, her mare, snorted nervously and Sandra gripped the reins tighter.
Dylan heard the faint voice. "Sandra? We're down here! Myst is having another breakdown. How are things up on Earth?" he asked.
Sandra had no clue how he could crack a joke at a time like that. "Things are fine..." she replied. "Hang on, I'm coming." she dismounted and tied Taffy to a stout branch. Then she slid down the rope, thankful for the gloves that protected her hands. "What happ..." Sandra's voice trailed off and her face grew so pale that a ghost would have been impressed. She stood, frozen with paralyzing fright. "D...Dylan, whatever you do...don't move." she whispered in horror, hands shaking in fear.
"Sandra? Sandra, what's wrong?" Dylan questioned. He began to feel uneasy.
Sandra's blue eyes were wide with fright. "T...there's a s...snake b...behind you!" she stammered.
Dylan slowly turned his head to where Sandra was pointing and saw a huge rattlesnake the color of a desert biome coiled to strike, its beady dark brown eyes fixed stonily on Dylan, small forked tongue flickering in and out.
"Please...just don't move!" Sandra begged, looking around for anything she could use to get its attention. Spying a crooked stick, she picked it up and tapped it on the ground. The rattlesnake's tail shook and a loud buzzing sound filled the room. Sandra trembled as the snake diverted its attention from Dylan to the more threatening target.
Myst, coming slightly to her senses pulled out a pocketknife and slid it over to Dylan who grasped it and flipped out the sharp blade. "Sandra..." his voice was low and calm. "Keep its attention...that's it."
Dylan was easing to his feet. So slowly his muscles ached. But he had to move cautiously. Finally upright, he gripped the knife tighter and fell upon the snake, pressing its triangular head to the ground. The rattle from its tail filled the air with harsh buzzing as the snake angrily writhed and struggled to get away. Swiftly removing the shake's head, he used his boot to push both sections into a far corner.
Mark woke with barely enough time to grab a container before he threw up into it. Groaning, he lay back. His stomach hurt badly and was starting to appear swollen. "J...just go to sleep and it'll pass." he whispered, trying to reassure himself. Unable to carry out his quest, Mark weakly reached for his phone. "G...got to tell t...them..." he moaned. With a shaky hand, he recorded his symptoms in a text which he sent to Dylan. That done, he lay back, exhausted, and closed his eyes.
Dylan nearly jumped as his phone went off...a buzzing sound. Sandra almost screamed. Catching herself, she turned away so Dylan couldn't see her embarrassed expression. Dylan pulled out his phone and read the text. "Sandra, look at this! Oh boy...I think I know what's wrong. This isn't good. I need you to get back there pronto and do an ultrasound."
Sandra read the less-than-cheery message. "You are right." she agreed. Something is seriously wrong. I...I hate to leave you all down here again like this though."
Dylan sighed. "I know, but it's more important that you tend to him first. We can wait. He can't. "
Sandra nodded reluctantly and made her way carefully out of the pit. "I'll send Dipstick by later with some food."
Galloping her mare back took longer than it would have in a car, but the rough potholes in the badly kept road would have been a nightmare to drive over, especially in her Corvette. The first time she tried it nearly got her stuck. She couldn't take the risk.
The trek back took about twenty minutes. Hastily stabling her steed, Sandra raced to the hospital and to Mark's room. She found him asleep...or unconscious. "Mark, you need to wake up!" Sandra urged. "Come on, buddy!"
Mark's eyes sluggishly blinked open. "S...Sandra?" he murmured. It was almost a groan. "S...stomach hurts."
Sandra nodded. "I know. I'm going to do an ultrasound and see what's going on." her phone went off. It was Dylan.
"Here's what I think is the problem." he wrote. "The lining in his stomach is deteriorating because he's been on so much medication without food. This is causing fluid buildup in the abdominal cavity. Give him the ultrasound to make sure, and you should check his temp though he should have no fever. -Dylan."
Sandra left the room and came back a minute later rolling the ultrasound noisily into the room. "Ok, Mark. You ready?" she asked.
Mark managed to roll his eyes. "As ready...as I'll e...ever be."
Sandra opened the container of thick, clear gel and smeared it onto Mark's abdomen. "Sorry, it's kind of cold." she apologized. Taking the device, Sandra peered anxiously at the screen and tried to get a better view. "Oh boy..." her voice trailed off.
Mark's eyes popped open. "What?" he asked, concern growing in his voice. "What is it?"
Sandra hesitated. "We have a problem."
Chapter 15: A Rocky Road
Ill as he was, Mark could hardly keep from jumping out of bed and looking at the screen that was displaying his fate. With a valiant effort, he controlled himself and lay still. "What is it?" he wheezed again, wondering if he really wanted to know.
Sandra didn't answer right away. "Y...you've got a lot of fluid in your stomach." the way she said "a lot" told Mark she wasn't kidding though she tried to soften the grim announcement. Sandra turned off the machine and quickly wiped off the gel. Then she took Mark's temperature. It was as expected, normal. Texting the results to Dylan, she waited impatiently for his reply. His answer, though it didn't surprise her, made her cringe inwardly.
"You've got to put a drain in. It could take about a day or two to get it all out. He needs to be taken off all medication. When he comes out of surgery he can have an iv with a light painkiller and diet supplements but that is all. -Dylan"
Sandra sighed. Mark had a very rocky road ahead of him. He looked at Sandra nervously. "W...what's going to happen to me?"
Again, Sandra paused, hesitating. She couldn't bring herself to lie. "Well...I'm afraid you are going to need...another surgery." her face registered the sympathy she tried to match in her words.
Mark sat still, blinking in shock and disbelief as the words registered into a sentence he could comprehend in his mind. Finally he looked at the floor and nodded. "Fine... just go ahead and get it over with. I've given up ever being able to fly again." he lay back, tears trickling down his face. He made a pitiful sight.
Sandra placed her hands on her hips defiantly. "You can't give up!" she declared, almost scoldingly. "After all everyone has done to help you? We are making progress, it's just slow. I'm not giving up on you so don't give up on yourself. You will fly again. You have to fight. Giving up...just makes everything worse."
Mark sighed, tired and defeated. "Let's just get it done. My s...stomach hurts so badly...feels like someone is s...stabbing me."
Sandra wheeled Mark into the surgery prep room. It was small and slightly cramped. Bare walls surrounded them with the only color being the pale greenish blue bed sheets. Sandra added a dose of anesthetics to Mark's IV. "Now listen, when you wake up you can't be moving around. I can only give you a light painkiller. I just wanted to make sure you knew ahead of time so it wouldn't take you by surprise. Again, I apologize that I have such depressing news."
Mark nodded sleepily, already being dragged down into the unconscious slumber the drugs were offering. His eyes slipped shut as his tight grip on the bed loosened. Sandra wheeled his bed to the OR. Carefully scrubbing her arms and hands, she placed a light blue mask over her face and prepared to perform yet another surgery on the downed pilot. "Ok, his breathing is a little slow...I'll up the oxygen...blood pressure's in the normal range and the blood transfusion is doing its job. It looks like we're ready to start." Sandra went through the checklist in her head.
Slipping her slender hands into the rubber gloves, she paused a moment, looking at Mark's face. He looked peaceful enough, eyes closed and his expression relaxed. Sandra sighed and picked up the iodine swab. "Man, I hate doing this all alone." she mused. "What if something goes wrong? There. Site's all clean." she picked up the marker and carefully marked where she needed the guidelines. Next, Sandra picked up the sharp scalpel, taking a deep, calming breath. This was her least favorite part. "Let's get this over with," she sighed.
Just then, her phone buzzed. Sandra glanced over at the bright screen, being careful not to touch the phone. It was from Dylan.
"I assume you're in surgery right now, so I'll make it brief. Let me know as soon as you're done and tell Mark not to be scared and that I'll be with him as soon as I can to scold him for scaring me so. Everything is good here. Don't worry about us. -Dylan."
Sandra smiled slightly but didn't bother replying. She turned back to her work and carefully made the small incision. Taking the clear plastic tube, she eased it into Mark's stomach. The fluid began to drain and Sandra breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Good. It's working." Carefully securing the tube with medical tape, she eased off the anesthetics so that Mark would awaken slowly. Sandra pulled off the gloves and the mask, threw them away and took the surgical tools to the stainless steel sink. Then she picked up her pink phone and replied to Dylan's message.
"All is well. Surgery went as fine as could be expected. No complications. I'm just waiting for him to wake up. How's Myst? -Sandra."
Her phone went off again a few minutes later. "She's taking a much needed nap. I'll try and get her to eat later. I'm glad things went well. We should start seeing some rapid recovery now. -Dylan."
Mark mumbled something incoherently as he slowly began to arouse from his drugged slumber. His breathing was deep and steady. His fingers twitched as his dream began to dissolve into reality. "Am I late for a flight?" he murmured weakly.
Sandra stood up and walked over to the table. "Hello, Mark." she greeted quietly. "I hope you've had a nice nap. It's ok. You are safe in the hospital. Dylan isn't here right now but I'm going to bring him in a bit. He said to tell you not to be scared."
Sandra pulled out her phone to text the latest update to Dylan. "Mark is waking up. He's extremely groggy, but doing ok for the moment. He wondered if he was late for a flight. When he wakes up fully, I'll come help you all get out of that hole."
The reply came a minute later. "That's just like Mark. Always has planes on his mind. You can let him sleep. The more he does, the less pain he'll be in. Speaking of which, you need to find out how much he's in. Myst and I are good here. She is looking much better. Don't feel the need to rush. -Dylan."
Sandra looked over at Mark who groaned slightly and began to tense up as he began to feel the effects of the anesthetic wear off. He tried to lift his head to see the source of the pain. "Hey, take it easy." Sandra encouraged gently. "I know you don't feel very good but I need you to try to focus and listen to me. I need to know how much you are hurting." she spoke slowly and clearly, trying to make it easier for Mark's fogged up mind to understand. "On a scale of one to ten, one being no pain and ten being I'm about to die pain, which number are you?" she pulled a warm blue blanket from the cabinet and laid it over Mark's body.
Mark closed his eyes tightly, trying to take control of his wayward mind. "E...eight, maybe nine..." he mumbled quietly. "D...doesn't h...hurt quite as bad a...as before though."
Sandra forced a smile. "Well, hopefully that tube won't be in there too long." she texted Mark's reply to Dylan. "He's in a lot of pain. He said eight or nine on a scale of one to ten. He is stable though. I sent Dipstick back over with some lasagna, rolls and a cream puff for each of you. Hopefully she doesn't eat it on the way! Mark is doing well enough that I can leave now. Be there soon. -Sandra."
Sandra walked back over to Mark. "I'm going to go get your friends Dylan and Myst. They want to see you. I want you to try to relax, ok? I know it's hard, but it will help the pain and that drain work better and faster."
Hurrying over to Mark's room, Sandra grabbed his IPod and phone. Returning to the OR, she turned on the soothing music and dimmed the lights in the room. "I'll be back just as soon as I can." she promised. "I put the phone by your hand in case you need anything. Don't hesitate to use it."
Dylan picked himself off the floor and began cautiously searching around their small prison. Dust, dirt and old, musty leaves were piled around the perimeter. A stack of rotting wood planks, barely visible met his gaze. Curiosity led him over to it and he began to pry off the top ones. They were damp and quite heavy. Dylan shuddered as he thought about the recent encounter with the snake and hoped there weren't any that had decided to take a nap where he was searching! A tiny pinpoint of light began to stream through. It was morning. With an excited cry, Dylan threw off the rest of the planks and was met with what was probably an air-shaft, a steep and cramped tunnel leading upwards.
Myst began to arouse at the clatter Dylan had made. "W...what's going on?" she murmured sleepily.
"I've found a way out!" came Dylan's excited reply. "It looks a bit slippery and steep though." he added, slightly less enthusiastically.
"We should wait for Sandra then. I'm feeling kind of dizzy." Myst groaned, placing a hand to her head.
Chapter 16: The Surprise
The next few days passed by slowly. The healing Mark's body was supposed to be receiving was being hindered by his tragic experience. Nightmare reruns of his past encounters tormented him both day and night through dreams and memories. He couldn't sleep, and that was putting a strain on everyone. Dylan's birthday was also right around the corner and the girls were trying to come up with something to do for him. Even though they were in a stressful situation with Mark, they figured a little fun would perk everyone up.
"So what's the plan?" Kelsey whispered to Sandra who was seated across from her in the cheery, well-lit office.
"Well, I was thinking we could make up a skit." Sandra answered, pulling a dusty brown colored book from the polished wooden shelf. She proceeded to thumb through the numerous pages.
Kelsey eyed her friend curiously. "A skit? About what?"
"I'm still trying to finish that up. It's coming along nicely, though. You've been practicing, haven't you?"
Kelsey nodded. "Of course! It's way too much fun to pass up anyway."
Sandra laughed softly. "We've got to make it sound proper, that's for sure." she exclaimed in a fairly decent British accent, strongly mimicking Dylan's.
Kelsey giggled. "You sound just like him!" she grinned with an accent also as good as Sandra's.
"You sound fine. I think this will work out." Sandra smiled, carefully placing the book back on the shelf. "It's in here if you want to read it."
"Yes, but can't you..." Kelsey paused as the door suddenly opened. Dylan's face peeked through, looking puzzled. "Barbara?" he questioned, trying to look around.
Kelsey jumped as Sandra playfully yelled. "Out! Get out!"
Dylan quickly removed his head as the door began to close in on him. "Yikes! What are you up to in there?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled.
"Nothing," Sandra answered quickly, her heart racing.
"I thought I heard Barbara. Is she in there?" Dylan pressed further.
This time, there was a moment of silence. Kelsey looked questioningly at Sandra. "Ahh...no." the latter finally answered.
Dylan ran his hand through his thick dark brown hair in confusion. "O...ok..." he finally seemed to accept the answer. Shaking his head in bewilderment, he continued his trek down the hall.
Sandra leaned against the door and pretended to wipe sweat off of her forehead. "Whew! That was close!" she gasped, still recovering from her shock.
Kelsey nodded her agreement. "At least our accent is convincing...we sure had him fooled."
"True," Sandra mused, locking the door. "Ok. I'll tell you the plan now..."
The next day dawned bright and sunny. Kelsey arrived at the hospital with a feeling of mounting excitement. Nearly dancing into Mark's room, she stopped short. "Mark, are you ok?" she asked worriedly, all traces of happiness forgotten.
Mark was propped up into a sloppy sitting position against the plump white pillows, his face a mask of terror. He was gripping the bed sheets so tightly that Kelsey could see the whites of his knuckles from the opposite side of the room. Mark was trembling visibly, and appeared very upset and scared.
Kelsey raced over and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Mark, what's wrong?" she asked softly. "Another nightmare?"
Mark shakily nodded. "Y...yes, I...I can't s...sleep."
Kelsey sighed. "Your fever is up again. Try to calm down, ok?" she suggested. "I'll get you a drink of water. That should help."
Mark nodded reluctantly and waited while the item was fetched. Kelsey supported the cool glass and lifted it to Mark's lips while the pilot's shaky hands tried to get a grip around the slippery cup. A few sips later, he was done.
"Are you sure you don't want more?" Kelsey asked, concerned as she replaced the water glass back on Mark's nightstand.
"Yeah, 'm fine." Mark mumbled, nearly half asleep. Kelsey smiled sadly and replaced the remote with the call button back onto his bed by the pilot's hand. Judging from this and the rumpled covers, he had obviously been thrashing around.
Sandra entered the room. "You ready?" she asked excitedly. "Dylan will be here any minute!"
Kelsey placed a finger to her lips and pointed to Mark's dozing figure. Sandra got the point and motioned Kelsey out of the room. "How is he?" she asked quietly.
"He can't sleep much anymore. He's gets so tired that he just drifts off like you just saw. His fever is climbing again too." Kelsey admitted with a sigh.
"The meds should kick in soon. I just replaced them about twenty minutes ago." Sandra added. "Have you got the video camera?"
Kelsey and Sandra headed to the office. "Here it is. I put it on the shelf last night." Kelsey handed the black camcorder to Sandra. "I'll keep a lookout for Dylan while you set it up."
Not more than ten minutes later, Dylan's black pickup truck pulled up at the hospital, the rubber tires crunching pleasantly on the loose gravel. He stepped out confidently, looking slightly out of place with his clean blue scrubs against the mud splattered paint on the truck. Kelsey quickly replaced the cheery yellow curtain and ran to the exam room. "He's here!" she exclaimed excitedly.
Sandra suddenly seemed all business. "Go meet him at the door and bring him here...where's that chair? Oh there. Ok, we're ready. Hurry!"
Kelsey raced back to the front of the hospital and tried to calm her quick excited gasps for breath. "Dylan, we need you right away!" she greeted him.
Dylan looked worried. "Mark?" he asked, completely oblivious to the excited sparkle in Kelsey's eyes.
Kelsey shook her head. "No...not him. Please follow me."
Dylan hastily nodded and hurried after Kelsey. Reaching the exam room, Kelsey paused and rapped at the door.
"Come in!" an unfamiliar voice screeched.
Kelsey opened the light wooden door, nearly trembling with anticipation. "Dylan, please sit here." she directed him to the chair.
Dylan obeyed promptly, though clearly confused as to what was happening.
"Good morning, Mrs. Valentine! Isn't it a lovely day?" Kelsey asked, lowering her voice and using the British accent she had been practicing for the last few weeks.
Dylan squirmed in his chair. "What's going on here? That's what I always say. Nice accent by the way." he added.
Kelsey ignored him, trying not to burst into uncontrollable laughter. "...and how are we this morning?" she continued.
Sandra's cheeks were slightly flushed with excitement, but it imitated a mild fever hue perfectly. "Don't know, D...Dylan." she addressed Kelsey, slightly stumbling over the name.
"Well, we'll have a look and get you fixed up in no time." Kelsey answered, using one of Dylan's popular phrased that he always talked to his patients with. She enthusiastically listened to Sandra's heart and lungs, took her blood pressure and chatted the whole time, as Dylan usually did.
Sandra played her part well and gave lively conversation back. Dylan began to laugh at Kelsey's near-perfect imitation of him and began to really enjoy the performance.
"Well, I know what the problem is!" Kelsey announced energetically, pulling off her gloves, rolling them into a tight ball and throwing them at the wall above the trashcan. Dylan always made a game of trying strange ways of getting the gloves into the can. To Kelsey's relief, her aim was good and the rubber "ball" disappeared into it.
Dylan was nearly roaring with laughter now. "Oh my...this is too...too funny!"
"And what do I have?" Sandra rasped dramatically, nearly cracking a smile.
"Oh, nothing but a case of influenza. It’s easily dealt with." Kelsey answered. Dylan always tried to keep his diagnostics sounding as non-serious as possible. "I'll prescribe you some meds and you'll be on your way in no time, my dear."
Dylan nearly fell out of his chair at that last remark. Kelsey had mastered that phrase and her voice, deepened to sound like his, with the accent, had been hilarious.
Sandra hopped off the examining table and put her arm around Kelsey's shoulder as both girls bowed. "Happy birthday, Dylan!"
Myst entered the room holding a small cake frosted with white icing and blue swirls around the bottom edge. On top, also in blue icing were the words Happy Birthday!
Dylan took the cake. "You all are the best!" he grinned.
Sandra pulled the camera from behind the cabinet. "Just wait till I show Mark and put this on YouTube!" she teased.
Dylan nearly dropped his cake in surprise. "You'd better not!"
Sandra waved the recorder tauntingly in the air. "We'll see about that. For now, let's eat!"
And for that moment, nearly everything in the hospital was normal again.
Chapter 17: Haunted
Kelsey looked on happily as Dylan and Sandra bent over Mark. "Almost done...there! It's out."
After nearly a week with the drain, Mark had finally graduated from having it. All of them were extremely tired. It had been a long, painful night for Mark. With the last of the fluid draining out of his stomach, it had been agony to watch Mark struggle to stay calm and still throughout the process. Only their comforting presence and gentle reassuring encouragements had pulled him through the exhausting ordeal. But it was over now, and everyone was glad of it.
Mark grinned weakly. "F...feels much better."
Dylan laughed. "How can you feel it? You've got a local anesthetic. You shouldn't be feeling a thing."
"Y...you know what I mean." Mark sighed tiredly.
Two days later, Dylan stepped into Mark's room as Kelsey finished replacing the fluids in Mark's iv bag. Hearing footsteps, she looked up curiously. "Hey! What's with the flight suit?"
Dylan sighed. "I've been called in to make a cargo flight. Our company is going to go under if we can't earn money. I...I really hate to leave like this but..."
"Hey. Don't worry about us." Kelsey interrupted with a reassuring smile. "We'll take good care of Mark. He'll be just fine. I promise."
Dylan nervously ran his hand through his hair. "I guess...still, I hate to be away. But I'd better go so I'm not late. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon at the latest."
Kelsey nodded. "Ok, have a good flight!"
Dylan smiled slightly and left the room, halfway hoping that a bad storm would force the flight to be canceled. "Come on, Dylan. Get a hold of yourself. Mark would die if he couldn't fly anymore." the young pilot shook his head in remorse.
"Sandra! Get in here!" Kelsey yelled two hours later. Mark had been rudely awoken by yet another nightmare and was trying to calm down.
"C...can't sleep!" Mark gasped, frustrated. "I...I just can't! S...so many bad dreams..." his exhausted mind tried to make his speech clearer but Mark was so drugged up and tired that it was almost impossible to make out the slurred words.
Sandra dashed into the room. "What's the matter?" she asked worriedly.
"He was having another nightmare." Kelsey whispered sadly.
Sandra looked shocked. "Another one? But that makes three today already!" she noted.
Kelsey sighed. "He's barely getting any sleep. I'm afraid the painkillers aren't as effective any more either. I've had to up the dose twice this week."
Mark seemed to settle down a little as Sandra pressed a glass of water to his lips. He took a few sips and leaned back against the pillows, his face still flushed with fever. "Thanks." he murmured weakly, his eyes beginning to close.
"You're welcome." Let us know if you need anything else." Sandra smiled, though her eyes betrayed her worried thoughts.
"W...where's Dylan?" Mark mumbled.
Kelsey stiffened. "H...he's out for the day and part of tomorrow." she answered.
"But where?" Mark questioned.
"He had to run an errand." Sandra replied, receiving a grateful look from Kelsey.
Mark nodded slightly. "T...tell him to come back soon."
"How is he?" Dylan asked, entering the hospital the next afternoon. He pulled off his black gloves and tossed them into a drawer. "Don't let me forget those."
Sandra hesitated. "He keeps having nightmares. He's got really bad PTSD." she added.
Dylan's face fell. "I knew that but I was hoping he would have improved."
Sandra sighed. "We all were. PTSD is hard to get rid of though." she reminded gently.
Dylan frowned. "I know, I know."
Kelsey looked at him, her eyes puzzled. Dylan met her gaze. "Sorry, I'm a bit upset and tired." he muttered a quick apology.
Sandra smiled. "We understand. Here we are." she opened the door to Mark's room.
Dylan gasped. "Where is he?!"
A quick glance around the room added a piece to the puzzle. "The window is open!" Kelsey gasped, horrified.
Dylan's face grew pale. "H...he's gone! He's gone!" he exclaimed, panic rising in his voice.
Sandra fought to remain calm. "H...he can't be far. We'll look for him."
The trio raced outside of the hospital and shielded their eyes against the blaring sun. "See him?" Sandra asked hopefully, her eyes straining to make out the figure of the pilot.
"No. I don't. He's got to be around here somewhere!" Kelsey replied nervously. "Dylan, is there anywhere he would likely be?"
Dylan thought a moment. "The only place I can think of...oh no. Come on! We've got to run. Hurry!"
Without stopping to question Dylan's judgment, the two girls raced after him towards the airfield. When they arrived five minutes later, they noticed the gate unlocked and standing wide open.
"How did he know the combination?" Sandra questioned, looking around the fenced in area. The red tower rose high in the sky overlooking the runway. The replacement plane, a medium craft, sleek and painted white had the name Falcon painted in black letters vertically down the tail. Dylan raced towards the plane, his shoes pounding on the asphalt. The door to the plane was open.
"Mark? Mark! Are you in here?" Sandra called desperately.
"Over there! In the cockpit!" Kelsey exclaimed. Dylan slowed his speed to a walk and headed in the pilot's direction. "Hey, Mark. It's Dylan." he said gently, placing a hand on Mark's shoulder.
Mark looked up at Dylan, confusion in his eyes. "I want to go. I need to fly the plane." he murmured.
Slowly and carefully, Dylan eased the black headset off of Mark. "Hey, I think you need to go back to bed." he suggested.
Mark seemed dazed. "What are we doing here? Don't we need to pick up the cargo?" he mumbled, his face showing evident signs of fever.
Dylan shook his head, worry creeping up his spine. "We need to go home, ok? Come on. I'll go with you." he offered.
Mark nodded numbly and followed Dylan meekly back to the hospital.
Kelsey sat up with a jolt. What had she just heard? Her confused mind tried to process the information. Could she have been dreaming? It was possible. Kelsey sighed as her eyes began to slip shut once more. The dark room was beckoning her back to sleep. The sound came again, louder. This time there was no mistaking it.
With a thud, Kelsey jumped out of her bed and hastily fumbled around for her phone and the doorknob. It was 3:34 A.M. Whatever had just happened needed immediate attention.
Kelsey nearly ran into Sandra as she stepped out of her room. When they had critical patients, the doctors and nurses of Silver Springs hospital usually slept in ward rooms for convenience. It was now becoming a routine with Mark.
"What's going on?" Sandra mumbled sleepily. "Sounded like a ghost." she shivered.
"I don't think it was a ghost. It's probably Mark." Kelsey sighed as she opened the door to his room. "Oh goodness..." her voice trailed off as Sandra peered over her shoulder.
Mark was thrashing and convulsing madly around, his feverish mind playing tricks and insisting he was in danger. His arms and legs flailed wildly as he shrieked in terror for a third time. His face was shiny with perspiration and he looked helpless and frightened.
"Mark please!" You've got to calm down! Deep breaths. Come on, Mark!" Dylan begged, standing over his friend's body, trying to break through the mental barrier his mind had placed.
Sandra raced out of the room and returned a minute later with a fever reducer and sedative. Mark's thrashing had calmed slightly but his heart rate was off the charts and his breathing was quick and shallow as he gasped for air. "Kelsey, get him on some oxygen now!" Dylan demanded, slightly harshly.
Kelsey grabbed the silver oxygen tank and carefully placed the mask around Mark's mouth and nose. His eyes grew wider as he struggled to rip it off. "Mark, please. I'm here to help you!" Kelsey assured gently, pushing his hands away.
The sedative slowly began to kick in and Mark's convulsions began to slow to random jerks, then ceased altogether. His eyes slid shut as unconsciousness pulled him from his terrified state. His death grip on the bed rails loosened before his hand fell limply to his side.
Dylan sank weakly into a chair. "T...that was scary!" he gasped.
Kelsey nodded, trying to stifle a yawn. "Yeah, no kidding! He freaked me out."
"I really hate this...PTSD is a really bad thing to have." Sandra stated sadly, glancing at Mark's now peaceful figure lying still in the bed.
Dylan hesitated. "I...I think we need to take him home."
Sandra's eyes grew wide. "What?" He's in no condition to go anywhere! You saw him on that plane. He had no idea what he was doing!"
"But Sandra, he has nothing to do, nothing to remind him of the good old days. All he does is sit here. People think when they sit. He needs to be up and moving around...and he needs therapy."
Sandra sighed. It was true. "Well, I did receive some training as a therapist..." she announced. "Maybe I can help. W...we could try taking him to the house but this could be a bad idea."
Dylan nodded. "I know. It is a risk, but it's one I'm willing...and think we need to take.
"Well if he does go, I insist you bring along the oxygen and all the extra goodies to go along with it." Kelsey stated firmly.
"Of course," Dylan agreed. "Let's hit the sack. It's going to be a long day tomorrow. I'll doze in here in case he needs anything."
The next morning, Sandra helped Dylan get Mark out to the car. After the lengthy process was over, Kelsey waved a bittersweet goodbye as Dylan pulled out of the parking lot. Turning to Sandra, she stared into her friend's face. "I really hope we haven't just made a terrible mistake."
Chapter 18: Major Setback
Sandra set her black leather medical bag on the wooden floor of the porch and rang the doorbell. It registered with a cheerful sound similar to a quick tune of church bells. For a moment, the house was silent. Sandra shifted her weight to her left leg, beginning to worry. They were supposed to be home.
There was a slight click and the door cracked open. Dylan stuck his head out. "Oh hey, Sandra. Come on in." he opened the door wider.
Sandra smiled gratefully and stepped inside the house. The living room she walked into was spacious. Polished dark wooden floors went well with the cream-colored walls. The kitchen could be seen at the back of the house with matching cabinets, separated somewhat from the living room by a breakfast bar. A comfortable looking leather couch met Sandra's gaze on her right, sitting in front of a huge paned window with a great view of the airfield in the distance. Mark was sitting on the sofa, looking tired. He managed a smile though as he caught Sandra's eyes. Dylan motioned her into the kitchen.
"How is he?" Sandra asked anxiously.
Dylan sighed, leaning heavily against the counter. A plastic bowl of half-eaten chicken and rice soup sat next to him. "He's not doing as well as I'd hoped." he admitted.
Sandra nodded, processing the information. "Is he any better at all?" she questioned hopefully.
"Honestly, I don't think so. Still, we did just move him here. It could take a while for things to settle down."
"Ok, well I guess I’ll go see him now."
"Yes, of course. I've got somewhere to go anyway so I'm thankful you can stay with him for a bit." Dylan replied.
Sandra walked over to Mark who managed another weak grin which was just a ghost of what it could have been. "Hey, Mark!" Sandra smiled as cheerfully as she could make it.
"Hey." Mark answered quietly.
Dylan stepped to the couch and bent down to Mark's eye level. "Mark, I'm going to have to go. Sandra's going to be here with you for awhile, ok?"
Mark nodded slowly. "T...that's fine. See you later." with that, Dylan left.
Sandra sat down on the armchair to Mark's right. "So, are you liking being home?" she asked casually.
Mark gave a slight nod. "Yeah, it's nice." he turned his head and gazed wistfully at the airfield.
"You miss flying, don't you?" Sandra questioned sympathetically.
There were tears in Mark's eyes as he answered. "Yes...yes I do. Very much so."
Sandra smiled reassuringly. "You've just got to get better. You'll be up there in no time."
Mark flinched visibly. "N...no! You don't understand. I've got PTSD. I won't be allowed to fly. On top of that, I can't get better. I can't sleep. I don't think Dylan knows this, but I haven't had a full night's rest in weeks. All I think about is what happened...and I have the worst nightmares."
"I'm sorry. I hate it when I have a nightmare. I can't imagine what you must be going through." Sandra admitted, knowing it was good to sympathize with PTSD patients.
Mark sighed. "Yeah. It's pretty terrible. I keep dozing off and I don't feel like eating. I'm just a mess."
"Well, there are things we can do to help you, you know."
Stiffening, Mark suddenly looked upset. "N...no! Please not therapy. I...I...oh, never mind." his demeanor was defeated. "Just whatever you think is best."
Puzzled, Sandra sat in silence for a moment. "Ok...are you able to walk any?"
"A little, I can get up the stairs to my room but it takes a while. I used to be able to climb them two at a time." Mark added bitterly.
Sandra smiled. "I'd like you to start trying to build up your strength. If you can walk, you can get stronger. I'd like to schedule some simple exercises. Keeping busy is key to not thinking about the past." she explained.
"But what about at night?" Mark wondered.
"A regular bedtime. If you can't get to sleep within thirty minutes, get up, walk around or drink some water, then try again. No watching TV at night. That can make things worse."
Mark sighed. "I don't know if that will help."
"Well, don't knock it till you try it." Sandra encouraged. "You never know. I made a list of all the things and I'll put it on the kitchen counter for Dylan."
The two sat and talked for another thirty minutes. Marks seemed reserved though, and Sandra knew he was holding something back. Still, she didn't push, trying not to force or worsen the situation. She listened to everything he had to say, offering help as she could. Soon, Dylan's car was pulling into the driveway.
"Hey, I'm back. How is everything?" Dylan asked, lugging in several plastic bags filled with groceries.
Sandra stood up. "Pretty good, I gave him some tips and left a list in the kitchen. Hopefully that will help."
Dylan nodded. "I'll make sure we follow the directions. Hey, thanks again for helping."
Sandra smiled. "No problem. Anytime."
"Well..." Dylan hesitated, ushering Sandra into the kitchen. "I have to head out on a flight next Saturday. I won't have anyone to watch Mark."
Sandra bit her lip. "I'm busy on Saturday. I'll be out of town most of the day. I'll ask Kelsey and see if she can." she offered.
"Really, I hate to impose." Dylan seemed uneasy.
"It's not a problem. I will ask." Sandra paused. "I should probably be going."
"All right then. See you later." Dylan agreed.
One week later, Kelsey stepped into Mark's living room. Dylan's face was tight. "Hey." he greeted tiredly.
Kelsey's eyes narrowed with concern. "What's wrong?" she asked worriedly.
"I think he's gotten worse. I can hardly even sleep anymore. He keeps having nightmares and it wakes me up. I'm exhausted....I probably shouldn't complain." he added soberly. "He can't sleep at all."
"Should you be flying?" Kelsey asked nervously, trying to figure out where Mark was.
Dylan noticed. "He's trying to rest upstairs. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
Kelsey agreed reluctantly. "Ok, just be safe. We don't need any more downed pilots. That's for sure."
"I know. Like I said, I'll be fine. I've got to fly or our airline will fold. Now, I need to head out or I'll be late. See you tomorrow. I really appreciate you staying over here like this."
"Hey, it's my pleasure. Now be off. We'll be ok. I'll take good care of him. He's in good hands." Kelsey assured him.
After Dylan left, Kelsey made her way upstairs and tapped softly on Mark's closed door.
"Come in," Mark's voice was muffled.
Kelsey stepped into the room. "Doing ok? I hope I didn't wake you."
"Ha. I can't sleep anyway." Mark retorted shortly.
Kelsey sighed. "I'm sorry. Are you hungry? There's leftover soup if you want some. I've heard Dylan's a good cook."
Mark sat up slowly and eased out of bed. "Guess I'll try to eat." he mumbled, heading cautiously towards the stairs.
Kelsey went ahead of him while he made his way down. While Mark made himself comfortable on the couch, Kelsey warmed up his lunch in the microwave.
"Here you go. It's nice and warm." she handed him the white bowl filled with the nourishing soup. Steam drifted upwards, spreading the appetizing aroma around the air.
Mark clumsily picked up his spoon and began to eat. It took a while but he managed to eat a third of the meal. "H...here. I'm finished."
Kelsey looked slightly surprised. "Are you sure? There's a lot left."
"I know. I said I don't feel like eating much." Mark growled. His expression turned sorrowful. "Sorry," he muttered. "I get cranky easily."
Kelsey nodded her understanding. "Why don't you try to take a nap on the couch?" she suggested.
Mark sighed. "It's easier upstairs. I'll head there and listen to my music. Sometimes that helps."
Kelsey assisted Mark upstairs and into his bed. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything." she assured him with a reassuring smile.
Mark nodded as Kelsey left the room. Sitting on the couch, Kelsey soon began to feel drowsy. Her eyes began to close and she nodded slowly off to sleep.
Panicked yells awoke her about an hour later. Jolting out of a deep sleep, Kelsey's mind raced. What was happening? Another yell jerked her into reality. Racing up the stairs, she nearly tripped. "Mark I'm coming!" she called loudly above his panicked shouts.
Hastily running into the room, she spotted Mark flailing in bed, his eyes wide with fright. Kelsey raced to his side. "Mark, Mark. Try to calm down. It's ok." she tried to sooth him.
Mark's eyes did not seem to register recognition. "No!" He screamed, backing against the wall. "G...get away from me!" He gasped in panicked sobs.
Kelsey stepped closer. "Hey, it's me. Kelsey. I'm not here to hurt you. I promise. What's wrong?"
Feeling cornered, a dangerous light suddenly seemed to flicker in Mark's eyes. With a quick movement, he placed his hands on Kelsey's shoulders and shoved hard, sending her staggering into the wall on the opposite side of the room.
Chapter 19: A Different Idea
Mark glared menacingly at Kelsey, his eyes smoldering dangerously as he almost seemed to dare her to try something else. Kelsey slowly raised her hands in a non-threatening gesture. "Mark," she called softly. "Mark, it's ok. I don't want to hurt you." Kelsey tried to keep her voice from shaking in fear. Mark's foggy, exhausted mind only registered the words "hurt you." He began thrashing around again, and began to hyperventilate in gasping sobs as he tried to force himself to escape. His mind wouldn't obey.
Kelsey heard the sound of a door slamming faintly downstairs. "Kelsey?" a very worried voice, obviously a girls echoed up to the second floor. "Is everything ok?"
Kelsey breathed a sigh of relief. "Sandra get up here quick!" she yelled.
Hasty footsteps pounded on the wooden stairs and Sandra appeared, medical bag and what looked like a sack of lunch in her hand. Mark's convulsing body suddenly went limp. Kelsey raced over to him and skillfully took his pulse. "Sandra! Get him on some oxygen now! He's going to code if we aren't careful. Hurry!"
Mark's now shallow breathing slowed to a snail's pace as Kelsey assisted Sandra in getting a breathing tube down his throat. Snapping an ambu bag onto the end, Sandra began rhythmically squeezing it to breathe for Mark. "Call Myst! We need an ambulance stat!" Sandra urged, eyeing Mark with concern.
Kelsey pulled out her phone and dialed Myst's number. She answered and Kelsey was able to call for help. It seemed ages before the flashing red lights lit up the house but in reality, it was only a few minutes. Myst raced in carrying a stretcher.
Organizing themselves into position, they prepped to transfer Mark to the stretcher. "Ok, lift on one...two...three!" Kelsey and Myst eased Mark onto it as Sandra continued to breathe through Mark through the ambu bag. Getting the bully stretcher down the stairs with Mark's weight added was no easy task but the girls managed and placed Mark into the back of the ambulance.
"Sandra, keep using the ambu bag. I don't have a ventilator right now. I'll monitor his vitals and get him on an iv. He crashed from lack of sleep and a panic attack." Kelsey informed her friend.
A few minutes later, they arrived back at the hospital. Hastily unloading Mark, they put him on a ventilator and sedative. His heart rate had slowed down to a more normal range and he was stable for the moment. Placing him in an ICU room, Kelsey texted Dylan and told him about the situation. Dylan was extremely concerned but as he was in the middle of a flight, he couldn't head back.
The night passed slowly. Sandra and Kelsey took turns watching him. To their relief, his vitals did not drop and remained steady. They weren't great, but not terrible either. The girls waited impatiently for Dylan to return home the next day.
The moment Dylan arrived at the hospital late in the afternoon, he raced to Mark's room, anxiety and exhaustion written all over his face. "I came as fast as I could." his eyes peered searchingly into Kelsey's, making her slightly uncomfortable. "How is he?" Dylan questioned urgently.
"I didn't want to worry you, but I knew you'd want to know." Kelsey admitted. "He's stable for the moment but he needs rest so badly I put him on a sedative."
Dylan nodded. "I'm just glad he's ok." he sighed.
Kelsey laughed. "If he can shove as hard as he did to me when he's this sick, he can probably pull through just about anything."
Dylan's eyebrows rose. "Shove? What are you talking about?"
"Oh, he didn't realize I was trying to help him so he pushed me into the wall. I'm ok." Kelsey assured him.
Dylan sighed. "I'm sorry he did that. Don't mention it to him when he gets better or he'll have a fit."
"Don't worry," Kelsey grinned. "I wasn't planning on it. Like I said, I'm fine."
"I guess I'll sit with him a bit. You girls get some rest. I know you're tired. Besides, I've been cooking up an idea but I need to finish up with it."
Kelsey tried to protest but Dylan waved her off. "I'll watch him closely. Don't worry about me." She left the room, shaking her head in bewilderment. It was amazing how long Dylan could keep himself awake, though she knew it would someday catch up to him. Kelsey went to the break room and grabbed a pretty dark blue mug from the wooden shelf. She poured a freshly made batch of good-smelling coffee into it and carefully carried the warm, steamy liquid back to Mark's room.
Dylan looked up, slightly startled. It was obvious he had been in deep thought. Kelsey handed him the mug. "Here. I know you prefer tea but this will help better to keep you awake." she grinned. "What are you thinking about?"
"I'll tell you later when I have it figured out myself." Dylan promised, taking a sip of the hot coffee. "Hey, I like the way you make this. It's not too sweet but not too bitter either and has the perfect amount of cream." he smiled.
Kelsey shrugged. "I've had a lot of practice. Some days in the ER just seem to drag on and on and on."
Dylan chuckled. "Yes, I hear you. I never could make coffee as good as this though."
"Well I'm glad you like it. Guess I'll be back in a bit to check on you." with that, Kelsey left the room.
Dylan slowly finished his drink, glad to feel a bit more energized. He stared at Mark's limp body and heaved a heavy sigh. "Oh, Mark. What am I going to do with you?" he paused, though not expecting an answer in reply. "Mark, you've got to get better. We need you."
Mark lay still, unresponsive. The room lapsed into near silence, the only sound in the room the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the quiet hissing of the ventilator. Dylan suddenly jumped out of his chair, grabbing his phone. "Kelsey, Sandra!" he texted. "Meet me outside of Mark's room. Hurry!"
The two female doctors raced down the hall. "Is something wrong?" they asked, worried.
Dylan shook his head excitedly. "No! I think I just came up with an idea!"
Kelsey met Sandra's gaze, each curious as to what the other was thinking. "What?" Sandra asked eagerly.
"I just recalled something Mark said to me at the house. He kept mentioning the plane crash over and over in his sleep. I think the fear of visualizing that when he sleeps is what might be causing this. What if we changed that?"
Kelsey's eyes narrowed with confusion. "What do you mean?" she wondered, giving voice to Sandra's thoughts.
"What if we replicated a really good dream of him being in the plane? With the sedative and painkillers it will seem just like one. We can pretend he's in a dream and make it really happy for him."
"I don't know..." Kelsey mused. "It might work but I'm not sure." her voice was skeptical.
"Yeah, that idea is...quite outside the box but still, I don't think anyone has a better one." Sandra glanced at Kelsey questioningly.
"Yes, Sandra is right. I guess we could try it. Hopefully it won't make anything worse. Are we doing this today?"
Dylan nodded. "I'd like to. We'll have to be careful with the level of medicine though. He can probably come off the ventilator and we'll transport him to the plane heavily sedated so it won't ruin what we're trying to accomplish. With luck, this will work."
Kelsey and Sandra eased the breathing tube out of Mark's throat and to everyone's relief, be breathed just fine on his own. "I guess he just needed to calm down." Kelsey noted. "Levels are in the normal zone. Let's get him to the plane!"
Chapter 20: Unexpected Consequences
“Careful, Sandra.” Dylan warned, nearly grunting under Mark’s weight. “We don’t want him to wake up before we’re ready. Easy does it.”
Sandra eased Mark’s head onto the cargo plane’s cot in the back, trying to move him as little as possible. “Ok, I’m good.” Sandra announced, removing her hands.
“Same. Good work. Now…who is going with him? We need someone in the back.” Dylan straightened and crossed his arms across his chest as he looked at the two girls, waiting for their answer.
“Sandra can go…I’m busy.” Kelsey replied. “I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on.” she made a face that was not at all pleasant.
Sandra scuffed the plane’s floor with her shoes. “Are you sure?” she questioned. “You can go if you want you know.”
Kelsey shook her head rigorously. “No, I really shouldn’t.”
“Alright then I guess it’s settled.” Dylan broke in, slightly impatiently. “Guess we’ll be seeing you later, Kelsey.”
Kelsey smiled. “I guess so. Bye you all. Be safe.” she waved at Sandra and Dylan before stepping carefully out of the plane.
Dylan shut the door and the cabin darkened somewhat. “Sit up towards the cockpit if you want.” he suggested. “I’ll leave the door to the cabin open so we can talk. Mark won’t wake up for a bit anyhow.”
“Ok,” Sandra agreed. Butterflies were beginning to flutter in her stomach but she tried to fight the feeling of nervousness. “Come on, Sandra. There’s nothing to worry about.” she chided in a whisper.
“What’s that?” Dylan asked curiously, easing himself into the captain’s seat.
“Oh, nothing.” Sandra quickly replied, buckling her seatbelt. She made sure it was snug before she took the headphones Dylan was trying to hand her. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Dylan grinned as he began the pre-flight inspection. Before Mark had been unloaded, he had done it on the outside of the plane so it didn’t take him very long. Soon, he started the engines.
Sandra tensed uneasily in her seat as the plane began to slowly make its way towards the runway. She peered out of the small window, watching the landscape of grass and distant trees creep by.
Dylan took his time lining everything up, but the plane rapidly began to pick up speed as it cruised down the smooth, flat runway. Sandra turned her head and stared at the seats in front of her, nervously clasping her hands. She felt the wheels lift the ground as they became airborne. Her uneasiness increased.
“Sandra!” Dylan’s voice was slightly concerned. “You ok? I’ve called your name three times now!”
Sandra jumped. “No…ah…yes, yes I’m ok.”
Dylan’s face softened. “Hey. Don’t be nervous. I’ve flown many times. You’re perfectly safe. I’m an expert.”
Sandra nodded, still not quite settled. “I…I know, it’s just that the last time I was up in the air…in that helicopter with Mark, we nearly crashed and…and it scared me really badly.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right.” Dylan agreed, remembering. “Well, I’m not injured and I’ll be careful. I promise. No nosedives or loops.”
