| Subject: In the Shadow of Simone 5 |
Author:
Rox
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Date Posted: 17:26:56 12/23/01 Sun
In reply to:
Rox
's message, "In the Shadow of Simone - Sequel to Redemption" on 23:28:26 12/17/01 Mon
“Michael, drink this.” Nikita coaxed him to take a sip. He stared past her, with an odd expression on his face. She turned and looked over her shoulder to see what it was that he was gazing at, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.
“S-simone?” He said, his voice barely a whisper.
Nikita closed her eyes, “No, Michael. It’s Nikita.”
“Simone!” He lifted one arm and reached past Nikita. “Please, don’t go!”
Nikita felt hurt then chilled, as Michael seemed to be carrying on a conversation with his dead wife.
“I know,” he said softly, his eyes fixed on some point in the distance. He smiled faintly for a moment. “Is he there with you?” He nodded as if to respond to someone’s positive answer.
“Wait, for me.” He said, suddenly agitated, “Simone!”
Nikita couldn’t stand it, “Go away Simone!” She sobbed into the room. “You can’t have him! He’s alive and you’re not! Go away!”
Nikita paced, watching the weather worsen and Michael fade in and out of consciousness. His breathing became more and more labored by the hour, and for the first time, she realized his life was in real danger.
She had searched him as thoroughly as she could, looking for comm devices or trackers and found none. Perhaps he had been telling her the truth--that he was going with her. Why else, she wondered, would he have left his cell phone and come in without a tracker on him?
“Damn it Michael! Why now? The one time we really need a phone and you leave yours in the car!”
She added a few more logs on the fire then bent to feel Michael’s forehead. In the past hour he had begun to run a fever, his skin going from clammy to hot and dry. Very hot!
Nikita weighed her options. The nearest well-traveled road was at least a half-mile away, but even well-traveled, few people would be out in such terrible weather. She could leave Michael and hope to find help and return, or she could bundle him up and take him with her.
The idea that he might die here alone, if she left him, terrified her. Taking him on a hike through the snow in his condition wasn’t going to be a picnic, but it was her only viable option. She couldn’t stand around and do nothing.
The radio reports indicated the snow would be ending soon, so Nikita set about preparing Michael for evacuation. She found a toboggan in the generator shed and brought it inside. She lined it with a canvas ground cloth and a sleeping bag she had brought with her. After Michael was bundled securely into the sleeping bag tied to the toboggan, she dressed as warmly as she could and pulled the sled out onto the porch.
The cold air woke Michael briefly and he stirred. Nikita knelt to speak to him.
“Michael. Lie still.” She said, stroking his face as it peeked out from the small opening in the mummy bag.
“Where are we going?” He asked, wincing with the pain of speaking.
“For help, Michael. I have to get you to a hospital.”
“No.” He groaned and tossed his head, trying to move.
“Yes!” Nikita answered sternly, pressing him to be still.
“Section will find you. Leave now. Only chance. . .” He drifted back into silence.
Nikita covered his face lightly with the blanket from her bed, to protect his face from the wind.
“Good.” She said, looking at her surroundings and getting her bearing, “Sleep.”
For two hours, Nikita trudged through a forest that was still as death. The only sounds that Nikita could hear were those that she made--the sound of her breath, harsh and labored as she pulled the heavy sled through the deep snow, and the crunch of her boots in icy areas. It was dark as well, but she could see, briefly through the trees, a glow on the horizon--reflected lights from the highway, she hoped.
Thankfully, as the storm slowed, the wind died down as well. Even so, the temperature was colder than she had expected. Her calves burned as she struggled to pull Michael up a slope, and she nearly lost her grip on the rope several times, before cresting the hill that intersected with the highway. Although deserted and snow-covered, there were streetlights illuminating the roadbed. They glowed like golden balls of dandelion fluff against the night.
“All right!” She said, stopping to rest a moment and catch her breath. “Civilization!”
Dropping to her knees by the sled, she pulled back the blanket to check on her patient.
