Undercover

Part 12— Protector

It felt like hours while Don sat
and held Will.  Don lived and died with
each slow breath that Will took. 

“Just another minute,” Don
murmured.  “Just another minute.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  You can do that, right?style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  C’mon, babe, show me what a tough guy you
are.”  He continued to talk, alternately
begging and threatening, cajoling and demanding.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  “Don’t you dare die on me.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  I will never forgive you.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Please, please, hold on just a little
longer.”

The distant wail of a siren brought
Don’s head up.  “Hurry, hurry,
hurry.” 

“Did you hear that, Will?style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Help is coming.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Just another minute.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Just keep breathing for me, there you go.”

The sound of the siren got closer,
splitting into multiple sirens.  Car
wheels screeched in the driveway.  The
house alarms screamed and Don instinctively shielded Will.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  He heard shouts above and the scuffle of
footsteps.

He reached for Jarvis’s gun and
held it ready.  He didn’t know who would
come down those stairs.  Could be
anybody.  Could be DEA … style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>the mole!

“Don’t worry, Will,” Don said
grimly.  “I’ve got you.”

Footsteps clattered down the stairs
and Don recognized the DEA agents that he’d spent a week training with.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  How well did he really know them?

“Stay back!” Don shouted wildly,
raising the gun.

The agents skidded to a halt,
staring at him.

“I’m not letting you kill him the
rest of the way!”  Don yelled.

“Make a hole!” Someone from
upstairs called.  The agents moved aside
and two men in navy blue EMT gear rushed down the stairs.

Don’s gun automatically swung in
their direction and the EMTs stopped short.

“How do I know you’re really a medic?”
Don demanded.

“You don’t,” one EMT snapped. style='mso-spacerun:yes'> “But in a minute, that isn’t gonna matter.”

Grimacing, Don nodded and lowered
his gun.

The EMTs swept in and pried Will
from his arms.  Don took some comfort in
the confident, skilled movements of the EMTs as they assessed Will’s
injuries.  They took his pulse and
slipped a tube down Will’s throat to help his breathing.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  They checked his responsiveness and, when
they didn’t get anything from him, shot questions at Don.

“What happened?”

“One shot to the head and one to the
front of his right shoulder.”

“What did you put against the
wounds?”

“Clean cotton on his head and my T-shirt
on his shoulder.  Was mostly clean.”

“Significant medical conditions?style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Allergies?”

“No, none.”

Don kept a hold of Will’s hand for
as long as he could, until they moved to put Will on a stretcher to carry him
up the stairs.  Don pulled on his shoes
and stayed directly behind them, eyeing the DEA agents as they eyed him.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  They stayed downstairs, examining the room
and the bodies, except for Sanchez who followed Don.

“You told dispatch I had a mole,”
Sanchez snapped.

“They were expecting us,” Don
snarled.  “It was a trap.” 

“They were expecting a raid?”style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Sanchez asked.

“No, they were expecting style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>me and Will.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  They knew our names, who we worked for, even
when we were supposed to check in.”

“How?”style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Sanchez demanded.

“I don’t know,” Don growled.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  “He just said they’d gotten a note today.”

Sanchez was silent for a moment
then asked mildly, “I suppose you had to kill them?”

“Yes.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  I did,” Don bit off each word.

“Okay,” Sanchez said.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  “I’ll need a report.”

“Go to hell,” Don snapped.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  “I couldn’t care less what you need.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  I
need to get Will to a hospital.”

“I know,” Sanchez said.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  “We’ll talk later.”

Don growled and followed Will’s
stretcher.

The EMTs quickly loaded Will into
the ambulance.  Don tried to climb in
after them but one EMT pointed at his gun. “Get rid of it if you want to come
with us.”

Don nodded jerkily and tossed his
gun to a surprised Sanchez.  He jumped
into the ambulance and the shut the door. 
The ambulance screeched out of the driveway, siren wailing, as the EMTs
worked on Will.  Medical jargon flew
between the two men and one stabbed Will with several injections as the other
inserted an IV.  The ambulance tore down
the lane.  After a moment, one EMT turned
to Don.

“Okay, now you.”

“Help him!” Don protested.

“He’s as good as we can get him
until we get to the hospital.  Now let me
see your arm.”

“My arm?” Don asked blankly.

The EMT grabbed Don’s right arm and
jerked it straight.  Don stared at the
shards of glass imbedded in his skin.  He
abruptly became aware that his arm hurt. 
A lot.  The skin of his palms also
seemed to be shredded.  So, not all of
the blood was Will’s.  The EMT quickly
assessed Don and gave him an oxygen mask to help with breathing that Don hadn’t
even realized was labored.

Don let the EMT do his thing and
kept his eyes on Will.