Sandra cracked a smile. “You’d better not, Dylan. That would be a really bad idea, especially with Mark in the back.”
“I wouldn’t dare. I was just teasing.” Dylan assured her. “I’m not THAT much of an expert.”
The plane was now 2000ft in the air and steadily climbing. Sandra turned her gaze towards the window again and her eyes widened at the amazing view. The town looked like toys and the trees like a lush green carpet. The sun shone brightly, giving a brilliant hue to everything. The baby blue sky was beautiful against the dark green trees.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Dylan remarked. “Mark always loved taking off the best. It was like he was leaving all his troubles behind.” his voice suddenly grew husky.
Sandra sighed. “Yes, that is a good way to put it.” she agreed. “Tell me about Mark. I’ve never seen his real side. Only the side of him when he’s drugged up and in pain.”
Dylan hesitated. “M…Mark has a very interesting personality. He used to joke all the time.”
“Used to? What do you mean?” Sandra asked, puzzled.
“I’m getting to that. Long ago, Mark belonged to the RAF, the Royal Air Force. He was always complaining he never saw any action. I lost all contact with him for about three months and when I finally got a hold of him, he seemed…well, different. He retired soon after, and we got back together but he wasn’t the same person. He didn’t joke, and he rarely smiled. Whenever I mentioned it, he brushed off my remark.”
Sandra listened with interest.
“He still claims he never saw any action.” Dylan continued. “Maybe he just grew up. Sometimes he was pretty immature.” he grinned at a distant memory. “Mark is a very clean person. He hates to get dirty. He’s shy around women and prefers his own company rather than being with them.”
Sandra laughed. “Really? I never would have thought that. Does he have family?”
Dylan nodded. “His dad…his dad died but he has his mom, Charlotte, his step-sister Catherine and his brother Stewart are still living. He never sees them though.”
“Why not?” Sandra questioned curiously.
“Because…just personal family matters.” Dylan dodged the question, seemingly reluctant to answer.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.” Sandra apologized.
Mark stirred slightly on the cot.
“Hey Dylan, Mark is beginning to wake up so I’m going to head back there.” Sandra announced.
Dylan nodded. “Good. Shut the door so he can’t see me. Make him feel like he’s in a dream as best as you can. Hopefully this plan will work wonders.”
Sandra slid the small door closed and made her way to the row of seats beside the cot. Mark stirred again, his fingers twitching slightly. Sandra let him take his time waking up.
When he finally opened his eyes, they were cloudy, still well under the effects of painkillers and drugs. They narrowed slightly as they began to make out the interior of the plane.
“Hey, Mark!” Sandra greeted him softly.
Mark slowly turned his head in her direction, getting a better view of the plane’s cabin for his efforts. “W…where ‘m I? He mumbled incoherently.
Sandra couldn’t understand him but she knew what he was asking. “You’re on a plane of course. Where else would you be?”
“D…did I d…die?” he was a bit easier to understand.
Sandra shook head. “No, silly, of course not!”
“M…must be d…dreaming.” Mark reasoned. “H…haven’t h…had a good o…one in ages.”
“Well I hope this one is nice,” Sandra grinned.
“Yes.” Mark agreed, lazily staring up at the ceiling. His eyes drooped nearly shut.
“Look out the window at the sky.” Sandra suggested. “We’re way up in the air.”
Mark’s eyes drifted open briefly. “L…lots of blue. Pretty.” he murmured.
Sandra watched as the sedative slowly began to strengthen its grasp on Mark and he dissolved into unconsciousness once more. His face was peaceful.
Sandra slipped up to the front of the plane and opened the door to the cockpit. “He’s out again,” she announced, “but I think we’ve accomplished what we came for.”
Dylan nodded his satisfaction. “Great. Good work. I’ll land this plane and we can take him to the house. I’ve been circling the airfield so it won’t take long. Better buckle up.” he suggested.
Sandra fastened the seat belt and watched with admiration as Dylan skillfully lined up the plane with the runway and set it down smoothly back on the ground. It taxied to a stop and Dylan turned off the engines. “Ok, let’s get him off. Gently now.”
Kelsey pulled up with the car and they gently placed Mark inside. Dylan drove him back to the house.
For the next few days, Mark improved rapidly. His nightmares subsided greatly and hardly troubled him with their nuisance. Dylan’s mood improved as he was able to sleep better, as did Mark’s.
“Mark, stop slouching!” Dylan grinned teasingly.
“Oh, hush. I get tired easily.” Mark sighed, smiling back.
“Hey, I’ve got to run to my house a minute. Can you stay by yourself for a bit?” Dylan’s voice and eyes had turned anxious. “I can get Sandra to come…”
“No.” Mark interrupted. “I’ll be fine. Go ahead. I’ll find some way to entertain myself.”
Dylan nodded reluctantly. “Thanks, pal. You’re the best.”
Mark rolled his eyes. “Don’t mention it. Now scram!”
Dylan stepped out the front door, locking it behind him. He quickly disappeared out of sight.
The minutes passed by slowly. Mark waited with growing anxiety. Dylan should have been back long ago! Glancing at the clock, his eyes widened. Nearly two hours had passed. Groaning softly, Mark eased himself off the couch and slowly made his way to the front door. Dylan’s house was across the street. He was renting it for a small price but referred to it as his own.
It took Mark nearly fifteen minutes to cross the street and step up onto the porch. Not bothering to ring the doorbell, he placed a hand on the doorknob and tried it. It was unlocked. Stepping into the house, he noticed it was strangely quiet. Making his way towards Dylan’s bedroom, a shiny glint caught Mark’s eyes. Glass.
“What in the world…” Mark muttered, dodging it. Another piece appeared in his path, this one larger. As he entered the dark bedroom, he finally realized what they were. The room smelled strongly of alcohol. Large pieces of glass intermingled with tiny fragments littered the floor. An abnormal hump lay on the bed. It was Dylan.
“Oh, no.” Mark whispered, trying to avoid the worst of the glass. His shoes crunched the pieces smaller. “That scoundrel…he’s been drinking!”
Mark cautiously laid a hand on Dylan’s shoulder, Dylan jolted into a sitting position, scowling dangerously. “W…what are ya doin’ in my house?” he growled, his words slurred from the intoxicating liquid he had been consuming.
Mark hesitated. “W…what’s wrong, Dylan? You only drink when you’re upset.”
Dylan sneered, obviously not thinking clearly. “Waddya think? We’ve lost the airfield.” he tipped another near-empty bottle to his lips and took a long sip, finishing the last of the alcohol. He hurled the bottle to the floor, shattering it into millions of tiny glass particles. The noise was deafening.
“What do you mean we’ve lost the a…airfield?” Mark questioned fearfully.
“G…get outta my house.” Dylan roared, clambering out of bed.
“Dylan, snap out of it and tell me what’s wrong!” Mark urged.
“I said GET OUT!” With a sudden move, Dylan slammed a fist into Mark’s chest, sending him tumbling onto the floor.
Mark gave an agonized cry as he tried to breathe though the intense pain. “D…Dylan no!” he begged, tears spilling out of his eyes. Something warm trickled onto his hand and darkened the fabric of his light blue shirt. It was blood.
Dylan wasn’t finished. With a drunken strength, he hauled Mark to his feet, gripping the collar of his shirt. “N…next time you’d better listen.” he hissed, stumbling slightly. With a surge of energy, he slammed Mark into the wall. His head hit the un-yielding wall with traumatic force, instantly knocking Mark out. He slid ungracefully to the floor.
“Now let that be a lesson to ya!” Dylan muttered, his words slurred badly.
Chapter 21: Losses
Sandra smiled happily as she walked quickly down the road towards Mark’s house. It wasn’t a long trip as it was just on the opposite side of the airfield. The day was pleasant and the cheery tune of birds filled the air with music.
Sandra’s heart was soaring. Over the past week, Mark’s condition had improved rapidly. She hadn’t seen him in a few days and was headed there now for a follow-up on his recovery. As she passed Dylan’s old house, she noticed the door standing ajar. “That’s strange,” Sandra mused, halting her steps. “Dylan is always careful with safety first. Wonder if something is wrong…” Nervousness began to creep up her spine as she changed directions and headed up the path that led to his porch. She knocked hesitantly on the door. “Dylan? You in there?” she called as loudly as she dared.
Silence met her question. Sandra cautiously pushed the door open further and stepped inside the darkened house. The sound of glass crunching met her ears. Sandra gulped and headed towards the bedroom where the noises seemed to be coming from.
Dylan glanced up as Sandra’s shadow appeared in the doorway. “Get out.” he snapped menacingly.
Sandra was about to comply until she saw Mark slumped over against the wall. She gasped. “What happened?!”
Dylan sneered. “Wadda you think?” he clenched his fists and stepped closer to Mark’s unconscious body.
Rage filled Sandra and she didn’t hesitate. “YOU!” she yelled, startling Dylan. “You sit down on that bed NOW.”
Surprised and stunned, the words slightly cleared Dylan’s drunken stupor. He stumbled backwards and obeyed, still not quite realizing what he had done.
With a wary glance at Dylan, Sandra ran over to Mark, trying to rouse him. “Mark? Mark! Can you hear me?” Her only answer was silence. Mark did not stir.
New footsteps sounded behind her. Sandra whirled around, expecting Dylan to be there but she gazed straight into the worried eyes of Barbara, eyes that became narrow with realization. She spun around on her heels. “Dylan if I didn’t need you I’d…” she hissed, leaving the threat hanging.
“Barbara,” Sandra called, trying to keep her cool. “May we use your car to get Mark to the hospital please?”
“Yes, yes of course. You take it. I need to speak a piece of my mind to this drunken madman here.” Barbra replied shortly.
“Well, I’ll need some help. He’s out cold.” Sandra noted, trying to figure out where the drips of blood on his pants were coming from.
“Fine.” Barbara snapped. She wasn’t mad at Sandra, but she wouldn’t be getting over the nasty surprise that had just revealed itself to her anytime soon.
The two girls carefully carried Mark out to the car. “He’s got a broken rib at least.” Sandra announced. “The bone is poking through. Must have been a hard hit. His head’s got a nasty bump as well. He needs to wake up.” She shook him gently. “Come on, Mark, wake up for me buddy.”
Mark’s eyes fluttered halfway open and he moaned weakly. “Good!” Sandra praised. “Can you open them a bit wider for me?”
Mark did his best to comply but he seemed to be having a terrible time focusing on the face that hovered above his. Sandra sighed. “He’s got a concussion.”
“Are you finished with my help?” Barbara asked impatiently, with a pat on Mark’s shoulder. It was the only nice thing she could do at that moment.
“Yes. I’m fine.” Sandra got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Mark, stay awake buddy.” she urged.
Though the drive to the hospital only took five minutes, it seemed like an eternity to Mark who hovered between consciousness and unconsciousness. Plus, every jolt sent a spasm of pain through his entire body. Only Sandra’s soft encouragements kept him awake.
Myst ran outside as the car pulled up and she and Sandra took Mark to an ER exam room. There, Mark was given a painkiller and more attempts to keep him awake. Sandra carefully examined Mark’s head. “We won’t know how bad it is until we do an x-ray or he talks or…” she lowered her voice. “Something seems off.”
Myst bit her lip. “He really got Mark good. Look at his rib. That’s going to need surgery right away.”
Sandra sighed. “I know. Let’s get him prepped now, take an x-ray and see how bad this really is.”
The pictures didn’t take very long to develop and confirmed Myst’s diagnosis. The bone was splintered and several fragments would have to be removed. Mark’s head had a severe concussion, and amnesia was a great concern. Sadly, Mark wouldn’t talk and they couldn’t tell if he was suffering from it or not.
“All right, let’s get him into the OR.” Myst urged.
“Mark? Mark! Come on, wake up.” came a soft voice.
Mark groaned and lazily opened his eyes, staring straight into Sandra’s. The time for them to focus was much less and for that he was grateful, though his vision was annoyingly blurry.
“That’s right, Mark. Good job.”
Mark blinked slowly, trying to see more clearly. His whole body ached but it wasn’t unbearable. “W…where am I?” he mumbled quietly.
“You’re in the hospital.” Came Kelsey’s answer. “You got hurt pretty bad.”
Mark’s eyes closed. “F…feel like I was hit b…by a lorry.”
Kelsey’s eyes narrowed in confusion. Sometimes, British words still confused her. “A lorry?”
“He means a car.” Sandra explained. “I thought you of all people would remember that.”
“Well I forgot. Mark, do you remember what happened?” she turned her attention from her friend.
Mark slowly turned his head from side to side, trying to shake his head. He winced.
“Well you did get knocked out.” Kelsey assured him. “You’re tired. Try to get some rest.”
The next morning, Barbara found Kelsey in her office. “How is he?” she asked worriedly.
Kelsey looked up from the paperwork piled in front of her. “He’s groggy but you’re welcome to visit him. He hasn’t talked much. Maybe a familiar face would perk him up.”
Barbara nodded. “I already told the others but I’m going to tell you too. Don’t mention what happened to him please.”
“I wouldn’t dare. As mad as I am, I wouldn’t make Mark suffer knowing that.” Kelsey agreed hastily.
“Good. I guess I’ll be heading there now.”
“Wait…” Kelsey urged. “What made Dylan drink? I thought he never did that anymore.”
Barbara hesitated. “I…um…our...our airline in England has gone out of business.” she stared hard at the floor.
Kelsey’s mouth nearly dropped open as she stood up from her chair. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.” she walked over to Barbara and gave her a quick hug.
Barbara stiffened but she didn’t pull away. “Thanks. Me too.” she agreed flatly, trying not to show her real emotions.
Mark stirred as Barbara entered his room. He opened his eyes and turned his head in her direction. “Hello, Mark.” she greeted him. “Doing ok?” she wasn’t quite sympathetic.
Mark’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” he mumbled, trying to recall who the owner of the familiar voice was.
Barbara nearly jumped. “I’m your boss Barbara…” she replied, panic beginning to tug at her.
Mark looked at her blankly. “My boss? I…I don’t recall…”
“Kelsey!” Barbara yelled. “Kelsey get in here now!”
Chapter 22: A Tight Squeeze
Kelsey raced in. "What's wrong?" she gasped, anxiously glancing at the heart monitor. Nothing seemed abnormal.
Barbara's hands were trembling. "H...he can't remember me!" she gulped, her face pale with fright.
Kelsey stepped over to Mark's side. "Mark, do you remember her name?" she asked, gesturing to Barbara and trying to keep the concern she felt out of her voice.
Mark stared at Barbara a long moment, trying to place her face. She looked extremely familiar but his mind seemed insistent on keeping the memory files locked. "N...no." he finally admitted, panic beginning to make an appearance.
"Well, when is your birthday?" Kelsey tried again.
Mark tried desperately to recall the date he had previously known so well. "I...I can't!"
Kelsey bit her lip, betraying her nervousness. "O..Ok, ok, take it easy." she urged, half trying to calm herself. "You probably have amnesia."
Mark's eyes widened in horror as he tensed up. "N...no! I can't! I just need to try harder..."
"Mark, listen to Kelsey. She knows best. Try to relax." Barbara's voice was clipped and thin with worry. "I...I need to step out."
Kelsey shot Barbara a sympathetic look and nodded. "Mark, I'm going to put another sedative in your IV to help you sleep."
Barbara was shaking with rage, held in only by strong willpower. She made her way over to Dylan's house and rapped loudly on the wooden door. "Dylan, open up!" she demanded, her voice dangerous.
The click of an unlocking lock could be heard and the door opened. Dylan poked his head out. His expression was that of extreme depression. His eyes were dull and red from crying. "Hey." he mumbled.
Barbara took a deep breath. "Dylan, I am ashamed of you."
"What? What did I do now?" Dylan asked anxiously, fear gnawing at him like a parasite.
"Don't talk to me like that." Barbara snapped. "Boy you're in a fix this time." she glared menacingly at him.
Dylan ran his hand nervously through his tousled hair and opened the door wider. "What? Please tell me!" he begged, panic rising in his voice.
Barbara wagged a finger threateningly in his face. "Hush. I'll do the talking. YOU gave Mark amnesia." she paused, letting her words sink in, stinging Dylan to the core.
Dylan's jaw dropped. "N...no..." he gasped, tears running down his face. "P...please tell me you're joking! Please!"
"I'm not. This is all your fault." Barbara showed no sympathy.
"Oh, what have I done?" Dylan sobbed, his shoulders shaking with giant sobs. He made a pitiful sight.
"Yeah, that's what I would like to know." Barbara retorted angrily. "Have a good day." she added mockingly, spinning around on her heal and leaving Dylan standing in the doorway of his house.
Kelsey paced her office restlessly. A soft knock interrupted her steps. "Kelsey, may I please come in?" a soft voice asked.
"Sure, Sandra." Kelsey stepped over to her desk and sat down with a weary sigh. She placed her chin in her hands, elbows resting on the polished wooden desktop.
"Are you ok?" Sandra's eyes were worried.
"I...I don't know. I can't make up my mind."
"On what?" Sandra grabbed the wooden chair by the bookcase and hauled it over to the other side of the desk. Plopping down onto it, she waited for her friend's reply.
"Dylan. He hurt Mark!"
Sandra's jaw tightened. "I feel like punching him in the face. A kick wouldn't hurt either." she muttered angrily. "He's lucky he's not here or I just might strangle him."
"And get yourself fired too?" Kelsey asked, sighing again.
"Sandra's eyes widened. "You're firing him?"
"I honestly don't know. I'm torn in two different directions." Kelsey admitted.
"Well now that you brought firing him into the mix, you might have just saved him from my wrath. He's a good doc that's for sure."
"I know. That's why I can't figure out what to do!" Kelsey groaned. "Sometimes I wish I weren't in charge. I hate making decisions like this. Really, if he were anywhere else, he would have already lost his job. But we're already short on doctors and he...he's been such a good friend. I'd hate to ruin his career."
"Same here." A new voice broke in. Both girls looked up, surprised. Barbara was standing in the doorway.
"Hey! Come in." Sandra offered, standing up and motioning for Barbara to sit in the chair.
Barbara shook her head, dark hair flouncing. "I'll stand. Going to fire him?"
"Don't know yet. What do you think?" Kelsey asked, eager for another opinion.
"I think I'd like to give him a taste of his own medicine but I can't do that. I'd fire him if I didn't need him so badly. Mark can't fly and we're short on money." Barbara sighed, leaning heavily against the door frame.
"So, I guess we shouldn't then." Kelsey mumbled. "We both need him."
"Agreed." Barbara nodded. "He is one lucky kid."
"I'll say." Sandra muttered. "I need to go check on Mark. See you all in a bit."
To Sandra's surprise, Mark was leaning over the edge of the bed. "Mark! Are you ok?" she asked worriedly, hurrying over to him. She stopped in her tracks as his condition abruptly became apparent. Grabbing a plastic container, she shoved it under his mouth, just in time.
Mark sat up a minute later, beads of perspiration prominent on his pale forehead. "T...thanks." he mumbled. "Water please?"
Sandra called for Myst, who took the container away and replaced it while Sandra helped Mark drink the cool liquid.
"Slowly. Take it slow." Sandra urged. "Don't want to lose that too."
Mark nodded weakly, took one more sip and pushed the glass away. "S...sorry about that." he murmured.
"Are you feeling ok?" Sandra peered searchingly into Mark's glazed eyes. She didn't like what she saw.
"M...my head hurts." Mark announced, placing a trembling hand to it. "I....I'm kinda dizzy." he added.
"Dizzy? Ok..." Sandra paused, thinking. "Would you be opposed if we did a CT scan?"
Mark shrugged, encouraging a wince to appear on his face. "I...I don't care."
"Kelsey, Kelsey!" Sandra yelled two hours later.
Running footsteps pounded down the hall. "What's the matter?" Kelsey gasped.
"Look at this!" Sandra held up two pictures, obviously of a person's head. "This one," she gestured to the one in her right hand, "Was an hour and a half ago. This other one was ten minutes ago."
Kelsey's face went pale. "His brain is swelling!"
"Yeah and he's throwing up like crazy. I'm getting really concerned."
"Me too." Kelsey agreed hastily. "We've got to do something. I'm going to put him on a sedative and anti-inflammatory. We need to get this swelling down now." she announced.
"Good. Sounds like a plan."
Mark looked up when he heard the girls enter his room. He tried desperately to focus his eyes but they did not want to cooperate. "H...head hurts!" he moaned. "C...can't see straight...so...so dizzy."
Sandra lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We're going to give you something to help that." she tried to assure him. "Just be strong, ok?"
"T...trying to." Mark groaned and suddenly bolted upright. "B...bucket!"
Kelsey grabbed a container as Mark emptied the contents of his stomach into it for what seemed like the hundredth time. "S...sorry." he gasped as he lay back, breathing heavily.
"Don't apologize. You couldn't help it." Sandra reassured him.
"I've got a sedative for you, Mark. We're going to give you something to help the pain and swelling in your head, ok? It'll make you feel better." Kelsey injected the medicine into Mark's iv.
Mark nodded. "T...thanks. Y...you two are th...the best." he gave them a ghost of a smile as his eyes slowly slipped shut, his body surrendering to the powerful sedative. Kelsey noticed him visibly relax as he fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.
Chapter 23: A Nightmarish past
Sandra peered out the window as Dylan's truck rumbled up to the hospital. It was a dreary day and the rain did not improve Sandra's mood.
“You'll be nice to him, won't you?” Kelsey asked anxiously, putting her hands on Sandra's shoulders.
Sandra rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
Kelsey stepped in front of her friend, her face serious. “Look, I know you're upset. We're all upset. What he did was terrible and I'm sure he feels awful.”
“I know but...” Sandra stopped mid-sentence as Dylan stepped through the door.
“Hey, welcome back.” Kelsey greeted him. Her voice was just a bit cold.
Dylan nodded at the two girls. The dark rings under his eyes and his exhausted appearance told half the story. “May I see him?” he asked hesitantly.
Kelsey nodded. “Of course. You know the way.”
Dylan forced a smile and made his way towards Mark's room.
Mark's dull eyes stared blankly at the newcomer. “Who are you?” he asked with no emotion.
Dylan gulped and tried desperately to hide his emotions. “I...I'm your friend. My name is Dylan Robertson.”
Mark squinted as he tried to recall the once familiar name. Finally, he shook his head, fully dashing Dylan's hopes. “Nope, doesn't ring a bell. Sorry.”
Dylan brushed away stray tears. “A...are you sure you don't remember?” he asked huskily.
Mark sighed in irritation. “Nope. I already told you. No one listens to me.” He idly poked at his covers.
Dylan pulled a chair closer to Mark's bedside, unwilling to leave him. “Mind if I stay here?” he asked pleadingly.
“Suit yourself.” Mark replied with another heavy sigh. “It's not like I don't mind being in a room full of strangers who know everything about you.” he added bitterly.
Dylan lowered his eyes, unable to meet Mark's gaze. “I'm sorry.” he whispered.
“Everyone says that.” Mark's voice was nearly a snap. “But NO one tells me what happened.”
“Maybe they're afraid to.” Dylan remarked, fear gnawing at his stomach.
“Why?” Mark retorted. “I have a right to know, don't I?”
Dylan coughed nervously. “Of...of course. I can tell you...”
“Well please do.” Mark interrupted. “I'm tired of waiting here in suspense.” he rolled his eyes.
“You were hit by a lorry.” Dylan lied cooly, hoping Mark wouldn't be able to tell.
“And why was that so hard to tell me?” Mark asked harshly.
“Look. I'm sorry...”
“Stop!” Mark yelled. “Just cut it out won't you? All anybody does these days is apologize and I'm sick and tired of it. Why can't I just be left alone?” his cold attitude crumbled and he broke down sobbing. “I...I can't stand not being able to remember.” Tears rolled thickly down his pale cheeks.
Without stopping to think what he was doing, Dylan pulled Mark into a tight embrace. Mark shoved him away. “D...don't. I don't know you.”
Dylan's eyes filled with tears as his heart nearly broke. “I...I need to go.” he could barely keep his voice steady.
“Ok.” Mark sniffed, trying to calm himself.
Dylan fled the room, his vision blurry with tears and ran smack into Kelsey.
“Goodness, Dylan! Are you ok?” she asked worriedly, peering into his eyes.
“Sorry I didn't see you.” Dylan mumbled. “Kelsey we've got to do something! He can't remember me and it's eating me alive. Isn't there ANYTHING we can do?” he questioned disparately with a mighty effort at keeping his emotions in check.
Kelsey heaved a heavy sigh. “I don't think there's much we can do. We've just got to wait and see. I'll go in and check on him, maybe give him a sedative. I know it's hard but if he sees you, it could trigger a memory.”
Dylan nodded reluctantly. “Fine. I'll come.”
Kelsey gave him a sympathetic look. “Really, I think you're going through enough already. I just wanted to let you know that I won't be firing you.”
Dylan managed a tiny smile. “Thanks. You don't know how much this means to me.”
“Well I couldn't just kick you out, could I? You're part of the family now.” Kelsey grinned.
Mark didn't even look up as the two stepped into his room. “Doing ok buddy?” Kelsey asked.
“Fine. Just fine.” Mark's voice was less than convincing.
Kelsey patted his shoulder. “Do you need something to help you sleep?” she looked up as the door opened.
An elderly man stepped into the room. He walked with a slight limp and his thick graying hair was slightly tousled. He was quite fit, and his eyes were the color of blue glaciers, extremely clear. His face was not unfriendly, but gave an indication that he meant business.
Kelsey smiled warmly. “Hi dad! What are you doing here?” she gave him a quick but ample hug.
The man smiled. “I brought you some lunch. I was headed to the store but I thought I'd drop by. Who is this fine looking man here?” he asked with a smug smile, indicating towards Dylan.
Kelsey blushed crimson. “His name is Dylan. He works here.” she added quickly.
Mark was staring intently at the newcomer, a strange look on his face. Dylan stepped over to Kelsey's dad “It's nice to meet you...uh...Mr...” his voice trailed off as he hesitated.
“Oh, it's Frank. Frank Miers.” Frank smiled and shook Dylan's hand.
Mark gasped and the heart monitor registered his shock by mapping out an increasingly rapid heartbeat. Kelsey turned to him anxiously. “Mark? Mark! Are you ok?”
The sound of a sack hitting the floor caused Dylan to spin around towards Frank. His face was now as pale as Mark's. “W...what is h...his last name?” he gasped.
“Mark Holbrook. Why?” Kelsey asked, slightly curious, slightly concerned.
Frank's eyes filled with tears. “Mark! Mark I can't believe it's you!” His face lit up with joy as he ran towards Mark with outstretched arms.
A look of recognition passed over Mark's face. “F...Frank?! I...It's been so long!” he wrapped his arms around Frank in a fond embrace. The two held each other for a very long time.
“Oh Mark! I thought I'd never see you again!” Frank smiled, brushing away happy tears. “Buddy what has happened?” he asked, as if seeing the IVS and tubes for the first time.
“Wait...you know Mark?” Dylan asked, slightly apprehensively at the fondness the two seemed to have for each other.
Frank nodded, his eyes filling with tears again. He carefully sat down on Mark's bed, unable to keep his eyes off of his friend. “M...Mark and I have known each other for a long time.”
“But he recognized you!” Kelsey exclaimed excitedly. “Mark, can you remember who we are?” she asked hopefully.
Mark shook his head. “No but I know Frank.”
Frank eyed him with concern for the first time. “You have amnesia?”
Mark nodded reluctantly. “Can't remember anyone or anything...except you.”
Frank hugged his friend. “It's going to be ok buddy.” he whispered.
Mark gave a slight smile. “Never thought I'd hear that again.”
Frank suddenly seemed slightly uneasy. “Yeah well I never wanted to have to say it again. At least under certain circumstances. I...I can't believe I've found you! After all these years!”
Mark nodded, his face filled with joy for the first time in ages. “Frank...I never told you this but you are like a father to me. The father I never had.”
Dylan's jaw tightened but he said nothing. Frank grinned and tousled Mark's rowdy hair. “And you're like a son to me.”
Mark lay back on his pillows, beginning to appear exhausted. Kelsey lay a hand on her dad's shoulder. “Dad, perhaps we should let him rest.”
Mark shook his head fiercely. “No! Let him stay...please!” he begged.
Dylan cleared his throat. “Sure, Mark but we need to talk to him first. He'll be in in a bit ok?”
“Ok.” Mark's face fell but he accepted. “See you later, Frank.”
Frank sighed, unwilling to tear himself away from his friend. With a grunt he stood up and made his way out of the room.
Dylan led Kelsey and her dad to the office. “I don't know why but Mark seems to remember you.” he noted. “Maybe you can help us get his memory back.”
Frank hesitated. “What do you need?”
“Tell us about his past. We need to trigger some memories.” Dylan suggested.
The color drained from Frank's face. “N...no p...please.” he stammered.
Puzzled, Dylan pressed further. “But Frank, we need to know. We have nothing to go on here and...and I can't stand seeing my friend like he is. Please!” his voice was beginning to grow desperate.
Dylan motioned for Frank to have a seat in the wooden chair. Looking him straight in the eyes, he tried his best to convince him. “Frank, you and Mark...you two have a special bond. Anyone can see that. Mark has been hurt. He needs help. You may be that key.”
Frank swallowed hard but nodded. “I...I know. I just...just don't want to talk about it.”
Kelsey looked at her dad curiously. “Dad, what are you talking about?” she questioned, beginning to grow uneasy herself.
Frank stared at the floor. “I didn't want to worry you or your mom.” he admitted.
“With what?!” Kelsey's eyes were now wide with concern.
Hesitating, Frank began his story. “I...I met Mark when we joined the RAF. He came to me one night, barely able to breath with a bad case of pneumonia. He nearly died. I stayed with him, and to everyone's surprise, he recovered. We became inseparable. One day...” Frank paused, brushing away tears. “One day he was sent out on a mission...he didn't return. W...we were sent out to rescue him...”
“Wait!” Dylan exclaimed, cutting him off. “Mark told us he never saw any action in the RAF!”
“Well he did.” Frank remarked, his voice trembling with emotion. “W...we crashed and were captured. M...Mark was already there with his remaining team. We suffered terribly at the hands of a man named Smirnov. He tortured us and several of the crew died. We finally managed to escape. Mark and I spent three days in the searing heat of a barren wasteland before we were rescued by a helicopter.”
Frank was crying in earnest now, his shoulders shaking with intense emotion. It was clear he could not continue. Dylan placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.” he whispered. “I know that was hard.”
Frank continued to sob and when Dylan looked up, he saw that Kelsey was no longer in the room.
Chapter 24: Close Ties
Deciding that Frank needed some time, Dylan set out to find Kelsey. It didn't take long. He could hear her sobs from ten feet away. Knocking softly on the door of the break room, he waited, his concern growing.
The sobs ceased abruptly and footsteps approached the door. The knob turned and Kelsey stuck her head out of the crack. “Yes?” her eyes were red from crying.
Dylan hesitated. “Are you ok?” he asked gently.
“I...I don't know.” Kelsey sniffled, heading for the couch.
Dylan sat down beside her. “Hey, I know that must have been hard to hear.” he admitted.
Kelsey nodded, too upset to speak.
“I just wanted to make sure you are ok.” Dylan forced a smile.
Kelsey wiped away her remaining tears and smiled back. “It...it's just that he kept it from us and we never knew. It was quite a shock.”
Dylan nodded his agreement. “I know. I'm sorry.”
Kelsey shrugged. “Don't be. It wasn't your fault. Thanks for checking on me though.”
“Of course. That's what friends are for. We help each other out.” Dylan grinned. “Now, I'm going to go sit with Mark for awhile. Want to come?”
Kelsey nodded. “I bet Dad's already there. Come on, let's go.”
Dylan nearly jumped off the couch as he and Kelsey headed for the pilot's room. When they reached it, they found Mark asleep with Frank sitting faithfully beside him, dozing himself. “Dad?” Kelsey whispered softly.
Frank awoke with a grunt. “Hmm? Everything ok?” His eyes immediately snapped to Mark's sleeping figure. He relaxed when he realized nothing was wrong.
"We were just coming to sit with him. You're welcome to stay. Kelsey added, slightly less cheerful then normal. She was still a bit upset.
Frank nodded in hasty agreement. “Kelsey I'm sorry if I shocked you too badly. I...I just didn't want you two worrying about me. Your mom...she had enough to worry about with her illness.”
Kelsey sighed. “Must we talk about this here.” she gestured with her head towards Dylan and gave her dad a slightly annoyed look. Frank got the point and gave her an apologetic smile.
A pair of new voices sounded outside the hall. Barbara and Garrett stepped into the room. “Hi, Mark!” Garrett nearly shouted.
Barbara shushed her son with a fierce look. “Garrett! He's sleeping!”
Garrett stared hard at his shoes. “Sorry, Mum. Sorry Mark.” his pitiful look was impossible to stay mad at.
Barbara sighed. “Excuse us, we thought we'd drop by. Is that ok?” she glanced worriedly at Mark, who thankfully had not awoken.
Kelsey nodded. “Of course! We're glad you're here. Pull up a chair and have a seat. We'd love the company.”
Barbara accepted the offer but Garrett refused, content to stand next to Mark's bed and look on with solemn eyes. Bella's paws scratched at the hard floor as she stood up and sniffed the little boy's hand with her cold, wet nose. Garrett pet her head fondly but his focus was upon his friend. “Mum, why is Mark still sleeping?” he asked worriedly.
“He's very sick, dear.” Barbara tried to explain without frightening him.
“But he's been sick for so long!” Garrett pointed out. “I miss him.”
Barbara struggled to keep the tears back. “I...I know, Garrett. Me too.”
Garrett picked up Mark's limp hand and held it tightly, pressing it against his cheek in a fond gesture. “Mark, please. Wake up! I want to talk to you!” he whispered, tears falling upon the pilot's hand.
“Garrett dear, don't...don't bother him. He needs to sleep.” Barbara gently reprimanded, her voice cracking just a bit.
“But Mum please! He needs me!” Garrett wailed.
Mark's eyes fluttered sleepily open. “W...where am I?” he mumbled, eyes trying to focus.
Garrett leaned over the pilot's head. “Feeling better, Mark?” he asked with all the tenderness a six year-old little boy could muster.
Mark's eyes narrowed with confusion. “Who are you?” his heartbeat became slightly faster.
Garret's reaction was that of a crack of a whip. His head snapped around to Barbara, his blue eyes swimming in tears, a look of terror upon his face. “Mum?!” his voice was high with fright. “Mum, what's wrong with him?! Mum! You've got to tell me!” he was begging now, and it was painfully pitiful to watch.
Barbara choked back tears. “G...Garrett...he...” she paused, unwilling to admit to Garrett that Mark no longer knew him.
“Mum!” Garret's shoulders shook with sobs as he turned back to Mark. “Mark please! You've got to remember. Please! I'm your fr...friend Garrett. Please?”
Barbara arose and put her hands on Garrett's shoulders. “Dear, maybe we should...should leave for n...now.” she made a move to lead him away from Mark.
“No, Mum!” Garret yelled, encouraging a wince from Kelsey. “Mark! Tell me you remember! Mark please!”
Mark's heart-rate was nearly racing off the charts now. He threw off the covers, his face pale and terrified. “G...get away from me! P...please! Stop! Just stop please...please I'm begging you! Don't hurt me! Please!”
Kelsey jumped up and raced for the bed. Mark shrunk back from her. “No...stop! I...I didn't mean it...please! I...I though you were my friend...don't do it please!” he begged, eyes wild with fright.
“Mark, we are your friends.” she motioned Dylan over. “Dylan's your friend too. We don't want to hurt you.” she explained clearly.
“No!” Mark wailed. “Y...you work for them. You want to kill me! P...please just leave...leave me alone! I...I can't take...take this anymore!”
“Mum stop!” Garrett begged loudly as Barbara nearly drug him out of the room. “Mum something's wrong with Mark! I need...need to be with him...please Mum please!” his body shook with sobs as he disappeared out of sight down the hall, fighting every inch of ground that Barbara tried to lengthen between Mark and Garrett.
Dylan and Kelsey continued trying to console Mark but he would have none of it and it quickly reached to a point that was borderline dangerous. Mark's breathing was coming in ragged, sobbing gasps, he had ripped the oxygen mask off long ago. His chest heaved with the effort, fists clenched so tightly the whites of his knuckles could be seen. He was shaking from head to toe, his face flushed with fever. Their voices seemed to be drilling into his head in an infuriating way and he felt he was about to lose what little control he had left.
Suddenly Frank's soothing voice entered the mix. He calmly told Kelsey and Dylan to leave the room. Immediately, Mark's head seemed to clear just a bit as their talking ceased. Without another word, they silently obeyed.
Frank quietly scooted his chair over to Mark and looked him in the eyes, sympathy evident in the elderly man's face. “Mark, please. Listen to me.” his voice was soothing and gentle.
Mark's harsh breathing calmed just a bit. Frank nodded his approval. “That's right, Mark. Follow me.” he began a series of calming breaths, as Mark tried to follow his example. “Good, good, Mark.” Frank praised quietly.
“T...they...want...to hurt me...” Mark gasped, trying to regulate his breathing.
Frank shook his head, voice still soothing. “No, Mark. They were trying to help. Guess they scared you a bit huh?”
Mark nodded. “D...don't know...them.”
Frank's eyes held a sympathy that only a few people could match. “I know, Mark. But I'm here and I'll protect you. That's all that matters.”
“T...thanks, F...Frank. Y...you're the only person...I trust.”
Frank smiled. “I assure you they weren't after you. Kelsey is my daughter. She wouldn't hurt a mouse. She has been taking care of you for quite a long time...” Frank's voice droned on in a steady stream of talk, sometimes intermingling with soothing German phrases. Mark slowly began to relax. Frank replaced the mask on Mark's face and his breathing improved drastically. Soon, his eyes slid shut. Frank continued to talk, knowing it didn't really matter what he said, just how he said it. Mark finally fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, lulled off by Frank's voice.
Chapter 25: Left Behind
“Dylan, I need to speak with you.” Barbara’s voice wasn’t harsh, but Dylan could tell that something was wrong.
“Oh?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. Barbara sat in front of him behind her massive oak desk, brought over at a ridiculous price from England. Barbara couldn’t bring herself to part with it.
The two were seated in the MBD airline office. It was a small building but it fit the desk and the two chairs comfortably. In the far right corner sat a tall fern plant giving a bit of color to the otherwise mostly white interior.
Barbara hesitated, clearly upset. “W-we have a problem.”
Dylan stiffened. “What? What is it?” he asked cautiously, still afraid he was on Barbara’s bad side. She had been unusually harsh in her attitude towards him ever since the awful day he had hurt Mark.
“We cannot continue to run our airline under a two pilot agreement.” Barbara announced dully. “We only have one pilot and I can’t legally keep it that way without changing our license.”
The words hit Dylan like a douse of cold water. “W-what are you saying?” he stammered, heart pounding wildly in his chest.
“I’m saying that I’m going to have to-to make you the Captain and Mark will no longer be a part o-of this airline.” Barbara’s businesslike demeanor began to crack.
Dylan scrambled out of his chair and nearly knocked it over, so great was his haste. “B-but you can’t do that!” he nearly yelled. “This job is Mark’s life! It’s what keeps him going!”
Barbara couldn’t meet his panicked gaze that was drilling into her. “I-I know. But it’s illegal. We can’t continue like this.”
Dylan brought his fist down hard on the solid wood desk. It hurt like the dickens but he didn’t care. He was too upset. “Fire me instead. That’s really what it is anyway. No matter how you put it, that’s what it is.”
Barbara finally looked up. Tears were threatening to make an appearance and it took all her willpower to hold them back. “I-I can’t, Dylan. He can’t fly.” Her voice had changed to a softer one, softer than she had addressed him in a very long time.
“Uggg!” Dylan muttered, exasperated. He knew it was true, every word of it. But his mind screamed that it was the wrong thing to do.
“Look.” Barbara continued. “I regret doing this just as much as you regret it. Perhaps one day…but for now no. We’ve so many bills and we aren’t flying. This airline will fold if we don’t do something. You understand don’t you?”
Dylan sunk back into his chair, defeated. “Yes…yes I understand. I just…I wish…”
“I know.” Barbara finished for him. No more words were needed. She understood.
“We won’t tell him, will we?” Dylan questioned fearfully. Mark was in no condition to hear anything of the sort.
“He’ll have to hear sometime but at the moment, no. I don’t want to stress him out anymore. Heaven knows he’s under enough already.” Barbara sighed heavily.
“I-I agree.” Dylan mumbled.
Barbara stood up. “You may go now.” She lifted Mark’s captain’s hat off of a hook to her left and handed it to Dylan. It seemed to finalize her plans. “Here. Take good care of it.” She swallowed hard. “As of now, we are a one pilot firm.”
Dylan didn’t want the hat. For one awful minute he contemplated shoving it back and stomping off, perhaps for good. He finally accepted it though, fingering it lovingly. The dark blue fabric brought back a rush of memories. They had done so many things together in the cockpit of the plane. So many conversations, so many pranks, so many good times. No longer able to hold back his tears, he turned and fled.
Barbara stared wordlessly after him, not even noting that he had failed to shut the door behind him. When he was out of sight, she let her own tears flow as well.
The next morning, Dylan appeared early in Mark’s room. Frank was still keeping his lonely vigil faithfully at Mark’s bedside. He appeared asleep, though in a most uncomfortable position. It was a wonder he hadn’t fallen out of his chair. Dylan hesitated, a slight twinge of jealousy coming over him as he surveyed the peaceful scene in front of him. He pushed it back and quietly stepped over to Frank, laying a hand on the elderly character’s shoulder.
Frank awoke with a start and stared at Dylan. “What do you want?” he asked gruffly. A flicker of recognition was kindled in his eyes and his fists, which had clenched, uncurled. “S-sorry.” He stammered.
Dylan nodded and placed a finger to his lips. He motioned Frank out of the room.
Frank eased out of his chair, a pained expression momentarily on his face. The early morning darkness hid it from Dylan though. He closed the door behind him. “Yes?” his voice was rough, a combination of sleepiness and from having talked so much in the previous hours.
“L-Listen.” Dylan’s manly voice was cracked with emotion. “We’ve had to cut our pilots down to one. Our airline can’t claim to have two pilots when we only have one.”
Frank’s eyes registered shock and horror. “B-but you can’t!” he gasped. “That’s Mark’s life you just took away!”
A tear rolled down Dylan’s cheek. “I-I know. But there’s no other option!” he huffed.
Frank’s mind raced. He had to save his friend from this terrible fate. But what could he do?! An idea struck him like a thunderbolt. “Wait! Maybe you won’t have to!” he exclaimed.
Dylan peered intently at Frank, clutching at the tiny bit of hope kindled inside him. “What?!” he asked, eagerness making a presence in his tone.
“I can fly. I’m a pilot. I might be old but I can fly!” Frank announced.
Dylan grabbed Frank by the shoulders in excitement. “It might work! You might have just saved Mark!” he grinned through his tears. “I’ll call Barbara and see.” Dylan hurriedly pulled out his cell phone and dialed her number. His voice rose higher with excitement with each passing moment. Frank waited in agonized worry. Finally, Dylan hung up. He threw his arms around Frank and hugged him.
Frank tolerated the gesture only a second before he squirmed out of the man’s arms. “Goodness Dylan! Just tell me what she said!”
Now, Dylan’s eyes were sparkling with joy. “She said yes! It will work! Now, I’ve got to head out on a flight. Come with me?”
Frank hesitated. “Mark…”
“Don’t worry. Kelsey and the others will take good care of him. He’s sedated anyway so he won’t know. Please?” Dylan interrupted.
“I suppose. It would be so nice to be up in the air again.” Frank sighed at the memory before straightening in resolve. “Let’s be off then.”
The trip to the airfield did not take long. The early morning temperature was pleasant, and birds waking up from slumber filled the air with their cheerful tunes. Dylan skillfully preformed the pre-flight inspection and brought the plane to life. It skimmed down the runway and took off as graceful as a bird.
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Dylan grinned, glancing at Frank who was staring out of the window, completely in rapture and captivated by the view.
“Hmm? Oh. Yes, yes I really am.” Frank agreed. “It’s been so long…” his voice trailed off.
The two sat in silence for a bit. Frank reveled in the fact that he was in the air once more and was enjoying himself thoroughly. Dylan watched him out of the corner of his eye, while keeping close tabs on the plane’s numerous gauges and where they were headed. Finally he broke the silence.
“I-I have a question.”
Frank tore himself away from his own thoughts and focused on Dylan. “Yes?”
“Mark…ever since he retired from the RAF he’s been different. I know you told us about what happened, but it seemed to me like a brief overview. I hate to ask but…”
“I understand.” Frank cut in. “You deserve to hear the story. I haven’t told it because the memories are quite painful. It would be like re-opening an old wound. But I feel I should tell it.” He fell silent a moment.
Dylan waited, slightly impatiently but he said nothing as he realized how hard it was for Frank to recall the terrible time he must have endured.
“I guess I’ll start from the beginning.” Frank decided, and began his tale that seemed to bring both of them to that day so many years ago…
Frank Miers whistled as he strolled down the lane towards the mess hall. It was a lazy sort of day. The kind that made you feel lazy. He heard shouting and laughing coming from the mess hall and his pace quickened. Upon entering he found a group of men shouting and roaring over a game of cards. In the center of the madness was a red haired pilot with a devilish grin on his face.
"Sorry boys, royal flush. Read it and weep," he taunted as he laid down his cards. The other players let out a groan and paid up.
"Mark! I thought you had sworn off gambling!" Frank chided.