“Michael?” She kissed his forehead, he was still warm and still asleep.
He looked so young and so vulnerable, and so very ill.
Nikita got to her feet and looked at the road wondering which way to go that would bring her help the quickest. With a prayer that she would choose correctly, she turned right and began to follow the road.
“Hey--what’s that over there?” Will Owens spoke to his partner over his service radio.
“Good grief--sledding in this weather? Are they nuts?” Replied Zimmerman from inside his snowplow.
“Maybe they’re in trouble,” Will said, turning off the engine to his mini-dozer. He saw the person pulling the sled fall to their knees.
Nikita dropped where she stood in exhausted relief when she saw the flashing yellow lights of the snow removal crew. She’d lost track of time and had no idea how long she had been walking. She leaned over and checked on Michael. He was still as death, and her lips were so numb from the cold, she could no longer tell if he was still feverish or not, or even if he was still breathing. From her knees she watched the figures as one of them walked towards her. She tried to get up again, but her muscles had frozen into position from fatigue, and she remained where she was, on all fours, as the man approached.
“Hey, you okay?” Owens’ flashlight caught the look of red-eyed exhaustion in the woman’s face, and quickened his last few steps to get to her.
“Can you get us to a hospital,” Nikita gasped. “He’s hurt bad.” She gestured to Michael and Owens cast his light in the direction she pointed.
“Hey Zee! We have an emergency! Call control and tell them we need an ambulance ASAP!” Owens shouted into his radio before placing a comforting hand on Nikita’s shoulder.
“It’s okay now. We’ll get you out of here. Can you tell me what’s wrong with your friend?”
“Broken ribs, I think.” She said, feeling her arms shaking with exhaustion.
“What about you?” The man asked, looking at her closely. “Are you hurt?”
“No. Just tired.” Her voice told him she’d passed tired several hours ago.
“How long have you been out in this?” He asked, looking over his shoulder and waving his partner over.
“I don’t know--hours.” Even talking was an effort and Nikita felt herself start to blackout.
“Come on, let’s get you warmed up.” Owens grabbed one of Nikita’s arms and pulled it around his shoulder, then pulled her to her feet, with his other arm around her waist.
“Michael!” She cried out in alarm, her knees nearly buckling.
“I’ll be back for him in a second, don’t worry. Come on, you can go sit in Zee’s snowplow--it’s nice and cozy inside.
“Here, give her to me.” Said Zee, arriving at their side. He was a short man, but muscular and barrel-chested. He picked Nikita up in his arms like a child and began the trek back to his equipment. Owens followed with the sled in tow.
“Here, drink some of this--hope you like it black,” Zimmerman said kindly, pouring the dark liquid into thermos cup clutched in Nikita’s two hands.
Nikita nodded wearily, and tried to take a sip. It was scalding, but she held the coffee close, letting the steam warm her face and the warmth of the cup begin to thaw her near frozen fingers. She dozed, sitting up in the heated cab of the snowplow, while her rescuers attended to Michael.
It was nearly 45 minutes later before the ambulance arrived. The two good Samaritans gave Nikita a gentle pat on her back and shoulder, wishing her well, before the medic closed the ambulance and the trek to the hospital began.
The emergency technician gently forced Nikita to lie down on one of the two gurneys. She didn’t want to lie down. She knew if she did, she’d go to sleep and she was afraid to sleep.
“Sorry, them’s the rules.” The tech said, when she struggled against him. It wasn’t much of a struggle and the tech knew she was hardly aware of her surroundings. But he had to secure her, before he could help his partner attend to the other patient.
“It’s okay,” he assured her, strapping her down. “Just relax. I’m Robert. Can you tell me your name?” He looked over at his partner’s progress, asking with his eyes on the condition of the man.
The other tech gave him a non-verbal sign that things were not good, and mouthed the words “Bee Pee” and a number that was so low, it was a miracle the patient was even alive.