"What can I say? We had some new recruits, thought I would give them a run for their money," he said with a childlike smile. Frank smirked at the younger man. Despite being nearly half his age, Mark and he had become very good friends. Mark finished counting his money and stuffed into his pocket before going outside and lighting a cigarette.
"Those things will kill you, especially if you've had pneumonia," Frank scolded as he snatched it out of Mark's mouth, threw it on the ground, and stamped it out. "I don't ever want to see you in my clinic again."
"Wasn't that bad," Mark protested as he pouted. Frank looked at him severely.
"You stopped breathing kid. It was very bad. The rest of the medics had given you up. You're lucky ol' Frank was there. I don't ever want to force life back into you again. You hear?"
"Yes mum," Mark said with a sarcastic smile. Frank ruffled his hair, knowing how much it irritated the young pilot. They were approached by a heavy set officer.
"Holbrook, you're needed in the general's office," he said blandly. Mark rolled his eyes at Frank as he followed the officer away.
Frank was still having a hard time letting the news set in.
"So you've been asked to lead a surveillance team against what?" Frank asked, not comprehending what Mark had been asked to do. It was later that night.
"Oh you know, the usual. Buildings, rivers...Ol' Witmore thinks I'm the best pilot for the job. Imagine me! A bloody surveillance team leader!"
"I'm very proud of you, Mark.” Frank grinned. “I think you've earned it. When do you leave?
"O-four-hundred," Mark replied with a yawn. "Better get to sleep."
"I'll be there to see you out."
Mark with his bag on his back strolled towards the waiting jet. Eight other pilots were preparing themselves as well. He heard a shout and turned to see Frank standing at the fence. The older man waved to him and Mark grinned and waved back before turning and walked to his jet. Frank stayed until the jets took off in formation, swiftly carrying friends and brothers far away. Frank blinked rapidly to dissolve the tears in his eyes.
Frank found himself two days later cleaning up an exam room. He'd just been patching up a young hotshot who'd gotten himself in a drunken brawl the night previous. The punishments devised by the officers would be far worse for the lad then the minor gash he'd received on the side of his head. He was about to leave when a small pimple-faced radio boy came running in huffing.
"You're needed now! Strike Team Beta's come back, or what's left of it. Only three, Sir," the boy blurted urgently. Frank nearly stopped breathing.
"Th-three? Only three out of eight?"
"Yes sir. Two were killed. The rest are M.I.A." Frank's heart sank lower. Mark could be any one of those.
"Take me there now!"
Frank followed the boy to the hospital where the three injured pilots were being seen to. One out of three was gravely injured. The other two looked pretty bad, but they would live. Much to his despair, Mark was not among these. The general was present, attempting to get an account from the least injured of the pilots. He ran up to him.
"Sir, please I must know. Where's the leader of the strike team. Where's Holbrook?" Frank begged, hardly wanting to hear the answer. The general sighed.
"Holbrook is M.I.A, along with Teijents and Blake. We're currently trying to locate at least a ballpark area of where they might be but we're looking at slim chances. That bloody desert is like a black hole, swallowing whatever may come it's way. I'm sorry Miers. We'll do what we can, but there's little hope."
Frank swallowed hard, sick worry and grief filled him. Mark was out in the desert somewhere, left for dead. M.I.A....
Light streamed directly into his skull. How was this possible with his eyes closed? Carefully Mark opened them, which took quite a bit of effort. His lids were nearly glued shut with blood. With blurry vision he craned his head trying to see where he was. Big mistake. The second he moved a shooting pain went through his head making him gasp. Frantically he tried to gather his thoughts, trying to remember where he was.
"That's right. Ambushed. Plane shot down. Crashed. Two pilots dead. The others? Carefully he looked around. His eyesight had cleared enough to see that he was in a small room the size of a garage. Several other pilots were laying around the building. He tried to get up but gasped in pain. There was blood on his shirt, his blood, and his shoulder was definitely dislocated.
"Fantastic," he muttered. Suddenly there was a clang. A man in a black combat uniform and scrappy stubble on his face sauntered up to him.
"So, you think that a pathetic strike team could take out the Black Ring? Think again captain," he sneered. Before Mark could reply he slammed his booted foot into Mark's stomach. Mark never even had the air to scream as he was sent into darkness once again.
"Miers," an officer said. Frank roused from his dozing.
"Hm? Yes?" He said groggily.
"The general would like to see you," he said. Frank nodded without a word and followed the officer to the general's office. The tall rather stooped man was studying some files on his desk when Frank came in. Frank saluted his senior and the general returned the gesture before motioning for Frank to sit.
"We've recently discovered a prison some four-hundred clicks from here. If our intel is correct there are several of our men being held prisoner there. We're gonna try and send in a relief team to rescue them. I'm putting you on the team. You are our best and most experienced medic. I don't begin to doubt that won't be casualties and I want our top man on it.
"Yes sir. Thank you sir. When am I leaving?"
"The team is leaving tonight a zero-hundred hours. It's best we try to go under cover of darkness and take them by surprise. We'll send the strike team ahead so the area will be cleared for you.
"Yes Sir. Thank you sir," Frank said as he left the office. His mind was racing. Prisoners. Maybe Mark would be among them!
He gathered his team which consisted of two other medics and supplies were packed and loaded onto the helicopter. Frank was an excellent leader ensuring that his team would be ready. The strike team left at twenty-three-hundred hours and then the medical team followed an hour later. Frank loved being in the air. Despite the constant danger of being in the RAF the exhilaration of take off would never lose its luster for him.
"Prison's twenty clicks out. We should be hearing word of the strike team any minute now," the pilot flying the helicopter reported. Frank mentally prepared himself. He shoved all thoughts of Mark out of his head. He couldn't let that distract him now. He had a job to do and potentially lives depended on him to do it. Frantic crackling from the helicopter's radio shocked him out of his reverie.
"Mayday! Mayday! Strike team down! Strike team down! Abort mission! I repeat! Abort! It's a trap!" A frantic voice screamed over the radio, his voice broken up by the static. As if to underline the panicked cries something exploded near the belly of the helicopter. Frank almost fell out.
"Mayday! Mayday! We're under attack! Mayday!" The pilot sounded over the radio as he swung the helicopter around trying to turn from danger. Several more loud explosions resounded and Frank saw two jets streak past the helicopter. Suddenly an explosion went off, the whole helicopter shuddered and groaned, then pitched forward and rapidly began to descend.
"Mayday! We've been hit! We've been hit! We're going down!" The pilot screamed. Frank and the other pilots scrambled to strap themselves in. The ground was rushing towards them.
"Brace for impact!" Frank called before they hit the ground and everything went black.
Chapter 26: The Black Ring
Frank awoke with a jerk. His leg throbbed painfully. Looking down he saw that it was indeed broken. Blood trickled down the side of his head from a large gash on the side of his head. Other than that he appeared to have no serious injuries. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, he surveyed his surroundings. The room he was in was hot. Very hot. And small.
Glancing around he saw in the dim light and to his horror, seven or eight British pilots lay scattered about the room. Frank recognized them all. They wear the missing members of the survellence team that was under Mark's command, and the two remaining members of his rescue team. Groaning in pain he pulled himself up so he was standing in one leg and started to hobble over to the door. On the way he tripped over someone's legs and very nearly fell. Turning he saw....his heart dropped in his stomach.
"M-Mark?" Frank gasped as he dropped to his knees and crawled towards the young man. "Oh Mark I thought I'd never see you again!" He touched the young man's face as if to reassure himself that he was real. Mark blinked his eyes open and looked at Frank.
"Fr-Frank?" Mark murmured as he opened his eyes and tried to get them to focus. The amount of time it took for Mark to complete this small task worried Frank. Sure sign of a concussion if the tell-tale blood on the side of his head was anything to go by. He also noticed Mark's breathing was incredibly labored.
"Hey, I'm here. It's alright now. Think you can sit up for me so I can look at you real quick?" He said gently. Carefully Mark started to sit up when suddenly he jerked and cried out in pain before slumping back against the wall and wrapping his Uninjured arm around his side. His breathing was frantic now.
"Mark. Mark look at me. Just calm down ok? Slow breaths. That's it. Now listen to me. I think you've broken your rib. We've got to brace it against something so you don't puncture your lung. I'm gonna help you lay down alright? We'll take this slow."
There was a lot of shifting as slowly and carefully Frank lowered Mark onto his back against the floor. He peeled off his jacket and folded it under the young man's head like a pillow. Gently he palpitated the pilots sides and found that indeed two ribs on the left side were broken. Thankfully they were only tiny fractures and in his lower ribs so there was very little chance of them puncturing his lung as long as no stress was added to them. He unbuttoned Mark's shirt and found the source of the bleeding was from several superficial cuts in his chest and abdomen from the crash. At this point they were non-fatal.
"What happened Mark?" Frank asked softly.
"Ambushed," Mark croaked from between cracked lips. "They shot down our planes. Killed two guys right in front of me. It-it's was awful. They shot my plane right out of the sky. Don't think they wanted me to die yet though. S-said they would make m-me pay." Mark's eyes were losing focus again as he battled with unconsciousness.
"Who? Who's they?" Frank asked, confused.
"The-the Black Ring," Mark whispered with horror in his eyes.
Frank's blood turned cold. He had not the slightest idea about what Mark was speaking of, but the fear and the desperation in his voice frightened him. He put his hand against Mark's forehead to make sure he didn't have a fever which would signal impending infection. Thankfully he didn't.
"Don't worry Mark. We're going to get out of here somehow. I promise," Frank soothed gently. Mark let out a shuddering breath and and his eyes slipped closed. Frank knew it was probably not good for him to be sleeping with the obvious concussion he had but Mark looked so tired and as if ten years had been added to him. Sleep would be the best thing for him.
Frank however didn't sleep. During the night one of the more seriously injured pilots and one of the medics that had been with him died. They had sustained very serious injuries and lack of proper medical equipment sealed their fate despite Frank's efforts. Through all this, Frank never saw even a hint of their captors and white hot rage burned in him. Who dared to do this? He would make them pay. Dawn found him dozing restlessly beside Mark. The loud clang of a door woke him up with a start. Mark woke up too and Frank could see the fear in his eyes.
"Hey. It's alright," Frank reassured as a man in black fatigues followed by four others similarly dressed sauntered in.
"Welcome pilots one and all! I hope you had a good night's sleep?" The leader grinned. "My name is Kazime." He chuckled as he paced up and down the room, taking in the sight of his motley prisoners. He spotted the dead pilot and medic. "Oh, they decided to check out early eh? Take them out of here."
Two of the four men swiftly dragged the corpses away and out of the room. Frank felt the fury building in him. Mark must have sense it, because he felt him grab onto his arm. The man came to a stop in front of them. Frank felt the cold eyes burn into him until he looked up and saw that Kazime's glare was reserved for Mark.
"Hello captain," he smirked. "I'm afraid we haven't been properly introduced." Kazime nodded his head and Mark was sized by two pairs of rough hands. Frank could see the younger man bite his lip to keep him from crying out as he was jerked roughly to his feet. He was dragged to the opposite wall and his arms were chained above his head. Mark groaned as they moved his dislocated shoulder further than it was supposed to go. Kazime produced a black whip and walked casually towards Mark.
"I told you I would make you pay," he growled in a low voice before turning to the rest of the prisoners. "This is what happens when you dare try and cross me."
There was a crack as he unfurled the whip and then he brought it down hard on Mark's back. The whip bit deep into Mark's shirt and cut into his skin. Mark held his tongue and forced himself not to scream. He knew if he were going to make it through this he would need to detach his mind from his body. He needed to focus on anything other than the pain. Enraged, Kazime continued to bring the whip down on his back. Mark thought of planes and of flying. Oh how he loved to fly! He loved the peaceful feeling that came over him when he was up in the air. If it were possible he would live in the sky. He remembered as a young boy all he wanted to be was an aeroplane, if only it meant he could fly.
A bucket of ice cold water shocked him back. It was so unexpected and it hit his torn up back so suddenly that it felt like someone had hit him with a fiery hammer. Before he could stop it a harsh scream tore from his lips. Kazime laughed and unchained him, only to be shoved down onto his back. The movement jostled Mark's broken ribs sending a shooting pain that almost took his breath away. He arched his back as he cried out again.
"Leave him alone!" Frank cried as he started to limp to Mark. One of Kazime's men grabbed him by the shoulder and punched him in the gut sending him to the floor gasping for breath.
"N-no. Pl-please....y-your fight....is with...m-me," Mark gasped weakly as he tried to rise on one elbow. Kazime put a booted foot on Mark's chest and pushed him back to the floor producing a softer more strangled cry from the injured pilot.
"I swear to you captain I will make you suffer unlike anything you've ever known in your entire life," he snarled before he gestured to his men and they left, locking the door behind them. Mark groaned and rolled to his Uninjured side panting shallowly with his eyes half closed.
"Mark?" Franked called gently as he cautiously moved to Mark's side. The pilot let out a pained grunt in acknowledgement. "Hey, I'm gonna look at your back a sec and see if I can try to clean it up alright?"
Not waiting for a reply Frank moved again so he was facing Mark's back. He tore away what was left of Mark's shirt and winced. The young man's back was bloodied, oozing blood from multiple deep wounds. He knew it probably stung badly. Using the pieces of Mark's shirt he cleaned the wounds the best he could then he stripped off his own shirt so he could put it on Mark. The less those wounds were exposed to the open air the better. As he struggled the half conscious pilot into the shirt he noticed the tell-tale swelling in Mark's shoulder.
"Gonna have to set that arm kid," he said as he situated Mark so his head was resting in his lap. Mark let out a soft exhausted groan. "But you need to rest for now.”
It was Kazime's men, not Frank who set Mark's arm that evening. Mark had been lying on his side sleeping fitfully and still suffering from his recent bout with the whip when two men entered the room with a clang. Mark jerked his head up which he instantly regretted as it sent fiery hot pain down his back. One of the men, a portly fellow with a beard gestured to Mark. His companion, a massively tall man with large muscles grabbed him, hoisted him up so he was in a sitting position, and pushed him against the wall. Mark cried out and and protested but the man continued to hold him down.
The other man squatted beside Mark and took hold of his injured arm. Mark instantly knew what they were intending to do and immediately began to thrash and fight back. Muscles tightened his grip and Portly prepared to set the shoulder back.
"Pl-please. Please don't. Please!" Mark begged. Muscles shoved his head back. Suddenly there was a soft pop as Portly jerked Mark's arm up and the joint shifted back into place with a click. The guttural scream that followed would forever haunt Frank. He knew more than likely Mark had been tensed up for the entire procedure, causing even more pain. He also witnessed that the procedure was done in the most rough and crude manner. The two men left Mark in a trembling heap.
Frank crawled over to him, dragging his broken leg behind. Mark was slumped over clutching his shoulder and trying desperately to fight back tears. His breathing was harsh and ragged.
"Hey. It's alright Mark. Just breathe," Frank encouraged as he pulled back the shirt to inspect his shoulder. The bruising and swelling was concerning but would go down with time. He knew Mark was in a tremendous amount of pain but there was nothing he could do. All he could do was stand by him.
"It's ok Mark. It's gonna be ok. Just breathe. I'm here," Frank whispered long into the night.
The next morning Frank was woken up by the rough burning sensation in his throat. His head felt heavy. Dehydration. He glanced over at Mark who was asleep, taking in his pale complexion and dry cracked lips. Gingerly he picked up his hand and squeezed his index finger. The rate it took for the skin to go from white to pink again concerned him greatly. Mark was very dehydrated, as well as the other pilots who had been captured a month previous. The door clanged open and several men with sacks trudged in. Kazime followed and Frank prayed that he wasn't here with diabolical purposes. Mark really couldn't take anymore. The men gave a sack to each prisoner except Mark and then left. Upon opening it Frank found half a small loaf of stale bread and a pint container of vodka. Hardly anything to help his thirst but it would do. He did also intend to share it with Mark who obviously had been left out of the rations on purpose.
"Mark? Mark wake up. Come on Holbrook!" He said gently and Mark's eyes slid open. "Hey buddy. Got something that will take the edge off ok?" Mark nodded and Frank tipped the container of vodka to his lips. Mark took several big sips and much to Frank's relief he saw his body visibly relax and the color return somewhat to his face.
"That's some good stuff," he murmured with a sarcastic grin. Frank was relieved.
"Told ya it would help," He said with a smile. "There's some bread here. Want some?" The thought of eating made Mark's stomach crawl.
"Thanks Frank. You go ahead. I'll eat later," he said. Exhaustion was creeping into his bones now that the alcohol was taking some of the pain away. Frank looked at him.
"I'm sorry kid. I'm sorry we're in this mess," Frank said sadly.
" 's not your fault," Mark slurred tiredly. "Just got into a bit of a fix. 'S nothing we can't get out of. Especially if they plan on pumping me full of that vodka." This was said with another yet weaker grin. Mark shivered slightly and Frank reached forward, putting his hand on Mark's forehead.
"Don't be catching an infection Mark. That would not be a good thing to have right now. You're feeling a little warm."
"Not fever. Just this room. Now bugger off. I want to sleep," the younger man said groggily. He shifted so he was laying on his un-injured side on the dirt floor of the cell and gradually drifted off to sleep again. Frank watched as his shivering continued for the better part of the hour, and his worry grew. In a room with the ambient temperature of an oven Mark shouldn't be shivering. Frank sat beside the form of his sleeping best friend, anxiety eating at him like a harmful insect.
The next couple of days are a nightmare. Despite the oncoming fever and his own injuries, Mark seemed to try and keep up the spirits. He claimed it's the vodka talking. He limped over to each prisoner in turn, encouraging them, making them laugh, and calling Frank over if their injuries need to be seen to. Much to his distress, another pilot died. They saw none of their captors for a week save for the men who brought in food. Mark, feeling sick but trying to hide it, refused to eat, claiming that Frank needed it more than he did. Instead he stuck to drinking the vodka with an almost frightening ferocity. Frank grew more worried by the day as Mark grew thinner and thinner. He did manage to get a few pieces of vodka soaked bread into him which was a small victory in his mind.
A week later Mark was dozing when a cry woke him up. Sitting up he saw one of the men that had been in his surveillance team being beaten by one of Kazime's thugs. He was showing no mercy. He blood boiled.
"Hey! Knock it off!" Mark shouted as he gave him a weak shove and crouched beside the pilot, trying to examine his injuries. The thug loomed menacingly but Mark drew to his full hight and stood firm. "No one messes with any of my men. You want to hurt him, you'll have to go through me."
"That can be arranged!" The thug shouted before belting Mark across the face. The pilot was knocked to the floor and the man jumped him, punching him in fury. Despite his weak broken body, Mark fought back with all his might and succeeded in breaking the man's nose and wrist. The man slunk away muttering curses at Mark. Mark only scowled back.
That night things took a turn for the worse. It was dark when Kazime slipped in with a knife. He'd observed his prisoners closely, unknown to them, and noticed that Mark held a treat attachment to the old medic that had been captured. The arrogant little dog would pay for daring to defy him and his men. What better way than to take away something he loved? He slunk to the corner where Mark and Frank were sleeping. He was so eager in his deed he accidentally kicked a pebble, making a soft clatter. Mark's eyes snapped open and Kazime thrusted his knife out.
In hindsight everything worked out better than Kazime had planned. He would never have calculated that a boy in Mark's condition nor stature could have moved so fast, nor could he have accounted for the depth of loyalty instilled in the young pilot. The was a shout of alarm, a shuffle and the a sound that was a mixture between a cry and a whimper. Frank leaped up and snapped on the single lightbulb that hung from the ceiling. Frank's heart nearly stopped. Kazime's knife was protruding from Mark's stomach. The wicked man laughed as he drew it out.
"I told you I'd make you pay," he sneered.
"Mark!" Frank screamed. He rushed to catch his friend as he slumped limply to the floor. Mark's face was pale and clammy, showing he was in shock and hadn't registered quite what had happened.
"Fr-Frank?" Mark murmured in a frightened and confused voice. He tried to sit up but groaned in pain. His hand moved clumsily to his wound and he drew his fingers back. They were stained red. Everything clicked, including the pain.
"Frank!" Mark cried as his muscles spasmed and he cried out in agony. Kazime chuckled as he walked away, locking the door behind him.
"Mark calm down. It's alright. It's alright," Frank soothed as he tried to calm down his own screaming panic.
"Agh! Agh it-it hurts!" Mark cried as he gasped frantically for breath.
"Someone! I-I need something! He's bleeding out please!" Frank pleaded. "Breathe Mark. You've got to breathe. Just slow it down. Please someone!"
"Here," use this to stop the bleeding," the pilot Mark rescued earlier that day said as he handed Frank his undershirt. Another man came up. It was the other surviving medic.
"Here, lie him flat. Gravity will be working for us. Gently, gently," he ordered as they lowered Mark to the floor. Frank pushed the fabric up against Mark's wound, trying desperately to stanch the sickening flow of blood. By now Mark was half conscious and couldn't remember where he was. He screamed in pain and tried to flail at whatever was causing him agony.
"Hold him down! Hold him down before he hurts himself further!" Frank commanded and the pilot did as he was told. "Mark breathe. Just calm down ok? You're going to be fine. It's ok. It's gonna be ok," Frank said over and over and he tried to stop the bleeding. Mark sobbed out choking gasps and called his name. He grabbed onto his shoulder as he groaned. The medic returned with a shirt and a ratty blanket.
"One of the other men was willing to give up his shirt and I found this old blanket in the corner. We've got to keep him warm to stave off the shock. I'll see if I can get some water. The bleeding's stopped enough. Wrap him up tight."
The medic left again. Carefully Frank wrapped Marin's entire midsection in the makeshift bandage. Mark groaned and his eyes started to close.
"Mark! Holbrook you listen to me soldier. You are not to go to sleep until we get some water into you do you understand? Now open your eyes!" Mark's eyes slid open. "That's it. Now you keep them open you hear me? Don't you dare go to sleep on me!" Frank felt a tear run down his face.
The medic returned with a cup of water. It was warm, and Frank was sure it was dirty but it was better than nothing. He held Mark's head up while the medic tipped the cup to his lips. Mark feebly drank a few sips before he groaned and slumped back in Frank's arms. His eyes slipped shut. His breathing was weak and shallow. Frank's fingers sought out the pilot's pulse. It was weak and thready.
"He's in bad shape Frank. I don't think he's gonna pull through this time. Wounds like this require immediate attention and we don't have anything," the medic said sadly.
"Nonsense!" Frank snapped as he looked up from Mark's pale face. "He will live. I will make him live!" Frank said with desperation and ferocity.
Frank held Mark all night. The young man whimpered and groaned in the abyss between consciousness and unconsciousness. All he was aware of was the gut wrenching pain. A thin sheet of sweat began to form on his face.
"Please Mark. Don't die. Please. I'm begging you," Frank pleaded softly all night long
Chapter 27: A Desperate Attempt
Frank shivered in the dank cell. For some reason the air had become cold. The mood had changed in the tiny prison. Every surviving pilot winced whenever a sound of pain escaped Mark's lips, knowing that he was in agony because he'd stood up for what was right. Frank glanced at his friend who was trembling violently despite the sweat running down his face. Reaching out he rested his hand on Mark's forehead. If Mark hadn't caught and infection before, he definitely had one now. His skin was hot to the touch.
It was several minutes before Frank realized the pilot's eyes were open, glassy and fever hazed, and looking at him. Frank watched his chest heave rapidly as Mark tried to breathe around the pain. Gently Frank took Mark's hand and placed it on his own chest.
"Slow Mark. Like mine. Slow measured breaths. In....and out. In....and out. Good Mark."
"It-it hurts!" Mark whimpered frantically.
"I know Mark. I know. But you need to breathe slowly. Just follow me." Frank waited until Mark's breathing slowed to a relatively slower pace. "I'm just gonna take a look at the wound again ok?" Pulling back the blanket Frank winced. Mark had bled through again. Despite their efforts, the wound was still stubbornly bleeding if not sluggishly. Frank hoped this was because it was clotting and not because there was hardly enough to bleed. Frank stripped off his shirt and added it to Mark's makeshift bandage. He knew that the blanket would probably have worked better, but currently that was the only thing keeping his friend warm.
"Frank?" Mark murmured as he coughed weakly.
"Shhhhh, it's alright," Frank murmured softly. "Don't talk. You need to save your strength."
" 'm dying," he said faintly.
"Stop it Mark! You're not going to die. Do you hear me? You're gonna be fine. We're gonna get you out of here. We will fix you up. And you're going to go back to the sarcastic annoying twat that you always are. You're gonna be fine."
"You'll bury me out by the old airfield in Fitton won't you?" Mark wheezed out over four separate breaths."
"No I won't because firstly you're not going to die. And secondly some charter firm bought that. Some little old lady and her rickety aircraft."
"C-can't.....fight....anymore. T-too tired," Mark rasped.
"You're going to be fine. Don't say those things Mark. Please. You've still got some fight left in you."
Tears were running down his face. He knew he was lying right to his face. Mark lost so much blood already. His body was too weak to fight the infection that was ravaging through him, raising his fever and making his stomach swell with the internal bleeding. His frame was too thin, bones protruding where they shouldn't from lack of proper diet. His skin stretched, pulling the wounds on his back painfully. Frank could visibly see his broken ribs.
"You're a fighter Mark. You've just got to fight a little bit more. Please, for me," Frank begged as he cupped Mark's bruised and sweaty face in both his hands forcing the younger man to look at him. "I promise with everything that I am that I will get you out of here. You've got a reason to live remember? Your winged princess can't fly without you."
Mark gave him a weak nod and a grin that was a mere ghost of what it normally was before pain and unconsciousness pulled him back under. Frank began to viciously plan a way to escape.
The door swung open with a clang. Kazime strolled in and walked right up to Mark who was sleeping restlessly. He woke the pilot up with a kick to the side. Mark awoke with a pained scream as the kick combined with the knife wound made him feel like his insides were going to explode. He curled up on his side moaning. Kazime grabbed him and thrusted him against the wall.
"I told you I'd make you pay," Kazime sneered. "And now I will make you suffer unlike anything you have experienced." He flung Mark carelessly to the floor, making him cry out again.
"Leave him alone!" Frank cried as he floor tackled Kazime. The thug kicked Frank in the face and jumped to his feet sneering as he brushed off his sleeve. "I think I'll kill you first, make the boy suffer mentally before I kill him."
"No!" Mark shouted. Adrenaline surged through him and suddenly the pain was gone and all he could focus on was saving his best friend. Mark became a bundle of wild fury as he tackled Kazime and began beating him mercilessly. Kazime didn't even have time to call for help as Mark slammed his head against the concrete. He didn't realize that the thug was dead and continued to beat him.
"Mark! Mark stop! Mark!" Frank shouted as he lugged the pilot off the dead man. Mark continued to thrash in blind rage. "Mark!" Frank forced the man to look at him. Mark was breathing frantically but he managed to get his eyes to focus on Frank. "Hey," Frank murmured, smoothing down Mark's wild curls. "It's alright."
Mark glanced at the dead thug and then back at Frank, realizing what he'd done. His bottom lip quivered and his hands trembled. Frank enveloped him in a hug. Mark had been through a lot, but never had he killed someone with his own hands. After all, Mark was just a boy. A boy who would never be the same after going through all that he had.
"It's alright Mark. It's alright," Frank soothed gently. He waited until Mark's ragged breathing had calmed somewhat. "Now let's go. We need to get you out of here and to a hospital."
They silently left the cell, leaving Kazime far behind. Frank normally would have tried to help the others out but none were injured as badly as Mark and Mark needed help. The others could get themselves out. Despite being powered by adrenaline and the hope of escape, Mark was crashing fast. They had to get out of here quickly.
They limped as fast as the could around a bunker and came upon two of Kazime's men. Frank tried to fight them off as best as he could but they were too strong. They flung him and Mark down and aimed their guns at them. Frank squeezed his eyes shut. Bullet shots rang out. To his utter surprise, there was no pain, no screams. Looking up, he saw the two men sag limp and dead to the floor. Behind them was the pilot Mark rescued holding a gun.
"Kazime was a foolish man to come armed," he said. "Now go. You must go quickly. I passed some jeeps on my way here. They can get you far from this place. Now go! The shots will bring more!" He urged as he helped them to their feet.
"What about you?" Mark asked worriedly. All three knew what would happen if a prisoner was found outside the prison.
"You saved my life. I'm returning the favor. You're a goon man, Holbrook. You've got a bright future ahead. Now go! Go!" He shouted as gunshots rang out in the distance. Frank and Mark limped in the direction of the jeeps. At some point Mark's knees buckled and he nearly went down in the sand if Frank hadn't pulled him back up.
"Not now Mark. Come on kid we're almost there. Just a little bit further," he urged. Mark struggled to his feet and plunged on. They found the jeeps.
Frank hauled Mark into the passenger side before swinging into the driver's seat. More gunshots rang out and Frank saw a group of soldiers running to them in the rear view mirror. Slamming his foot down on the gas, the jeep's tires screeched before the vehicle shot forward, kicking up dust and sand into the faces of the oncoming attackers. Frank drove like a madman, plummeting the jeep headlong into the wire fence and tearing right through it. He had no clue of where he was going, he just knew he was getting further and further away from that dreadful place that would never cease from haunting his memories for the rest of his life. He heard a low groan and looked over. Mark was slumped over in the seat panting softly. The action had caused the knife wound as well as the wounds on his back to start bleeding again. He looked even closer to death now that the adrenalin crash had left him drained.
"Hold on kid. Please. Just hold on," Frank murmured worriedly as he drove further and further into the desert.
Frank collapsed in the burning sand. Mark went down too but the younger man managed to keep himself up on all fours.
"C-come on.....mate. J-just a......little further. Should be s-something s-soon...." Mark gasped.
He was nearly white he was so pale. Definitely very sick. His eyes couldn't focus anymore. Yet something, something was pushing his half dead body on. Maybe it was the desperate look in Frank's eyes, maybe it was the love of his planes and flying that drove him. He looked over his shoulder. Frank was lying face down in the sand, dehydration and malnutrition getting the better of him. Mark pulled himself up and forced himself to stay upright before staggering over to Frank.
"Come on Mate. A little further," he huffed as he hauled Frank to his feet. They staggered a few steps before Mark cried out in agony and collapsed. He coughed violently and moaned, curling up on his stomach. Hearing Mark cry out roused Frank a little.
"Mark? Hey it's all right," Frank soothed gently. He put one hand on his stomach, trying to ease off the flow of blood once more and the other on the pilot's forehead. Mark was burning up with fever.
"G-gotta g-get.....up!" Mark choked out as he weakly tried to get up.
"No, no, no. Just take a break for a tick. Breathe slowly alright?" Frank urged as he eased Mark onto his back. "Take a break and then we'll keep going." Frank pulled back the bandages and winced. The wound was red around the edges and definitely very infected. He looked into the pilot's bloodshot eyes. There was still some twinge of hope. After a while he looked over at him. "Ready to go?"
It took almost every ounce of strength for Mark to pull himself up again, but he did it. Frank leaned a little on Mark to aid his broken leg and the pair continued on their seemingly endless trek. The jeep had run out of gas ages ago and they had left it behind. There was no emergency supplies and they had walked for lord knows how long without food or water. By dusk every ounce of energy had been sucked out of them. Frank collapsed again and couldn't find the strength to get up. He pulled himself over to Mark and checked his pulse and breathing. Both were weak and unsteady. Mark was fading fast.
"I'm sorry Mark. I'm so so sorry." Frank sobbed as tears ran down his face. He'd failed Mark.
He laid there and cried for a good five minutes when suddenly a noise pierced the air. He raised his head. Perhaps it was just his dehydrated mind playing tricks on him. No, he was sure this time. It was the sound of a helicopter. For a moment he feared it might be Kazime's men coming to find him. A helicopter loomed into view he nearly cried tears of joy when he saw that blessed Union Jack painted proudly on the tail fin. He jumped up and down on one leg and waved his arms wildly. To his sobbing relief the helicopter started to land close by.
"Mark! Mark we're saved! They've found us!" Frank cried. There was no response from the prone pilot. "Mark? Mark!!!"
Chapter 28: New Beginnings
Slowly Mark regained some sort of feeling in his body. It mainly consisted of numbness. Garbled voices pounded his aching head. There were hands on his his forehead, pulling at the bandages around his stomach, and on his shoulder reassuringly. Something plastic was being pushed onto his face, covering his mouth and nose. Suddenly breathing became a bit easier. He cracked his eyes open. Everything was blurry and disoriented. The numbness was ebbing away and giving in to a sharp pain in his stomach every time he breathed.
"F-Frank?" He murmured thought his voice was muffled by the mask. His vision was clearing somewhat but he couldn't see his friend. "Frank! Frank?!" He was getting more panicked. He thought maybe the device on his face was preventing him from being heard. There was an incessant beeping somewhere beside him and it was speeding up as he grew more desperate. He had to find Frank. Frank would fix everything.
Weakly he tried to sit up. Hands were back on him, gently forcing him back down. The beeping was getting faster, making him panic more. He felt a sharp twinge in the crook of his arm. Drugs, he thought. They're trying to drug me. The panic rose. The plastic contraption was being forced back on his face. With every ounce of strength Mark had left he lashed out at the hands holding him. Frank wasn't here, which meant that Kazime must still have him captured. Stronger hands held him.
"Frank! Frank!" He cried before screaming out in agony. The pain had returned full force and it felt like something was tearing a hole straight through him. Someone was holding his arm down. He thrashed and screamed, fighting whatever was trying to confine him and shaking the contraption off his face once more. Suddenly there were hands on his face, gentle hands, familiar ones. Looking up his eyes managed to focus on the face of his friend before going blurry again, but he was there. He was going to fix everything.
"Hey, Mark? Mark you with me?" Mark managed a slight nod as he sucked in frantic breaths. "It's alright Mark. Everything's gonna be alright now. Here, you gotta keep this on alright? It'll help. Don't fight it." One of the hands disappeared and the plastic thing was once more pressed to his face. "Deep breaths Mark. That's it. Just relax. They're going to give you something for the pain."
Mark felt his head being lifted up a bit before settling back down on Frank un-injured leg. He shut his eyes for the moment and took deep breaths as Frank coached him. Something cold was flowing into his arm making him shiver. Something warm was placed over him. Suddenly if felt like he was drifting. He was floating away with nothing to grant onto. Frank sensed his panic.
"It's alright. Just let go Mark. Get some sleep," Frank soothed. Mark blinked lazily a few more times before his eyes stayed shut and he passed out. Frank sighed as he smoothed down the pilot's curls. He had an IV in as well, which was hydrating his body enough so he could drink some water without going into shock. Mark was already having blood and much needed fluids dripping intravenously into his body through his. The attending medic pulled back the blanket and examined the wound closely before gently palpitating Mark's belly.
"He feels pretty firm. Mostly likely he's had some massive internal bleeding. He switched on his radio. "This is Harrison. I'm going to need an operation room prepped and ready for immediate surgery upon landing. Holbrook's hurt pretty badly.
Frank but his lip concern. It had been confirmed that his broken leg would not require surgery but he would be in a cast for quite some time. He would also needed to be kept over night on an IV to treat his dehydration as well as some light antibiotics for a few minor infected cuts. Mark, however, was in critical condition. He'd known that since the beginning but hearing other medics confirmed it only scared him more. He held onto Mark tightly begging and pleading softly into the man's ear that he would pull through. But he knew Mark couldn't possibly have anymore fight left in him.
Upon landing they whisked Mark away quickly towards the clinic where he would be taken immediately to surgery. Frank watched them go, almost numb with dread.
"Miers," the surgeon called as he came out to the tiny waiting room. Frank pulled himself up and limped over on his crutches. Six hours. That was how long Mark had been in surgery. The surgeon had come out around the first hour and a half admitting that the internal damage from the knife had been more serious than they thought and they would be a while. The doctor's face was grim.
"H-how is he?" Frank asked timidly.
"For now he's stable. We lost him twice on the table. The amount of blood he lost was nearly lethal." He stopped for a moment as Frank let the news sink in. Twice, twice Mark was almost gone forever. He took a shaky breath. "He also contracted a very serious infection between the whip wounds on his back and the stab wound as well as the untreated wounds from the plane crash. He had a very slow leak in his left lung from the fractured rib but nothing too serious there. Also his shoulder appears to have been dislocated but then reset. I have no concerns about that. Our biggest concern right now is the infection. Currently he's running a very high fever and has an abdominal drain in. We're also putting him on a respirator for the time being as his body appears too weak to handle breathing and healing." He sighed and removed his glasses, he face looking even grimmer. "As much as I'd like to be optimistic Miers I know the stats as well as you do. Sepsis is a hard hitting infection that can be lethal without full body capacity working against it. I just don't think he has the strength to fight this." Frank's heart sank.
"Can-can I see him?" Frank asked timidly.
"You've been assigned to him as his attending physician. Obviously we'll be assigning another medic to help since you're currently immobile."
The doctor led Frank down the hall. They entered Mark's room and a hush came over him except the quiet hiss of the respirator as it breathed for Mark. The pilot in question looked like a corpse. If it wasn't for the mechanical rise and fall if his chest Frank would never have been able to tell he was alive. He was a grayish pale despite the bag of blood dripping into his body. His eyes were closed and there were so many tubes and wires attached to him. His eyes had dark rings under them. This was sepsis. This was how it killed. Frank knew the infection was ravaging the poor man's body. He limped over to him and put a hand on his forehead. Mark's fever was dangerously high.
"I'll leave you two alone. I would prepare yourself Miers. He's given it all he's got Frank but I don't think it's going to be enough this time."
When the doctor left, Frank settled into a chair beside the bed. He took Mark's hand in his own, being careful of the IV line.
"Mark? Mark if you can hear me I'm begging you. I know you're tired and it's hard, but please. Please fight for me. You're like a son to me. You bring smiles and laughter to all who know you. You're a good pilot and things wouldn't be the same without you. Please, don't die. Please Mark. It's not your time to go yet." Frank bent his head and began to cry softly.
Mark's heart stopped late that night. As long as Frank lived he would never forget the way Mark's body tensed up as a strangled cry escaped past the breathing tube before he went slack and everything stopped. He would especially never forget the way his frail body convulsed as the doctors were forced to jump start his heart again. When everything was working again the medic helping Frank looked at him.
"I fear this might be it," he said softly.
Both men jumped as Mark took a deep fighting breath against the breathing tube. His eyes opened as he started panicking and his chest heaved rapidly.
"Mark? Mark I'm here. Just calm down. Quick! I need a sedative right now!" The medic put a hand on his shoulder.
"Sometimes there's a minute of lucidity before expiration..." He started to say.
"Bloody shut up! See for yourself! He's fighting! Now get me a sedative before he hurts himself!" The medic rushed out. "Hey. It's alright Mark. Does your stomach hurt?"
Mark gave a weak nod.
"I bet. You've got a drain in right now. You've managed to catch a nasty infection. Never were one to do anything by bloody halves were you?" Frank nearly cried tears of relief when he saw Mark manage an eye roll. Underneath the pain and fever Mark was still there. All calm seemed to fall away though in a matter of minutes.
Mark tried to strain against the breathing tube, gagging and choking. His limbs flailed limply but his fevered mind was insisting that he needed to fight some unknown force. He lashed out at the doctor who kept attempting to approach him with a syringe of sedative. They ended up dosing him through his IV.
"That's it Mark. Just relax. You're ok. I'm right here. Just close your eyes," Frank soothed as he watched Mark slip away. He trembled as he held the young man's hand in his own, watching the mechanical rise and fall of his chest all night and eyeing the weak heartbeat with fear.
Dawn woke Frank who had at some point fell asleep. He nearly jumped when he saw a nurse gently fiddling with Mark's IV and stomach tube. Must be reflex from his days in captivity.
"H-how's he looking?" He asked as the nurse wet a flannel and mopped some of the sweat off Mark's face and neck.
"Well it's too early to be hopeful yet," she started to say, "but the fact that he made it through the night and started fighting the breathing tube has the doctor's amazed. They were all sure that he was going to pass away during the night. He may have a chance."
Frank smiled a little. "He has more than a chance. He'll pull through just to spite us all."
3:30 AM: "Can't sleep Holbrook. You're killing me here. I need you to wake up.
3:45 AM: "You're too stubborn for your own good you know that?"
3:48 AM: "Real stubborn indeed."
4:15 AM: "Come on Holbrook. Wake up! That's an order. You've never disobeyed an order and now's not the time to start.
4:25 AM "Ok. Maybe you just didn't know but the doctors are expecting you should be awake. It's been a couple days since they've given up and taken you off the sedatives. And well...you haven't yet. You need to wake up."
Frank sighed. It had been three days since the sedatives had quit pumping through Mark's IV. He wasn't making much progress and they were expecting him to pass away hours after taking him off the sedatives. Despite their predictions Mark continued to fight and now here they were. The drain hadn't pulled anything in the last day and Frank was starting to lose hope.
4:35 AM: "Mark please. Please Mark. I can't stand it. I can't stand seeing you like this. You belong behind the wheel of a plane, not in a hospital bed. Just stop this please and open your eyes."
4:40 AM: "At least breathe for me again. You haven't in a while. At least do that."
4:50 AM: "Could you squeeze my hand?"
5:20 AM: "Mark. I don't know if you can hear me but you have to wake up. If-if this it, and you really are leaving me...well, at least don't leave without saying goodbye. You are the son I've never had and I couldn't thank you enough for that."
By now tears were running down Frank's face. Mark remained still and quiet. Frank held his hand all night, never taking his eyes off him. By morning his eyes had grown so use to the pale stillness that he almost missed it. The tiny flicker of Mark's eye lids. The chair he was sitting in made a loud screech as he moved forward and pressed the call button to summon his nurse and medic before turning his attention completely on Mark.
"Mark? Mark are you with me? Squeeze my hand."
He felt slight pressure on his hand as very slowly Mark's eyes drifted open. They were clearer than they had been in days, not the hazy cloudiness of death that Frank expected. The doctor and the medic rushed in just as Mark started taking several fighting breaths against the machine. The nurse disconnected the breathing tube from the ventilator and watched Mark's stats to see if he could breathe on his own yet. The doctor began checking Mark's fever, lungs, and heart beat before gently pressing against his belly again. Mark kept his eyes fixed on Frank.
The doctor reconnected the tube to the ventilator before turning back to Frank. "I-I can't believe it but it's a complete miracle. His fever has broken and is slowly going down and the infection in his abdomen is nearly gone. He's still too weak to breathe on his own yet but the fact that he's breathing a little on his own is a good sign. He-he might actually have a chance," the doctor said.
Frank looked over at Mark, who gave him a wink.
After making a miraculous recovery Mark left the Air Force. He spent months in therapy for severe PTSD. Despite not needing help anymore he still found himself jumpy, nervous, lacking self confidence, and most of all afraid. He was afraid not to follow the rules. Breaking the rules had almost gotten him killed. It was months before he found himself re emerging into society. Of all things planes had been his bait. While reading an article he came across former RAF pilots who were now commercial pilots for charter firms and airlines. Mark thought this to be a perfect job. He could still do what he loved and it would be a safe environment for him. Despite failing six times he eventually attained his CPL and so his endeavor with MBD airlines began.
Frank sighed as he concluded his story. The cabin remained silent for quite a while. Finally, Dylan turned to his companion with tears in his eyes. "Thank you." he whispered.
Frank simply nodded, his heart too full for further conversation. His gaze fell upon the windows, sunlight streaming brightly through them. In the air was where Mark belonged and where he was at home. Though the his dream of flying seemed distant, Frank silently resolved to do everything he could to get Mark back into his plane, healthy and happy. It was a promise that would one day be the only thing that held them together.
Chapter One: Falling Fury
28 year-old pilot, Mark Holbrook tightly gripped the smooth, grey joystick of his beloved plane. His heart was racing, beads of sweat rolling in thin rivulets, prominent on his ashen white face. Normally a happy-go-lucky cargo plane flier, he had always stood out as being a jokester, the center of every party. He had a sunny grin on his freckled face nearly all the time, brightening every corner of a room when he entered one. His tousled brown hair and dark auburn eyes matched perfectly. The eyes usually sparkled with innocent mischief and plenty of daring and spunk. But not today.
The cargo plane he was flying, The Fortress, was faltering. It shuddered, increasing Mark’s rising anxiety. His white knuckled hands shook as he tried to keep the plane steady. She would not listen and gave a jolting buck that would have sent Mark flying if he hadn’t been tightly strapped into the captain’s chair.
“No, no girlie!” Mark protested. “Come on. Steady girl.” his voice was unusually high as he fought to stay calm and sooth his growing panic. Never before had he been in such danger.
The Fortress sputtered and choked out last dying breaths as her life ebbed quickly away. Mark was helpless to do anything about it. He strained to find some flat stretch of land among the lush rolling hills rushing up to greet him, but to his dismay, could see nothing. No level ground met his searching eyes. Mark glanced at a small picture taped to the plane’s ceiling. Four smiling faces met his gaze.
The one in the middle was him, looking smart and handsome in his dark blue Captain’s suit. A slightly taller figure to Mark’s right, equally handsome with neatly groomed nearly black hair, was mischievously grinning from ear to ear as his hazel eyes were locked onto the unseen camera. His hand was settled behind Mark’s head giving the impression of “bunny ears” with his index and middle finger. To Mark’s left was a short but slim lady. Her short wavy mahogany brown hair down to her shoulders gave her a business-like impression. Her lips were pursed tightly though she was smiling, but the smile did not reach her sharp eyes. To her left was a young boy who couldn’t have been more than 6. He was looking at Mark with obvious adoration in his crystal blue eyes. His light blonde hair seemed out of place with the other’s coloration.
Salty tears blurred Mark’s vision as he recalled the moment the picture was taken. A warning “Ding” sound grabbed his attention from the photograph. Low altitude. Mark could see a small town in the distance and hoped he wouldn’t crash into it. There was no escaping that fact. He would be making a crash-landing. There was no other option. The land below sped up its sprint towards his beloved plane and seemed to be sealing both the Fortress, and Mark’s doom. He was too young to die. His whole life lay ahead of him! But fate sometimes played unexpected hands.
The Fortress sputtered once more, coughed and was still. The cabin filled with an eerie silence that was deafening to the experienced ears of the pilot. Planes were not made to be silent. The constant relaxing hum of the engines was no longer. Mark was in a deadly free fall and he was helpless to do anything about it. Frantically pressing buttons and knobs, Mark tried desperately to restart the plane but the Fortress had breathed her last. The usually faithful engines would not start. Glancing once more at the photograph, Mark closed his eyes for the end. He was sure he wouldn’t make it. This would be his last flight. He hoped the rest of his crew wouldn’t miss him too badly, though his heart achingly told him they would.
Another tear slipped out of Mark’s closed eyes and rolled down his cheek as the doomed captain braced for impact. Only 200 feet to go.
Two weeks earlier…
Dr. Kelsey leaned heavily against the reception counter in the Silver Springs county hospital. Nestled amongst the rolling hills in upper Montana, Silver Springs was a small settlement nearly an hour from the nearest large town. A handful of residents, and a laid-back atmosphere, made the town a popular place to visit despite its size and secluded location. The medical center, a small independently owned building usually did not see an overwhelming amount of patients, but the workers there were kept busy with sicknesses and injuries, both minor and major.
The lady standing next to Kelsey smiled brightly. Kelsey, a slender woman of about 25 glanced out of the spotlessly clean glass window to her left. Her dark blue scrubs with hot pink polka-dots brought a cheery splash of color to the white walls and corridors of the hospital. She was of medium height, petite and quite attractive. Her auburn hair was pulled back tightly into a perfectly round bun with hardly a strand of hair out of place. Her small nose and faint freckles, fair complexion and expressive brown eyes immediately demanded attention to her face. Her smiling lips parted as she turned to her friend, standing impatiently beside her.
The latter, a female of almost equal height was wearing baby blue colored scrubs with a small print of darker blue hearts scattered across them. She had a slightly larger build but was not at all plump. Her wavy golden hair was tumbled across her shoulders, reaching down to her elbows. An un-blemished complexion, deep blue eyes and pert nose graced her facial features.
“Why do you keep looking out the window, Kelsey?”
Kelsey turned to her friend. “Sandra, you look out the window and tell me what you see.” the doctor grinned and stepped away from the paned glass.
“It’s just the airfield, nothing important.”
Kelsey rolled her eyes. “That, my friend, is not just any airfield. That is our town’s future. We are going to grow. More people mean more patients…” Kelsey’s clear, soft voice was cut off by her friends, equally caring one.
“More patients mean more money. Is that what you’re trying to say?” Sandra laughed a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. It was easy to tell that the girls were close.
Both ladies turned as the front glass doors to the hospital opened. Into the small waiting room filled with chairs stepped a tall figure of a man. His hazel eyes peered searchingly around the interior before settling on the two girls.
“Might one of you be Kelsey?” he asked with an extremely proper British accent.
“I am she,” Kelsey spoke up. “Can I help you?” she asked with an amused glance at Sandra.
The man smiled politely though his eyes hinted a twinge of apprehension at the age of the latter, as it seemed she was in charge of the hospital. “Perhaps…” his masculine voice trailed off. It is a deep voice, extremely clear and resin. “I’m here to apply for the job.”
Kelsey’s eyes widened.
“The job, Sir?” Sandra questioned curiously.
“Oh, sorry.” The man reached into the inner pocket of his black suit and pulled out a neatly folded newspaper. He laid it on the counter and Sandra picked it up, unfolded the paper and began reading the advertisement.
Kelsey smiled. “You have medical experience?” she asked significantly.
The man nodded. “Yes, six years at medical school. I was working at a hospital in England but as we…my friends and I are moving to the United States, I will be needing to find another place to work. My friends will be arriving from England shortly. I just need a job to earn some extra money. We’re buying the air field.”
“Really?” Sandra lifted her eyes from the small print she was reading and stared at the newcomer.
“Yes. We own a small airline and will be buying the property to expand our business.” the man confirmed. He extended out his hand to the two girls. “Excuse my manners. I am Dr. Dylan.”
“Nice to meet you, Dylan. I’m Dr. Sandra and this here is Dr. Kelsey as you already know.”
Dylan nodded his head. “A pleasure to meet you both.” he turned back to Kelsey who began to question him thoroughly. A few hours later, all the necessary paperwork had been signed and Dylan had a new job.
The next few days were filled with routine changes as the medical workers made necessary adjustments to fit the schedule due to the new doctor.
Dylan proved himself to be as good as could be expected and quickly proved he knew what he was doing.
One day, Kelsey was impatiently filing some paperwork when out of the corner of her eyes, happened to spot something unusual out of the window. Quickly exiting her seat, she hastened over to the glass and gaped in astonishment. It was a white plane, very low to the ground and disappearing out of sight behind one of the hills. “What in the world…” Kelsey muttered.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor behind her. “What’s up, Kelsey?” came Sandra’s voice.
“I just saw a plane!”
Sandra rolled her eyes. “So,”
“Sandra, something was wrong with it.”
“Look. It’s highly unlikely. You know nothing about planes. Come on. We need to check up on Mr. Watkins.” Sandra shrugged off Kelsey’s remark.
But both girls jumped as an explosion sounded faintly through the trees. A thin wisp of smoke rose up, soon followed by towering black billows less than a mile away. “Told you, Sandra,” Kelsey said, irritated as she grabbed her black medical bag. “This is serious. We need to get out there now. Come on!”
Sandra followed Kelsey to the small red and white ambulance parked outside the front doors. “Hey! Watch where you’re going!” a voice sounded.
“Sorry Myst, we’ve got an emergency!” Sandra’s voice sounded urgent.
“I’m coming with you. You need an extra hand. Dylan can stay here and keep things running smoothly.”
“Fine. Get in.” Sandra agreed, jumping into the driver’s seat.
Myst ran to the other side as Kelsey got in the back of the ambulance. Hastily turning the key in the ignition, Sandra pushed the gas and drove quickly towards the scene of the accident. Ten minutes later, they arrived at the crash-site. “Oh…this is bad.” Sandra whispered.
The plane…or what was left of it was a ruined mess of twisted steel, smoke, fire and the unpleasant smell of burning fuel was prominent in the normally clear mountain air. Black clouds and vastly scattered sections of the plane’s body around the downed airplane gave evidence of total destruction. Hurriedly parking the vehicle, Sandra jumped out as did Kelsey and Myst.
“Kelsey, the odds of anyone surviving this is very slim.” Sandra pointed out as she cringed at the thought of the pilot somewhere in the burning wreckage.
Kelsey maintained a safe distance but tried to peer through the un-cooperating bright orange flames. “Can you see anything moving or anyone?”
“No, nothing. Nothing at all.” Myst sighed.
“Wait! What’s that?” Sandra exclaimed excitedly. Through the smoke, a slight hint of movement could be made out. Not much, but it was something.
“Hello! Is anyone there?” Kelsey shouted above the crackling roar of the fire.
Just then, two more cars pulled up and neighbors began to emerge, curious as to what had just happened. “Hey! People! Back up. All of you. This is very dangerous. Stay back!” Myst yelled to the curious onlookers.
Sirens could now be heard echoing through the trees as the police made their way to the downed plane. Help was on the way.
“Is anyone there?” Kelsey’s voice repeated again. Still keeping her distance, she circled the wreckage to where the unusual movement had been seen.
A small dog, tan in color was in the midst of the wreck, tugging on what looked like a strip of dirt spattered fabric. Her four small paws were braced against the newly upturned earth, scarred by the plane as it landed. Her muscles rippled dramatically as she gave another fierce tug.
A soft breeze began to blow, slightly clearing some of the chokingly thick smoke. Kelsey gasped in horrified astonishment as she made out the figure of a hand stretched out in the midst of where the cockpit had been. The dog was pulling harder now, slowly, painstakingly, sliding a limp form out of the burning cockpit.
Leaving all thought of safety behind, Kelsey plunged into the clouds of fire and smoke towards the person, obviously the pilot, as his tattered and torn clothes were a deep blue color. Her eyes smarted as the smoke filled her lungs though she held her breath as long as she could. Kelsey could feel the blazing heat of the fire creeping towards her. Gripping the man’s bloody hand, Kelsey, with the dog’s assistance managed to drag the limp body to a safer area.
Sandra and Myst ran over. “What do you think you are doing, Kelsey? You could have been killed!” Sandra shouted, furious.
Kelsey ignored the comment as she choked on the smoke swirling around them. “Help me get this mask on him!” she gasped.” He’s got a pulse. Very weak though.”
The two doctors knelt down and eased a plastic oxygen mask over the pilot’s grimy, blood and mud spattered face. Several deep cuts oozed bright red blood around his jaw and forehead. “Come on buddy, wake up!” Kelsey urged.
With a coughing moan, the man’s eyes opened slightly, obviously trying to focus on the two figures above him. His face was deathly pale. His breathing quickened as his formerly unconscious body slowly awoke, bringing with it, waves of intense pain.
“That’s right. Stay with me.” Kelsey encouraged.
The man let out another choking gasp. “M…My c…chest!” he moaned weekly, clutching at a clump of grass in a feeble attempt to ward off some of the pain. Kelsey gently ripped the pilot’s already torn shirt fully open to expose what was clearly a set of broken ribs, and most likely, a large amount of internal bleeding.
“He’s got several broken ribs. Looks really bad.” Sandra said softly.
Kelsey nodded as she prepared an IV. Carefully sliding the needle into the man’s arm, a large amount of morphine began to course through the man’s body.
“It’s ok. You’re going to be all right.” Was the last thing Mark heard before drifting away into another blessed unconsciousness.
Chapter 2: Unexpected Reunion
Bright lights met Mark’s gaze when he next opened his eyes. The white brilliance shining above him onto the exam table seemed to blind him, drilling into his brain and pulling him out from an unconscious slumber. Suddenly, the harshness was blocked out by a hovering shadow. Mark’s blurry vision slowly cleared, revealing the kind face of Kelsey looking down upon his. As she saw that he was awake, her expression immediately changed into that of determination. It was an expression that gave the impression that whatever was going to be said needed to be obeyed without question.
“Hey, listen to me ok?” Kelsey’s voice was gentle but firm with resolve. “I need you to stay perfectly still for me. Don’t move a muscle. Do you hear?”
Mark groaned as the pain began to force its way back to haunt him. “W…who are you?” he asked, panic beginning to rise in his voice. A voice he didn’t recognize as his own.
“I’m Doctor Kelsey. I’m going to take good care of you.” she smiled.
“N…No! D…don’t hurt me! P…please!” Mark begged, misinterpreting her words, he frantically struggled to sit up.
Firm hands pushed him back down. “Stop moving! Please!” Kelsey urged.
Mark began to thrash, his mind screaming out that she was here to harm him. “N…No! Get away from me!” he yelled. With surprising strength he didn’t know he had, Mark shoved Kelsey backwards and sat up. Bad idea. Immediately, pain seemed to shoot through his entire body. Unable to suppress a sobbing groan, he collapsed back onto the table, writhing, his breath coming in short, frantic gasps.
Kelsey quickly recovered from her surprise and rushed back to his side. “I’m not going to hurt you. Just listen to my voice. I’m here to help.”
Mark’s eyes slid shut as his breathing suddenly stopped.
“No, no no!” Kelsey exclaimed. Quickly placing her hands on Mark chest, she began CPR, yelling for Sandra as she did so.
Mark awoke again, several hours later. He blinked his eyes, trying to make out where he was. To his relief, the sharp stabbing pains in his chest had been replaced by a dull throb that was uncomfortable, but bearable. His eyes took in the pure white walls around him and he shuddered. What type of torture room was he in?
Just then, Dr. Kelsey entered the room. “Hey buddy!” she greeted kindly. “Did you have a good rest? We thought we’d lost you there. An emergency surgery to fix a punctured lung and set your ribs…you had quite a nasty fall from that plane. What happened?” Kelsey asked kindly, but curiously.
Mark struggled to find the words to answer her question. His mind was racing. Should he tell her? No, it was too risky. He couldn’t afford to trust anyone. Better make up something. “A…a bird.” he croaked, his voice cracking. The sound of it startled him.
“Hey, take it easy. You’re all right.” Kelsey assured Mark.
Mark nodded, though his expression was not at all relaxed. “I…it was a bird.” he repeated. “I…it flew into my e…engine. I tried to land…couldn’t make it.” he said in nearly a whisper. He was already exhausted from the simple effort of talking. It was frustrating. Suddenly remembering something, Mark gave a start. “M…My plane! I…is she ok?”
Kelsey’s face fell. “The plane is completely torn apart. There’s no way it can be repaired. I’m so sorry.” she admitted truthfully.
“No! Not my plane! Not Fortress!” Mark sobbed uncontrollably. “What have I done…no…please no. Why did you do this to me?” he asked, suddenly exploding in a combination of anger and tears.
“Do what?”
Mark tried to get out of bed and ended up being pushed back down again. Knowing he was too weak to fight, he watched helplessly as Sandra came in with some leather straps. “W…what are you going to do?” Mark trembled in obvious fright.
“Mark, we really can’t afford for you to hurt yourself worse.” Kelsey said sympathetically as she began putting restraints onto Mark’s wrists. Mark began to struggle again.
“Please, just calm down. We’re not going to hurt you.” Sandra urged.
A third set of footsteps echo down the hall before stopping outside of Mark’s room. The doorknob turned slowly before the door opened.Mark trembled. What type of torture had these people planned for him? He didn’t know how much more he could take.
Dr. Dylan entered the room with a ready smile on his face. “Hello there…” his voice trailed off as his jaw dropped and tears sprang to his eyes. The clipboard he was carrying fell to the floor with a loud clatter. “M…Mark?” he gaped in horrified astonishment. “Mark you were the one who crashed the plane? Oh no…”
Kelsey watched, amazed, as Mark’s face went from ashen white and terrified to a hope-filled, joyous expression. “D…Dylan?” he gasped, raising a trembling hand in the latter’s direction.
Dylan ran over and wrapped his arms carefully around Mark’s tattered and bruised body. Both men were crying out a tear-filled reunion as Kelsey and Sandra watched, unsure of what to make of the scene.
“Y…you know this…this Mark?” Kelsey finally stammered.
“Yes, yes!” Dylan nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from Mark’s face. “He was bringing the plane over from England…” his deep voice trailed off again as the color drained rapidly from his face. He grasped Mark’s hand tightly. “Were Garrett and Barbara…” Dylan paused, unable to finish his sentence.
Mark shook his head and lay back wearily against the plump white pillows. “They w…weren’t on the plane. Barbara was trying to finish up some last m…minute work.”
Dylan’s eyes closed in relief. “Thank God.” he sighed. “I couldn’t have lived with the thought of them gone.” Dylan looked up to see the two girls had quietly slipped out of the room.
Chapter Three: A Past Not Forgotten
Over the next few days, Mark journeyed on the path to recovery. His ribs were healing quite well, but his damaged lung was still giving him trouble. He could not be off the oxygen mask for long periods of time before he was wheezing and gasping for air.
Almost a week after the incident, Mark was sitting alone in the quiet hospital room, gazing up at the ceiling thinking about his plane. The only sound was the soft ticking of the black bordered clock slowly counting away the hours. Under Dylan's suggestion and now that Mark figured he was not in danger at the hospital, the restraints had been removed. He jumped as a cold hand grabbed his wrist. Turning his head towards a figure standing over him, his heart nearly stopped beating. "Smirnov? W...what are you doing here?!" Mark gasped, trying to wrench his arm out of the iron grasp clamped around his wrist.
"Hello, Mark!" the man smiled coldly. His voice was too calm and his piercing black eyes burned with a fury that could only mean one thing, revenge. "I'm glad to see you still remember me. I was hoping you would have been dead by now but ahh...your time will come." The speaker's voice was thin and not at all pleasant.
Mark stared horrified into the face of a man he had hoped never to see again. His shaggy black hair was messy, bushy black eyebrows and narrowed eyes gave him a shifty, un-kept appearance. His grip tightened on Mark's arm, making him wince.
"Am I hurting the poor captain?" the evil figure sneered mockingly. "I thought you'd be tougher than that. Apparently not."
Mark's eyes darted frantically around the room, looking for someone, anyone to help him. He contemplated crying out for help.
"Do it and your friends will die." Smirnov warned menacingly. "I have already taken care of them. You're next on the list."
Mark paled. "D...don't touch them. Take me instead. I'll do anything. Don't hurt them! Please!"
"Captain, do you not listen?" Smirnov sighed. "I said I have already taken care of them. Now, come on." he pried off the oxygen mask. "I hope you won't be needing this...or this." Smirnov roughly yanked out the IV line, nearly causing Mark to cry out in pain.
A sharp blow on the head caught Mark by surprise and the world suddenly went dark.
"Mark, Mark! Can you hear me?" a manly voice urged. The comforting British accent and tone seemed familiar. "Mark wake up!"
"I...I'm awake..." Mark groaned. His memory suddenly returned, crashing down on him like a brick wall as he remembered what had happened. "W...where are we? Dylan! They got you too?"
"Hush." Dylan warned. "Yes. Myst too."
Mark glanced to his right and saw the dim outline of Myst huddled in the corner. She seemed to be crying. Dylan helped prop Mark up against a cold cinderblock wall as he took in his surroundings. They were in a small room. Concrete surrounded them with no windows. In front of him were bars from the low ceiling to the floor, giving them the impression of a jail-cell. The room was dark and not at all inviting.
"Where are we?" Mark repeated, taking a slightly labored breath.
"I don't know. We all got knocked out, same as you." Dylan gestured to a fairly large lump on his forehead. "Mark, who is this man? He obviously knows you..."
Mark swallowed hard, wishing he could disappear. "I...I don't know." he lied, hoping Dylan wouldn't be able to tell. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.
Dylan looked at him worriedly but didn't press further. "Myst are you ok?" he asked instead.
"Yeah, fine." came an unconvincing reply. "Where's Sandra?"
"They didn't get her?" Dylan asked excitedly, a faint ray of hope emerging into his mind.
"Apparently not." Myst replied sourly. "I didn't ask for any of this!" she nearly shouted.
"I didn't either." a new voice broke in, thin, low, and sickeningly gentle. "No, no dearest Mark. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Don't you?"
Mark's eyes popped open but he said not a word.
"Listen, you," Smirnov’s voice rumbled, obviously directed at Mark. "I'm going to make you pay dearly for what you did. I'm your worst nightmare. You are going to pay the ultimate price. But first..." he went on coolly, "You are going to suffer, just as I did. How about watching your friends..." he broke off his sentence as the doors to the cell rattled loudly open. Stepping into the cell, Smirnov grabbed Dylan roughly by the arm and drug him out of the chamber. Shoving him onto the floor, Smirnov locked the cell door and pulled a 45 pistol out of the leather holster hanging by his side.
"W...what are you going to do with that?" Myst asked, trembling.
"Patience my dear, patience. All in due time." Smirnov grinned evilly, enjoying Myst's helplessness. He grabbed Dylan's collar and pulled him off the floor, thrusting the weapon into his hand. "Shoot her." he commanded fiercely, ready to make a move if Dylan dare try something else.
Dylan's voice trembled. "N...no. I won't. Not ever." he stammered, his face as white as a sheet.
Smirnov rolled his eyes. "Then I will assist you. Really Dylan, I thought this would be more entertaining." He gripped Dylan's hand around the gun, forcing the doctor to keep the weapon in his grasp. His finger slid towards the trigger.
Myst stood up, shaking with fear. "P...please no!" she begged.
Smirnov laughed, sending chills down his captive's spine. He prepared to press Dylan's hand to squeeze the trigger. It inched backwards.
"Noooo!" Myst screamed as the gun resounded with a bang that echoed like a bomb going off around the room. Simultaneously, a figure jumped in front of Myst's body and crumpled to the floor. "Mark!" Myst gasped in horror.
Mark had lept up and stepped in front of Myst to take the deadly bullet for her. He moaned and clutched at his chest as blood oozed from the wound. Smirnov's face was a mask of rage. He wrenched the gun from Dylan's hand, preparing to finish what he had started. Dylan took the opportunity to knock the burly figure off balance and he crashed to the floor, striking his head with a thudding crack.
"Oh, Mark!" Myst sobbed, kneeling beside him.
Mark struggled to breathe, already weak from loss of blood and his lung, still not fully healed, did not help. "I...I h...had to...Myst." he gasped. It was all he could manage.
Dylan had unlocked the cell with Smirnov's keys and was now beside Mark's limp body. "Come on, buddy! It's going to be ok. Stay with me!" Dylan begged.
"Dylan! Myst! Mark!" a panic-stricken voice echoed from far away. "Are you down there?"
"Yes! Sandra! Thank God. We're down here! Hurry! Mark has been shot!"
Chapter Four: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
Mark lay in bed, scenes of the nightmare the day before replaying themselves over and over in his mind. The bullet had barely missed his lung. He had been told he was lucky to be alive. Mark sighed tiredly. The time off of the oxygen had really put a strain on him and he was exhausted. His hand reached out to touch the bandage around his chest. Even the slightest hint of pressure caused him pain.
A knock sounded softly on the door. "Mark, you awake?" Dylan's voice sounded muffled.
"Yeah, come in."
The door opened softly and Dylan stepped in with a forced smile. "How are you feeling?" he asked gently.
Mark rolled his eyes. "I've been better."
Dylan pat Mark's left uninjured shoulder. "I'm sorry buddy. Listen. I have some good news. Barbara and Garrett are going to be here shortly. They just left from England."
Mark sighed. "Good. It will be nice to see them again.
Dylan nodded and watched as Mark slowly drifted off into a restless sleep.
Meanwhile, Kelsey was driving back to Silver Springs. After several hours of driving, she was nearly home. Having been told what had happened by Sandra, She had left the conference immediately. It was late at right...or rather, early morning. "Come on Kelsey, don't fall asleep." she forced her heavy eyes to stay open. The soothing drone of the engine had other plans though. Despite herself, Kelsey began to drift off to sleep. Her head slumped forwards and she awoke with a jerk. "No, no. Come on. We're almost home." Kelsey chided herself. "Just a bit longer." It was no use. She was lulled off to sleep again, not noticing she was drifting out of her lane.
Faint voices swirled around, sometimes closer, sometimes further away. They sounded worried. What was wrong? A hand tugged at something around her head. That couldn't be normal. What was it?" The voices were closer now, words began to make sense. An accident? What had happened? They kept saying the name Kelsey. Who was Kelsey?
Finally summoning the strength to open her eyes, Kelsey gazed into the tear-filled face of a complete stranger.
"Oh, Kelsey!" the woman sobbed. "I'm so sorry, honey. What happened?"
"W...who's Kelsey?"
The face registered surprise. "You are Kelsey. Don't you remember?" Her voice was rising higher. "Do you remember me?"
Kelsey peered into the eyes of her friend Sandra, trying desperately to recall some memory of who she was. It was no use. "N...No. I don't. Do I know you?" she mumbled.
Sandra gave a heartbroken sob, turned away, and left the room. Now a man was standing over her. He looked concerned. "Hey, Kelsey, it's me, Dylan."
"Dylan?" Kelsey repeated. "Where am I?" she shifted her head slightly. "Oww! Oh, my head. Oww. What's happening?"
"Hey, stay put. It's ok. Don't try to move around. You were driving home when you hit a tree. It seems you fell asleep. You are in the Silver Springs hospital."
"Silver Springs? Where's that?" Kelsey asked, confused. She had no idea who any of these people were or what they wanted. Her head ached dreadfully, and she was so tired her eyes could hardly stay open.
"I want you to get some rest now." Dylan suggested. "I'm going to turn off the lights. Your head should stop hurting soon. Just rest ok? One of us will be in to check on you shortly."
Kelsey didn't answer. She was already asleep.
Dylan made his way to the office where he found Sandra sobbing. "Hey, sorry to bother you." he apologized.
Sandra looked up and hastily brushed away tears. "She has amnesia, doesn't she?"
Dylan sighed and placed his hands on the wooden desk, leaning on them heavily. "It sure seems like it. She has a pretty severe head injury."
Sandra buried her face in her hands. "What are we going to do?" she sobbed..
"Sandra, listen. From what little I know of Kelsey, she's as tough as nails and can pull through just about anything. Amnesia's a tricky injury. Sometimes it only lasts a few days...sometimes it takes a while to regain full memory. She'll pull through."
"I know. Thanks. I guess I’m just pretty shaken up."
"Don't worry about it. We all are. Hey, want to come check on Mark with me?"
Sandra hesitated. "Actually, I need to go talk to Myst. She's having a hard time accepting what happened with you and Mark. I need to go try and talk some sense into her. I made her take a nap in one of the rooms."
Dylan nodded worriedly and stepped out of the office.
Sandra quietly opened the door to Myst's room. The young girl with long black hair and a girlish face was lying in the bed, asleep. Her peaceful expression diminished. "N...no no! Don't do it. D...don't do it!" sweat broke out on Myst's face as she began to thrash around, in the middle of a nightmare. Her fingers clutched at the light blue sheets.
"Myst! Myst honey, wake up. It's just a dream."
Myst sleepily opened her eyes. "Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed.
Deciding it wasn't the time for a talk, Sandra slipped out of the room and headed over to Mark's. To her surprise, just outside the door sat a dog looking extremely similar to the one who had helped pull Mark out of the plane's burning wreck. She was staring earnestly at the door, her liquid brown eyes giving a pleading expression that would have caused a rock to waver. A small whine escaped her throat. Hearing footsteps, she turned to see Sandra approaching.
"Hey, girl! How in the world did you get in here?" Sandra wondered out loud. The dog circled Sandra's legs, tail wagging at ninety miles an hour. "You want in, don't you? Well, let's see what happens. Mark could use a friend right about now."
Opening the door, the dog raced through the crack, nearly running into Dylan who was about to step through from the other direction. "Whoa! What's going on here?" he jumped, startled. The dog jumped onto Mark's bed and began to lick his face.
"I have no clue who she is, but that dog has certainly has taken a fancy to him." Sandra admitted.
Dylan nodded distractedly. "We have another problem. Mark tore his stitches."
Chapter Five: Aftermath
"Well, how did he do that?" Sandra asked Dylan curiously as she helped him ease Mark into a wheelchair.
"I...it was just a nightmare. T...that's all." Mark answered for him.
"You're not the only one..." Sandra admitted, thinking of Myst. Sandra herself had not been sleeping well either. How could anyone rest peacefully when their best friend was lying critically injured in a hospital bed?
Dylan eased the oxygen mask off Mark's face, unfolded the footrests on the wheelchair and placed Mark's slippered feet onto them. Sandra stepped behind the wheelchair and began to push it down the long halls towards the ER exam rooms. Mark glanced longingly towards a glass door that led to an open section in the middle of the hospital, a courtyard filled with green grass and shady oak trees.
"Ok, here we are." Sandra announced as Dylan opened the door to the exam room.
Parking the wheelchair, Sandra carefully washed her hands and put on a small pair of dark blue rubber gloves. "We can do this without you having to get out of the wheelchair, but I need you to hold still. I'm going to put some antiseptic and a numbing agent on. You won't feel a thing. I promise."
Mark nodded anxiously as Sandra began to clean the open wound. Mark winced, more out of fright than pain.
"Sorry buddy," Sandra apologized sympathetically. "Close your eyes for me ok?"
Mark sighed but did as instructed. "Good work...now just hold still." Sandra carefully began to suture up the gash. She worked skillfully and quickly. "You doing ok?" she asked, pausing in her work.
"I'm fine." Mark mumbled almost incoherently.
"Good. I'm almost done." Tying and cutting the cordage, she stepped back to inspect her work. "Ok I'm finished. You did great."
Mark opened his eyes and gave Sandra the ghost of a smile. "That wasn't so bad."
Dylan had left the room and had just returned. He glanced critically at the stitches. "Good work, Sandra. Mark, are you ready to head back to your room?"
Sandra placed a hefty bandage over the wound, pulled off the gloves and tossed them into the trash. "Actually, Dylan, I was thinking that maybe he could sit outside in the courtyard for a while. It's so cheery out today..."
"Now that's an idea! How about it, Mark?" Dylan grinned.
Mark hesitated. "I don't know...it would be nice..."
"Then it's settled. He can use the portable oxygen tank. The change in scenery will do him a world of good." Sandra smiled.
Ten minutes later, Mark was comfortably seated next to a bubbling fountain. A relaxing sound if he'd ever heard one. The only thing that could be better was the steady hum in the cockpit of a plane. Dylan and Sandra sat down on opposite benches around the crystal clear water. The temperature was a lovely 72 degrees Fahrenheit. The cheerful chirping of birds could be heard and the spring grasses waved slightly as a cool but pleasant breeze played with the sprouts, making them dance and wave to a silent beat. The sun shone brightly, bathing the courtyard in a magical light.
Mark glanced at the blue sky above. Clouds lazily drifted overhead, along with the occasional bird. "I wish I was up there..." Mark whispered. "Up there in those clouds is where I belong. I'm just a pilot. It's all I'll ever be. The only place I feel truly at peace is in the quiet vastness of blue and white."
Dylan overheard and placed a comforting hand on Mark's shoulder. "I know, pal." he said, his voice unusually husky. "You'll be up there doing what you do best soon enough."
"I hate to interrupt but I need to go check on Myst and Kelsey. You two catch up a bit. I will be back soon." Sandra announced as she stood up.
Both men watched her leave. Dylan turned back to Mark who had tears in his eyes.
"I...I feel so helpless stuck down here, like I'm trapped. Up there," Mark pointed to the sky, "It's so different, so peaceful. Nothing can replace the feeling of being perfectly free, away from the world's troubles below." Mark sighed. "I can't be up there. Down here I'm a nobody."
Dylan pursed his lips. "That's why you need to put all your energy into getting better. You've got to fight. You always were a feisty headstrong lad."
Mark nodded sleepily. "I...I'm getting tired." he yawned.
Dylan placed his arm behind Mark's neck. "Take a nap." he urged. "We could both use one."
Sandra found them both asleep thirty minutes later. Dylan's head was slumped over his chest, his arm still around Mark's shoulders, supporting his head. Sandra smiled as she stepped quietly over to them.
The shadows were getting longer and the sun was setting. The temperature was dropping and it was time Mark headed back to his room. Sandra pursed her lips, hating to wake him. Hesitating several times, she finally placed her hand on his shoulder. "Mark, Mark, you need to wake up." she called gently.
Mark awoke with a start. Terror filled his eyes and his fists clenched. Sandra jumped back, surprised at his reaction.
The terror faded to that of recognition and shame. "Sorry," Mark mumbled. "I have PTSD. I get shaken up pretty easily."
Sandra nodded. "O...ok... It's time to head back to your room.
Chapter Six: Emergency Flight
Kelsey awoke to the debilitating pain of a massive headache. Clutching her aching head with her left hand, she pressed the red call button on the remote beside her. To her relief, Sandra came quickly to the door. "M...my head is killing me!" Kelsey groaned.
Sandra placed a cool, comforting hand on Kelsey's forehead. "I'll get you some more painkiller, ok?"
Kelsey smiled weakly and closed her eyes as Sandra hurried out of the room. She came back a few minutes later trying to look cheerful but Kelsey noticed the concern in her eyes. "Kelsey...umm...do you think you could...ah...possibly...wait a bit?" she asked, her hands empty.
Kelsey moaned. "I...I don't know, w...why?"
Sandra stared hard at her white and gray tennis shoes as her cheeks grew bright red with embarrassment. "I...I'm so, so sorry Kelsey...w...we're out of painkillers."
Despite her pounding head, the words registered. "B...but you c...can't be!" Kelsey tried to sit up, increasing the pain. "Agh! Ouch." easing herself back down, Kelsey bit her lip until the level of throbbing eased down a notch. "G...go find something. P...please. I can t...try to wait."
Sandra nodded and hastily ran out of Kelsey's room and over to Mark's. Urgently knocking on the light wooden door, she waited impatiently for him to answer.
"Come in,"
Sandra burst through the door. "Mark, we need your help!"
Mark's eyes narrowed in confusion as he pulled the oxygen mask off of his face. "Help with what? What's going on?" he questioned.
Sandra stopped short. Maybe this plan was not such a good idea. She weighed her options. Yes, it was the best one she could come up with. "Dylan is out of town today...it's his day off. He won’t answer his phone and w...we've run out of painkillers. Kelsey needs them badly. The fastest way to get to the nearest hospital is by helicopter...but I can't fly."
Mark nodded. "So...you're asking me if I can fly it?" he wondered aloud.
Sandra hesitated before nodding. "Y...yes. I know it's not the best idea but it's the only one I've got. Do you think you could?"
Mark stared grimly at his oxygen tank and the IV slowly administering the last of the painkillers into his body. "I'll do it." he said confidently. It was an easy decision despite the fact that he was still not fully healed.
Sandra closed her eyes in relief. "Thank you." she whispered.
Getting Mark to the helicopter on the roof of the hospital was no easy task. Mark was weak from lack of exercise and only his grim determination kept him going as he slowly climbed the stairs. When they finally reached the small red and white helicopter, Sandra watched anxiously as he made the pre-flight checks and settled into the pilot's seat. Placing the black headphones onto his ears, he pressed a few switches and the blades began to whip around. Sandra was seated to Mark's right. She noticed his hands trembling slightly but didn't say anything. The helicopter rose smoothly upwards and Sandra began to slightly relax.
"Tower, this is Gulf India Echo. Take off is complete." Mark's voice could barely be heard above the high pitched whine of the engines but Sandra knew the tower could hear it plainly through the headset. Mark turned to Sandra. "Ok, tell me where we're headed. Quickly!"
Sandra put on an identical set of headphones and adjusted the microphone. "The Jackson County Hospital. It's about 45 minutes away."
Mark nodded and concentrated on keeping the helicopter steady.
Back at the hospital, Myst was making her rounds and checking on the patients. To her surprise, she met Dylan in the hall. "Back so soon?" she asked. "I thought this was your day off."
"It is but I can't stay away from Mark for too long. He'll go bonkers." Dylan grinned.
"Yeah, ok." Myst mumbled, hurrying away from the friendly doctor.
Dylan's eyes were puzzled as he opened the door to Mark's room...to find him gone! "Myst, Myst! Get in here now!" Dylan yelled, beginning to panic.
Myst quickly skidded to a halt, changed direction and rushed over to Dylan. "What...oh no. Where's Mark?"
"I was just about to ask you...when was he last seen?" Dylan's eyes looked urgent as he struggled to keep his calm.
"I don't know...maybe twenty minutes ago?" Myst shrugged. "I haven't seen him recently. Come to think of it, I haven't seen Sandra around either."
A slight noise caused the two to spin around. Kelsey, white as a ghost was gripping the door frame looking absolutely miserable.
"Kelsey! You shouldn't be up!" Dylan remarked shortly, too distracted to notice the harshness in his voice.
Kelsey closed her eyes and leaned her head gently against the wall. "I...I heard a h...helicopter..."
Dylan clenched his fists. "Oh, this is not good. If Mark has gotten into that helicopter...h...he could die. Is there any way to contact the air traffic control?"
Myst racked her brain trying to think. "We put a radio in the helicopter...we have another in the office."
Dylan raced towards the directed room with Myst hot on his heels.
The helicopter shuddered. "Mark are you ok?" Sandra asked worriedly. His face seemed abnormally pale.
"Y...yeah...f...fine, just getting...a...bit hard to...breathe." Mark grit his teeth and kept his gaze out the window.
"Listen! What's that?" Sandra asked, feeling beside her seat. "The radio! Someone's trying to contact us!"
Dylan put on the headset. Gulf India Echo, this is Pilot Dylan Robertson. Do you copy?" Hearing muffled voices, he paused. "Mark, I know you can hear me. There's someone talking on the other end. Mark, flying before you are healed is not the way to do it."
"I'm fine. Just a little breathing...trouble is all."
"A little?" Dylan's voice was exasperated. "Mark you sound terrible! Talk me through you symptoms. Come on pal."
"N...no. I...I'm fine."
"Dylan," Sandra's voice broke in. "Look, this is all my fault. The hospital ran out of painkiller..."
Dylan sighed heavily, trying to stay calm. "Whatever. All I'm worried about is getting him down right now. He sounds like he's in a lot of pain."
Myst sat down in the swivel chair belonging to the desk. "Let me try." Maybe I can reason with him."
Dylan reluctantly took off the headset and Myst put it on. "Mark?" Mark, listen to me. This is Myst. If you don't land, you're going to be critically injured. You shouldn't be flying in your condition. Dylan is back...he can pick up the medicine. I need you to come back. Please?
"N...No!" Mark gasped. "I...I have to do this." he began coughing, trying to suck in another breath. "B...besides, I'm at the post getting the painkillers now. I'll...be home in an hour. I...I'm nothing but a pilot. When I'm n...not in the air, I'm a nobody. T...this is what I was born to do." Mark's voice was weak and strained.
"Dylan and Myst, we're taking off right now. We have the painkillers and I'm giving him some so he should start to feel better soon." Sandra announced after a moment of uncomfortable silence. Turning back to Mark, she looked at him worriedly. "Maybe I should fly. You need to rest. Just tell me what to do. It can't be that hard..."
Mark shook his head. "N...no. It's harder than you t...think. I...it takes years to learn to f...fly...just radio the h...hospital and tell them to be r...ready."
45 minutes seemed like an eternity before the helicopter settled roughly onto the landing pad as Mark slumped over, unconscious and in both respiratory and cardiac distress. Myst and Dylan raced over with a stretcher and with Sandra's help, managed to lift him onto it. Mark's face was a dull ashen blue and his heartbeat was sluggish and slow.
"I need help. I need help right now! Please or Mark will die!" Dylan begged.
Chapter Seven: Shadow of Death
Mark was wheeled down the hall by Sandra and Dylan while Myst ran along side the gurney holding and IV with painkillers and saline solution. "What are we looking at here?" Sandra panted, guiding the bulky stretcher around a corner.
"He's got massive internal bleeding and is on the verge of cardiac arrest. His blood pressure's dropping. We're losing him."
In the OR, Sandra quickly slipped an oxygen mask over Mark's mouth and nose and the bluish color slightly faded from his face. "We need to get this bleeding under control now." Sandra exclaimed urgently, scrubbing her hands and arms with a tan bar of strong soap. Carefully rinsing them, Myst assisted her in putting on the blue gloves.
Dylan injected a dose on anesthetic into Mark's IV and connected him to a heart monitor. Watching his stats, Dylan shook his head grimly. "We need to hurry. He isn't going to make it much longer."
"Yep, yep, I know." Sandra replied. "I'm going as fast as I can." Checking to make sure Mark was fully under the effects of the anesthetic, she nodded her satisfaction. Carefully draping the blue fabric over Mark's body with the square cutout over the incision sight, she reached out her hand. "Iodine please."
Dylan, who had also prepped for surgery handed her swab with the brownish-orange liquid. Sandra generously applied the cleaning solution. "I want him on some blood now." she directed.
Myst carefully checked and rechecked Mark's blood type and grabbed an IV bag with the red platelets. She hung the bag and carefully slid the needle into Mark's vein. "There."
"Hand me that marker. Hurry." Sandra instructed.
Dylan watched as Sandra carefully marked the incision site with the blue ink. "Come on, Mark. Keep fighting buddy!" he whispered under his breath.
"Blood pressure's stabilizing." Myst announced.
Sandra nodded as she picked up the metal scalpel and prepared to make the incision. Taking a deep breath, she slid the knife into Mark's skin with gentle pressure.
Dylan bit his lip. "Be careful, Sandra. Please." he urged, his voice slightly muffled by the mask he wore. "Myst, keep that defibrillator close. His heart rate is very weak."
Sandra's blue eyes squinted in concentration. "Okay, I've found the lung...trying to find where the bleeding is coming from. Goodness what a mess. It's so hard to see..."
Time seemed to stand still. For the next few minutes, the OR was barren of human voices and no sounds except for the heart rate monitor, faithfully mapping out Mark's heartbeats could be heard. For now, they were steady.
"Ah ha! Found it. Hand me the clamp please." Sandra held out her hand.
Dylan picked up the metal clamp and reached out his hand to hand it to Sandra. At that moment, the monitor made a sickening plunge as Mark's heart rate dropped dramatically. "Sandra..." Dylan's voice warned.
"No, no! Come on. Not now!" Sandra begged. Mark's heart rate continued to plummet.
"Sandra!"
Mark's heart gave one last beat and was still.
"Give me that defibrillator, NOW!" Dylan yelled, the clamp dropping to the floor with a clatter. Myst thrust the paddles into Dylan's outstretched hands. "Come on, charge! Hurry up!" he muttered. A quiet buzz rising in tone could be heard. "Hands off!" Sandra raised her hands, as did Myst. "Clear!" Quickly placing the paddles on Mark's chest, he pushed the button. Mark's body jumped as Dylan anxiously watched the heart monitor which did not reward his efforts.
"Try again!" Sandra urged.
"Clear!" Applying the paddles again, Dylan delivered another shock. Again, Mark's body reacted to the voltage and he jolted. "Come on, Mark! You need to stick around. Fight buddy!" Dylan yelled to Mark's now prostrate form.
"Blood pressure's dropping again..." Myst warned.
Suddenly, as if Death had changed her mind, the monitor suddenly let out a loud beep, then another and another. "We've got a pulse!" Sandra announced. "Myst, hand me another clamp."
Dylan's hands shook as he set the paddles down. The monitor registered a slow but regular rhythm that began to strengthen. "That was too close..." Dylan's voice trembled with emotion.
Quickly clamping the leaking vessel, Mark's blood pressure began to steady and rise to a safer level. Sandra breathed a long sigh of relief.
"Good work, Sandra." Dylan praised.
"Hey. It was a joint effort. Just another day in the ER." Sandra grinned weakly.
"No. This was different. Perspectives are never the same when it's your friend lying on the table. Come on. Let's finish up."
"He tore the stitches in his lung. Hang on, I've got to fix that too."
"Don't rush Sandra. We've got all the time we need.'"
"You're the one telling me to finish up, Dylan," Sandra retorted teasingly.
"Fine. Just do a good job. I don't want to have to go through this again. This is one fortunate fellow here. I don't want to push his luck."
"You're telling me..."
Ten minutes later, Sandra carefully sutured up the incision site, cleaned the area once more and placed a white bandage over the wound. "There. All finished." Sandra announced. "Myst, please take...Myst? Dylan, where's Myst?!"
Chapter Eight: Desperate Measures
Myst raced down the hall, stopping only momentarily to make a quick glance behind her. Good. She was not being followed but she had to hurry. They would notice her gone any minute. Reaching the closed door to Mark's room, Myst hesitated. A single sheet of white paper was carefully held in her hand. Attached to it was a strip of clear tape. Carefully pressing it to the door, Myst glanced at the paper, her neat handwriting and the black print on white paper jumping out at her. "They'll see it here." she thought. A faint voice echoed down the corridor. Myst bit her lip and glanced anxiously around. No one was in sight...yet. Giving one last look to the paper, Myst ran into the waiting room and out the front doors of the hospital.
"Myst? Myst where are you?" Sandra gasped in the hallway, panting from a long sprint. Gripping her sides, she tried to catch her breath. "What in the world..." Noticing the white rectangle shape attached to Mark's door, she made her way over to the item of curiosity. Carefully peeling the tape off the wood, she began to read the note.
"To Sandra or Dylan; I know this may come as a surprise, but I can't stay here anymore..." Sandra's face turned a shade paler. "Looking at Mark on that table made me realize something. All this was my fault. I should have taken that bullet. Mark would have been better by now. I can't stay here. That will only make things worse. I will just be a burden. You have my phone number so if you truly need something...I may come. But please don't try to find me. I'm fine. Trust me. It's better this way. Yours truly, Myst."
Sandra's eyes were filled with tears as she walked quickly back towards the OR.
Meanwhile, Dylan had pulled up a wooden chair and was sitting besides Mark's still body lying on the operating table. He gently picked up Mark's right hand being mindful of the IV lines. "Oh Mark...I don't know what to say. W...we almost lost you buddy." tears were forming in Dylan's hazel eyes. "Mark, if you had died...I couldn't have lived with myself. You are the one who holds us together. Our airline wouldn't be the same without you. I know you probably don't realize that but it's true. None of us would be the same...if you left. I can't fight for you. You have to do that. But I want you to know that we are all here for you, cheering you on. I know you can't hear me Mark, but we're all here for you. Just...please...get better soon." The tears were rolling down Dylan's face now as he squeezed Mark's hand gently. Dylan swore he felt Mark's hand squeeze back.
Sandra burst into the room, her face pale with fright. "Major problem...oh..sorry to...interrupt." she quickly apologized.
Dylan brushed away his tears and straightened. "I...it's ok. What's the matter?" Sandra handed him the paper. Dylan scanned the contents, his face registering no emotion...at first. Letting the paper flutter to the floor, he stood up, his brain still processing the information.
"Dylan, are you ok?" Sandra asked, growing concerned at his blank expression.
"She seriously did that?" Dylan asked slowly.
"She's not here." Sandra remarked quietly.
Slamming his right fist into his palm, Dylan plopped down in the chair again, exasperated. "I...I can't keep going on like this." he finally admitted, giving a heavy sigh.