“Get an IV in him while I get one in her. “ Robert said over his shoulder. He addressed the woman again, repeating his question. “Stay with me--can you tell me what your name is?”
The woman looked at him wearily and muttered, “Nikita.”
“Ok, Nikita. What is your friend’s name?”
“Michael.”
“Good. Michael. . .” He paused to rub her hand with an alcohol prep and expertly plugged an IV needle into her hand. Adjusting the drip from the IV bag, he continued the conversation. “Can you tell me what happened to your friend? How long has he been like this?”
Nikita shook her head, barely comprehending the words he was saying.
“Can you tell me how he was hurt?”
“Cave in. Firefight.” She muttered, her eyes sliding shut.
Robert frowned, “He’s a firefighter?”
But Nikita had fainted.
It was just as well, Robert thought. He heard his partner swear and the heart monitor alarm as the other patient went flat-line.
“Again! Damn it!” Madeline leaned over Walter’s shoulder.
“There’s nothing. Looking for the fiftieth time isn’t going to change anything!”
Madeline gave out an angry huff and folded her arms, “I have a report sitting on my desk from our contact in Colorado Springs. Michael arrived as planned and picked up his vehicle as planned. There must be something wrong or--” Madeline let the words hang in the air as she pondered the possibilities.
“If you’re thinking, what I think you’re thinking, you’re wrong! Michael wouldn’t run!” Walter swiveled in his chair to face her.
“If this was any other scenario, I might agree with you but--” Madeline held her chin and looked at the screen again, hoping against hope for some answer to her questions.
“But? What is the scenario? Even if Nikita was taking a hike--and I don’t think she is--Michael might help her, but he would never go with her. And knowing Michael, he won’t help her because he knows it’s suicide. He’d shoot her himself and drag her back first!”
“She’s pregnant, Walter. Does that change the scenario for you any?”
“Oh geez!” All the color drained out of Walter’s face. “And you’re telling me it’s Michael’s?”
“Are there other candidates?” Madeline looked over at Walter with an arched eyebrow.
“Then I believe Nikita might run--but Michael still wouldn’t. He knows the score. He’ll bring her back if he can, even if it means choosing.” Walter left it at that, not wanting to say what Michael would have to choose between. They both knew the answer well enough.
“Well, in three days, Nikita will be AWOL and so will Michael. Book me on a flight out tonight to Colorado Springs. If Operations questions my absence--tell him I took a few days off to visit my mother.”
* * *
“Simone.”
Michael held his son’s tiny body in his arms. Every ounce of strength left him in a rush and he sat where he stood, by the crib.
“Simone!” Michael curled himself over the baby protectively. He was unable to think what to do next. There had to be something he could do!
“Simone!” He pleaded with her, “Help me.”
Simone watched Michael with empty eyes. Her dreams were over now. There was nothing left now. Nothing to do. Nothing to say.
After a long while, she stood and walked to Michael’s side, knelt and took Etienne’s tiny body from him. She laid him back in his crib and covered him, as if he were only asleep. Then she sat down on the hard wooden floor next to her sobbing husband and held him until he fell silent from exhaustion.
“I’m sorry, Michael.” Simone said. She felt so old, so tired, so numb, so hopeless.
There was quiet sympathy from some members of Section. Walter was especially distraught, having adopted the little boy as a foster grandchild. From others came an under-current of sinister speculation. Crib death had been the ruling of the Section physician, but there were other theories as well.
Michael never showed his feelings to anyone except Simone. And while she never showed any outward grief to anyone, including Michael, Simone never smiled again. They clung to one another, silent and stoic in their shared grief, both trying to be strong for the sake of the other.
Once, a few days after the baby’s death, Operations approached Simone. They stood in the center of the conference room, looking at each other, eye to eye, but neither spoke. It was Operations who finally broke off the silent duel. He nodded to Simone once, dropping his eyes almost apologetically. Then he slipped his hands into his pockets and quietly walked away. Only Madeline had been witness to the exchange and she wondered at it.
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