"You can stay here...I'll go try to find her." Sandra offered, picking up the now wrinkled sheet of paper off the floor.
"But the letter said..."
"Look. I know what it says. But Myst isn't thinking clearly. Someone needs to go talk some sense into her."
Dylan stared at the wall for a long moment before nodding slowly, reluctantly. "You're right." he whispered. "Go find her."
Sandra hurried out of the OR and raced to her cyber blue ZO6 Corvette sitting in the driveway. It was dark outside and the headlights of her car weren't the best at penetrating the blackness but they would have to do. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Sandra set out on one of the few roads winding around the town. "Look at me! Late at night, driving a sports car to find a missing person in the middle of a forest." Sandra shook her head. "Where could she be? Hmm...when Myst wants to get away she usually goes somewhere secluded and isolated. Ah ha! Maybe she's at that old abandoned shack a mile or so from here. It's worth a look."
Myst shuddered as the cool night breeze began to penetrate her light jacket and chill her. "What a good idea, girl. Running away to an old shack to get away from the world's troubles. Yeah. Great idea." angrily kicking at a clump of grass, she wrapped her cold arms around her body. "It's really chilly out here. I almost wish I hadn't have left. No! It's best that I did." she argued with herself.
Carefully making her way to the tumble-down shack's wooden door, she pushed on it. The door grated reluctantly on the floor in protest as if it was not willing to reveal its dark inner secrets. Anger gave Myst strength and she shoved it. It surrendered with another horrendous creak and slammed against the interior of the shack.
Leaves were scattered in piles on the worn gray wooden floors and the shack was anything but cozy. Parts of the roof had rotted-or rather rusted away, leaving a cold damp draft in the air tainted with the smell of rotting wet leaves. A bed sat in the far left corner and a tiny kitchen in the right. Nothing of value though. No food, no water and certainly no warmth.
"Welcome home, Myst." she told herself sourly, plopping onto the grimy bed. The recent rain had soaked through the shabby quilted bedspread and the dampness slowly began to creep up her body. A brief buzzing sound captured Myst's attention. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. "Oh great, it's from Dylan. Wonder what he wants..." she rolled her eyes and prepared to set the phone down. Curiosity got the better of her though and she read the text.
"Myst, please come back to the hospital. We can talk about this. -Dylan."
Rolling her eyes again, Myst tossed the phone carelessly towards the end of the bed. "Not happening, Dylan, not happening."
The bright yellow headlights of a car awoke Myst about fifteen minutes later. For a moment, she thought she'd been dreaming. Staring up through the hole in the ceiling above her, Myst gazed at the peaceful stars intermingled with the slightly waving forms of leafy branches overhead. Then a car door slammed and footfalls could be heard, shuffling around in the leaves outside. Sitting up, Myst began to tremble in fright. Who was outside?
"Myst are you in there?" It was Sandra and she sounded worried.
Myst breathed a sigh of relief but refrained from answering.
"Myst?" the voice was louder now. A disfigured shadow fell across the floor from the moonlight outside and Sandra stepped in, trying to peer through the darkness of the shack. "Myst are you in here? It's me. Sandra."
Myst sighed again. "Yeah, I'm here. I told you not to come looking."
"Where are you...oh, there. Wow it's dark in here! I've got a flashlight..."
"Don't turn it on." Myst snapped.
"Fine. Listen Myst, we're worried about you. What's going on?"
"Nothing." her reply was anything but convincing.
"Running away isn't going to solve anything. That just makes everything worse."
"I'll live with the consequences then. That's all I'm doing anyway." Myst tried to keep her voice flat and unemotional but she was quickly losing the fight.
"Myst, we just want to help. Come on, please tell me what's wrong." Sandra urged gently.
Her words were met with silence until Myst sniffled, obviously crying. Sandra groped her way to the figure and placed her hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "Myst please come home. This is no place for a sweet girl like you. We'll get you cleaned up and something warm to eat and you'll feel much better. How about it?"
Myst nodded, defeated. "I'll come." she whispered.
Chapter Nine: New Arrivals
Thirty minutes later, Myst and Sandra arrived back at the Silver Springs hospital. Dylan met them at the front doors and his worried expression quickly faded to that of relief.
"You ok, Myst?" he asked.
Myst, still shaken up, simply nodded her answer. Sandra took her to the office and handed her a fresh set of scrubs and a bowl of steaming chicken noodle soup. "Dylan wants to see you when you're finished. Sandra announced, watching Myst hungrily sip the soup.
Dylan entered the office as soon as Myst was done. "I've got a job for you."
Myst looked at him quizzically. "What's that? I'm really not needed around here."
Dylan stiffened slightly and let out his breath slowly. "Yes, you are."
Myst yawned tiredly.
"Hey, if you are too tired to help tonight...it can wait..."
Myst quickly shook her head. "No, I'll help. What do you need?"
"Could you watch Mark for us tonight? Sandra and I are both tired..." he looked at Sandra significantly.
Sandra caught the gaze and quickly agreed. "Yes, very tired. We could use the help."
Myst paused, thinking. "I guess I could..."
Sandra grinned triumphantly behind Myst's back. "Thank you."
Myst handed Sandra the empty bowl, exited her chair and headed over to Mark's room.
The hours passed slowly. Myst made her rounds every few minutes keeping a close eye on all the patients. Since she was working the night-shift, the hospital was fairly quiet. Sandra had some unfinished work to do and was trying to catch up in the office. It was way passed her bedtime but she couldn't let the paperwork go another day.
Myst came into the office after taking a glass of water to one of their patients. She flung herself into the chair and yawned. "I...I'm so t...tired."
Sandra looked up from her work. "Want me to take over?" she offered.
Myst shook her head. "N...no...I'll just rest here for a minute."
Sandra nodded and turned her eyes back to the stack of paperwork. Twenty minutes later, Myst still hadn't moved. Sandra slipped out of her chair and smiled. Myst had fallen asleep. Taking a blanket out of a cabinet, she gently covered the resting figure and began to make the rounds herself. In Mark's room, she found Bella, Mark's newly adopted dog looking deeply into her eyes with a pleading expression. "What's wrong, Bella?" Sandra asked, glancing at Mark's face.
Mark stirred slightly and his fingers twitched. Sandra checked the iv. There were enough sedative and painkillers left to last another hour. Sandra watched as Mark's eyes briefly fluttered open, but the amount of sedative coursing through his body proved too much for it to override and he surrendered to the drugs once more.
Another hour passed. Sandra returned to replace the fluids and medications in the iv. Mark's eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling, his throat straining against the breathing tube as if he were trying to say something. Sandra stepped over to his bedside. "Do you need something, Mark?" she asked kindly.
Mark's eyes drifted lazily over to Sandra's face but there was no hint of recognition in their cloudy gaze. Mark sighed and drifted back into unconsciousness. Sandra smiled sadly and left the room.
The next morning, Sandra was finishing up the paperwork when the sound of voices drifting into the office caught her attention. One of them she recognized. It was the unmistakable voice of Dylan. The other two she did not recognize. Hastily setting down the stack of papers, she followed her ears in the direction the sounds were coming from.
A short lady was standing in the waiting room. She was slim, very fit and had what was later made known to Sandra, occurrence, a smile on her face. She had a business look about her, wearing a gray work skirt, black top and black high-heeled shoes. A younger lad of about twelve was standing beside her. He was wearing jeans, a collared green shirt and gray and black tennis shoes. His blonde hair looked like a tousled cloud of gold.
"I'm so glad you're finally here, Barbara." Dylan smiled a genuine smile.
Barbara flashed one in return but her eyes were not for Dylan. They were searching, piercing. "Where is that Mark?" she asked, her beautiful British accent very pronounced and slightly annoyed.
"Yes please, Dylan. Tell us!" Garrett begged with an equally clear accent.
Sandra hurried over. "Barbara, Garrett, it's a pleasure to meet you both." she extended her hand.
Dylan smiled. "I'd like you to meet Dr. Sandra. She and I are Mark's doctors."
Barbara quickly scrutinized Sandra and nodded her approval. "Take me to him please." her voice meant business.
"Of course, Barbara. Right this way please." Dylan replied promptly.
Walking down the hallway, they arrived at the door to Mark's room. Dylan opened it as Barbara stepped confidently through with Garrett hot on her heels. Right there, her business-like demeanor ended. Her head tilted slightly forwards as she nearly gaped. Her sharp eyes widened into a look of horrified surprise as her hand fell limply to her side. "Oh no..."
Garret's reaction was hardly different. "Mum?" his boyish voice rose higher in panic. "Mum, what's wrong with him? He looks awful!" Garrett ran to Mark's side and grabbed the pilot's limp hand.
Barbara swallowed hard. "I...umm...Garrett dear, he's in a coma. H...he was severely hurt. But Dylan said he was doing better...right?" she looked questioningly at the doctor.
Dylan slowly nodded. "Y...yes, he's on the mend." his voice was not quite convincing.
Barbara turned back to Garrett. "You see?" He'll be better in no time at all."
"Mum...he looks...kinda dead. That tube down his throat is scary."
Barbara was slightly taken aback at the choice of words. She coughed slightly. "Ah...yes. It does look sort of like he's...dead."
"Is he gonna be all right?" Garrett asked worriedly.
Sandra forced a smile. "He's been through a lot but he can pull through. That tube helps him breathe." She explained. "We are giving him medicine to keep him asleep so he won't tear his stitches...again. In a few days we'll take him off the sedative but he won't be flying again for quite some time."
Garrett looked distressed. "But when Mark can't fly, he gets all depressed!"
Barbara searched anxiously around the room. "Garrett, look! A puppy!"
Garrett scrambled over to where Bella was sleeping and began to pat her soft tan fur. Barbara pulled Sandra and Dylan aside. "Please. Tell me what happened. Spare me no details. I want to know." she begged earnestly.
Sandra spoke up. "He told us a bird flew into his engine and he couldn't control the plane. He crashed and was pulled out of the burning wreck by...by Kelsey and the dog Bella. He suffered burns, a ripped lung, several broken ribs, and severe internal bleeding. He's extremely lucky to be alive."
Barbara covered her mouth with her hand and pent up tears began to flow down her cheeks. "I yelled at him just before he left. A...and he almost died! I feel terrible!"
Sandra laid a comforting hand on Barbara's shoulder. "Shh...it's ok." she soothed gently. "I...uh...we expect him to make a full recovery. Do you have a place to stay?"
Barbara nodded. "Yes, we're renting that old house next to the airfield for now. After a moment of awkward silence, she spoke again. "Well, we'd best be going now. Garrett, come along. We need to get settled in at the house. Dylan, I'll be seeing you." With that, the two left.
Chapter Ten: Ocean Of Death
Mark awoke out of a dead sleep the next morning to unbearable pressure on his chest. He began to panic, feeling as if he were going to be crushed. Weakly pressing the call button, he waited for help, gasping as the pressure intensified.
Sandra hurried into the room. "Do you need something, Mark?" he seemed paler than usual. Odd. Sandra picked up the pad of paper off the nightstand and handed him the pen and notebook.
Mark scrawled out his symptoms and lay gasping with the effort. Sandra read the note and immediately tried to mask her concern. "I'm going to take an x-ray." Donning the metal plated "jacket," Sandra quickly took the pictures and waited impatiently for them to develop. When they did, her heart sank. "Oh boy. This is just perfect." she mumbled sarcastically.
Returning to Mark, she tried to look cheerful. "Hey buddy, I've got some news for you. I...I hate to say this but you you're going to have to have another surgery."
Mark's eyes grew wide with surprise with disbelief.
"I'm really, really sorry." Sandra apologized, wheeling Mark's bed to the surgery prep rooms. Once there, she added a dose of anesthetics to his iv. Mark grew more and more restless though. "Hey, try to calm down!" Sandra urged. "Relax. It's just going to make you sleepy."
To her surprise, Mark managed to sit up and then get out of bed! Pulling his iv out, he made his way down the hall as quickly as he could. It wasn't very fast. Sandra raced over and stood in front of him. "Mark, you have to have this surgery." she said firmly. "You will die if you don't. Then you'll never be able to fly a plane again. Come on, let's get it over with."
Finally realizing the seriousness of the situation, Mark relented and he followed Sandra as they made their way back to the prep room. Sandra replaced the iv. Mark fought off the anesthetics though and Sandra realized she would have to give him another dose.
Calling for Dylan, she waited for him to come. He rushed into the room. "What's going on here?" he asked with a worried glance in Mark's direction.
"Dylan, he's got fluid building up in his lungs...come with me." the two stepped out of the room. "He's going to die if he doesn't get help but he is not cooperating and tried to escape. Maybe you can talk some sense into him, but hurry! Time is of the essence here!" Sandra suggested worriedly in a low voice.
Dylan thought a moment. "We may be able to drain lungs without operation. It's painful but I know someone who can help. Go ahead and get him in the OR. Don't put him under. I'll be right back."
Sandra nodded but Dylan could tell she was upset. "Ok, but he would be much better off asleep."
Dylan entered the office where Myst was. "Myst, we need your help again. Mark has massive fluid buildup in his lungs. He refuses to go under for surgery. We think we can drain them while he's awake but we need you to keep him occupied and breathing regularly. Think you can do that?"
Myst hesitated. “Maybe, but won’t that be painful?”
"Yeah, it's going to hurt like the dickens but his breathing is already bad and it would be dangerous to put him under. All I'm asking is that you would sit by him and make sure he stays calm."
Sandra stepped into the office. "Are you all ready? I know it's dangerous to put him under, but is it worth the risk?" she sighed. "There's only so much medicine can do, I guess. Let's get this over with."
Back in the OR, Myst grabbed a chair and set it next to the operating table. Mark lay on the latter, his eyes wide with unspoken terror. Due to his frantic movements, Sandra was forced to put him in restraints.
"Listen, Mark, we have to drain your lungs or you will die. We are going to do it in a way that won't need surgery but it's going to hurt. Myst is right here with you." Dylan explained soothingly. "Just relax and do your best to breathe regularly. Ok?"
Sandra cleaned the area and sprayed some numbing agent on the site. Dylan picked up the scalpel. "Just close your eyes Mark." he suggested. "Ok, here we go." Making a tiny incision, Dylan guided the thin tube into Mark's lung. Gravity took over and it began to drain.
Mark groaned and the heart monitor indicated that his heart rate was speeding up.
Myst forced a smile. "You're doing great, Mark!" she encouraged. "How much longer, Dylan?"
Dylan nodded. "That's good Myst. Keep talking to him. Maybe even sing. First lung is almost drained. That's it, Mark, deep breaths. You're doing great."
Sandra listened as Myst began to sing. "Wow, Myst! You have an amazing..." her words were cut off by a loud warning beep from the heart rate monitor. She ran to his side but did not look where she was going. Tipping over the container with the fluid, it spilled all over the bottom of her scrubs and shoes. Sandra winced as the lukewarm liquid soaked through. "No heartbeat! He's not breathing!" she yelled. There would be time to worry about wet clothes later.
Dylan struggled to suppress a grin. "Yikes! That's going to be fun to wash out later..." he finally realized what Sandra had just said. "Get the defibrillator!" he yelled. "First lung is done..." he patched up the tiny incision and eased a breathing tube down his throat, turning on the respirator. Alright Sandra, deliver the shock! Quickly!"
Sandra held the pads over Mark's body. "Clear!" she yelled before delivering the shock. Mark's body recoiled like a wave crashing onto a beach. "Still no pulse." she muttered in frustration. "Clear!" she administered another shock. "Come on Mark! Stay with me!" still no pulse. She tried again. Nothing.
Dylan grabbed the pads from Sandra. "Mark I swear to you...Clear!" he hollered, delivering a fourth shock. This time, the heart monitor picked up a steady heartbeat. "Thank goodness." Dylan sighed. "I thought we'd lost him that time."
Sandra bit her lip. "That was close. We can’t' rest yet though. Are you ready for the second lung?" she tried to ignore the wet squelchy feeling in her shoes.
"Right lung's done." Dylan announced ten minutes later as he eased the tube out of Mark's chest. Putting on a black stethoscope, he listened to his breathing. "No more fluid. There. You're done Mark. We're all finished. You did great. Get some rest, ok? We'll move you in a bit." he straightened and turned to Sandra. "I'm going to let him rest here under close monitoring for a while to make sure there are no further complications."
Myst and Sandra left the room.
Dylan turned off all the lights except for the one over the table. He sighed heavily and sat down beside Mark's limp form. Mark was unconscious, but breathing steadily. "Oh, Mark, why did this all have to happen? Why doesn't Myst understand that she's needed here? I don't know how to fix this, Mark. I need you to tell me what to do here. Nothing is the same without you, buddy. Tell me what I need to do to fix this. Please." Dylan dropped his head into his arms, sobbing.
Chapter Eleven: A Brief Respite
Two days later, Sandra was checking on Kelsey when Dylan entered her room. "Sandra," he motioned towards her.
Sandra finished wrapping the last bit of bandage around Kelsey's forehead. "Hang on Dylan, I'm almost finished."
Kelsey smiled sadly and felt of the fabric. "Thanks." she mumbled.
Sandra nodded. There had been little change in the last few days and the doctors were still strangers to Kelsey though she had grown to trust them. But that was of little comfort to Sandra when she remembered the fun times they had shared together in the past. She even missed when Kelsey randomly began speaking in German though it had annoyed her terribly. Sandra, even after years of being around Kelsey still hadn't picked up more than a sentence or two of the foreign language. She much preferred trying to copy Dylan's accent behind his back. That was much easier and tons of fun. He had caught her at it once, practicing in the office, until she noticed him standing there. Until then, Dylan had never seen a person change their whole personality so fast. And when she left the room, she might have set a new world record for fastest escapes. It was rather funny.
But now, all the jokes and pranks were kept to a minimum. Nothing was the same without Kelsey. Patting her hand, Sandra stood up. "If you need anything, just press the red button." she reminded.
"I will. Thank you."
"Ok, Dylan, what's up?" Sandra asked, closing the door to Kelsey's room behind her.
"It's time to take Mark off the sedative, remember?" Dylan asked. "How's Kelsey?"
Sandra sighed. "No change. She still doesn't remember us." she quickly changed the subject. "Come on. Let's head to Mark's room. You look excited!"
Dylan didn't hesitate. "I am. I can't wait! I just wish the breathing tube could come out..."
Sandra nodded her agreement as she opened the door to Mark's room. "Perfect timing. He's just about out of the sedative. This shouldn't take too long."
Sure enough, about an hour later, Mark began to stir. The room spun, making him disoriented. He felt lightheaded, almost as if he were floating in a dream. Fighting the sedative, Mark tried to recall where he was. Swallowing, he felt something abnormal down his throat. His heart rate increased dramatically as he began to panic, his eyes wide with confusion.
Dylan was at Mark's side in an instant. "Hey, hey! Mark it's ok," he comforted soothingly. "You're in the hospital. Everything is ok. Just relax."
Bella jumped on the bed and lay next to Mark, gazing into his eyes with her liquid brown ones. Mark seemed to calm down slightly and he weakly reached out a hand to stroke her soft fur. Bella whined softly and pressed her head against the bed. Mark gestured to the breathing tube and the white bandages on his chest, clearly wanting to know what had happened.
"Mark, you tore your stitches and began bleeding internally. You...you were dead for two whole minutes!" We finally managed to start your heart. You have been in a medically induced coma ever since." Sandra explained.
Myst stepped into the room just then, holding an airplane poster. She taped it to the wall. "There, Mark. Hope you like it."
Mark smiled briefly and lay exhaustedly against his pillows. He pointed to the poster, clearly trying to say something, but he was having a hard time getting his point across. Sandra raced out of the room and returned a minute later with a pad of notebook paper and a ballpoint pen. She handed it to Mark. "Write down what you need to say." she suggested.
With a shaky hand that was still connected to a very drugged up body, Mark began to write; Dylan said the airport was almost finished! I'm going to have a plane to fly again! The scrawling lines on the paper were hardly readable but Mark appeared to be very proud of his accomplishment.
"Mark, can you tell us how you're feeling?" Sandra asked.
Mark began to write down his answer, pursing his lips as he tried to keep his hand steady. When he was finished, Sandra picked up the paper and read the note. "Ok. Chest kinda hurts. This breathing tube is no fun either and I'm very tired."
Myst nodded. "The painkillers should kick in soon. I know the tube isn't pleasant but if you relax, you'll probably barely notice it's there."
Mark nodded and drifted off once more into a blissful slumber, only this time, it was natural sleep.
Chapter Twelve: The Waiting Game
Dylan sat beside Mark's bed, worried. For the last three days, Mark hadn't moved a muscle. He lay as still as death, unconscious and oblivious to anything going on around him. Dylan glanced nervously at Mark's stats. "Sandra, Sandra! Come in here!" he called. "Come on, Mark. Please. Just try to wake up!"
Sandra stepped into the room looking worried. "What's going on?"
Dylan eyed Sandra curiously. "Going somewhere?"
The latter was wearing leather gloves, riding boots and a helmet. She also had on a warm jacket and a backpack. "Yeah." she replied shortly. "Guess who's missing…again."
Dylan didn't need to think twice. "Where did Myst go this time?"
Sandra shrugged. "Who knows? I was just heading out to look for her…on a horse this time. Is everything ok with Mark?"
Dylan sighed, exasperated. "No! Look at him! He hasn't moved in days." without warning, he broke down and began to sob. "I...I can't do this anymore. Mark thinks I'm strong and can fix everything but I can't! I can't fix Myst's problems and I can't fix Mark. I'm tired and haven't slept for days. I'm sitting here watching Mark fight and I can't do anything!"
Sandra unbuckled and removed her helmet. "Go get some sleep." she suggested. "I can watch Mark while you rest. He's in good hands. I can go find Myst later."
Dylan shook his head. "No. No, I'm fine. It's not fair that I should sleep when Mark is working so hard. Besides, Myst could have gotten herself hurt. Mark most likely won't improve until she's here. Go find her. I'll be ok."
Sandra sighed. "She's just going to run away again. This is the second time. But ok..." she strapped her helmet back on and retrieved a cup of coffee from the waiting room for Dylan. "Let me know if anything happens."
At the hideout, Myst lay groaning in the rustic little bed. Having contracted the flu from her damp encounter a few days prior, she wasn't in the best of moods...or shape. Her dog Cooper lay beside her, just barely managing to fit on the bed made for a single body. "J...just stay here, Cooper, I...I'm fine." she begged, drifting off into a feverish sleep.
Sandra cantered along the dirt trail on her palomino mare. She was a sturdy animal, strong and well-built. Sure to cost a pretty penny. Her creamy mane and tail bounced in time to her footfalls as her gray hooves pounded on the dusty road. Spotting movement, Sandra tugged back on the leather reins. "Whoa, Taffy!"
A chocolate brown puppy came up to greet them. Dashing around Taffy's golden legs, it was obvious he had no fear of the mare's size. "Where do you live, little guy? You look oddly familiar..." Sandra dismounted and picked up the wriggling puppy. She examined the two gold-colored tags dangling from a bright red collar. "Wait!" Sandra exclaimed. "That's Myst's dog!"
Hurriedly mounting again, Sandra continued her trek down the trail. At the shack, she hastily entered the tumbledown quarters. "Myst! What are you doing back here? I have been looking everywhere for you! Mark is in bad shape! What's wrong?"
Back at the hospital, Dylan was trying desperately to rouse Mark. "Mark? Can you wake up? Please? You look so helpless lying there. Please! I need you to keep fighting."
Sandra, having tied Taffy to a tree outside, returned to the shanty and pulled up a rickety chair. "So, why did you come out here?" she asked calmly. "Anything interesting happen in the last few hours?" it was obvious that Myst was sick, but not so sick that antibiotics couldn't wait a bit.
Myst blurted out her pitying story. "E...everything is my fault!" she sobbed. "You all know it. If I hadn't have just stood there, Mark would be fine. It my fault. It is!"
Sandra sighed inwardly. "Myst, it is not your fault. Like I said before, running from your troubles will not help. You hurt yourself and worried everyone else. Instead of focusing on Mark, we are all distracted and out looking for you. Dylan hasn't been sleeping well and now you are sick." she took a deep breath and lay a hand on Myst's shaking shoulder. "Please. Come back and let us help you. When you are safe we can focus on Mark. Promise me you won't run away again. Please."
Myst shook her head, refusing to give in. "All this happened because I couldn't take one lousy bullet. One bullet!"
"Look. Wouldn't you have taken that bullet for Mark if you had been in his place? It's not your fault! You did not know it was going to happen or that Mark would do that so stop kicking yourself for something you could not have changed. At least let me help you. You really need to come back. We could use you help."
Myst buried her head in her arms, sobbing. "I can't go back! I know what's wrong and how it needs to be fixed. I'm not gonna let you fuss over me while Mark is in this condition. He needs you more than me. You can't make me go with you. Just leave. Please."
Sandra weighed her options. Staying in a damp place like this would only worsen her flu, bad as it was already. She couldn't risk a bout of pneumonia. Stepping over to the bed, she slipped a vial filled with sedative out from behind her. "Myst, you are going to be ok. I'm sorry." quickly injecting her with a massive but safe dose, Myst fell asleep almost instantly. Sandra sighed and pulled out her phone. Dylan, please come to the old shack ASAP. I will explain when you get here. Just hurry please. She texted.
Dylan arrived twenty minutes later looking like he could drop at any moment. "What is it?" he growled, looking like he was about to turn into the Hulk.
Sandra hesitated. "C...can you please help me get Myst back to the hospital? Keeping her here is not an option. She's got a nasty virus. Once we get back, I insist that you rest. I will watch Mark."
Dylan sighed. "Fine. Whatever."
When the trio returned to the hospital, Sandra helped Myst to bed and gave her some medicine for the fever. Then she found Dylan who was back in Mark's room. "Any change?" she asked hopefully.
Dylan shook his head. "No. He's still unconscious. He's not breathing on his own but is fully dependent on the ventilator. He's got a fever of 101.2. I have him on antibiotics and a fluid diet. Now I'm going to bed." he said flatly.
Sandra nodded. "I will keep a close eye on him. I promise. Get some rest."
Four hours passed. Sandra faithfully kept her word and was sitting by Mark's bed when his whole body suddenly tensed as he took a full breath, unassisted by the machine. His fingers twitched slightly. Sandra jumped out of her chair, nearly toppling it over in her haste. "Mark? Mark!" she called. "Can you hear me? It's Dr. Sandra. Come on! Wake up!"
Mark's fingers curled slightly and he forced another breath against the machine. It registered the change and began to beep loudly.
Dylan rushed in. "Mark?! Mark can you hear me? Come on! I know you can do it. Please. Just keep trying for me. Fight buddy!"
Mark went limp as his exhausted body tried to recover from the exertion.
"Did you get to sleep?" Sandra asked, watching Mark closely.
Dylan sighed. "A little, I mostly worried over him though." he placed his hand against Mark's forehead. "He's still running a fever but he's fighting. At least he's not given up yet."
Sandra laughed softly. "Why should he give up when he has you watching over him like a hawk? You prove him right. You are not a quitter and you never give up. You should go check up on Myst. She needs to know."
Dylan nodded and headed to her room. "Myst," he called gently. "Mark tried to breathe on his own today. He got two breaths in. He's fighting. Myst, I know if we were both there though, he'd fight harder."
"I know. I'm sorry." Myst muttered. "Do you think I wanted this to happen?"
Back in Mark's room, Mark began to twitch and struggle against his restraints. He managed to suck in another breath, tossing his head a bit and yanking on the breathing tube. Clenching his fists, he took another.
"Good job, Mark!" Sandra praised. "Can you do one more?" she encouraged.
Mark grunted as he struggled to breathe in. His eyes opened briefly, but upon not seeing Myst or Dylan, gave up and slipped back into unconsciousness.
In Myst's room, there was an awkward silence. "Can you hand me my phone please?" she finally asked.
Dylan promptly handed it to her and Myst typed out a quick text to Mark.
Sandra heard the buzzing of Mark's phone. "Hey, Mark! You've got a message from Myst! Want me to read it?" upon getting no response, Sandra sighed but opened the text. "It says, don't give up. I know I'm not there and that's because of an idiotic choice I made, but keep fighting. You can do it. Isn't that nice, Mark?"
A few hours later, Myst awoke from a nap and asked to see Mark. Sandra came in with a wheelchair. "You never stop going, do you?" she teased, wheeling Myst to Mark's room.
Mark, upon hearing Myst's voice in the hall, immediately threw all his strength into breathing against the machine. He managed five breaths one after the other as his head jerked in Myst's direction. For the first time in days, his eyes opened with recognition as they settled on Myst. More frantic breaths against the machine followed as panic began to overtake Mark.
Dylan could hardly breathe. "Myst, y...you did it! You helped pull him out of it! I knew this would work!" he exclaimed, tears of joy streaming down his face. "Sandra, I want to take him off the respirator and just have him on an oxygen mask. Can you get that for me?"
Sandra did as asked. "Ready when you are."
Dylan nodded as he stepped over to Mark. "Ok, buddy, I want you to cough for me." he encouraged. As Mark did, Dylan swiftly but carefully eased the tube out of his throat. "Ok, Sandra, get him on the oxygen. Heart rate's up. Watch his levels."
"Right." Sandra agreed, slipping the mask over Mark's face and making sure it was securely in place. His heart rate continued to climb. "Calm down, Mark!" Sandra urged. "Just take slow deep breaths."
Mark suddenly began to talk rapidly, despite his speech being muffled by the mask. The three doctors could tell he was distressed. His grip on the bed sheets grew tighter and he couldn't seem to calm down.
Dylan laid a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Listen to me, Mark. I know you're scared but everything's all right now. Just slow your breathing down, ok? Nice and slow. In for five, hold for two then out for five. That's it, Mark. Good job. That's very good."
Mark's heart rate gradually returned to normal. "Myst, there's a water bottle in my bag by your feet. Fetch it for me will you? His throat is going to be sore from the breathing tube."
Myst rummaged through the navy blue drawstring bag, found the bottle and tossed it to Dylan who helped Mark sit up. Mark took a few small sips and lay back down. "N...never thought I was going to survive that." he rasped in a hoarse voice.
Dylan gently replaced the mask on Mark's face. "Take it easy, buddy. Focus on breathing for now. Get some rest. When you wake up, Barbara, Garrett and all of us will be here to visit you."
Mark sighed and relaxed against the pillows. "That would be lovely..." his words were muffled by the mask and slurred as the painkillers began to kick in. He smiled briefly before his eyes slipped shut and he fell asleep.
Myst nodded tiredly. "Sleep sounds like a wonderful idea."
Dylan, Sandra and Myst slipped quietly out of the room which grew peaceful as the late afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows and golden sun danced in the doorway.
Chapter Thirteen: When The Going Gets Tough...
Kelsey was now well on the road to recovery. Though her physical injures had almost diminished, only a slight scar on her forehead to remind her of the day she cheated death and a nagging headache that refused to go away, the mental barrier was still an issue. Unbeknownst to the doctors, Kelsey often cried herself to sleep. Her days were spent tagging along with Dylan or Sandra, trying her best to trigger a memory. She found Dylan in Mark's room the next morning. "May I please help?" she asked. When Dylan nodded, Kelsey smiled, now a rare occurrence for her. "I appreciate you all trying to help me remember. It means a lot."
Dylan grinned back and turned to a sleeping Mark. "He's still got a fever so I'm going to take a blood sample so I can figure out what antibiotics to use. Go ahead and put some antiseptic on his chest to keep out infection and then replace the bandages."
Kelsey stepped over to Mark and staggered into the wall. Dylan was just about to draw the blood into the vial when he glanced up. "You ok?" he asked with concern.
Kelsey struggled to regain her balance. "I...I don't know, j...just had a flashback. I remember a plane and fire...and Mark's face." she handed Dylan the tube of antiseptic with a slightly trembling hand. "Maybe you'd better do it. I'm pretty shaken up." her pale face gave added effect to her words.
Dylan took the tube and quickly checked Mark's chest and stomach. Satisfied that there were no abnormalities, he sprayed on the medicine, replaced the bandages and inserted the thin needle into Mark's vein.
Mark moaned slightly at the initial prick and slowly began to drag himself out of sleep. Bell opened one eye but didn't move, sensing that he was ok. Kelsey had sat down in the hardback chair and watched the procedure with almost no interest. She gazed numbly at Mark, not saying a word. Myst entered the room, her eyes red from lack of sleep and a gently used tissue in her hand. "Everything ok in here?" she asked hoarsely.
Dylan glanced up at Myst. "Yes, just drawing some blood for a test. Kelsey, can you please take Myst back to her room and give her some more cough syrup?" he asked, trying to sound cheerful though he was worried about Myst's contagious condition.
Kelsey looked up, dazed. "What?" she mumbled almost incoherently. The words finally tumbled into place. "Sorry, my head is killing me. Can't seem to shake it." standing up, she turned to Myst. "Come on, let's go."
Leading Myst back to her room, Kelsey carefully measured out a dose of the medicine and gave it to Myst who took it gratefully. Suddenly, the room began to spin and Kelsey crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Dylan had finished up and had sent the blood to the lab for testing. He sat dozing in the chair when suddenly a monitor went off, rudely jolting him into the present with its obnoxious beeping. Mark was sweating profusely and his heart rate was nearly off the charts. "Sandra! Get in here now!" Dylan yelled.
Sandra raced in. "You called me at a bad time." she shook her head impatiently, golden hair flouncing. "What's the matter? He looks like he's having a panic attack..." she paused, thinking. "Hopefully not a heart attack...we need to get this resolved ASAP. Kelsey just collapsed in Myst's room!"
Hardly hearing Sandra's announcement, Dylan's mind was only focusing on one thing. "Mark? Mark! You need to wake up!" he urged gently, reaching out his hand to nudge Mark into consciousness. He immediately snatched it back, noticing the irregular and rapid beat of his heart. His fever was severely elevated. "Sandra, he's going to start seizing if we don't get it down now! He'll tear the stitches!"
Sandra threw off the covers and grabbed a container half filled with cool water and a small white towel. "We need to get his body temperature down." she dipped the cloth in the water and laid it over Mark's sweat-soaked forehead. "Sometimes the old fashioned ways of reducing fevers still work." Sandra announced, trying to lighten the fear-charged mood. "Maybe you should adjust his meds?"
Dylan pondered the question. "I can, but what if we gave him an ice-bath? That may work faster."
Sandra shook her head. "It would, but the shock of that may do more harm than good." she re-wet the towel and replaced it on Mark's head. "What do you think?"
Dylan glanced at the heart monitor which seemed to have eased off a bit. "You're right." he agreed. "I'll get those antibiotics. If we can sideline this fever then that should be the final blow to this infection. Let's be thankful it's not internal. Here, his breathing has improved since the tube was removed. Go ahead and take the oxygen mask off. It's probably freaking him out. I'll be back...going to take care of Kelsey."
Sandra nodded and eased the mask off of Mark's flushed face. Then she slid the window open to let in some fresh air. Mark's eyes fluttered open. "W...what's going o...on?" he murmured softly, shivering despite the fever.
"Hey, it's ok! Sandra soothed. "You have an infection which is making your fever so high. Just try to relax and take it easy."
Mark nodded slightly. "I...I feel like I'm on fire...and I'm so thirsty." he rasped, spotting a mug of tea on the bedside table.
Sandra picked up the cup and helped to steady it while Mark's shaking hands tried their best. He took a few sips and pushed it back. "Thanks." he mumbled tiredly.
Kelsey lay on the cold hard floor of Myst's room while the latter looked on helplessly, too numb with shock to know what to do. A look of intense pain was evident on Kelsey's drawn, pale face. She stirred as Dylan's hasty footsteps approached. "Hey, Kelsey, are you ok?" he asked gently.
Kelsey made an effort to sit up and gripped her head with her hands. "I...I’ve had a headache for the last few days and it k...keeps getting worse." she grit her teeth, trying to ease the pain. "It feels like my head's in a pressure cooker and going to explode." Kelsey shut her eyes tightly.
Dylan helped Kelsey to her room and the young lady settled into the bed. Dylan smiled reassuringly. "It sounds like you've got some swelling. I'm going to give you a sedative and something to help that."
Kelsey sighed. "But if I have to stay in here, how can I work on remembering?" she took a deep breath, hoping it would ease the intense pain in her head. She glanced up at Dylan and gasped. "Why are there two of you?"
Dylan looked slightly concerned, but said nothing about what he was thinking. "Ok...I'm going to add a sedative to your iv. Sleep is key and you can't do that if you're in pain."
"I can't sleep well anyway. I keep having flashbacks and nightmares." Kelsey sighed.
"That's what the sedative is for." Dylan explained. "No dreams, no pain, just sleep. Trust me." he assured.
Kelsey looked skeptical but nodded. "Ok, I guess. Thanks."
Dylan nodded and left the room.
Myst waited until she knew Dylan and Sandra were completely preoccupied before slipping out of bed and sneaking her way to the front doors of the hospital. Taking one last look behind her, she sighed. "Now I won't be in the way anymore. I'd better hurry while they're busy." she took off on a lonely dirt road that led to a place as dark and cold as evil itself. It was a place that should keep her from being found for quite a while.
An old abandoned mineshaft that had long ago seen its last workdays. Left to whatever fate awaited the lonely hole deep in the earth, no humans had touched her cold stone walls in years. Myst, finally reaching it, hesitated before jumping down the small shaft to the chamber below. She missed her step in the darkness and a sharp crunching in her ankle could be heard as she landed but there was not time to scream. Hitting her head, Myst collapsed into an unconscious heap, far away from home and alone in the middle of nowhere.
Dylan returned to Mark's room with a new bag of saline and antibiotics. "Ok, blood tests came back. Be thankful this isn't sepsis, just infection from the fluid. We've caught it early so these new antibiotics should help." he expertly changed out the iv bag and injected the antibiotics into it. "There. Now that your breathing is much better, it's time you started to eat. Sandra, think you can get some food into him?" he asked.
Sandra grinned. "No problem!" she left the room and came back with a meal fit for a king...or queen. Sandra had taken her own dinner to give to him; a sizzling juicy steak meal complete with a slice of hot, freshly buttered bread and a wedge of creamy peach cobbler for dessert. "How's Kelsey?" Sandra asked worriedly.
Dylan smiled tiredly. "She's got some swelling but I gave her some meds to help that."
Sandra nodded and handed Mark the plate of food. "Eat up!" she encouraged. "The faster you get your strength up, the faster you can fly again."
Mark shook his head. "I'm not hungry. It won't stay down anyways. I'm having enough trouble keeping the tea down as it is. I really don't want to throw up...chest hurts too much."
Sandra thought a moment. "I can give you something for the nausea but you really need to eat. The smell of that steak is probably not helping your stomach. I'm sorry. How about some crackers?"
Mark sighed and nodded reluctantly. "I guess I can try it...rather have you do it than Dylan trying to get food into me."
"And why is that?" Sandra asked curiously as she handed Mark the first cracker.
Grinning slightly, Mark swallowed his mouthful and answered. "He'll pester and very nearly shove the food down my throat."
"Oh, really?" Sandra laughed and handed him another cracker. "How is your stomach?"
"Ok for now. I'm just ready to get out of here."
Kelsey slept soundly until the drugs wore off. Dylan was making his rounds when he heard the sound of slightly labored breathing. Kelsey was gasping and struggling to catch her breath, trying to convince herself that her latest nightmare was just a dream.
Dylan quickly opened the door. "Kelsey, are you ok?" he asked anxiously.
In her dazed state, Kelsey was startled. She scrambled out of bed and backed to the far right corner of the room, pulling out her small pocket knife. "G...go away!" she begged, her voice and the weapon shaking dramatically. Suddenly, a light seemed to flicker on in Kelsey's eyes. The knife dropped to the floor as she remembered that Dylan was a friend. "I...I'm so sorry!" she stammered. "You scared me so badly!"
Dylan tried to recover from his shock. "Hey...it's ok. I understand. This is scary. We're all here for you and we'll get you back to your old self. But we have to get you well first. Back to bed."
Kelsey nodded, still shaken up. "I'll try...no promises." she bent down to pick up the knife and handed it to Dylan. "Keep this for me until I get better, ok?"
Dylan took the knife. "I will." he agreed and left the room. A few minutes later he appeared in Mark's doorway. "Hey, I brought some visitors!" he announced as Barbara and Garrett filed in behind him.
Garrett raced over to Mark's bed. "Mark! I'm so glad to see you're up and no scary tube down your throat!" he grinned. "How are you feeling?"
Barbara nodded her approval upon seeing Mark awake. "Say...I was fully prepared to offer you a pay raise in order to tempt you to wake up but I see that is not needed now!" she tried to keep a stern expression but Dylan noticed tears of joy in her sharp blue eyes.
Sandra exited her chair and held out her hand to the newcomers. "I'm glad you could come!" she smiled. "Mark, are you finished eating?"
Mark sipped at the tea, set the cup back on the nightstand and sank down tiredly amongst the pillows. "Yes, I'm done." he confirmed. "I'm so glad you all are here." he murmured tiredly.
"As much as I hate to say this, I think Mark needs his rest. It would not be good for him to overdo it." Sandra hinted.
Garrett sighed. "Aww! Ok, feel better Mark." he gazed longingly into the pilot's eyes.
Barbara pulled Sandra aside. "How is he doing?" she questioned. "He still looks a little sick and weak."
"Well, that is to be expected." Sandra explained. "He has been through a lot. Considering that, he is doing very well. He just needs to finish healing and get his strength back."
Barbara nodded. "Thank you for all you've done. Ok, come along Garrett. Let Mark get his rest."
"Bye Mark!" Garrett waved.
When they left, Dylan noticed that Mark was already asleep. "Did you get him to eat anything?" he asked.
Sandra nodded. "He ate a few crackers. Not much, but it's progress. He said he was nauseated so I gave him something for that."
"It's because he's on so much medication. Probably should start tapering him off but I don't want any stress on his body while he's still healing. His fever's gone down considerably. As soon as it breaks and he's a bit stronger, I want him to be up and walking around again. It'll be about two weeks before he's fit to fly."
"Yes, he does need a change in scenery." Sandra agreed. "I'd go crazy if I were cooped up as long as he's been!"
Dylan nodded. "Same here. I'd better go check up on Myst." he left and raced back not more than a minute later. "She's gone!" he exclaimed.
Myst awoke many hours later to yellow lights from flashlights bouncing crazily off the walls. They finally settled onto her curled up heap. "Myst, how in the world did you get down here?" Sandra yelled, half furious and half relieved. She turned to Dylan who had accompanied her. "We can head down there if you lower the medical bag. I'll go first. It doesn't look too far down."
Dylan hesitated. "Ok, Sandra." he finally agreed.
Sandra pulled a coiled strip of rope from her backpack and tied to a sturdy oak branch. Gripping it tightly with her hands, she eased her way down into the dark yawning pit. "Ok, I'm down!" she announced a minute later, rubbing her raw hands. Her voice echoed slightly around the carved out interior.
Dylan leaned down and handed her the precious medical bag before he climbed down himself. Dusting his hands on his scrubs, he stepped over to Myst and sat down on the floor so he could be more at her eye level. "Now why did you run away?" he asked while Sandra did a quick checkup. "Is it a customary thing for American patients to escape a hospital before they are fully better?"
Myst rolled her eyes despite the pain. "Of course not. Only patients who mess up something so bad that by them being there they make it worse. I plan on staying here until Mark recovers a bit more."
Dylan sighed, trying to keep calm. "Mark is doing very well actually. Why don't you quit being stubborn and come see him? We can tie a noose in the rope and you can sit in it so we can pull you up."
Myst pretended to ponder the question. "Hmm...nope." I'm good right here. There's no way you're going to get me out. Stubbornness runs in the family." she pointed out. "He may be doing well right now so I'd like to keep it that way..." her voice trailed off.
"Listen to me!" Dylan huffed, exasperated. "Take some deep breaths and think for a minute. How on earth is Mark getting an infection your fault? It doesn't make any sense!"
Myst shrugged carelessly. "You don't get it. No one in this crazy place gets anything I say. Just leave me alone! Please! I didn't ask for any of this. Just go away!" she begged, her anger turning to sobs.
Dylan watched helplessly as he and Sandra tried to figure out what to do next.
Chapter 14: When It Rains, It Pours
Dylan turned to Sandra. "I'll stay here with Myst for now. You need to get back to Mark."
Sandra nodded reluctantly but knew he was right. "Ok...be careful...all of you. I'll send my husky Dipstick with supplies later."
Dylan nodded his thanks. "Take good care of Mark. Please." he begged.
Sandra rolled her eyes teasingly. "Perhaps..." she straightened. "But in all seriousness, you know I will do my best. He's in good hands." with that, she left the gloomy chamber.
Mark awoke to a nauseating burn in his stomach. His eyes popped open as he tried desperately to sooth the sickly feeling that seemed to be growing. His body wouldn't listen. Jolting into a sitting position, he grabbed the pink plastic bedpan on his nightstand and proceeded to lose the meager meal he had just eaten.
His forehead was wet with perspiration from the effort as Sandra looked on, inwardly cringing. She had returned just in time. It would be a miracle if his stitches were still intact. "Come on Mark," she encouraged, her gentle voice not betraying her worried thoughts. "Breathe deeply. Focus on that." Sandra replaced the bedpan and administered another dose of antiemetics to ease the nausea. "You should feel better soon." she promised. "Just focus on breathing, ok?"
Mark weakly shook his head. "C...can't..." he gasped, leaning over the container and heaving. Sandra pulled out her phone to text Dylan what was happening. The promptness of his reply startled her.
His text read; "Tell Mark to take deep breaths and go get him a bottle of grape Gatorade. Hurry!"
Sandra handed Mark a third container and left the room. Mark lay back on the pillows, his face red. His stomach still churned uneasily. He seemed slightly relieved though as Sandra returned. Hastily unscrewing the lid, she helped Mark hold the cool plastic bottle. "Little sips. Don't gulp it down." she instructed. "That should help to settle things."
Mark did as instructed, taking small sips and taking deep breaths regularly between each. "Thanks." he murmured as he finished.
Sandra nodded and picked up the phone again. "I'm going to head over there when Mark starts feeling better." she texted Dylan. "I'm sending Dipstick with supplies."
Whistling, the clacking sound of claws on hard floor could soon be heard. Sandra's dog Dipstick bounded into the room. She was a white and gray husky with one blue eye and one dark brown one. Though full of unbridled energy, she was smart enough to know when to tone it down...slightly. Sandra led her out of the room and strapped a pack of supplies onto her. "Go get Dylan!" she instructed dramatically.
With a small bark, Dipstick raced outside and around the corner. Sandra's phone buzzed. "Try putting on some music for Mark." Dylan's text read. "He has an IPod in the nightstand drawer."
Sandra opened it and found the small device. Hastily flipping through numerous soundtracks, she clicked on one that looked promising and turned it on. "How's this, Mark?" she asked anxiously. "Feeling any better yet?"
"Mm-hm." Mark murmured as the music began to sooth him. "A little bit." as the song continued to play, his eyes slowly drifted shut.
Sandra hastily scribbled a note telling Mark where she would be and placed three more bedpans on his nightstand, another bottle of Gatorade and the IPod charger. Putting another dose of sedative into the iv, Sandra hastened to Kelsey's house where her horse was stabled, saddled up the trusty steed and galloped into the setting sun to a dark, yawning hole, at doctor and a girl with the weight of the world resting on her shoulders.
By the time she arrived, it was almost completely dark. "Dylan, are you still down there?" Sandra yelled. Taffy, her mare, snorted nervously and Sandra gripped the reins tighter.
Dylan heard the faint voice. "Sandra? We're down here! Myst is having another breakdown. How are things up on Earth?" he asked.
Sandra had no clue how he could crack a joke at a time like that. "Things are fine..." she replied. "Hang on, I'm coming." she dismounted and tied Taffy to a stout branch. Then she slid down the rope, thankful for the gloves that protected her hands. "What happ..." Sandra's voice trailed off and her face grew so pale that a ghost would have been impressed. She stood, frozen with paralyzing fright. "D...Dylan, whatever you do...don't move." she whispered in horror, hands shaking in fear.
"Sandra? Sandra, what's wrong?" Dylan questioned. He began to feel uneasy.
Sandra's blue eyes were wide with fright. "T...there's a s...snake b...behind you!" she stammered.
Dylan slowly turned his head to where Sandra was pointing and saw a huge rattlesnake the color of a desert biome coiled to strike, its beady dark brown eyes fixed stonily on Dylan, small forked tongue flickering in and out.
"Please...just don't move!" Sandra begged, looking around for anything she could use to get its attention. Spying a crooked stick, she picked it up and tapped it on the ground. The rattlesnake's tail shook and a loud buzzing sound filled the room. Sandra trembled as the snake diverted its attention from Dylan to the more threatening target.
Myst, coming slightly to her senses pulled out a pocketknife and slid it over to Dylan who grasped it and flipped out the sharp blade. "Sandra..." his voice was low and calm. "Keep its attention...that's it."
Dylan was easing to his feet. So slowly his muscles ached. But he had to move cautiously. Finally upright, he gripped the knife tighter and fell upon the snake, pressing its triangular head to the ground. The rattle from its tail filled the air with harsh buzzing as the snake angrily writhed and struggled to get away. Swiftly removing the shake's head, he used his boot to push both sections into a far corner.
Mark woke with barely enough time to grab a container before he threw up into it. Groaning, he lay back. His stomach hurt badly and was starting to appear swollen. "J...just go to sleep and it'll pass." he whispered, trying to reassure himself. Unable to carry out his quest, Mark weakly reached for his phone. "G...got to tell t...them..." he moaned. With a shaky hand, he recorded his symptoms in a text which he sent to Dylan. That done, he lay back, exhausted, and closed his eyes.
Dylan nearly jumped as his phone went off...a buzzing sound. Sandra almost screamed. Catching herself, she turned away so Dylan couldn't see her embarrassed expression. Dylan pulled out his phone and read the text. "Sandra, look at this! Oh boy...I think I know what's wrong. This isn't good. I need you to get back there pronto and do an ultrasound."
Sandra read the less-than-cheery message. "You are right." she agreed. Something is seriously wrong. I...I hate to leave you all down here again like this though."
Dylan sighed. "I know, but it's more important that you tend to him first. We can wait. He can't. "
Sandra nodded reluctantly and made her way carefully out of the pit. "I'll send Dipstick by later with some food."
Galloping her mare back took longer than it would have in a car, but the rough potholes in the badly kept road would have been a nightmare to drive over, especially in her Corvette. The first time she tried it nearly got her stuck. She couldn't take the risk.
The trek back took about twenty minutes. Hastily stabling her steed, Sandra raced to the hospital and to Mark's room. She found him asleep...or unconscious. "Mark, you need to wake up!" Sandra urged. "Come on, buddy!"
Mark's eyes sluggishly blinked open. "S...Sandra?" he murmured. It was almost a groan. "S...stomach hurts."
Sandra nodded. "I know. I'm going to do an ultrasound and see what's going on." her phone went off. It was Dylan.
"Here's what I think is the problem." he wrote. "The lining in his stomach is deteriorating because he's been on so much medication without food. This is causing fluid buildup in the abdominal cavity. Give him the ultrasound to make sure, and you should check his temp though he should have no fever. -Dylan."
Sandra left the room and came back a minute later rolling the ultrasound noisily into the room. "Ok, Mark. You ready?" she asked.
Mark managed to roll his eyes. "As ready...as I'll e...ever be."
Sandra opened the container of thick, clear gel and smeared it onto Mark's abdomen. "Sorry, it's kind of cold." she apologized. Taking the device, Sandra peered anxiously at the screen and tried to get a better view. "Oh boy..." her voice trailed off.
Mark's eyes popped open. "What?" he asked, concern growing in his voice. "What is it?"
Sandra hesitated. "We have a problem."
Chapter 15: A Rocky Road
Ill as he was, Mark could hardly keep from jumping out of bed and looking at the screen that was displaying his fate. With a valiant effort, he controlled himself and lay still. "What is it?" he wheezed again, wondering if he really wanted to know.
Sandra didn't answer right away. "Y...you've got a lot of fluid in your stomach." the way she said "a lot" told Mark she wasn't kidding though she tried to soften the grim announcement. Sandra turned off the machine and quickly wiped off the gel. Then she took Mark's temperature. It was as expected, normal. Texting the results to Dylan, she waited impatiently for his reply. His answer, though it didn't surprise her, made her cringe inwardly.
"You've got to put a drain in. It could take about a day or two to get it all out. He needs to be taken off all medication. When he comes out of surgery he can have an iv with a light painkiller and diet supplements but that is all. -Dylan"
Sandra sighed. Mark had a very rocky road ahead of him. He looked at Sandra nervously. "W...what's going to happen to me?"
Again, Sandra paused, hesitating. She couldn't bring herself to lie. "Well...I'm afraid you are going to need...another surgery." her face registered the sympathy she tried to match in her words.
Mark sat still, blinking in shock and disbelief as the words registered into a sentence he could comprehend in his mind. Finally he looked at the floor and nodded. "Fine... just go ahead and get it over with. I've given up ever being able to fly again." he lay back, tears trickling down his face. He made a pitiful sight.
Sandra placed her hands on her hips defiantly. "You can't give up!" she declared, almost scoldingly. "After all everyone has done to help you? We are making progress, it's just slow. I'm not giving up on you so don't give up on yourself. You will fly again. You have to fight. Giving up...just makes everything worse."
Mark sighed, tired and defeated. "Let's just get it done. My s...stomach hurts so badly...feels like someone is s...stabbing me."
Sandra wheeled Mark into the surgery prep room. It was small and slightly cramped. Bare walls surrounded them with the only color being the pale greenish blue bed sheets. Sandra added a dose of anesthetics to Mark's IV. "Now listen, when you wake up you can't be moving around. I can only give you a light painkiller. I just wanted to make sure you knew ahead of time so it wouldn't take you by surprise. Again, I apologize that I have such depressing news."
Mark nodded sleepily, already being dragged down into the unconscious slumber the drugs were offering. His eyes slipped shut as his tight grip on the bed loosened. Sandra wheeled his bed to the OR. Carefully scrubbing her arms and hands, she placed a light blue mask over her face and prepared to perform yet another surgery on the downed pilot. "Ok, his breathing is a little slow...I'll up the oxygen...blood pressure's in the normal range and the blood transfusion is doing its job. It looks like we're ready to start." Sandra went through the checklist in her head.
Slipping her slender hands into the rubber gloves, she paused a moment, looking at Mark's face. He looked peaceful enough, eyes closed and his expression relaxed. Sandra sighed and picked up the iodine swab. "Man, I hate doing this all alone." she mused. "What if something goes wrong? There. Site's all clean." she picked up the marker and carefully marked where she needed the guidelines. Next, Sandra picked up the sharp scalpel, taking a deep, calming breath. This was her least favorite part. "Let's get this over with," she sighed.
Just then, her phone buzzed. Sandra glanced over at the bright screen, being careful not to touch the phone. It was from Dylan.
"I assume you're in surgery right now, so I'll make it brief. Let me know as soon as you're done and tell Mark not to be scared and that I'll be with him as soon as I can to scold him for scaring me so. Everything is good here. Don't worry about us. -Dylan."
Sandra smiled slightly but didn't bother replying. She turned back to her work and carefully made the small incision. Taking the clear plastic tube, she eased it into Mark's stomach. The fluid began to drain and Sandra breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Good. It's working." Carefully securing the tube with medical tape, she eased off the anesthetics so that Mark would awaken slowly. Sandra pulled off the gloves and the mask, threw them away and took the surgical tools to the stainless steel sink. Then she picked up her pink phone and replied to Dylan's message.
"All is well. Surgery went as fine as could be expected. No complications. I'm just waiting for him to wake up. How's Myst? -Sandra."
Her phone went off again a few minutes later. "She's taking a much needed nap. I'll try and get her to eat later. I'm glad things went well. We should start seeing some rapid recovery now. -Dylan."
Mark mumbled something incoherently as he slowly began to arouse from his drugged slumber. His breathing was deep and steady. His fingers twitched as his dream began to dissolve into reality. "Am I late for a flight?" he murmured weakly.
Sandra stood up and walked over to the table. "Hello, Mark." she greeted quietly. "I hope you've had a nice nap. It's ok. You are safe in the hospital. Dylan isn't here right now but I'm going to bring him in a bit. He said to tell you not to be scared."
Sandra pulled out her phone to text the latest update to Dylan. "Mark is waking up. He's extremely groggy, but doing ok for the moment. He wondered if he was late for a flight. When he wakes up fully, I'll come help you all get out of that hole."
The reply came a minute later. "That's just like Mark. Always has planes on his mind. You can let him sleep. The more he does, the less pain he'll be in. Speaking of which, you need to find out how much he's in. Myst and I are good here. She is looking much better. Don't feel the need to rush. -Dylan."
Sandra looked over at Mark who groaned slightly and began to tense up as he began to feel the effects of the anesthetic wear off. He tried to lift his head to see the source of the pain. "Hey, take it easy." Sandra encouraged gently. "I know you don't feel very good but I need you to try to focus and listen to me. I need to know how much you are hurting." she spoke slowly and clearly, trying to make it easier for Mark's fogged up mind to understand. "On a scale of one to ten, one being no pain and ten being I'm about to die pain, which number are you?" she pulled a warm blue blanket from the cabinet and laid it over Mark's body.
Mark closed his eyes tightly, trying to take control of his wayward mind. "E...eight, maybe nine..." he mumbled quietly. "D...doesn't h...hurt quite as bad a...as before though."
Sandra forced a smile. "Well, hopefully that tube won't be in there too long." she texted Mark's reply to Dylan. "He's in a lot of pain. He said eight or nine on a scale of one to ten. He is stable though. I sent Dipstick back over with some lasagna, rolls and a cream puff for each of you. Hopefully she doesn't eat it on the way! Mark is doing well enough that I can leave now. Be there soon. -Sandra."
Sandra walked back over to Mark. "I'm going to go get your friends Dylan and Myst. They want to see you. I want you to try to relax, ok? I know it's hard, but it will help the pain and that drain work better and faster."
Hurrying over to Mark's room, Sandra grabbed his IPod and phone. Returning to the OR, she turned on the soothing music and dimmed the lights in the room. "I'll be back just as soon as I can." she promised. "I put the phone by your hand in case you need anything. Don't hesitate to use it."
Dylan picked himself off the floor and began cautiously searching around their small prison. Dust, dirt and old, musty leaves were piled around the perimeter. A stack of rotting wood planks, barely visible met his gaze. Curiosity led him over to it and he began to pry off the top ones. They were damp and quite heavy. Dylan shuddered as he thought about the recent encounter with the snake and hoped there weren't any that had decided to take a nap where he was searching! A tiny pinpoint of light began to stream through. It was morning. With an excited cry, Dylan threw off the rest of the planks and was met with what was probably an air-shaft, a steep and cramped tunnel leading upwards.
Myst began to arouse at the clatter Dylan had made. "W...what's going on?" she murmured sleepily.
"I've found a way out!" came Dylan's excited reply. "It looks a bit slippery and steep though." he added, slightly less enthusiastically.
"We should wait for Sandra then. I'm feeling kind of dizzy." Myst groaned, placing a hand to her head.
Chapter 16: The Surprise
The next few days passed by slowly. The healing Mark's body was supposed to be receiving was being hindered by his tragic experience. Nightmare reruns of his past encounters tormented him both day and night through dreams and memories. He couldn't sleep, and that was putting a strain on everyone. Dylan's birthday was also right around the corner and the girls were trying to come up with something to do for him. Even though they were in a stressful situation with Mark, they figured a little fun would perk everyone up.
"So what's the plan?" Kelsey whispered to Sandra who was seated across from her in the cheery, well-lit office.
"Well, I was thinking we could make up a skit." Sandra answered, pulling a dusty brown colored book from the polished wooden shelf. She proceeded to thumb through the numerous pages.
Kelsey eyed her friend curiously. "A skit? About what?"
"I'm still trying to finish that up. It's coming along nicely, though. You've been practicing, haven't you?"
Kelsey nodded. "Of course! It's way too much fun to pass up anyway."
Sandra laughed softly. "We've got to make it sound proper, that's for sure." she exclaimed in a fairly decent British accent, strongly mimicking Dylan's.
Kelsey giggled. "You sound just like him!" she grinned with an accent also as good as Sandra's.
"You sound fine. I think this will work out." Sandra smiled, carefully placing the book back on the shelf. "It's in here if you want to read it."
"Yes, but can't you..." Kelsey paused as the door suddenly opened. Dylan's face peeked through, looking puzzled. "Barbara?" he questioned, trying to look around.
Kelsey jumped as Sandra playfully yelled. "Out! Get out!"
Dylan quickly removed his head as the door began to close in on him. "Yikes! What are you up to in there?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled.
"Nothing," Sandra answered quickly, her heart racing.
"I thought I heard Barbara. Is she in there?" Dylan pressed further.
This time, there was a moment of silence. Kelsey looked questioningly at Sandra. "Ahh...no." the latter finally answered.
Dylan ran his hand through his thick dark brown hair in confusion. "O...ok..." he finally seemed to accept the answer. Shaking his head in bewilderment, he continued his trek down the hall.
Sandra leaned against the door and pretended to wipe sweat off of her forehead. "Whew! That was close!" she gasped, still recovering from her shock.
Kelsey nodded her agreement. "At least our accent is convincing...we sure had him fooled."
"True," Sandra mused, locking the door. "Ok. I'll tell you the plan now..."
The next day dawned bright and sunny. Kelsey arrived at the hospital with a feeling of mounting excitement. Nearly dancing into Mark's room, she stopped short. "Mark, are you ok?" she asked worriedly, all traces of happiness forgotten.
Mark was propped up into a sloppy sitting position against the plump white pillows, his face a mask of terror. He was gripping the bed sheets so tightly that Kelsey could see the whites of his knuckles from the opposite side of the room. Mark was trembling visibly, and appeared very upset and scared.
Kelsey raced over and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Mark, what's wrong?" she asked softly. "Another nightmare?"
Mark shakily nodded. "Y...yes, I...I can't s...sleep."
Kelsey sighed. "Your fever is up again. Try to calm down, ok?" she suggested. "I'll get you a drink of water. That should help."
Mark nodded reluctantly and waited while the item was fetched. Kelsey supported the cool glass and lifted it to Mark's lips while the pilot's shaky hands tried to get a grip around the slippery cup. A few sips later, he was done.
"Are you sure you don't want more?" Kelsey asked, concerned as she replaced the water glass back on Mark's nightstand.
"Yeah, 'm fine." Mark mumbled, nearly half asleep. Kelsey smiled sadly and replaced the remote with the call button back onto his bed by the pilot's hand. Judging from this and the rumpled covers, he had obviously been thrashing around.
Sandra entered the room. "You ready?" she asked excitedly. "Dylan will be here any minute!"
Kelsey placed a finger to her lips and pointed to Mark's dozing figure. Sandra got the point and motioned Kelsey out of the room. "How is he?" she asked quietly.
"He can't sleep much anymore. He's gets so tired that he just drifts off like you just saw. His fever is climbing again too." Kelsey admitted with a sigh.
"The meds should kick in soon. I just replaced them about twenty minutes ago." Sandra added. "Have you got the video camera?"
Kelsey and Sandra headed to the office. "Here it is. I put it on the shelf last night." Kelsey handed the black camcorder to Sandra. "I'll keep a lookout for Dylan while you set it up."
Not more than ten minutes later, Dylan's black pickup truck pulled up at the hospital, the rubber tires crunching pleasantly on the loose gravel. He stepped out confidently, looking slightly out of place with his clean blue scrubs against the mud splattered paint on the truck. Kelsey quickly replaced the cheery yellow curtain and ran to the exam room. "He's here!" she exclaimed excitedly.
Sandra suddenly seemed all business. "Go meet him at the door and bring him here...where's that chair? Oh there. Ok, we're ready. Hurry!"
Kelsey raced back to the front of the hospital and tried to calm her quick excited gasps for breath. "Dylan, we need you right away!" she greeted him.
Dylan looked worried. "Mark?" he asked, completely oblivious to the excited sparkle in Kelsey's eyes.
Kelsey shook her head. "No...not him. Please follow me."
Dylan hastily nodded and hurried after Kelsey. Reaching the exam room, Kelsey paused and rapped at the door.
"Come in!" an unfamiliar voice screeched.
Kelsey opened the light wooden door, nearly trembling with anticipation. "Dylan, please sit here." she directed him to the chair.
Dylan obeyed promptly, though clearly confused as to what was happening.
"Good morning, Mrs. Valentine! Isn't it a lovely day?" Kelsey asked, lowering her voice and using the British accent she had been practicing for the last few weeks.
Dylan squirmed in his chair. "What's going on here? That's what I always say. Nice accent by the way." he added.
Kelsey ignored him, trying not to burst into uncontrollable laughter. "...and how are we this morning?" she continued.
Sandra's cheeks were slightly flushed with excitement, but it imitated a mild fever hue perfectly. "Don't know, D...Dylan." she addressed Kelsey, slightly stumbling over the name.
"Well, we'll have a look and get you fixed up in no time." Kelsey answered, using one of Dylan's popular phrased that he always talked to his patients with. She enthusiastically listened to Sandra's heart and lungs, took her blood pressure and chatted the whole time, as Dylan usually did.
Sandra played her part well and gave lively conversation back. Dylan began to laugh at Kelsey's near-perfect imitation of him and began to really enjoy the performance.
"Well, I know what the problem is!" Kelsey announced energetically, pulling off her gloves, rolling them into a tight ball and throwing them at the wall above the trashcan. Dylan always made a game of trying strange ways of getting the gloves into the can. To Kelsey's relief, her aim was good and the rubber "ball" disappeared into it.
Dylan was nearly roaring with laughter now. "Oh my...this is too...too funny!"
"And what do I have?" Sandra rasped dramatically, nearly cracking a smile.
"Oh, nothing but a case of influenza. It’s easily dealt with." Kelsey answered. Dylan always tried to keep his diagnostics sounding as non-serious as possible. "I'll prescribe you some meds and you'll be on your way in no time, my dear."
Dylan nearly fell out of his chair at that last remark. Kelsey had mastered that phrase and her voice, deepened to sound like his, with the accent, had been hilarious.
Sandra hopped off the examining table and put her arm around Kelsey's shoulder as both girls bowed. "Happy birthday, Dylan!"
Myst entered the room holding a small cake frosted with white icing and blue swirls around the bottom edge. On top, also in blue icing were the words Happy Birthday!
Dylan took the cake. "You all are the best!" he grinned.
Sandra pulled the camera from behind the cabinet. "Just wait till I show Mark and put this on YouTube!" she teased.
Dylan nearly dropped his cake in surprise. "You'd better not!"
Sandra waved the recorder tauntingly in the air. "We'll see about that. For now, let's eat!"
And for that moment, nearly everything in the hospital was normal again.
Chapter 17: Haunted
Kelsey looked on happily as Dylan and Sandra bent over Mark. "Almost done...there! It's out."
After nearly a week with the drain, Mark had finally graduated from having it. All of them were extremely tired. It had been a long, painful night for Mark. With the last of the fluid draining out of his stomach, it had been agony to watch Mark struggle to stay calm and still throughout the process. Only their comforting presence and gentle reassuring encouragements had pulled him through the exhausting ordeal. But it was over now, and everyone was glad of it.
Mark grinned weakly. "F...feels much better."
Dylan laughed. "How can you feel it? You've got a local anesthetic. You shouldn't be feeling a thing."
"Y...you know what I mean." Mark sighed tiredly.
Two days later, Dylan stepped into Mark's room as Kelsey finished replacing the fluids in Mark's iv bag. Hearing footsteps, she looked up curiously. "Hey! What's with the flight suit?"
Dylan sighed. "I've been called in to make a cargo flight. Our company is going to go under if we can't earn money. I...I really hate to leave like this but..."
"Hey. Don't worry about us." Kelsey interrupted with a reassuring smile. "We'll take good care of Mark. He'll be just fine. I promise."
Dylan nervously ran his hand through his hair. "I guess...still, I hate to be away. But I'd better go so I'm not late. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon at the latest."
Kelsey nodded. "Ok, have a good flight!"
Dylan smiled slightly and left the room, halfway hoping that a bad storm would force the flight to be canceled. "Come on, Dylan. Get a hold of yourself. Mark would die if he couldn't fly anymore." the young pilot shook his head in remorse.
"Sandra! Get in here!" Kelsey yelled two hours later. Mark had been rudely awoken by yet another nightmare and was trying to calm down.
"C...can't sleep!" Mark gasped, frustrated. "I...I just can't! S...so many bad dreams..." his exhausted mind tried to make his speech clearer but Mark was so drugged up and tired that it was almost impossible to make out the slurred words.
Sandra dashed into the room. "What's the matter?" she asked worriedly.
"He was having another nightmare." Kelsey whispered sadly.
Sandra looked shocked. "Another one? But that makes three today already!" she noted.
Kelsey sighed. "He's barely getting any sleep. I'm afraid the painkillers aren't as effective any more either. I've had to up the dose twice this week."
Mark seemed to settle down a little as Sandra pressed a glass of water to his lips. He took a few sips and leaned back against the pillows, his face still flushed with fever. "Thanks." he murmured weakly, his eyes beginning to close.
"You're welcome." Let us know if you need anything else." Sandra smiled, though her eyes betrayed her worried thoughts.
"W...where's Dylan?" Mark mumbled.
Kelsey stiffened. "H...he's out for the day and part of tomorrow." she answered.
"But where?" Mark questioned.
"He had to run an errand." Sandra replied, receiving a grateful look from Kelsey.
Mark nodded slightly. "T...tell him to come back soon."
"How is he?" Dylan asked, entering the hospital the next afternoon. He pulled off his black gloves and tossed them into a drawer. "Don't let me forget those."
Sandra hesitated. "He keeps having nightmares. He's got really bad PTSD." she added.
Dylan's face fell. "I knew that but I was hoping he would have improved."
Sandra sighed. "We all were. PTSD is hard to get rid of though." she reminded gently.
Dylan frowned. "I know, I know."
Kelsey looked at him, her eyes puzzled. Dylan met her gaze. "Sorry, I'm a bit upset and tired." he muttered a quick apology.
Sandra smiled. "We understand. Here we are." she opened the door to Mark's room.
Dylan gasped. "Where is he?!"
A quick glance around the room added a piece to the puzzle. "The window is open!" Kelsey gasped, horrified.
Dylan's face grew pale. "H...he's gone! He's gone!" he exclaimed, panic rising in his voice.
Sandra fought to remain calm. "H...he can't be far. We'll look for him."
The trio raced outside of the hospital and shielded their eyes against the blaring sun. "See him?" Sandra asked hopefully, her eyes straining to make out the figure of the pilot.
"No. I don't. He's got to be around here somewhere!" Kelsey replied nervously. "Dylan, is there anywhere he would likely be?"
Dylan thought a moment. "The only place I can think of...oh no. Come on! We've got to run. Hurry!"
Without stopping to question Dylan's judgment, the two girls raced after him towards the airfield. When they arrived five minutes later, they noticed the gate unlocked and standing wide open.
"How did he know the combination?" Sandra questioned, looking around the fenced in area. The red tower rose high in the sky overlooking the runway. The replacement plane, a medium craft, sleek and painted white had the name Falcon painted in black letters vertically down the tail. Dylan raced towards the plane, his shoes pounding on the asphalt. The door to the plane was open.
"Mark? Mark! Are you in here?" Sandra called desperately.
"Over there! In the cockpit!" Kelsey exclaimed. Dylan slowed his speed to a walk and headed in the pilot's direction. "Hey, Mark. It's Dylan." he said gently, placing a hand on Mark's shoulder.
Mark looked up at Dylan, confusion in his eyes. "I want to go. I need to fly the plane." he murmured.
Slowly and carefully, Dylan eased the black headset off of Mark. "Hey, I think you need to go back to bed." he suggested.
Mark seemed dazed. "What are we doing here? Don't we need to pick up the cargo?" he mumbled, his face showing evident signs of fever.
Dylan shook his head, worry creeping up his spine. "We need to go home, ok? Come on. I'll go with you." he offered.
Mark nodded numbly and followed Dylan meekly back to the hospital.
Kelsey sat up with a jolt. What had she just heard? Her confused mind tried to process the information. Could she have been dreaming? It was possible. Kelsey sighed as her eyes began to slip shut once more. The dark room was beckoning her back to sleep. The sound came again, louder. This time there was no mistaking it.
With a thud, Kelsey jumped out of her bed and hastily fumbled around for her phone and the doorknob. It was 3:34 A.M. Whatever had just happened needed immediate attention.
Kelsey nearly ran into Sandra as she stepped out of her room. When they had critical patients, the doctors and nurses of Silver Springs hospital usually slept in ward rooms for convenience. It was now becoming a routine with Mark.
"What's going on?" Sandra mumbled sleepily. "Sounded like a ghost." she shivered.
"I don't think it was a ghost. It's probably Mark." Kelsey sighed as she opened the door to his room. "Oh goodness..." her voice trailed off as Sandra peered over her shoulder.
Mark was thrashing and convulsing madly around, his feverish mind playing tricks and insisting he was in danger. His arms and legs flailed wildly as he shrieked in terror for a third time. His face was shiny with perspiration and he looked helpless and frightened.
"Mark please!" You've got to calm down! Deep breaths. Come on, Mark!" Dylan begged, standing over his friend's body, trying to break through the mental barrier his mind had placed.
Sandra raced out of the room and returned a minute later with a fever reducer and sedative. Mark's thrashing had calmed slightly but his heart rate was off the charts and his breathing was quick and shallow as he gasped for air. "Kelsey, get him on some oxygen now!" Dylan demanded, slightly harshly.
Kelsey grabbed the silver oxygen tank and carefully placed the mask around Mark's mouth and nose. His eyes grew wider as he struggled to rip it off. "Mark, please. I'm here to help you!" Kelsey assured gently, pushing his hands away.
The sedative slowly began to kick in and Mark's convulsions began to slow to random jerks, then ceased altogether. His eyes slid shut as unconsciousness pulled him from his terrified state. His death grip on the bed rails loosened before his hand fell limply to his side.
Dylan sank weakly into a chair. "T...that was scary!" he gasped.
Kelsey nodded, trying to stifle a yawn. "Yeah, no kidding! He freaked me out."
"I really hate this...PTSD is a really bad thing to have." Sandra stated sadly, glancing at Mark's now peaceful figure lying still in the bed.
Dylan hesitated. "I...I think we need to take him home."
Sandra's eyes grew wide. "What?" He's in no condition to go anywhere! You saw him on that plane. He had no idea what he was doing!"
"But Sandra, he has nothing to do, nothing to remind him of the good old days. All he does is sit here. People think when they sit. He needs to be up and moving around...and he needs therapy."
Sandra sighed. It was true. "Well, I did receive some training as a therapist..." she announced. "Maybe I can help. W...we could try taking him to the house but this could be a bad idea."
Dylan nodded. "I know. It is a risk, but it's one I'm willing...and think we need to take.
"Well if he does go, I insist you bring along the oxygen and all the extra goodies to go along with it." Kelsey stated firmly.
"Of course," Dylan agreed. "Let's hit the sack. It's going to be a long day tomorrow. I'll doze in here in case he needs anything."
The next morning, Sandra helped Dylan get Mark out to the car. After the lengthy process was over, Kelsey waved a bittersweet goodbye as Dylan pulled out of the parking lot. Turning to Sandra, she stared into her friend's face. "I really hope we haven't just made a terrible mistake."
Chapter 18: Major Setback
Sandra set her black leather medical bag on the wooden floor of the porch and rang the doorbell. It registered with a cheerful sound similar to a quick tune of church bells. For a moment, the house was silent. Sandra shifted her weight to her left leg, beginning to worry. They were supposed to be home.
There was a slight click and the door cracked open. Dylan stuck his head out. "Oh hey, Sandra. Come on in." he opened the door wider.
Sandra smiled gratefully and stepped inside the house. The living room she walked into was spacious. Polished dark wooden floors went well with the cream-colored walls. The kitchen could be seen at the back of the house with matching cabinets, separated somewhat from the living room by a breakfast bar. A comfortable looking leather couch met Sandra's gaze on her right, sitting in front of a huge paned window with a great view of the airfield in the distance. Mark was sitting on the sofa, looking tired. He managed a smile though as he caught Sandra's eyes. Dylan motioned her into the kitchen.
"How is he?" Sandra asked anxiously.
Dylan sighed, leaning heavily against the counter. A plastic bowl of half-eaten chicken and rice soup sat next to him. "He's not doing as well as I'd hoped." he admitted.
Sandra nodded, processing the information. "Is he any better at all?" she questioned hopefully.
"Honestly, I don't think so. Still, we did just move him here. It could take a while for things to settle down."
"Ok, well I guess I’ll go see him now."
"Yes, of course. I've got somewhere to go anyway so I'm thankful you can stay with him for a bit." Dylan replied.
Sandra walked over to Mark who managed another weak grin which was just a ghost of what it could have been. "Hey, Mark!" Sandra smiled as cheerfully as she could make it.
"Hey." Mark answered quietly.
Dylan stepped to the couch and bent down to Mark's eye level. "Mark, I'm going to have to go. Sandra's going to be here with you for awhile, ok?"
Mark nodded slowly. "T...that's fine. See you later." with that, Dylan left.
Sandra sat down on the armchair to Mark's right. "So, are you liking being home?" she asked casually.
Mark gave a slight nod. "Yeah, it's nice." he turned his head and gazed wistfully at the airfield.
"You miss flying, don't you?" Sandra questioned sympathetically.
There were tears in Mark's eyes as he answered. "Yes...yes I do. Very much so."
Sandra smiled reassuringly. "You've just got to get better. You'll be up there in no time."
Mark flinched visibly. "N...no! You don't understand. I've got PTSD. I won't be allowed to fly. On top of that, I can't get better. I can't sleep. I don't think Dylan knows this, but I haven't had a full night's rest in weeks. All I think about is what happened...and I have the worst nightmares."
"I'm sorry. I hate it when I have a nightmare. I can't imagine what you must be going through." Sandra admitted, knowing it was good to sympathize with PTSD patients.
Mark sighed. "Yeah. It's pretty terrible. I keep dozing off and I don't feel like eating. I'm just a mess."
"Well, there are things we can do to help you, you know."
Stiffening, Mark suddenly looked upset. "N...no! Please not therapy. I...I...oh, never mind." his demeanor was defeated. "Just whatever you think is best."
Puzzled, Sandra sat in silence for a moment. "Ok...are you able to walk any?"
"A little, I can get up the stairs to my room but it takes a while. I used to be able to climb them two at a time." Mark added bitterly.
Sandra smiled. "I'd like you to start trying to build up your strength. If you can walk, you can get stronger. I'd like to schedule some simple exercises. Keeping busy is key to not thinking about the past." she explained.
"But what about at night?" Mark wondered.
"A regular bedtime. If you can't get to sleep within thirty minutes, get up, walk around or drink some water, then try again. No watching TV at night. That can make things worse."
Mark sighed. "I don't know if that will help."
"Well, don't knock it till you try it." Sandra encouraged. "You never know. I made a list of all the things and I'll put it on the kitchen counter for Dylan."
The two sat and talked for another thirty minutes. Marks seemed reserved though, and Sandra knew he was holding something back. Still, she didn't push, trying not to force or worsen the situation. She listened to everything he had to say, offering help as she could. Soon, Dylan's car was pulling into the driveway.
"Hey, I'm back. How is everything?" Dylan asked, lugging in several plastic bags filled with groceries.
Sandra stood up. "Pretty good, I gave him some tips and left a list in the kitchen. Hopefully that will help."
Dylan nodded. "I'll make sure we follow the directions. Hey, thanks again for helping."
Sandra smiled. "No problem. Anytime."
"Well..." Dylan hesitated, ushering Sandra into the kitchen. "I have to head out on a flight next Saturday. I won't have anyone to watch Mark."
Sandra bit her lip. "I'm busy on Saturday. I'll be out of town most of the day. I'll ask Kelsey and see if she can." she offered.
"Really, I hate to impose." Dylan seemed uneasy.
"It's not a problem. I will ask." Sandra paused. "I should probably be going."
"All right then. See you later." Dylan agreed.
One week later, Kelsey stepped into Mark's living room. Dylan's face was tight. "Hey." he greeted tiredly.
Kelsey's eyes narrowed with concern. "What's wrong?" she asked worriedly.
"I think he's gotten worse. I can hardly even sleep anymore. He keeps having nightmares and it wakes me up. I'm exhausted....I probably shouldn't complain." he added soberly. "He can't sleep at all."
"Should you be flying?" Kelsey asked nervously, trying to figure out where Mark was.
Dylan noticed. "He's trying to rest upstairs. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
Kelsey agreed reluctantly. "Ok, just be safe. We don't need any more downed pilots. That's for sure."
"I know. Like I said, I'll be fine. I've got to fly or our airline will fold. Now, I need to head out or I'll be late. See you tomorrow. I really appreciate you staying over here like this."
"Hey, it's my pleasure. Now be off. We'll be ok. I'll take good care of him. He's in good hands." Kelsey assured him.
After Dylan left, Kelsey made her way upstairs and tapped softly on Mark's closed door.
"Come in," Mark's voice was muffled.
Kelsey stepped into the room. "Doing ok? I hope I didn't wake you."
"Ha. I can't sleep anyway." Mark retorted shortly.
Kelsey sighed. "I'm sorry. Are you hungry? There's leftover soup if you want some. I've heard Dylan's a good cook."
Mark sat up slowly and eased out of bed. "Guess I'll try to eat." he mumbled, heading cautiously towards the stairs.
Kelsey went ahead of him while he made his way down. While Mark made himself comfortable on the couch, Kelsey warmed up his lunch in the microwave.
"Here you go. It's nice and warm." she handed him the white bowl filled with the nourishing soup. Steam drifted upwards, spreading the appetizing aroma around the air.
Mark clumsily picked up his spoon and began to eat. It took a while but he managed to eat a third of the meal. "H...here. I'm finished."
Kelsey looked slightly surprised. "Are you sure? There's a lot left."
"I know. I said I don't feel like eating much." Mark growled. His expression turned sorrowful. "Sorry," he muttered. "I get cranky easily."
Kelsey nodded her understanding. "Why don't you try to take a nap on the couch?" she suggested.
Mark sighed. "It's easier upstairs. I'll head there and listen to my music. Sometimes that helps."
Kelsey assisted Mark upstairs and into his bed. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything." she assured him with a reassuring smile.
Mark nodded as Kelsey left the room. Sitting on the couch, Kelsey soon began to feel drowsy. Her eyes began to close and she nodded slowly off to sleep.
Panicked yells awoke her about an hour later. Jolting out of a deep sleep, Kelsey's mind raced. What was happening? Another yell jerked her into reality. Racing up the stairs, she nearly tripped. "Mark I'm coming!" she called loudly above his panicked shouts.
Hastily running into the room, she spotted Mark flailing in bed, his eyes wide with fright. Kelsey raced to his side. "Mark, Mark. Try to calm down. It's ok." she tried to sooth him.
Mark's eyes did not seem to register recognition. "No!" He screamed, backing against the wall. "G...get away from me!" He gasped in panicked sobs.
Kelsey stepped closer. "Hey, it's me. Kelsey. I'm not here to hurt you. I promise. What's wrong?"
Feeling cornered, a dangerous light suddenly seemed to flicker in Mark's eyes. With a quick movement, he placed his hands on Kelsey's shoulders and shoved hard, sending her staggering into the wall on the opposite side of the room.
Chapter 19: A Different Idea
Mark glared menacingly at Kelsey, his eyes smoldering dangerously as he almost seemed to dare her to try something else. Kelsey slowly raised her hands in a non-threatening gesture. "Mark," she called softly. "Mark, it's ok. I don't want to hurt you." Kelsey tried to keep her voice from shaking in fear. Mark's foggy, exhausted mind only registered the words "hurt you." He began thrashing around again, and began to hyperventilate in gasping sobs as he tried to force himself to escape. His mind wouldn't obey.
Kelsey heard the sound of a door slamming faintly downstairs. "Kelsey?" a very worried voice, obviously a girls echoed up to the second floor. "Is everything ok?"
Kelsey breathed a sigh of relief. "Sandra get up here quick!" she yelled.
Hasty footsteps pounded on the wooden stairs and Sandra appeared, medical bag and what looked like a sack of lunch in her hand. Mark's convulsing body suddenly went limp. Kelsey raced over to him and skillfully took his pulse. "Sandra! Get him on some oxygen now! He's going to code if we aren't careful. Hurry!"
Mark's now shallow breathing slowed to a snail's pace as Kelsey assisted Sandra in getting a breathing tube down his throat. Snapping an ambu bag onto the end, Sandra began rhythmically squeezing it to breathe for Mark. "Call Myst! We need an ambulance stat!" Sandra urged, eyeing Mark with concern.
Kelsey pulled out her phone and dialed Myst's number. She answered and Kelsey was able to call for help. It seemed ages before the flashing red lights lit up the house but in reality, it was only a few minutes. Myst raced in carrying a stretcher.
Organizing themselves into position, they prepped to transfer Mark to the stretcher. "Ok, lift on one...two...three!" Kelsey and Myst eased Mark onto it as Sandra continued to breathe through Mark through the ambu bag. Getting the bully stretcher down the stairs with Mark's weight added was no easy task but the girls managed and placed Mark into the back of the ambulance.
"Sandra, keep using the ambu bag. I don't have a ventilator right now. I'll monitor his vitals and get him on an iv. He crashed from lack of sleep and a panic attack." Kelsey informed her friend.
A few minutes later, they arrived back at the hospital. Hastily unloading Mark, they put him on a ventilator and sedative. His heart rate had slowed down to a more normal range and he was stable for the moment. Placing him in an ICU room, Kelsey texted Dylan and told him about the situation. Dylan was extremely concerned but as he was in the middle of a flight, he couldn't head back.
The night passed slowly. Sandra and Kelsey took turns watching him. To their relief, his vitals did not drop and remained steady. They weren't great, but not terrible either. The girls waited impatiently for Dylan to return home the next day.
The moment Dylan arrived at the hospital late in the afternoon, he raced to Mark's room, anxiety and exhaustion written all over his face. "I came as fast as I could." his eyes peered searchingly into Kelsey's, making her slightly uncomfortable. "How is he?" Dylan questioned urgently.
"I didn't want to worry you, but I knew you'd want to know." Kelsey admitted. "He's stable for the moment but he needs rest so badly I put him on a sedative."
Dylan nodded. "I'm just glad he's ok." he sighed.
Kelsey laughed. "If he can shove as hard as he did to me when he's this sick, he can probably pull through just about anything."
Dylan's eyebrows rose. "Shove? What are you talking about?"
"Oh, he didn't realize I was trying to help him so he pushed me into the wall. I'm ok." Kelsey assured him.
Dylan sighed. "I'm sorry he did that. Don't mention it to him when he gets better or he'll have a fit."
"Don't worry," Kelsey grinned. "I wasn't planning on it. Like I said, I'm fine."
"I guess I'll sit with him a bit. You girls get some rest. I know you're tired. Besides, I've been cooking up an idea but I need to finish up with it."
Kelsey tried to protest but Dylan waved her off. "I'll watch him closely. Don't worry about me." She left the room, shaking her head in bewilderment. It was amazing how long Dylan could keep himself awake, though she knew it would someday catch up to him. Kelsey went to the break room and grabbed a pretty dark blue mug from the wooden shelf. She poured a freshly made batch of good-smelling coffee into it and carefully carried the warm, steamy liquid back to Mark's room.
Dylan looked up, slightly startled. It was obvious he had been in deep thought. Kelsey handed him the mug. "Here. I know you prefer tea but this will help better to keep you awake." she grinned. "What are you thinking about?"
"I'll tell you later when I have it figured out myself." Dylan promised, taking a sip of the hot coffee. "Hey, I like the way you make this. It's not too sweet but not too bitter either and has the perfect amount of cream." he smiled.
Kelsey shrugged. "I've had a lot of practice. Some days in the ER just seem to drag on and on and on."
Dylan chuckled. "Yes, I hear you. I never could make coffee as good as this though."
"Well I'm glad you like it. Guess I'll be back in a bit to check on you." with that, Kelsey left the room.
Dylan slowly finished his drink, glad to feel a bit more energized. He stared at Mark's limp body and heaved a heavy sigh. "Oh, Mark. What am I going to do with you?" he paused, though not expecting an answer in reply. "Mark, you've got to get better. We need you."
Mark lay still, unresponsive. The room lapsed into near silence, the only sound in the room the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the quiet hissing of the ventilator. Dylan suddenly jumped out of his chair, grabbing his phone. "Kelsey, Sandra!" he texted. "Meet me outside of Mark's room. Hurry!"
The two female doctors raced down the hall. "Is something wrong?" they asked, worried.
Dylan shook his head excitedly. "No! I think I just came up with an idea!"
Kelsey met Sandra's gaze, each curious as to what the other was thinking. "What?" Sandra asked eagerly.
"I just recalled something Mark said to me at the house. He kept mentioning the plane crash over and over in his sleep. I think the fear of visualizing that when he sleeps is what might be causing this. What if we changed that?"
Kelsey's eyes narrowed with confusion. "What do you mean?" she wondered, giving voice to Sandra's thoughts.
"What if we replicated a really good dream of him being in the plane? With the sedative and painkillers it will seem just like one. We can pretend he's in a dream and make it really happy for him."
"I don't know..." Kelsey mused. "It might work but I'm not sure." her voice was skeptical.
"Yeah, that idea is...quite outside the box but still, I don't think anyone has a better one." Sandra glanced at Kelsey questioningly.
"Yes, Sandra is right. I guess we could try it. Hopefully it won't make anything worse. Are we doing this today?"
Dylan nodded. "I'd like to. We'll have to be careful with the level of medicine though. He can probably come off the ventilator and we'll transport him to the plane heavily sedated so it won't ruin what we're trying to accomplish. With luck, this will work."
Kelsey and Sandra eased the breathing tube out of Mark's throat and to everyone's relief, be breathed just fine on his own. "I guess he just needed to calm down." Kelsey noted. "Levels are in the normal zone. Let's get him to the plane!"
Chapter 20: Unexpected Consequences
“Careful, Sandra.” Dylan warned, nearly grunting under Mark’s weight. “We don’t want him to wake up before we’re ready. Easy does it.”
Sandra eased Mark’s head onto the cargo plane’s cot in the back, trying to move him as little as possible. “Ok, I’m good.” Sandra announced, removing her hands.
“Same. Good work. Now…who is going with him? We need someone in the back.” Dylan straightened and crossed his arms across his chest as he looked at the two girls, waiting for their answer.
“Sandra can go…I’m busy.” Kelsey replied. “I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on.” she made a face that was not at all pleasant.
Sandra scuffed the plane’s floor with her shoes. “Are you sure?” she questioned. “You can go if you want you know.”
Kelsey shook her head rigorously. “No, I really shouldn’t.”
“Alright then I guess it’s settled.” Dylan broke in, slightly impatiently. “Guess we’ll be seeing you later, Kelsey.”
Kelsey smiled. “I guess so. Bye you all. Be safe.” she waved at Sandra and Dylan before stepping carefully out of the plane.
Dylan shut the door and the cabin darkened somewhat. “Sit up towards the cockpit if you want.” he suggested. “I’ll leave the door to the cabin open so we can talk. Mark won’t wake up for a bit anyhow.”
“Ok,” Sandra agreed. Butterflies were beginning to flutter in her stomach but she tried to fight the feeling of nervousness. “Come on, Sandra. There’s nothing to worry about.” she chided in a whisper.
“What’s that?” Dylan asked curiously, easing himself into the captain’s seat.
“Oh, nothing.” Sandra quickly replied, buckling her seatbelt. She made sure it was snug before she took the headphones Dylan was trying to hand her. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Dylan grinned as he began the pre-flight inspection. Before Mark had been unloaded, he had done it on the outside of the plane so it didn’t take him very long. Soon, he started the engines.
Sandra tensed uneasily in her seat as the plane began to slowly make its way towards the runway. She peered out of the small window, watching the landscape of grass and distant trees creep by.
Dylan took his time lining everything up, but the plane rapidly began to pick up speed as it cruised down the smooth, flat runway. Sandra turned her head and stared at the seats in front of her, nervously clasping her hands. She felt the wheels lift the ground as they became airborne. Her uneasiness increased.
“Sandra!” Dylan’s voice was slightly concerned. “You ok? I’ve called your name three times now!”
Sandra jumped. “No…ah…yes, yes I’m ok.”
Dylan’s face softened. “Hey. Don’t be nervous. I’ve flown many times. You’re perfectly safe. I’m an expert.”
Sandra nodded, still not quite settled. “I…I know, it’s just that the last time I was up in the air…in that helicopter with Mark, we nearly crashed and…and it scared me really badly.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right.” Dylan agreed, remembering. “Well, I’m not injured and I’ll be careful. I promise. No nosedives or loops.”
Sandra cracked a smile. “You’d better not, Dylan. That would be a really bad idea, especially with Mark in the back.”
“I wouldn’t dare. I was just teasing.” Dylan assured her. “I’m not THAT much of an expert.”
The plane was now 2000ft in the air and steadily climbing. Sandra turned her gaze towards the window again and her eyes widened at the amazing view. The town looked like toys and the trees like a lush green carpet. The sun shone brightly, giving a brilliant hue to everything. The baby blue sky was beautiful against the dark green trees.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Dylan remarked. “Mark always loved taking off the best. It was like he was leaving all his troubles behind.” his voice suddenly grew husky.
Sandra sighed. “Yes, that is a good way to put it.” she agreed. “Tell me about Mark. I’ve never seen his real side. Only the side of him when he’s drugged up and in pain.”
Dylan hesitated. “M…Mark has a very interesting personality. He used to joke all the time.”
“Used to? What do you mean?” Sandra asked, puzzled.
“I’m getting to that. Long ago, Mark belonged to the RAF, the Royal Air Force. He was always complaining he never saw any action. I lost all contact with him for about three months and when I finally got a hold of him, he seemed…well, different. He retired soon after, and we got back together but he wasn’t the same person. He didn’t joke, and he rarely smiled. Whenever I mentioned it, he brushed off my remark.”
Sandra listened with interest.
“He still claims he never saw any action.” Dylan continued. “Maybe he just grew up. Sometimes he was pretty immature.” he grinned at a distant memory. “Mark is a very clean person. He hates to get dirty. He’s shy around women and prefers his own company rather than being with them.”
Sandra laughed. “Really? I never would have thought that. Does he have family?”
Dylan nodded. “His dad…his dad died but he has his mom, Charlotte, his step-sister Catherine and his brother Stewart are still living. He never sees them though.”
“Why not?” Sandra questioned curiously.
“Because…just personal family matters.” Dylan dodged the question, seemingly reluctant to answer.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.” Sandra apologized.
Mark stirred slightly on the cot.
“Hey Dylan, Mark is beginning to wake up so I’m going to head back there.” Sandra announced.
Dylan nodded. “Good. Shut the door so he can’t see me. Make him feel like he’s in a dream as best as you can. Hopefully this plan will work wonders.”
Sandra slid the small door closed and made her way to the row of seats beside the cot. Mark stirred again, his fingers twitching slightly. Sandra let him take his time waking up.
When he finally opened his eyes, they were cloudy, still well under the effects of painkillers and drugs. They narrowed slightly as they began to make out the interior of the plane.
“Hey, Mark!” Sandra greeted him softly.
Mark slowly turned his head in her direction, getting a better view of the plane’s cabin for his efforts. “W…where ‘m I? He mumbled incoherently.
Sandra couldn’t understand him but she knew what he was asking. “You’re on a plane of course. Where else would you be?”
“D…did I d…die?” he was a bit easier to understand.
Sandra shook head. “No, silly, of course not!”
“M…must be d…dreaming.” Mark reasoned. “H…haven’t h…had a good o…one in ages.”
“Well I hope this one is nice,” Sandra grinned.
“Yes.” Mark agreed, lazily staring up at the ceiling. His eyes drooped nearly shut.
“Look out the window at the sky.” Sandra suggested. “We’re way up in the air.”
Mark’s eyes drifted open briefly. “L…lots of blue. Pretty.” he murmured.
Sandra watched as the sedative slowly began to strengthen its grasp on Mark and he dissolved into unconsciousness once more. His face was peaceful.
Sandra slipped up to the front of the plane and opened the door to the cockpit. “He’s out again,” she announced, “but I think we’ve accomplished what we came for.”
Dylan nodded his satisfaction. “Great. Good work. I’ll land this plane and we can take him to the house. I’ve been circling the airfield so it won’t take long. Better buckle up.” he suggested.
Sandra fastened the seat belt and watched with admiration as Dylan skillfully lined up the plane with the runway and set it down smoothly back on the ground. It taxied to a stop and Dylan turned off the engines. “Ok, let’s get him off. Gently now.”
Kelsey pulled up with the car and they gently placed Mark inside. Dylan drove him back to the house.
For the next few days, Mark improved rapidly. His nightmares subsided greatly and hardly troubled him with their nuisance. Dylan’s mood improved as he was able to sleep better, as did Mark’s.
“Mark, stop slouching!” Dylan grinned teasingly.
“Oh, hush. I get tired easily.” Mark sighed, smiling back.
“Hey, I’ve got to run to my house a minute. Can you stay by yourself for a bit?” Dylan’s voice and eyes had turned anxious. “I can get Sandra to come…”
“No.” Mark interrupted. “I’ll be fine. Go ahead. I’ll find some way to entertain myself.”
Dylan nodded reluctantly. “Thanks, pal. You’re the best.”
Mark rolled his eyes. “Don’t mention it. Now scram!”
Dylan stepped out the front door, locking it behind him. He quickly disappeared out of sight.
The minutes passed by slowly. Mark waited with growing anxiety. Dylan should have been back long ago! Glancing at the clock, his eyes widened. Nearly two hours had passed. Groaning softly, Mark eased himself off the couch and slowly made his way to the front door. Dylan’s house was across the street. He was renting it for a small price but referred to it as his own.
It took Mark nearly fifteen minutes to cross the street and step up onto the porch. Not bothering to ring the doorbell, he placed a hand on the doorknob and tried it. It was unlocked. Stepping into the house, he noticed it was strangely quiet. Making his way towards Dylan’s bedroom, a shiny glint caught Mark’s eyes. Glass.
“What in the world…” Mark muttered, dodging it. Another piece appeared in his path, this one larger. As he entered the dark bedroom, he finally realized what they were. The room smelled strongly of alcohol. Large pieces of glass intermingled with tiny fragments littered the floor. An abnormal hump lay on the bed. It was Dylan.
“Oh, no.” Mark whispered, trying to avoid the worst of the glass. His shoes crunched the pieces smaller. “That scoundrel…he’s been drinking!”
Mark cautiously laid a hand on Dylan’s shoulder, Dylan jolted into a sitting position, scowling dangerously. “W…what are ya doin’ in my house?” he growled, his words slurred from the intoxicating liquid he had been consuming.
Mark hesitated. “W…what’s wrong, Dylan? You only drink when you’re upset.”
Dylan sneered, obviously not thinking clearly. “Waddya think? We’ve lost the airfield.” he tipped another near-empty bottle to his lips and took a long sip, finishing the last of the alcohol. He hurled the bottle to the floor, shattering it into millions of tiny glass particles. The noise was deafening.
“What do you mean we’ve lost the a…airfield?” Mark questioned fearfully.
“G…get outta my house.” Dylan roared, clambering out of bed.
“Dylan, snap out of it and tell me what’s wrong!” Mark urged.
“I said GET OUT!” With a sudden move, Dylan slammed a fist into Mark’s chest, sending him tumbling onto the floor.
Mark gave an agonized cry as he tried to breathe though the intense pain. “D…Dylan no!” he begged, tears spilling out of his eyes. Something warm trickled onto his hand and darkened the fabric of his light blue shirt. It was blood.
Dylan wasn’t finished. With a drunken strength, he hauled Mark to his feet, gripping the collar of his shirt. “N…next time you’d better listen.” he hissed, stumbling slightly. With a surge of energy, he slammed Mark into the wall. His head hit the un-yielding wall with traumatic force, instantly knocking Mark out. He slid ungracefully to the floor.
“Now let that be a lesson to ya!” Dylan muttered, his words slurred badly.
Chapter 21: Losses
Sandra smiled happily as she walked quickly down the road towards Mark’s house. It wasn’t a long trip as it was just on the opposite side of the airfield. The day was pleasant and the cheery tune of birds filled the air with music.
Sandra’s heart was soaring. Over the past week, Mark’s condition had improved rapidly. She hadn’t seen him in a few days and was headed there now for a follow-up on his recovery. As she passed Dylan’s old house, she noticed the door standing ajar. “That’s strange,” Sandra mused, halting her steps. “Dylan is always careful with safety first. Wonder if something is wrong…” Nervousness began to creep up her spine as she changed directions and headed up the path that led to his porch. She knocked hesitantly on the door. “Dylan? You in there?” she called as loudly as she dared.
Silence met her question. Sandra cautiously pushed the door open further and stepped inside the darkened house. The sound of glass crunching met her ears. Sandra gulped and headed towards the bedroom where the noises seemed to be coming from.
Dylan glanced up as Sandra’s shadow appeared in the doorway. “Get out.” he snapped menacingly.
Sandra was about to comply until she saw Mark slumped over against the wall. She gasped. “What happened?!”
Dylan sneered. “Wadda you think?” he clenched his fists and stepped closer to Mark’s unconscious body.
Rage filled Sandra and she didn’t hesitate. “YOU!” she yelled, startling Dylan. “You sit down on that bed NOW.”
Surprised and stunned, the words slightly cleared Dylan’s drunken stupor. He stumbled backwards and obeyed, still not quite realizing what he had done.
With a wary glance at Dylan, Sandra ran over to Mark, trying to rouse him. “Mark? Mark! Can you hear me?” Her only answer was silence. Mark did not stir.
New footsteps sounded behind her. Sandra whirled around, expecting Dylan to be there but she gazed straight into the worried eyes of Barbara, eyes that became narrow with realization. She spun around on her heels. “Dylan if I didn’t need you I’d…” she hissed, leaving the threat hanging.
“Barbara,” Sandra called, trying to keep her cool. “May we use your car to get Mark to the hospital please?”
“Yes, yes of course. You take it. I need to speak a piece of my mind to this drunken madman here.” Barbra replied shortly.
“Well, I’ll need some help. He’s out cold.” Sandra noted, trying to figure out where the drips of blood on his pants were coming from.
“Fine.” Barbara snapped. She wasn’t mad at Sandra, but she wouldn’t be getting over the nasty surprise that had just revealed itself to her anytime soon.
The two girls carefully carried Mark out to the car. “He’s got a broken rib at least.” Sandra announced. “The bone is poking through. Must have been a hard hit. His head’s got a nasty bump as well. He needs to wake up.” She shook him gently. “Come on, Mark, wake up for me buddy.”
Mark’s eyes fluttered halfway open and he moaned weakly. “Good!” Sandra praised. “Can you open them a bit wider for me?”
Mark did his best to comply but he seemed to be having a terrible time focusing on the face that hovered above his. Sandra sighed. “He’s got a concussion.”
“Are you finished with my help?” Barbara asked impatiently, with a pat on Mark’s shoulder. It was the only nice thing she could do at that moment.
“Yes. I’m fine.” Sandra got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Mark, stay awake buddy.” she urged.
Though the drive to the hospital only took five minutes, it seemed like an eternity to Mark who hovered between consciousness and unconsciousness. Plus, every jolt sent a spasm of pain through his entire body. Only Sandra’s soft encouragements kept him awake.
Myst ran outside as the car pulled up and she and Sandra took Mark to an ER exam room. There, Mark was given a painkiller and more attempts to keep him awake. Sandra carefully examined Mark’s head. “We won’t know how bad it is until we do an x-ray or he talks or…” she lowered her voice. “Something seems off.”
Myst bit her lip. “He really got Mark good. Look at his rib. That’s going to need surgery right away.”
Sandra sighed. “I know. Let’s get him prepped now, take an x-ray and see how bad this really is.”
The pictures didn’t take very long to develop and confirmed Myst’s diagnosis. The bone was splintered and several fragments would have to be removed. Mark’s head had a severe concussion, and amnesia was a great concern. Sadly, Mark wouldn’t talk and they couldn’t tell if he was suffering from it or not.
“All right, let’s get him into the OR.” Myst urged.
“Mark? Mark! Come on, wake up.” came a soft voice.
Mark groaned and lazily opened his eyes, staring straight into Sandra’s. The time for them to focus was much less and for that he was grateful, though his vision was annoyingly blurry.
“That’s right, Mark. Good job.”
Mark blinked slowly, trying to see more clearly. His whole body ached but it wasn’t unbearable. “W…where am I?” he mumbled quietly.
“You’re in the hospital.” Came Kelsey’s answer. “You got hurt pretty bad.”
Mark’s eyes closed. “F…feel like I was hit b…by a lorry.”
Kelsey’s eyes narrowed in confusion. Sometimes, British words still confused her. “A lorry?”
“He means a car.” Sandra explained. “I thought you of all people would remember that.”
“Well I forgot. Mark, do you remember what happened?” she turned her attention from her friend.
Mark slowly turned his head from side to side, trying to shake his head. He winced.
“Well you did get knocked out.” Kelsey assured him. “You’re tired. Try to get some rest.”
The next morning, Barbara found Kelsey in her office. “How is he?” she asked worriedly.
Kelsey looked up from the paperwork piled in front of her. “He’s groggy but you’re welcome to visit him. He hasn’t talked much. Maybe a familiar face would perk him up.”
Barbara nodded. “I already told the others but I’m going to tell you too. Don’t mention what happened to him please.”
“I wouldn’t dare. As mad as I am, I wouldn’t make Mark suffer knowing that.” Kelsey agreed hastily.
“Good. I guess I’ll be heading there now.”
“Wait…” Kelsey urged. “What made Dylan drink? I thought he never did that anymore.”
Barbara hesitated. “I…um…our...our airline in England has gone out of business.” she stared hard at the floor.
Kelsey’s mouth nearly dropped open as she stood up from her chair. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.” she walked over to Barbara and gave her a quick hug.
Barbara stiffened but she didn’t pull away. “Thanks. Me too.” she agreed flatly, trying not to show her real emotions.
Mark stirred as Barbara entered his room. He opened his eyes and turned his head in her direction. “Hello, Mark.” she greeted him. “Doing ok?” she wasn’t quite sympathetic.
Mark’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” he mumbled, trying to recall who the owner of the familiar voice was.
Barbara nearly jumped. “I’m your boss Barbara…” she replied, panic beginning to tug at her.
Mark looked at her blankly. “My boss? I…I don’t recall…”
“Kelsey!” Barbara yelled. “Kelsey get in here now!”
Chapter 22: A Tight Squeeze
Kelsey raced in. "What's wrong?" she gasped, anxiously glancing at the heart monitor. Nothing seemed abnormal.
Barbara's hands were trembling. "H...he can't remember me!" she gulped, her face pale with fright.
Kelsey stepped over to Mark's side. "Mark, do you remember her name?" she asked, gesturing to Barbara and trying to keep the concern she felt out of her voice.
Mark stared at Barbara a long moment, trying to place her face. She looked extremely familiar but his mind seemed insistent on keeping the memory files locked. "N...no." he finally admitted, panic beginning to make an appearance.
"Well, when is your birthday?" Kelsey tried again.
Mark tried desperately to recall the date he had previously known so well. "I...I can't!"
Kelsey bit her lip, betraying her nervousness. "O..Ok, ok, take it easy." she urged, half trying to calm herself. "You probably have amnesia."
Mark's eyes widened in horror as he tensed up. "N...no! I can't! I just need to try harder..."
"Mark, listen to Kelsey. She knows best. Try to relax." Barbara's voice was clipped and thin with worry. "I...I need to step out."
Kelsey shot Barbara a sympathetic look and nodded. "Mark, I'm going to put another sedative in your IV to help you sleep."
Barbara was shaking with rage, held in only by strong willpower. She made her way over to Dylan's house and rapped loudly on the wooden door. "Dylan, open up!" she demanded, her voice dangerous.
The click of an unlocking lock could be heard and the door opened. Dylan poked his head out. His expression was that of extreme depression. His eyes were dull and red from crying. "Hey." he mumbled.
Barbara took a deep breath. "Dylan, I am ashamed of you."
"What? What did I do now?" Dylan asked anxiously, fear gnawing at him like a parasite.
"Don't talk to me like that." Barbara snapped. "Boy you're in a fix this time." she glared menacingly at him.
Dylan ran his hand nervously through his tousled hair and opened the door wider. "What? Please tell me!" he begged, panic rising in his voice.
Barbara wagged a finger threateningly in his face. "Hush. I'll do the talking. YOU gave Mark amnesia." she paused, letting her words sink in, stinging Dylan to the core.
Dylan's jaw dropped. "N...no..." he gasped, tears running down his face. "P...please tell me you're joking! Please!"
"I'm not. This is all your fault." Barbara showed no sympathy.
"Oh, what have I done?" Dylan sobbed, his shoulders shaking with giant sobs. He made a pitiful sight.
"Yeah, that's what I would like to know." Barbara retorted angrily. "Have a good day." she added mockingly, spinning around on her heal and leaving Dylan standing in the doorway of his house.
Kelsey paced her office restlessly. A soft knock interrupted her steps. "Kelsey, may I please come in?" a soft voice asked.
"Sure, Sandra." Kelsey stepped over to her desk and sat down with a weary sigh. She placed her chin in her hands, elbows resting on the polished wooden desktop.
"Are you ok?" Sandra's eyes were worried.
"I...I don't know. I can't make up my mind."
"On what?" Sandra grabbed the wooden chair by the bookcase and hauled it over to the other side of the desk. Plopping down onto it, she waited for her friend's reply.
"Dylan. He hurt Mark!"
Sandra's jaw tightened. "I feel like punching him in the face. A kick wouldn't hurt either." she muttered angrily. "He's lucky he's not here or I just might strangle him."
"And get yourself fired too?" Kelsey asked, sighing again.
"Sandra's eyes widened. "You're firing him?"
"I honestly don't know. I'm torn in two different directions." Kelsey admitted.
"Well now that you brought firing him into the mix, you might have just saved him from my wrath. He's a good doc that's for sure."
"I know. That's why I can't figure out what to do!" Kelsey groaned. "Sometimes I wish I weren't in charge. I hate making decisions like this. Really, if he were anywhere else, he would have already lost his job. But we're already short on doctors and he...he's been such a good friend. I'd hate to ruin his career."
"Same here." A new voice broke in. Both girls looked up, surprised. Barbara was standing in the doorway.
"Hey! Come in." Sandra offered, standing up and motioning for Barbara to sit in the chair.
Barbara shook her head, dark hair flouncing. "I'll stand. Going to fire him?"
"Don't know yet. What do you think?" Kelsey asked, eager for another opinion.
"I think I'd like to give him a taste of his own medicine but I can't do that. I'd fire him if I didn't need him so badly. Mark can't fly and we're short on money." Barbara sighed, leaning heavily against the door frame.
"So, I guess we shouldn't then." Kelsey mumbled. "We both need him."
"Agreed." Barbara nodded. "He is one lucky kid."
"I'll say." Sandra muttered. "I need to go check on Mark. See you all in a bit."
To Sandra's surprise, Mark was leaning over the edge of the bed. "Mark! Are you ok?" she asked worriedly, hurrying over to him. She stopped in her tracks as his condition abruptly became apparent. Grabbing a plastic container, she shoved it under his mouth, just in time.
Mark sat up a minute later, beads of perspiration prominent on his pale forehead. "T...thanks." he mumbled. "Water please?"
Sandra called for Myst, who took the container away and replaced it while Sandra helped Mark drink the cool liquid.
"Slowly. Take it slow." Sandra urged. "Don't want to lose that too."
Mark nodded weakly, took one more sip and pushed the glass away. "S...sorry about that." he murmured.
"Are you feeling ok?" Sandra peered searchingly into Mark's glazed eyes. She didn't like what she saw.
"M...my head hurts." Mark announced, placing a trembling hand to it. "I....I'm kinda dizzy." he added.
"Dizzy? Ok..." Sandra paused, thinking. "Would you be opposed if we did a CT scan?"
Mark shrugged, encouraging a wince to appear on his face. "I...I don't care."
"Kelsey, Kelsey!" Sandra yelled two hours later.
Running footsteps pounded down the hall. "What's the matter?" Kelsey gasped.
"Look at this!" Sandra held up two pictures, obviously of a person's head. "This one," she gestured to the one in her right hand, "Was an hour and a half ago. This other one was ten minutes ago."
Kelsey's face went pale. "His brain is swelling!"
"Yeah and he's throwing up like crazy. I'm getting really concerned."
"Me too." Kelsey agreed hastily. "We've got to do something. I'm going to put him on a sedative and anti-inflammatory. We need to get this swelling down now." she announced.
"Good. Sounds like a plan."
Mark looked up when he heard the girls enter his room. He tried desperately to focus his eyes but they did not want to cooperate. "H...head hurts!" he moaned. "C...can't see straight...so...so dizzy."
Sandra lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We're going to give you something to help that." she tried to assure him. "Just be strong, ok?"
"T...trying to." Mark groaned and suddenly bolted upright. "B...bucket!"
Kelsey grabbed a container as Mark emptied the contents of his stomach into it for what seemed like the hundredth time. "S...sorry." he gasped as he lay back, breathing heavily.
"Don't apologize. You couldn't help it." Sandra reassured him.
"I've got a sedative for you, Mark. We're going to give you something to help the pain and swelling in your head, ok? It'll make you feel better." Kelsey injected the medicine into Mark's iv.
Mark nodded. "T...thanks. Y...you two are th...the best." he gave them a ghost of a smile as his eyes slowly slipped shut, his body surrendering to the powerful sedative. Kelsey noticed him visibly relax as he fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.
Chapter 23: A Nightmarish past
Sandra peered out the window as Dylan's truck rumbled up to the hospital. It was a dreary day and the rain did not improve Sandra's mood.
“You'll be nice to him, won't you?” Kelsey asked anxiously, putting her hands on Sandra's shoulders.
Sandra rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
Kelsey stepped in front of her friend, her face serious. “Look, I know you're upset. We're all upset. What he did was terrible and I'm sure he feels awful.”
“I know but...” Sandra stopped mid-sentence as Dylan stepped through the door.
“Hey, welcome back.” Kelsey greeted him. Her voice was just a bit cold.
Dylan nodded at the two girls. The dark rings under his eyes and his exhausted appearance told half the story. “May I see him?” he asked hesitantly.
Kelsey nodded. “Of course. You know the way.”
Dylan forced a smile and made his way towards Mark's room.
Mark's dull eyes stared blankly at the newcomer. “Who are you?” he asked with no emotion.
Dylan gulped and tried desperately to hide his emotions. “I...I'm your friend. My name is Dylan Robertson.”
Mark squinted as he tried to recall the once familiar name. Finally, he shook his head, fully dashing Dylan's hopes. “Nope, doesn't ring a bell. Sorry.”
Dylan brushed away stray tears. “A...are you sure you don't remember?” he asked huskily.
Mark sighed in irritation. “Nope. I already told you. No one listens to me.” He idly poked at his covers.
Dylan pulled a chair closer to Mark's bedside, unwilling to leave him. “Mind if I stay here?” he asked pleadingly.
“Suit yourself.” Mark replied with another heavy sigh. “It's not like I don't mind being in a room full of strangers who know everything about you.” he added bitterly.
Dylan lowered his eyes, unable to meet Mark's gaze. “I'm sorry.” he whispered.
“Everyone says that.” Mark's voice was nearly a snap. “But NO one tells me what happened.”
“Maybe they're afraid to.” Dylan remarked, fear gnawing at his stomach.
“Why?” Mark retorted. “I have a right to know, don't I?”
Dylan coughed nervously. “Of...of course. I can tell you...”
“Well please do.” Mark interrupted. “I'm tired of waiting here in suspense.” he rolled his eyes.
“You were hit by a lorry.” Dylan lied cooly, hoping Mark wouldn't be able to tell.
“And why was that so hard to tell me?” Mark asked harshly.
“Look. I'm sorry...”
“Stop!” Mark yelled. “Just cut it out won't you? All anybody does these days is apologize and I'm sick and tired of it. Why can't I just be left alone?” his cold attitude crumbled and he broke down sobbing. “I...I can't stand not being able to remember.” Tears rolled thickly down his pale cheeks.
Without stopping to think what he was doing, Dylan pulled Mark into a tight embrace. Mark shoved him away. “D...don't. I don't know you.”
Dylan's eyes filled with tears as his heart nearly broke. “I...I need to go.” he could barely keep his voice steady.
“Ok.” Mark sniffed, trying to calm himself.
Dylan fled the room, his vision blurry with tears and ran smack into Kelsey.
“Goodness, Dylan! Are you ok?” she asked worriedly, peering into his eyes.
“Sorry I didn't see you.” Dylan mumbled. “Kelsey we've got to do something! He can't remember me and it's eating me alive. Isn't there ANYTHING we can do?” he questioned disparately with a mighty effort at keeping his emotions in check.
Kelsey heaved a heavy sigh. “I don't think there's much we can do. We've just got to wait and see. I'll go in and check on him, maybe give him a sedative. I know it's hard but if he sees you, it could trigger a memory.”
Dylan nodded reluctantly. “Fine. I'll come.”
Kelsey gave him a sympathetic look. “Really, I think you're going through enough already. I just wanted to let you know that I won't be firing you.”
Dylan managed a tiny smile. “Thanks. You don't know how much this means to me.”
“Well I couldn't just kick you out, could I? You're part of the family now.” Kelsey grinned.
Mark didn't even look up as the two stepped into his room. “Doing ok buddy?” Kelsey asked.
“Fine. Just fine.” Mark's voice was less than convincing.
Kelsey patted his shoulder. “Do you need something to help you sleep?” she looked up as the door opened.
An elderly man stepped into the room. He walked with a slight limp and his thick graying hair was slightly tousled. He was quite fit, and his eyes were the color of blue glaciers, extremely clear. His face was not unfriendly, but gave an indication that he meant business.
Kelsey smiled warmly. “Hi dad! What are you doing here?” she gave him a quick but ample hug.
The man smiled. “I brought you some lunch. I was headed to the store but I thought I'd drop by. Who is this fine looking man here?” he asked with a smug smile, indicating towards Dylan.
Kelsey blushed crimson. “His name is Dylan. He works here.” she added quickly.
Mark was staring intently at the newcomer, a strange look on his face. Dylan stepped over to Kelsey's dad “It's nice to meet you...uh...Mr...” his voice trailed off as he hesitated.
“Oh, it's Frank. Frank Miers.” Frank smiled and shook Dylan's hand.
Mark gasped and the heart monitor registered his shock by mapping out an increasingly rapid heartbeat. Kelsey turned to him anxiously. “Mark? Mark! Are you ok?”
The sound of a sack hitting the floor caused Dylan to spin around towards Frank. His face was now as pale as Mark's. “W...what is h...his last name?” he gasped.
“Mark Holbrook. Why?” Kelsey asked, slightly curious, slightly concerned.
Frank's eyes filled with tears. “Mark! Mark I can't believe it's you!” His face lit up with joy as he ran towards Mark with outstretched arms.
A look of recognition passed over Mark's face. “F...Frank?! I...It's been so long!” he wrapped his arms around Frank in a fond embrace. The two held each other for a very long time.
“Oh Mark! I thought I'd never see you again!” Frank smiled, brushing away happy tears. “Buddy what has happened?” he asked, as if seeing the IVS and tubes for the first time.
“Wait...you know Mark?” Dylan asked, slightly apprehensively at the fondness the two seemed to have for each other.
Frank nodded, his eyes filling with tears again. He carefully sat down on Mark's bed, unable to keep his eyes off of his friend. “M...Mark and I have known each other for a long time.”
“But he recognized you!” Kelsey exclaimed excitedly. “Mark, can you remember who we are?” she asked hopefully.
Mark shook his head. “No but I know Frank.”
Frank eyed him with concern for the first time. “You have amnesia?”
Mark nodded reluctantly. “Can't remember anyone or anything...except you.”
Frank hugged his friend. “It's going to be ok buddy.” he whispered.
Mark gave a slight smile. “Never thought I'd hear that again.”
Frank suddenly seemed slightly uneasy. “Yeah well I never wanted to have to say it again. At least under certain circumstances. I...I can't believe I've found you! After all these years!”
Mark nodded, his face filled with joy for the first time in ages. “Frank...I never told you this but you are like a father to me. The father I never had.”
Dylan's jaw tightened but he said nothing. Frank grinned and tousled Mark's rowdy hair. “And you're like a son to me.”
Mark lay back on his pillows, beginning to appear exhausted. Kelsey lay a hand on her dad's shoulder. “Dad, perhaps we should let him rest.”
Mark shook his head fiercely. “No! Let him stay...please!” he begged.
Dylan cleared his throat. “Sure, Mark but we need to talk to him first. He'll be in in a bit ok?”
“Ok.” Mark's face fell but he accepted. “See you later, Frank.”
Frank sighed, unwilling to tear himself away from his friend. With a grunt he stood up and made his way out of the room.
Dylan led Kelsey and her dad to the office. “I don't know why but Mark seems to remember you.” he noted. “Maybe you can help us get his memory back.”
Frank hesitated. “What do you need?”
“Tell us about his past. We need to trigger some memories.” Dylan suggested.
The color drained from Frank's face. “N...no p...please.” he stammered.
Puzzled, Dylan pressed further. “But Frank, we need to know. We have nothing to go on here and...and I can't stand seeing my friend like he is. Please!” his voice was beginning to grow desperate.
Dylan motioned for Frank to have a seat in the wooden chair. Looking him straight in the eyes, he tried his best to convince him. “Frank, you and Mark...you two have a special bond. Anyone can see that. Mark has been hurt. He needs help. You may be that key.”
Frank swallowed hard but nodded. “I...I know. I just...just don't want to talk about it.”
Kelsey looked at her dad curiously. “Dad, what are you talking about?” she questioned, beginning to grow uneasy herself.
Frank stared at the floor. “I didn't want to worry you or your mom.” he admitted.
“With what?!” Kelsey's eyes were now wide with concern.
Hesitating, Frank began his story. “I...I met Mark when we joined the RAF. He came to me one night, barely able to breath with a bad case of pneumonia. He nearly died. I stayed with him, and to everyone's surprise, he recovered. We became inseparable. One day...” Frank paused, brushing away tears. “One day he was sent out on a mission...he didn't return. W...we were sent out to rescue him...”
“Wait!” Dylan exclaimed, cutting him off. “Mark told us he never saw any action in the RAF!”
“Well he did.” Frank remarked, his voice trembling with emotion. “W...we crashed and were captured. M...Mark was already there with his remaining team. We suffered terribly at the hands of a man named Smirnov. He tortured us and several of the crew died. We finally managed to escape. Mark and I spent three days in the searing heat of a barren wasteland before we were rescued by a helicopter.”
Frank was crying in earnest now, his shoulders shaking with intense emotion. It was clear he could not continue. Dylan placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.” he whispered. “I know that was hard.”
Frank continued to sob and when Dylan looked up, he saw that Kelsey was no longer in the room.
Chapter 24: Close Ties
Deciding that Frank needed some time, Dylan set out to find Kelsey. It didn't take long. He could hear her sobs from ten feet away. Knocking softly on the door of the break room, he waited, his concern growing.
The sobs ceased abruptly and footsteps approached the door. The knob turned and Kelsey stuck her head out of the crack. “Yes?” her eyes were red from crying.
Dylan hesitated. “Are you ok?” he asked gently.
“I...I don't know.” Kelsey sniffled, heading for the couch.
Dylan sat down beside her. “Hey, I know that must have been hard to hear.” he admitted.
Kelsey nodded, too upset to speak.
“I just wanted to make sure you are ok.” Dylan forced a smile.
Kelsey wiped away her remaining tears and smiled back. “It...it's just that he kept it from us and we never knew. It was quite a shock.”
Dylan nodded his agreement. “I know. I'm sorry.”
Kelsey shrugged. “Don't be. It wasn't your fault. Thanks for checking on me though.”
“Of course. That's what friends are for. We help each other out.” Dylan grinned. “Now, I'm going to go sit with Mark for awhile. Want to come?”
Kelsey nodded. “I bet Dad's already there. Come on, let's go.”
Dylan nearly jumped off the couch as he and Kelsey headed for the pilot's room. When they reached it, they found Mark asleep with Frank sitting faithfully beside him, dozing himself. “Dad?” Kelsey whispered softly.
Frank awoke with a grunt. “Hmm? Everything ok?” His eyes immediately snapped to Mark's sleeping figure. He relaxed when he realized nothing was wrong.
"We were just coming to sit with him. You're welcome to stay. Kelsey added, slightly less cheerful then normal. She was still a bit upset.
Frank nodded in hasty agreement. “Kelsey I'm sorry if I shocked you too badly. I...I just didn't want you two worrying about me. Your mom...she had enough to worry about with her illness.”
Kelsey sighed. “Must we talk about this here.” she gestured with her head towards Dylan and gave her dad a slightly annoyed look. Frank got the point and gave her an apologetic smile.
A pair of new voices sounded outside the hall. Barbara and Garrett stepped into the room. “Hi, Mark!” Garrett nearly shouted.
Barbara shushed her son with a fierce look. “Garrett! He's sleeping!”
Garrett stared hard at his shoes. “Sorry, Mum. Sorry Mark.” his pitiful look was impossible to stay mad at.
Barbara sighed. “Excuse us, we thought we'd drop by. Is that ok?” she glanced worriedly at Mark, who thankfully had not awoken.
Kelsey nodded. “Of course! We're glad you're here. Pull up a chair and have a seat. We'd love the company.”
Barbara accepted the offer but Garrett refused, content to stand next to Mark's bed and look on with solemn eyes. Bella's paws scratched at the hard floor as she stood up and sniffed the little boy's hand with her cold, wet nose. Garrett pet her head fondly but his focus was upon his friend. “Mum, why is Mark still sleeping?” he asked worriedly.
“He's very sick, dear.” Barbara tried to explain without frightening him.
“But he's been sick for so long!” Garrett pointed out. “I miss him.”
Barbara struggled to keep the tears back. “I...I know, Garrett. Me too.”
Garrett picked up Mark's limp hand and held it tightly, pressing it against his cheek in a fond gesture. “Mark, please. Wake up! I want to talk to you!” he whispered, tears falling upon the pilot's hand.
“Garrett dear, don't...don't bother him. He needs to sleep.” Barbara gently reprimanded, her voice cracking just a bit.
“But Mum please! He needs me!” Garrett wailed.
Mark's eyes fluttered sleepily open. “W...where am I?” he mumbled, eyes trying to focus.
Garrett leaned over the pilot's head. “Feeling better, Mark?” he asked with all the tenderness a six year-old little boy could muster.
Mark's eyes narrowed with confusion. “Who are you?” his heartbeat became slightly faster.
Garret's reaction was that of a crack of a whip. His head snapped around to Barbara, his blue eyes swimming in tears, a look of terror upon his face. “Mum?!” his voice was high with fright. “Mum, what's wrong with him?! Mum! You've got to tell me!” he was begging now, and it was painfully pitiful to watch.
Barbara choked back tears. “G...Garrett...he...” she paused, unwilling to admit to Garrett that Mark no longer knew him.
“Mum!” Garret's shoulders shook with sobs as he turned back to Mark. “Mark please! You've got to remember. Please! I'm your fr...friend Garrett. Please?”
Barbara arose and put her hands on Garrett's shoulders. “Dear, maybe we should...should leave for n...now.” she made a move to lead him away from Mark.
“No, Mum!” Garret yelled, encouraging a wince from Kelsey. “Mark! Tell me you remember! Mark please!”
Mark's heart-rate was nearly racing off the charts now. He threw off the covers, his face pale and terrified. “G...get away from me! P...please! Stop! Just stop please...please I'm begging you! Don't hurt me! Please!”
Kelsey jumped up and raced for the bed. Mark shrunk back from her. “No...stop! I...I didn't mean it...please! I...I though you were my friend...don't do it please!” he begged, eyes wild with fright.
“Mark, we are your friends.” she motioned Dylan over. “Dylan's your friend too. We don't want to hurt you.” she explained clearly.
“No!” Mark wailed. “Y...you work for them. You want to kill me! P...please just leave...leave me alone! I...I can't take...take this anymore!”
“Mum stop!” Garrett begged loudly as Barbara nearly drug him out of the room. “Mum something's wrong with Mark! I need...need to be with him...please Mum please!” his body shook with sobs as he disappeared out of sight down the hall, fighting every inch of ground that Barbara tried to lengthen between Mark and Garrett.
Dylan and Kelsey continued trying to console Mark but he would have none of it and it quickly reached to a point that was borderline dangerous. Mark's breathing was coming in ragged, sobbing gasps, he had ripped the oxygen mask off long ago. His chest heaved with the effort, fists clenched so tightly the whites of his knuckles could be seen. He was shaking from head to toe, his face flushed with fever. Their voices seemed to be drilling into his head in an infuriating way and he felt he was about to lose what little control he had left.
Suddenly Frank's soothing voice entered the mix. He calmly told Kelsey and Dylan to leave the room. Immediately, Mark's head seemed to clear just a bit as their talking ceased. Without another word, they silently obeyed.
Frank quietly scooted his chair over to Mark and looked him in the eyes, sympathy evident in the elderly man's face. “Mark, please. Listen to me.” his voice was soothing and gentle.
Mark's harsh breathing calmed just a bit. Frank nodded his approval. “That's right, Mark. Follow me.” he began a series of calming breaths, as Mark tried to follow his example. “Good, good, Mark.” Frank praised quietly.
“T...they...want...to hurt me...” Mark gasped, trying to regulate his breathing.
Frank shook his head, voice still soothing. “No, Mark. They were trying to help. Guess they scared you a bit huh?”
Mark nodded. “D...don't know...them.”
Frank's eyes held a sympathy that only a few people could match. “I know, Mark. But I'm here and I'll protect you. That's all that matters.”
“T...thanks, F...Frank. Y...you're the only person...I trust.”
Frank smiled. “I assure you they weren't after you. Kelsey is my daughter. She wouldn't hurt a mouse. She has been taking care of you for quite a long time...” Frank's voice droned on in a steady stream of talk, sometimes intermingling with soothing German phrases. Mark slowly began to relax. Frank replaced the mask on Mark's face and his breathing improved drastically. Soon, his eyes slid shut. Frank continued to talk, knowing it didn't really matter what he said, just how he said it. Mark finally fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, lulled off by Frank's voice.
Chapter 25: Left Behind
“Dylan, I need to speak with you.” Barbara’s voice wasn’t harsh, but Dylan could tell that something was wrong.
“Oh?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. Barbara sat in front of him behind her massive oak desk, brought over at a ridiculous price from England. Barbara couldn’t bring herself to part with it.
The two were seated in the MBD airline office. It was a small building but it fit the desk and the two chairs comfortably. In the far right corner sat a tall fern plant giving a bit of color to the otherwise mostly white interior.
Barbara hesitated, clearly upset. “W-we have a problem.”
Dylan stiffened. “What? What is it?” he asked cautiously, still afraid he was on Barbara’s bad side. She had been unusually harsh in her attitude towards him ever since the awful day he had hurt Mark.
“We cannot continue to run our airline under a two pilot agreement.” Barbara announced dully. “We only have one pilot and I can’t legally keep it that way without changing our license.”
The words hit Dylan like a douse of cold water. “W-what are you saying?” he stammered, heart pounding wildly in his chest.
“I’m saying that I’m going to have to-to make you the Captain and Mark will no longer be a part o-of this airline.” Barbara’s businesslike demeanor began to crack.
Dylan scrambled out of his chair and nearly knocked it over, so great was his haste. “B-but you can’t do that!” he nearly yelled. “This job is Mark’s life! It’s what keeps him going!”
Barbara couldn’t meet his panicked gaze that was drilling into her. “I-I know. But it’s illegal. We can’t continue like this.”
Dylan brought his fist down hard on the solid wood desk. It hurt like the dickens but he didn’t care. He was too upset. “Fire me instead. That’s really what it is anyway. No matter how you put it, that’s what it is.”
Barbara finally looked up. Tears were threatening to make an appearance and it took all her willpower to hold them back. “I-I can’t, Dylan. He can’t fly.” Her voice had changed to a softer one, softer than she had addressed him in a very long time.
“Uggg!” Dylan muttered, exasperated. He knew it was true, every word of it. But his mind screamed that it was the wrong thing to do.
“Look.” Barbara continued. “I regret doing this just as much as you regret it. Perhaps one day…but for now no. We’ve so many bills and we aren’t flying. This airline will fold if we don’t do something. You understand don’t you?”
Dylan sunk back into his chair, defeated. “Yes…yes I understand. I just…I wish…”
“I know.” Barbara finished for him. No more words were needed. She understood.
“We won’t tell him, will we?” Dylan questioned fearfully. Mark was in no condition to hear anything of the sort.
“He’ll have to hear sometime but at the moment, no. I don’t want to stress him out anymore. Heaven knows he’s under enough already.” Barbara sighed heavily.
“I-I agree.” Dylan mumbled.
Barbara stood up. “You may go now.” She lifted Mark’s captain’s hat off of a hook to her left and handed it to Dylan. It seemed to finalize her plans. “Here. Take good care of it.” She swallowed hard. “As of now, we are a one pilot firm.”
Dylan didn’t want the hat. For one awful minute he contemplated shoving it back and stomping off, perhaps for good. He finally accepted it though, fingering it lovingly. The dark blue fabric brought back a rush of memories. They had done so many things together in the cockpit of the plane. So many conversations, so many pranks, so many good times. No longer able to hold back his tears, he turned and fled.
Barbara stared wordlessly after him, not even noting that he had failed to shut the door behind him. When he was out of sight, she let her own tears flow as well.
The next morning, Dylan appeared early in Mark’s room. Frank was still keeping his lonely vigil faithfully at Mark’s bedside. He appeared asleep, though in a most uncomfortable position. It was a wonder he hadn’t fallen out of his chair. Dylan hesitated, a slight twinge of jealousy coming over him as he surveyed the peaceful scene in front of him. He pushed it back and quietly stepped over to Frank, laying a hand on the elderly character’s shoulder.
Frank awoke with a start and stared at Dylan. “What do you want?” he asked gruffly. A flicker of recognition was kindled in his eyes and his fists, which had clenched, uncurled. “S-sorry.” He stammered.
Dylan nodded and placed a finger to his lips. He motioned Frank out of the room.
Frank eased out of his chair, a pained expression momentarily on his face. The early morning darkness hid it from Dylan though. He closed the door behind him. “Yes?” his voice was rough, a combination of sleepiness and from having talked so much in the previous hours.
“L-Listen.” Dylan’s manly voice was cracked with emotion. “We’ve had to cut our pilots down to one. Our airline can’t claim to have two pilots when we only have one.”
Frank’s eyes registered shock and horror. “B-but you can’t!” he gasped. “That’s Mark’s life you just took away!”
A tear rolled down Dylan’s cheek. “I-I know. But there’s no other option!” he huffed.
Frank’s mind raced. He had to save his friend from this terrible fate. But what could he do?! An idea struck him like a thunderbolt. “Wait! Maybe you won’t have to!” he exclaimed.
Dylan peered intently at Frank, clutching at the tiny bit of hope kindled inside him. “What?!” he asked, eagerness making a presence in his tone.
“I can fly. I’m a pilot. I might be old but I can fly!” Frank announced.
Dylan grabbed Frank by the shoulders in excitement. “It might work! You might have just saved Mark!” he grinned through his tears. “I’ll call Barbara and see.” Dylan hurriedly pulled out his cell phone and dialed her number. His voice rose higher with excitement with each passing moment. Frank waited in agonized worry. Finally, Dylan hung up. He threw his arms around Frank and hugged him.
Frank tolerated the gesture only a second before he squirmed out of the man’s arms. “Goodness Dylan! Just tell me what she said!”
Now, Dylan’s eyes were sparkling with joy. “She said yes! It will work! Now, I’ve got to head out on a flight. Come with me?”
Frank hesitated. “Mark…”
“Don’t worry. Kelsey and the others will take good care of him. He’s sedated anyway so he won’t know. Please?” Dylan interrupted.
“I suppose. It would be so nice to be up in the air again.” Frank sighed at the memory before straightening in resolve. “Let’s be off then.”
The trip to the airfield did not take long. The early morning temperature was pleasant, and birds waking up from slumber filled the air with their cheerful tunes. Dylan skillfully preformed the pre-flight inspection and brought the plane to life. It skimmed down the runway and took off as graceful as a bird.
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Dylan grinned, glancing at Frank who was staring out of the window, completely in rapture and captivated by the view.
“Hmm? Oh. Yes, yes I really am.” Frank agreed. “It’s been so long…” his voice trailed off.
The two sat in silence for a bit. Frank reveled in the fact that he was in the air once more and was enjoying himself thoroughly. Dylan watched him out of the corner of his eye, while keeping close tabs on the plane’s numerous gauges and where they were headed. Finally he broke the silence.
“I-I have a question.”
Frank tore himself away from his own thoughts and focused on Dylan. “Yes?”
“Mark…ever since he retired from the RAF he’s been different. I know you told us about what happened, but it seemed to me like a brief overview. I hate to ask but…”
“I understand.” Frank cut in. “You deserve to hear the story. I haven’t told it because the memories are quite painful. It would be like re-opening an old wound. But I feel I should tell it.” He fell silent a moment.
Dylan waited, slightly impatiently but he said nothing as he realized how hard it was for Frank to recall the terrible time he must have endured.
“I guess I’ll start from the beginning.” Frank decided, and began his tale that seemed to bring both of them to that day so many years ago…
Frank Miers whistled as he strolled down the lane towards the mess hall. It was a lazy sort of day. The kind that made you feel lazy. He heard shouting and laughing coming from the mess hall and his pace quickened. Upon entering he found a group of men shouting and roaring over a game of cards. In the center of the madness was a red haired pilot with a devilish grin on his face.
"Sorry boys, royal flush. Read it and weep," he taunted as he laid down his cards. The other players let out a groan and paid up.
"Mark! I thought you had sworn off gambling!" Frank chided.
"What can I say? We had some new recruits, thought I would give them a run for their money," he said with a childlike smile. Frank smirked at the younger man. Despite being nearly half his age, Mark and he had become very good friends. Mark finished counting his money and stuffed into his pocket before going outside and lighting a cigarette.
"Those things will kill you, especially if you've had pneumonia," Frank scolded as he snatched it out of Mark's mouth, threw it on the ground, and stamped it out. "I don't ever want to see you in my clinic again."
"Wasn't that bad," Mark protested as he pouted. Frank looked at him severely.
"You stopped breathing kid. It was very bad. The rest of the medics had given you up. You're lucky ol' Frank was there. I don't ever want to force life back into you again. You hear?"
"Yes mum," Mark said with a sarcastic smile. Frank ruffled his hair, knowing how much it irritated the young pilot. They were approached by a heavy set officer.
"Holbrook, you're needed in the general's office," he said blandly. Mark rolled his eyes at Frank as he followed the officer away.
Frank was still having a hard time letting the news set in.
"So you've been asked to lead a surveillance team against what?" Frank asked, not comprehending what Mark had been asked to do. It was later that night.
"Oh you know, the usual. Buildings, rivers...Ol' Witmore thinks I'm the best pilot for the job. Imagine me! A bloody surveillance team leader!"
"I'm very proud of you, Mark.” Frank grinned. “I think you've earned it. When do you leave?
"O-four-hundred," Mark replied with a yawn. "Better get to sleep."
"I'll be there to see you out."
Mark with his bag on his back strolled towards the waiting jet. Eight other pilots were preparing themselves as well. He heard a shout and turned to see Frank standing at the fence. The older man waved to him and Mark grinned and waved back before turning and walked to his jet. Frank stayed until the jets took off in formation, swiftly carrying friends and brothers far away. Frank blinked rapidly to dissolve the tears in his eyes.
Frank found himself two days later cleaning up an exam room. He'd just been patching up a young hotshot who'd gotten himself in a drunken brawl the night previous. The punishments devised by the officers would be far worse for the lad then the minor gash he'd received on the side of his head. He was about to leave when a small pimple-faced radio boy came running in huffing.
"You're needed now! Strike Team Beta's come back, or what's left of it. Only three, Sir," the boy blurted urgently. Frank nearly stopped breathing.
"Th-three? Only three out of eight?"
"Yes sir. Two were killed. The rest are M.I.A." Frank's heart sank lower. Mark could be any one of those.
"Take me there now!"
Frank followed the boy to the hospital where the three injured pilots were being seen to. One out of three was gravely injured. The other two looked pretty bad, but they would live. Much to his despair, Mark was not among these. The general was present, attempting to get an account from the least injured of the pilots. He ran up to him.
"Sir, please I must know. Where's the leader of the strike team. Where's Holbrook?" Frank begged, hardly wanting to hear the answer. The general sighed.
"Holbrook is M.I.A, along with Teijents and Blake. We're currently trying to locate at least a ballpark area of where they might be but we're looking at slim chances. That bloody desert is like a black hole, swallowing whatever may come it's way. I'm sorry Miers. We'll do what we can, but there's little hope."
Frank swallowed hard, sick worry and grief filled him. Mark was out in the desert somewhere, left for dead. M.I.A....
Light streamed directly into his skull. How was this possible with his eyes closed? Carefully Mark opened them, which took quite a bit of effort. His lids were nearly glued shut with blood. With blurry vision he craned his head trying to see where he was. Big mistake. The second he moved a shooting pain went through his head making him gasp. Frantically he tried to gather his thoughts, trying to remember where he was.
"That's right. Ambushed. Plane shot down. Crashed. Two pilots dead. The others? Carefully he looked around. His eyesight had cleared enough to see that he was in a small room the size of a garage. Several other pilots were laying around the building. He tried to get up but gasped in pain. There was blood on his shirt, his blood, and his shoulder was definitely dislocated.
"Fantastic," he muttered. Suddenly there was a clang. A man in a black combat uniform and scrappy stubble on his face sauntered up to him.
"So, you think that a pathetic strike team could take out the Black Ring? Think again captain," he sneered. Before Mark could reply he slammed his booted foot into Mark's stomach. Mark never even had the air to scream as he was sent into darkness once again.
"Miers," an officer said. Frank roused from his dozing.
"Hm? Yes?" He said groggily.
"The general would like to see you," he said. Frank nodded without a word and followed the officer to the general's office. The tall rather stooped man was studying some files on his desk when Frank came in. Frank saluted his senior and the general returned the gesture before motioning for Frank to sit.
"We've recently discovered a prison some four-hundred clicks from here. If our intel is correct there are several of our men being held prisoner there. We're gonna try and send in a relief team to rescue them. I'm putting you on the team. You are our best and most experienced medic. I don't begin to doubt that won't be casualties and I want our top man on it.
"Yes sir. Thank you sir. When am I leaving?"
"The team is leaving tonight a zero-hundred hours. It's best we try to go under cover of darkness and take them by surprise. We'll send the strike team ahead so the area will be cleared for you.
"Yes Sir. Thank you sir," Frank said as he left the office. His mind was racing. Prisoners. Maybe Mark would be among them!
He gathered his team which consisted of two other medics and supplies were packed and loaded onto the helicopter. Frank was an excellent leader ensuring that his team would be ready. The strike team left at twenty-three-hundred hours and then the medical team followed an hour later. Frank loved being in the air. Despite the constant danger of being in the RAF the exhilaration of take off would never lose its luster for him.
"Prison's twenty clicks out. We should be hearing word of the strike team any minute now," the pilot flying the helicopter reported. Frank mentally prepared himself. He shoved all thoughts of Mark out of his head. He couldn't let that distract him now. He had a job to do and potentially lives depended on him to do it. Frantic crackling from the helicopter's radio shocked him out of his reverie.
"Mayday! Mayday! Strike team down! Strike team down! Abort mission! I repeat! Abort! It's a trap!" A frantic voice screamed over the radio, his voice broken up by the static. As if to underline the panicked cries something exploded near the belly of the helicopter. Frank almost fell out.
"Mayday! Mayday! We're under attack! Mayday!" The pilot sounded over the radio as he swung the helicopter around trying to turn from danger. Several more loud explosions resounded and Frank saw two jets streak past the helicopter. Suddenly an explosion went off, the whole helicopter shuddered and groaned, then pitched forward and rapidly began to descend.
"Mayday! We've been hit! We've been hit! We're going down!" The pilot screamed. Frank and the other pilots scrambled to strap themselves in. The ground was rushing towards them.
"Brace for impact!" Frank called before they hit the ground and everything went black.
Chapter 26: The Black Ring
Frank awoke with a jerk. His leg throbbed painfully. Looking down he saw that it was indeed broken. Blood trickled down the side of his head from a large gash on the side of his head. Other than that he appeared to have no serious injuries. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, he surveyed his surroundings. The room he was in was hot. Very hot. And small.
Glancing around he saw in the dim light and to his horror, seven or eight British pilots lay scattered about the room. Frank recognized them all. They wear the missing members of the survellence team that was under Mark's command, and the two remaining members of his rescue team. Groaning in pain he pulled himself up so he was standing in one leg and started to hobble over to the door. On the way he tripped over someone's legs and very nearly fell. Turning he saw....his heart dropped in his stomach.
"M-Mark?" Frank gasped as he dropped to his knees and crawled towards the young man. "Oh Mark I thought I'd never see you again!" He touched the young man's face as if to reassure himself that he was real. Mark blinked his eyes open and looked at Frank.
"Fr-Frank?" Mark murmured as he opened his eyes and tried to get them to focus. The amount of time it took for Mark to complete this small task worried Frank. Sure sign of a concussion if the tell-tale blood on the side of his head was anything to go by. He also noticed Mark's breathing was incredibly labored.
"Hey, I'm here. It's alright now. Think you can sit up for me so I can look at you real quick?" He said gently. Carefully Mark started to sit up when suddenly he jerked and cried out in pain before slumping back against the wall and wrapping his Uninjured arm around his side. His breathing was frantic now.
"Mark. Mark look at me. Just calm down ok? Slow breaths. That's it. Now listen to me. I think you've broken your rib. We've got to brace it against something so you don't puncture your lung. I'm gonna help you lay down alright? We'll take this slow."
There was a lot of shifting as slowly and carefully Frank lowered Mark onto his back against the floor. He peeled off his jacket and folded it under the young man's head like a pillow. Gently he palpitated the pilots sides and found that indeed two ribs on the left side were broken. Thankfully they were only tiny fractures and in his lower ribs so there was very little chance of them puncturing his lung as long as no stress was added to them. He unbuttoned Mark's shirt and found the source of the bleeding was from several superficial cuts in his chest and abdomen from the crash. At this point they were non-fatal.
"What happened Mark?" Frank asked softly.
"Ambushed," Mark croaked from between cracked lips. "They shot down our planes. Killed two guys right in front of me. It-it's was awful. They shot my plane right out of the sky. Don't think they wanted me to die yet though. S-said they would make m-me pay." Mark's eyes were losing focus again as he battled with unconsciousness.
"Who? Who's they?" Frank asked, confused.
"The-the Black Ring," Mark whispered with horror in his eyes.
Frank's blood turned cold. He had not the slightest idea about what Mark was speaking of, but the fear and the desperation in his voice frightened him. He put his hand against Mark's forehead to make sure he didn't have a fever which would signal impending infection. Thankfully he didn't.
"Don't worry Mark. We're going to get out of here somehow. I promise," Frank soothed gently. Mark let out a shuddering breath and and his eyes slipped closed. Frank knew it was probably not good for him to be sleeping with the obvious concussion he had but Mark looked so tired and as if ten years had been added to him. Sleep would be the best thing for him.
Frank however didn't sleep. During the night one of the more seriously injured pilots and one of the medics that had been with him died. They had sustained very serious injuries and lack of proper medical equipment sealed their fate despite Frank's efforts. Through all this, Frank never saw even a hint of their captors and white hot rage burned in him. Who dared to do this? He would make them pay. Dawn found him dozing restlessly beside Mark. The loud clang of a door woke him up with a start. Mark woke up too and Frank could see the fear in his eyes.
"Hey. It's alright," Frank reassured as a man in black fatigues followed by four others similarly dressed sauntered in.
"Welcome pilots one and all! I hope you had a good night's sleep?" The leader grinned. "My name is Kazime." He chuckled as he paced up and down the room, taking in the sight of his motley prisoners. He spotted the dead pilot and medic. "Oh, they decided to check out early eh? Take them out of here."
Two of the four men swiftly dragged the corpses away and out of the room. Frank felt the fury building in him. Mark must have sense it, because he felt him grab onto his arm. The man came to a stop in front of them. Frank felt the cold eyes burn into him until he looked up and saw that Kazime's glare was reserved for Mark.
"Hello captain," he smirked. "I'm afraid we haven't been properly introduced." Kazime nodded his head and Mark was sized by two pairs of rough hands. Frank could see the younger man bite his lip to keep him from crying out as he was jerked roughly to his feet. He was dragged to the opposite wall and his arms were chained above his head. Mark groaned as they moved his dislocated shoulder further than it was supposed to go. Kazime produced a black whip and walked casually towards Mark.
"I told you I would make you pay," he growled in a low voice before turning to the rest of the prisoners. "This is what happens when you dare try and cross me."
There was a crack as he unfurled the whip and then he brought it down hard on Mark's back. The whip bit deep into Mark's shirt and cut into his skin. Mark held his tongue and forced himself not to scream. He knew if he were going to make it through this he would need to detach his mind from his body. He needed to focus on anything other than the pain. Enraged, Kazime continued to bring the whip down on his back. Mark thought of planes and of flying. Oh how he loved to fly! He loved the peaceful feeling that came over him when he was up in the air. If it were possible he would live in the sky. He remembered as a young boy all he wanted to be was an aeroplane, if only it meant he could fly.
A bucket of ice cold water shocked him back. It was so unexpected and it hit his torn up back so suddenly that it felt like someone had hit him with a fiery hammer. Before he could stop it a harsh scream tore from his lips. Kazime laughed and unchained him, only to be shoved down onto his back. The movement jostled Mark's broken ribs sending a shooting pain that almost took his breath away. He arched his back as he cried out again.
"Leave him alone!" Frank cried as he started to limp to Mark. One of Kazime's men grabbed him by the shoulder and punched him in the gut sending him to the floor gasping for breath.
"N-no. Pl-please....y-your fight....is with...m-me," Mark gasped weakly as he tried to rise on one elbow. Kazime put a booted foot on Mark's chest and pushed him back to the floor producing a softer more strangled cry from the injured pilot.
"I swear to you captain I will make you suffer unlike anything you've ever known in your entire life," he snarled before he gestured to his men and they left, locking the door behind them. Mark groaned and rolled to his Uninjured side panting shallowly with his eyes half closed.
"Mark?" Franked called gently as he cautiously moved to Mark's side. The pilot let out a pained grunt in acknowledgement. "Hey, I'm gonna look at your back a sec and see if I can try to clean it up alright?"
Not waiting for a reply Frank moved again so he was facing Mark's back. He tore away what was left of Mark's shirt and winced. The young man's back was bloodied, oozing blood from multiple deep wounds. He knew it probably stung badly. Using the pieces of Mark's shirt he cleaned the wounds the best he could then he stripped off his own shirt so he could put it on Mark. The less those wounds were exposed to the open air the better. As he struggled the half conscious pilot into the shirt he noticed the tell-tale swelling in Mark's shoulder.
"Gonna have to set that arm kid," he said as he situated Mark so his head was resting in his lap. Mark let out a soft exhausted groan. "But you need to rest for now.”
It was Kazime's men, not Frank who set Mark's arm that evening. Mark had been lying on his side sleeping fitfully and still suffering from his recent bout with the whip when two men entered the room with a clang. Mark jerked his head up which he instantly regretted as it sent fiery hot pain down his back. One of the men, a portly fellow with a beard gestured to Mark. His companion, a massively tall man with large muscles grabbed him, hoisted him up so he was in a sitting position, and pushed him against the wall. Mark cried out and and protested but the man continued to hold him down.
The other man squatted beside Mark and took hold of his injured arm. Mark instantly knew what they were intending to do and immediately began to thrash and fight back. Muscles tightened his grip and Portly prepared to set the shoulder back.
"Pl-please. Please don't. Please!" Mark begged. Muscles shoved his head back. Suddenly there was a soft pop as Portly jerked Mark's arm up and the joint shifted back into place with a click. The guttural scream that followed would forever haunt Frank. He knew more than likely Mark had been tensed up for the entire procedure, causing even more pain. He also witnessed that the procedure was done in the most rough and crude manner. The two men left Mark in a trembling heap.
Frank crawled over to him, dragging his broken leg behind. Mark was slumped over clutching his shoulder and trying desperately to fight back tears. His breathing was harsh and ragged.
"Hey. It's alright Mark. Just breathe," Frank encouraged as he pulled back the shirt to inspect his shoulder. The bruising and swelling was concerning but would go down with time. He knew Mark was in a tremendous amount of pain but there was nothing he could do. All he could do was stand by him.
"It's ok Mark. It's gonna be ok. Just breathe. I'm here," Frank whispered long into the night.
The next morning Frank was woken up by the rough burning sensation in his throat. His head felt heavy. Dehydration. He glanced over at Mark who was asleep, taking in his pale complexion and dry cracked lips. Gingerly he picked up his hand and squeezed his index finger. The rate it took for the skin to go from white to pink again concerned him greatly. Mark was very dehydrated, as well as the other pilots who had been captured a month previous. The door clanged open and several men with sacks trudged in. Kazime followed and Frank prayed that he wasn't here with diabolical purposes. Mark really couldn't take anymore. The men gave a sack to each prisoner except Mark and then left. Upon opening it Frank found half a small loaf of stale bread and a pint container of vodka. Hardly anything to help his thirst but it would do. He did also intend to share it with Mark who obviously had been left out of the rations on purpose.
"Mark? Mark wake up. Come on Holbrook!" He said gently and Mark's eyes slid open. "Hey buddy. Got something that will take the edge off ok?" Mark nodded and Frank tipped the container of vodka to his lips. Mark took several big sips and much to Frank's relief he saw his body visibly relax and the color return somewhat to his face.
"That's some good stuff," he murmured with a sarcastic grin. Frank was relieved.
"Told ya it would help," He said with a smile. "There's some bread here. Want some?" The thought of eating made Mark's stomach crawl.
"Thanks Frank. You go ahead. I'll eat later," he said. Exhaustion was creeping into his bones now that the alcohol was taking some of the pain away. Frank looked at him.
"I'm sorry kid. I'm sorry we're in this mess," Frank said sadly.
" 's not your fault," Mark slurred tiredly. "Just got into a bit of a fix. 'S nothing we can't get out of. Especially if they plan on pumping me full of that vodka." This was said with another yet weaker grin. Mark shivered slightly and Frank reached forward, putting his hand on Mark's forehead.
"Don't be catching an infection Mark. That would not be a good thing to have right now. You're feeling a little warm."
"Not fever. Just this room. Now bugger off. I want to sleep," the younger man said groggily. He shifted so he was laying on his un-injured side on the dirt floor of the cell and gradually drifted off to sleep again. Frank watched as his shivering continued for the better part of the hour, and his worry grew. In a room with the ambient temperature of an oven Mark shouldn't be shivering. Frank sat beside the form of his sleeping best friend, anxiety eating at him like a harmful insect.
The next couple of days are a nightmare. Despite the oncoming fever and his own injuries, Mark seemed to try and keep up the spirits. He claimed it's the vodka talking. He limped over to each prisoner in turn, encouraging them, making them laugh, and calling Frank over if their injuries need to be seen to. Much to his distress, another pilot died. They saw none of their captors for a week save for the men who brought in food. Mark, feeling sick but trying to hide it, refused to eat, claiming that Frank needed it more than he did. Instead he stuck to drinking the vodka with an almost frightening ferocity. Frank grew more worried by the day as Mark grew thinner and thinner. He did manage to get a few pieces of vodka soaked bread into him which was a small victory in his mind.
A week later Mark was dozing when a cry woke him up. Sitting up he saw one of the men that had been in his surveillance team being beaten by one of Kazime's thugs. He was showing no mercy. He blood boiled.
"Hey! Knock it off!" Mark shouted as he gave him a weak shove and crouched beside the pilot, trying to examine his injuries. The thug loomed menacingly but Mark drew to his full hight and stood firm. "No one messes with any of my men. You want to hurt him, you'll have to go through me."
"That can be arranged!" The thug shouted before belting Mark across the face. The pilot was knocked to the floor and the man jumped him, punching him in fury. Despite his weak broken body, Mark fought back with all his might and succeeded in breaking the man's nose and wrist. The man slunk away muttering curses at Mark. Mark only scowled back.
That night things took a turn for the worse. It was dark when Kazime slipped in with a knife. He'd observed his prisoners closely, unknown to them, and noticed that Mark held a treat attachment to the old medic that had been captured. The arrogant little dog would pay for daring to defy him and his men. What better way than to take away something he loved? He slunk to the corner where Mark and Frank were sleeping. He was so eager in his deed he accidentally kicked a pebble, making a soft clatter. Mark's eyes snapped open and Kazime thrusted his knife out.
In hindsight everything worked out better than Kazime had planned. He would never have calculated that a boy in Mark's condition nor stature could have moved so fast, nor could he have accounted for the depth of loyalty instilled in the young pilot. The was a shout of alarm, a shuffle and the a sound that was a mixture between a cry and a whimper. Frank leaped up and snapped on the single lightbulb that hung from the ceiling. Frank's heart nearly stopped. Kazime's knife was protruding from Mark's stomach. The wicked man laughed as he drew it out.
"I told you I'd make you pay," he sneered.
"Mark!" Frank screamed. He rushed to catch his friend as he slumped limply to the floor. Mark's face was pale and clammy, showing he was in shock and hadn't registered quite what had happened.
"Fr-Frank?" Mark murmured in a frightened and confused voice. He tried to sit up but groaned in pain. His hand moved clumsily to his wound and he drew his fingers back. They were stained red. Everything clicked, including the pain.
"Frank!" Mark cried as his muscles spasmed and he cried out in agony. Kazime chuckled as he walked away, locking the door behind him.
"Mark calm down. It's alright. It's alright," Frank soothed as he tried to calm down his own screaming panic.
"Agh! Agh it-it hurts!" Mark cried as he gasped frantically for breath.
"Someone! I-I need something! He's bleeding out please!" Frank pleaded. "Breathe Mark. You've got to breathe. Just slow it down. Please someone!"
"Here," use this to stop the bleeding," the pilot Mark rescued earlier that day said as he handed Frank his undershirt. Another man came up. It was the other surviving medic.
"Here, lie him flat. Gravity will be working for us. Gently, gently," he ordered as they lowered Mark to the floor. Frank pushed the fabric up against Mark's wound, trying desperately to stanch the sickening flow of blood. By now Mark was half conscious and couldn't remember where he was. He screamed in pain and tried to flail at whatever was causing him agony.
"Hold him down! Hold him down before he hurts himself further!" Frank commanded and the pilot did as he was told. "Mark breathe. Just calm down ok? You're going to be fine. It's ok. It's gonna be ok," Frank said over and over and he tried to stop the bleeding. Mark sobbed out choking gasps and called his name. He grabbed onto his shoulder as he groaned. The medic returned with a shirt and a ratty blanket.
"One of the other men was willing to give up his shirt and I found this old blanket in the corner. We've got to keep him warm to stave off the shock. I'll see if I can get some water. The bleeding's stopped enough. Wrap him up tight."
The medic left again. Carefully Frank wrapped Marin's entire midsection in the makeshift bandage. Mark groaned and his eyes started to close.
"Mark! Holbrook you listen to me soldier. You are not to go to sleep until we get some water into you do you understand? Now open your eyes!" Mark's eyes slid open. "That's it. Now you keep them open you hear me? Don't you dare go to sleep on me!" Frank felt a tear run down his face.
The medic returned with a cup of water. It was warm, and Frank was sure it was dirty but it was better than nothing. He held Mark's head up while the medic tipped the cup to his lips. Mark feebly drank a few sips before he groaned and slumped back in Frank's arms. His eyes slipped shut. His breathing was weak and shallow. Frank's fingers sought out the pilot's pulse. It was weak and thready.
"He's in bad shape Frank. I don't think he's gonna pull through this time. Wounds like this require immediate attention and we don't have anything," the medic said sadly.
"Nonsense!" Frank snapped as he looked up from Mark's pale face. "He will live. I will make him live!" Frank said with desperation and ferocity.
Frank held Mark all night. The young man whimpered and groaned in the abyss between consciousness and unconsciousness. All he was aware of was the gut wrenching pain. A thin sheet of sweat began to form on his face.
"Please Mark. Don't die. Please. I'm begging you," Frank pleaded softly all night long
Chapter 27: A Desperate Attempt
Frank shivered in the dank cell. For some reason the air had become cold. The mood had changed in the tiny prison. Every surviving pilot winced whenever a sound of pain escaped Mark's lips, knowing that he was in agony because he'd stood up for what was right. Frank glanced at his friend who was trembling violently despite the sweat running down his face. Reaching out he rested his hand on Mark's forehead. If Mark hadn't caught and infection before, he definitely had one now. His skin was hot to the touch.
It was several minutes before Frank realized the pilot's eyes were open, glassy and fever hazed, and looking at him. Frank watched his chest heave rapidly as Mark tried to breathe around the pain. Gently Frank took Mark's hand and placed it on his own chest.
"Slow Mark. Like mine. Slow measured breaths. In....and out. In....and out. Good Mark."
"It-it hurts!" Mark whimpered frantically.
"I know Mark. I know. But you need to breathe slowly. Just follow me." Frank waited until Mark's breathing slowed to a relatively slower pace. "I'm just gonna take a look at the wound again ok?" Pulling back the blanket Frank winced. Mark had bled through again. Despite their efforts, the wound was still stubbornly bleeding if not sluggishly. Frank hoped this was because it was clotting and not because there was hardly enough to bleed. Frank stripped off his shirt and added it to Mark's makeshift bandage. He knew that the blanket would probably have worked better, but currently that was the only thing keeping his friend warm.
"Frank?" Mark murmured as he coughed weakly.
"Shhhhh, it's alright," Frank murmured softly. "Don't talk. You need to save your strength."
" 'm dying," he said faintly.
"Stop it Mark! You're not going to die. Do you hear me? You're gonna be fine. We're gonna get you out of here. We will fix you up. And you're going to go back to the sarcastic annoying twat that you always are. You're gonna be fine."
"You'll bury me out by the old airfield in Fitton won't you?" Mark wheezed out over four separate breaths."
"No I won't because firstly you're not going to die. And secondly some charter firm bought that. Some little old lady and her rickety aircraft."
"C-can't.....fight....anymore. T-too tired," Mark rasped.
"You're going to be fine. Don't say those things Mark. Please. You've still got some fight left in you."
Tears were running down his face. He knew he was lying right to his face. Mark lost so much blood already. His body was too weak to fight the infection that was ravaging through him, raising his fever and making his stomach swell with the internal bleeding. His frame was too thin, bones protruding where they shouldn't from lack of proper diet. His skin stretched, pulling the wounds on his back painfully. Frank could visibly see his broken ribs.
"You're a fighter Mark. You've just got to fight a little bit more. Please, for me," Frank begged as he cupped Mark's bruised and sweaty face in both his hands forcing the younger man to look at him. "I promise with everything that I am that I will get you out of here. You've got a reason to live remember? Your winged princess can't fly without you."
Mark gave him a weak nod and a grin that was a mere ghost of what it normally was before pain and unconsciousness pulled him back under. Frank began to viciously plan a way to escape.
The door swung open with a clang. Kazime strolled in and walked right up to Mark who was sleeping restlessly. He woke the pilot up with a kick to the side. Mark awoke with a pained scream as the kick combined with the knife wound made him feel like his insides were going to explode. He curled up on his side moaning. Kazime grabbed him and thrusted him against the wall.
"I told you I'd make you pay," Kazime sneered. "And now I will make you suffer unlike anything you have experienced." He flung Mark carelessly to the floor, making him cry out again.
"Leave him alone!" Frank cried as he floor tackled Kazime. The thug kicked Frank in the face and jumped to his feet sneering as he brushed off his sleeve. "I think I'll kill you first, make the boy suffer mentally before I kill him."
"No!" Mark shouted. Adrenaline surged through him and suddenly the pain was gone and all he could focus on was saving his best friend. Mark became a bundle of wild fury as he tackled Kazime and began beating him mercilessly. Kazime didn't even have time to call for help as Mark slammed his head against the concrete. He didn't realize that the thug was dead and continued to beat him.
"Mark! Mark stop! Mark!" Frank shouted as he lugged the pilot off the dead man. Mark continued to thrash in blind rage. "Mark!" Frank forced the man to look at him. Mark was breathing frantically but he managed to get his eyes to focus on Frank. "Hey," Frank murmured, smoothing down Mark's wild curls. "It's alright."
Mark glanced at the dead thug and then back at Frank, realizing what he'd done. His bottom lip quivered and his hands trembled. Frank enveloped him in a hug. Mark had been through a lot, but never had he killed someone with his own hands. After all, Mark was just a boy. A boy who would never be the same after going through all that he had.
"It's alright Mark. It's alright," Frank soothed gently. He waited until Mark's ragged breathing had calmed somewhat. "Now let's go. We need to get you out of here and to a hospital."
They silently left the cell, leaving Kazime far behind. Frank normally would have tried to help the others out but none were injured as badly as Mark and Mark needed help. The others could get themselves out. Despite being powered by adrenaline and the hope of escape, Mark was crashing fast. They had to get out of here quickly.
They limped as fast as the could around a bunker and came upon two of Kazime's men. Frank tried to fight them off as best as he could but they were too strong. They flung him and Mark down and aimed their guns at them. Frank squeezed his eyes shut. Bullet shots rang out. To his utter surprise, there was no pain, no screams. Looking up, he saw the two men sag limp and dead to the floor. Behind them was the pilot Mark rescued holding a gun.
"Kazime was a foolish man to come armed," he said. "Now go. You must go quickly. I passed some jeeps on my way here. They can get you far from this place. Now go! The shots will bring more!" He urged as he helped them to their feet.
"What about you?" Mark asked worriedly. All three knew what would happen if a prisoner was found outside the prison.
"You saved my life. I'm returning the favor. You're a goon man, Holbrook. You've got a bright future ahead. Now go! Go!" He shouted as gunshots rang out in the distance. Frank and Mark limped in the direction of the jeeps. At some point Mark's knees buckled and he nearly went down in the sand if Frank hadn't pulled him back up.
"Not now Mark. Come on kid we're almost there. Just a little bit further," he urged. Mark struggled to his feet and plunged on. They found the jeeps.
Frank hauled Mark into the passenger side before swinging into the driver's seat. More gunshots rang out and Frank saw a group of soldiers running to them in the rear view mirror. Slamming his foot down on the gas, the jeep's tires screeched before the vehicle shot forward, kicking up dust and sand into the faces of the oncoming attackers. Frank drove like a madman, plummeting the jeep headlong into the wire fence and tearing right through it. He had no clue of where he was going, he just knew he was getting further and further away from that dreadful place that would never cease from haunting his memories for the rest of his life. He heard a low groan and looked over. Mark was slumped over in the seat panting softly. The action had caused the knife wound as well as the wounds on his back to start bleeding again. He looked even closer to death now that the adrenalin crash had left him drained.
"Hold on kid. Please. Just hold on," Frank murmured worriedly as he drove further and further into the desert.
Frank collapsed in the burning sand. Mark went down too but the younger man managed to keep himself up on all fours.
"C-come on.....mate. J-just a......little further. Should be s-something s-soon...." Mark gasped.
He was nearly white he was so pale. Definitely very sick. His eyes couldn't focus anymore. Yet something, something was pushing his half dead body on. Maybe it was the desperate look in Frank's eyes, maybe it was the love of his planes and flying that drove him. He looked over his shoulder. Frank was lying face down in the sand, dehydration and malnutrition getting the better of him. Mark pulled himself up and forced himself to stay upright before staggering over to Frank.
"Come on Mate. A little further," he huffed as he hauled Frank to his feet. They staggered a few steps before Mark cried out in agony and collapsed. He coughed violently and moaned, curling up on his stomach. Hearing Mark cry out roused Frank a little.
"Mark? Hey it's all right," Frank soothed gently. He put one hand on his stomach, trying to ease off the flow of blood once more and the other on the pilot's forehead. Mark was burning up with fever.
"G-gotta g-get.....up!" Mark choked out as he weakly tried to get up.
"No, no, no. Just take a break for a tick. Breathe slowly alright?" Frank urged as he eased Mark onto his back. "Take a break and then we'll keep going." Frank pulled back the bandages and winced. The wound was red around the edges and definitely very infected. He looked into the pilot's bloodshot eyes. There was still some twinge of hope. After a while he looked over at him. "Ready to go?"
It took almost every ounce of strength for Mark to pull himself up again, but he did it. Frank leaned a little on Mark to aid his broken leg and the pair continued on their seemingly endless trek. The jeep had run out of gas ages ago and they had left it behind. There was no emergency supplies and they had walked for lord knows how long without food or water. By dusk every ounce of energy had been sucked out of them. Frank collapsed again and couldn't find the strength to get up. He pulled himself over to Mark and checked his pulse and breathing. Both were weak and unsteady. Mark was fading fast.
"I'm sorry Mark. I'm so so sorry." Frank sobbed as tears ran down his face. He'd failed Mark.
He laid there and cried for a good five minutes when suddenly a noise pierced the air. He raised his head. Perhaps it was just his dehydrated mind playing tricks on him. No, he was sure this time. It was the sound of a helicopter. For a moment he feared it might be Kazime's men coming to find him. A helicopter loomed into view he nearly cried tears of joy when he saw that blessed Union Jack painted proudly on the tail fin. He jumped up and down on one leg and waved his arms wildly. To his sobbing relief the helicopter started to land close by.
"Mark! Mark we're saved! They've found us!" Frank cried. There was no response from the prone pilot. "Mark? Mark!!!"
Chapter 28: New Beginnings
Slowly Mark regained some sort of feeling in his body. It mainly consisted of numbness. Garbled voices pounded his aching head. There were hands on his his forehead, pulling at the bandages around his stomach, and on his shoulder reassuringly. Something plastic was being pushed onto his face, covering his mouth and nose. Suddenly breathing became a bit easier. He cracked his eyes open. Everything was blurry and disoriented. The numbness was ebbing away and giving in to a sharp pain in his stomach every time he breathed.
"F-Frank?" He murmured thought his voice was muffled by the mask. His vision was clearing somewhat but he couldn't see his friend. "Frank! Frank?!" He was getting more panicked. He thought maybe the device on his face was preventing him from being heard. There was an incessant beeping somewhere beside him and it was speeding up as he grew more desperate. He had to find Frank. Frank would fix everything.
Weakly he tried to sit up. Hands were back on him, gently forcing him back down. The beeping was getting faster, making him panic more. He felt a sharp twinge in the crook of his arm. Drugs, he thought. They're trying to drug me. The panic rose. The plastic contraption was being forced back on his face. With every ounce of strength Mark had left he lashed out at the hands holding him. Frank wasn't here, which meant that Kazime must still have him captured. Stronger hands held him.
"Frank! Frank!" He cried before screaming out in agony. The pain had returned full force and it felt like something was tearing a hole straight through him. Someone was holding his arm down. He thrashed and screamed, fighting whatever was trying to confine him and shaking the contraption off his face once more. Suddenly there were hands on his face, gentle hands, familiar ones. Looking up his eyes managed to focus on the face of his friend before going blurry again, but he was there. He was going to fix everything.
"Hey, Mark? Mark you with me?" Mark managed a slight nod as he sucked in frantic breaths. "It's alright Mark. Everything's gonna be alright now. Here, you gotta keep this on alright? It'll help. Don't fight it." One of the hands disappeared and the plastic thing was once more pressed to his face. "Deep breaths Mark. That's it. Just relax. They're going to give you something for the pain."
Mark felt his head being lifted up a bit before settling back down on Frank un-injured leg. He shut his eyes for the moment and took deep breaths as Frank coached him. Something cold was flowing into his arm making him shiver. Something warm was placed over him. Suddenly if felt like he was drifting. He was floating away with nothing to grant onto. Frank sensed his panic.
"It's alright. Just let go Mark. Get some sleep," Frank soothed. Mark blinked lazily a few more times before his eyes stayed shut and he passed out. Frank sighed as he smoothed down the pilot's curls. He had an IV in as well, which was hydrating his body enough so he could drink some water without going into shock. Mark was already having blood and much needed fluids dripping intravenously into his body through his. The attending medic pulled back the blanket and examined the wound closely before gently palpitating Mark's belly.
"He feels pretty firm. Mostly likely he's had some massive internal bleeding. He switched on his radio. "This is Harrison. I'm going to need an operation room prepped and ready for immediate surgery upon landing. Holbrook's hurt pretty badly.
Frank but his lip concern. It had been confirmed that his broken leg would not require surgery but he would be in a cast for quite some time. He would also needed to be kept over night on an IV to treat his dehydration as well as some light antibiotics for a few minor infected cuts. Mark, however, was in critical condition. He'd known that since the beginning but hearing other medics confirmed it only scared him more. He held onto Mark tightly begging and pleading softly into the man's ear that he would pull through. But he knew Mark couldn't possibly have anymore fight left in him.
Upon landing they whisked Mark away quickly towards the clinic where he would be taken immediately to surgery. Frank watched them go, almost numb with dread.
"Miers," the surgeon called as he came out to the tiny waiting room. Frank pulled himself up and limped over on his crutches. Six hours. That was how long Mark had been in surgery. The surgeon had come out around the first hour and a half admitting that the internal damage from the knife had been more serious than they thought and they would be a while. The doctor's face was grim.
"H-how is he?" Frank asked timidly.
"For now he's stable. We lost him twice on the table. The amount of blood he lost was nearly lethal." He stopped for a moment as Frank let the news sink in. Twice, twice Mark was almost gone forever. He took a shaky breath. "He also contracted a very serious infection between the whip wounds on his back and the stab wound as well as the untreated wounds from the plane crash. He had a very slow leak in his left lung from the fractured rib but nothing too serious there. Also his shoulder appears to have been dislocated but then reset. I have no concerns about that. Our biggest concern right now is the infection. Currently he's running a very high fever and has an abdominal drain in. We're also putting him on a respirator for the time being as his body appears too weak to handle breathing and healing." He sighed and removed his glasses, he face looking even grimmer. "As much as I'd like to be optimistic Miers I know the stats as well as you do. Sepsis is a hard hitting infection that can be lethal without full body capacity working against it. I just don't think he has the strength to fight this." Frank's heart sank.
"Can-can I see him?" Frank asked timidly.
"You've been assigned to him as his attending physician. Obviously we'll be assigning another medic to help since you're currently immobile."
The doctor led Frank down the hall. They entered Mark's room and a hush came over him except the quiet hiss of the respirator as it breathed for Mark. The pilot in question looked like a corpse. If it wasn't for the mechanical rise and fall if his chest Frank would never have been able to tell he was alive. He was a grayish pale despite the bag of blood dripping into his body. His eyes were closed and there were so many tubes and wires attached to him. His eyes had dark rings under them. This was sepsis. This was how it killed. Frank knew the infection was ravaging the poor man's body. He limped over to him and put a hand on his forehead. Mark's fever was dangerously high.
"I'll leave you two alone. I would prepare yourself Miers. He's given it all he's got Frank but I don't think it's going to be enough this time."
When the doctor left, Frank settled into a chair beside the bed. He took Mark's hand in his own, being careful of the IV line.
"Mark? Mark if you can hear me I'm begging you. I know you're tired and it's hard, but please. Please fight for me. You're like a son to me. You bring smiles and laughter to all who know you. You're a good pilot and things wouldn't be the same without you. Please, don't die. Please Mark. It's not your time to go yet." Frank bent his head and began to cry softly.
Mark's heart stopped late that night. As long as Frank lived he would never forget the way Mark's body tensed up as a strangled cry escaped past the breathing tube before he went slack and everything stopped. He would especially never forget the way his frail body convulsed as the doctors were forced to jump start his heart again. When everything was working again the medic helping Frank looked at him.
"I fear this might be it," he said softly.
Both men jumped as Mark took a deep fighting breath against the breathing tube. His eyes opened as he started panicking and his chest heaved rapidly.
"Mark? Mark I'm here. Just calm down. Quick! I need a sedative right now!" The medic put a hand on his shoulder.
"Sometimes there's a minute of lucidity before expiration..." He started to say.
"Bloody shut up! See for yourself! He's fighting! Now get me a sedative before he hurts himself!" The medic rushed out. "Hey. It's alright Mark. Does your stomach hurt?"
Mark gave a weak nod.
"I bet. You've got a drain in right now. You've managed to catch a nasty infection. Never were one to do anything by bloody halves were you?" Frank nearly cried tears of relief when he saw Mark manage an eye roll. Underneath the pain and fever Mark was still there. All calm seemed to fall away though in a matter of minutes.
Mark tried to strain against the breathing tube, gagging and choking. His limbs flailed limply but his fevered mind was insisting that he needed to fight some unknown force. He lashed out at the doctor who kept attempting to approach him with a syringe of sedative. They ended up dosing him through his IV.
"That's it Mark. Just relax. You're ok. I'm right here. Just close your eyes," Frank soothed as he watched Mark slip away. He trembled as he held the young man's hand in his own, watching the mechanical rise and fall of his chest all night and eyeing the weak heartbeat with fear.
Dawn woke Frank who had at some point fell asleep. He nearly jumped when he saw a nurse gently fiddling with Mark's IV and stomach tube. Must be reflex from his days in captivity.
"H-how's he looking?" He asked as the nurse wet a flannel and mopped some of the sweat off Mark's face and neck.
"Well it's too early to be hopeful yet," she started to say, "but the fact that he made it through the night and started fighting the breathing tube has the doctor's amazed. They were all sure that he was going to pass away during the night. He may have a chance."
Frank smiled a little. "He has more than a chance. He'll pull through just to spite us all."
3:30 AM: "Can't sleep Holbrook. You're killing me here. I need you to wake up.
3:45 AM: "You're too stubborn for your own good you know that?"
3:48 AM: "Real stubborn indeed."
4:15 AM: "Come on Holbrook. Wake up! That's an order. You've never disobeyed an order and now's not the time to start.
4:25 AM "Ok. Maybe you just didn't know but the doctors are expecting you should be awake. It's been a couple days since they've given up and taken you off the sedatives. And well...you haven't yet. You need to wake up."
Frank sighed. It had been three days since the sedatives had quit pumping through Mark's IV. He wasn't making much progress and they were expecting him to pass away hours after taking him off the sedatives. Despite their predictions Mark continued to fight and now here they were. The drain hadn't pulled anything in the last day and Frank was starting to lose hope.
4:35 AM: "Mark please. Please Mark. I can't stand it. I can't stand seeing you like this. You belong behind the wheel of a plane, not in a hospital bed. Just stop this please and open your eyes."
4:40 AM: "At least breathe for me again. You haven't in a while. At least do that."
4:50 AM: "Could you squeeze my hand?"
5:20 AM: "Mark. I don't know if you can hear me but you have to wake up. If-if this it, and you really are leaving me...well, at least don't leave without saying goodbye. You are the son I've never had and I couldn't thank you enough for that."
By now tears were running down Frank's face. Mark remained still and quiet. Frank held his hand all night, never taking his eyes off him. By morning his eyes had grown so use to the pale stillness that he almost missed it. The tiny flicker of Mark's eye lids. The chair he was sitting in made a loud screech as he moved forward and pressed the call button to summon his nurse and medic before turning his attention completely on Mark.
"Mark? Mark are you with me? Squeeze my hand."
He felt slight pressure on his hand as very slowly Mark's eyes drifted open. They were clearer than they had been in days, not the hazy cloudiness of death that Frank expected. The doctor and the medic rushed in just as Mark started taking several fighting breaths against the machine. The nurse disconnected the breathing tube from the ventilator and watched Mark's stats to see if he could breathe on his own yet. The doctor began checking Mark's fever, lungs, and heart beat before gently pressing against his belly again. Mark kept his eyes fixed on Frank.
The doctor reconnected the tube to the ventilator before turning back to Frank. "I-I can't believe it but it's a complete miracle. His fever has broken and is slowly going down and the infection in his abdomen is nearly gone. He's still too weak to breathe on his own yet but the fact that he's breathing a little on his own is a good sign. He-he might actually have a chance," the doctor said.
Frank looked over at Mark, who gave him a wink.
After making a miraculous recovery Mark left the Air Force. He spent months in therapy for severe PTSD. Despite not needing help anymore he still found himself jumpy, nervous, lacking self confidence, and most of all afraid. He was afraid not to follow the rules. Breaking the rules had almost gotten him killed. It was months before he found himself re emerging into society. Of all things planes had been his bait. While reading an article he came across former RAF pilots who were now commercial pilots for charter firms and airlines. Mark thought this to be a perfect job. He could still do what he loved and it would be a safe environment for him. Despite failing six times he eventually attained his CPL and so his endeavor with MBD airlines began.
Frank sighed as he concluded his story. The cabin remained silent for quite a while. Finally, Dylan turned to his companion with tears in his eyes. "Thank you." he whispered.
Frank simply nodded, his heart too full for further conversation. His gaze fell upon the windows, sunlight streaming brightly through them. In the air was where Mark belonged and where he was at home. Though the his dream of flying seemed distant, Frank silently resolved to do everything he could to get Mark back into his plane, healthy and happy. It was a promise that would one day be the only thing that held them together.