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“Top of the building across the quad to the north!” Jimmy Wilson transmitted. She saw him scramble to his feet. “Bubbles, you still got eyes on buff-boy?”
“He’s still in the shower,” Michael reported.
“Move in and verify and then move to intercept the shooter at the science building across the quad,” Wilson ordered.
Laura Lee watched Jimmy sprint toward the building where he suspected the shots came from, Tessman right behind him. Mike Rogers and Roth were already on their feet, moving to check first their downed team mates, then the FBI, and lastly the three detainees. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she felt like an elephant sat on her back, pinning her to the ground. Her thoughts swirled but focused as her eyes did on Garcia and BT’s bodies, which laid on the ground. They were hurt. She had to help.
Laura Lee pushed through her shock and fear, and she pulled herself to her feet, scanning the tops of all the buildings and all the upper windows in sight. She held her .9mm at the ready. She stepped over towards the downed group to help. Even though she felt dread, fearing her teammates had been killed, she wasn’t completely paralyzed by fear as she had been when observing in Ops.
“Fuck,” came Michael Cooper’s voice, and they all knew buff-boy, Jin Ma, had somehow given him the slip. “Proceeding towards the science building.”
Upon examination, both Garcia and BT’s bullet-proof vests had stopped multiple rounds from ripping through their chests and abdomens. Four FBI Agents suffered wounds. Two were classified as being in critical condition by team medics Sebastian Roth and Mike Rogers. Two, they listed in serious condition.
Laura Lee was told by Mike to hold pressure on the wound of one man’s arm. It looked like the bullet clipped an artery. She gripped the gauze pad where he guided her to, which instantly became saturated with blood.
“Tighter and elevate the arm,” Mike told her. “Really clamp down on the spot.”
The agent winced from the pain when she pulled his arm into the air.
“Sorry,” she said to him. He laid on the ground and she kneeled beside him.
Ambulances were called, as were Flight for Life helicopters.
By the time two Bell 429 choppers set down, one at the edge of the parking lot, the other in a nearby field, Garcia and BT had already headed towards Jepson Science Building to join the search for the shooter even though it was apparent by how they moved that they were both in a lot of pain. The helicopter crews quickly evacuated the two most seriously injured men to provide ICU level care while on transport to the hospital.
Several ambulances, as well as three campus police cars, arrived. A crowd of onlookers was starting to gather behind the police tape that was being strung to create the perimeter.
“Time for us to go,” Mike Rogers whispered in her ear, his eyes also on the crowd. He handed a pre-moistened wipe to her and only then did she realize how much blood was on her. He wiped his hands as well. “We don’t want to be on anyone’s cell phone video going viral on social media.” He led her around the side of the building, back towards the front parking lot where his rental car was.
As they turned the corner, she glanced back to see Sebastian hop out of one of the ambulances. He, too, had a wipe that he worked between his hands. He jogged to catch up to them. “Big Bear’s been quiet,” he said as he caught up.
“He’s on the line with Whiting,” Smith at HQ replied. Roth had forgotten to mute his comms.
“Probably trying to figure out what the fuck happened,” Mike Rogers replied. His wasn’t transmitting.
“It’s obvious who the targets were,” Roth said. “The three dead men. Someone has skills.”
“Someone didn’t want to risk them talking,” Mike added as they rounded the front of the building and headed straight for the rental car. He switched his comms to transmit. “We’re clear of the scene. Where do you need us, Razor?”
“Swing by the science building. We could use your help with our search.”
As they approached the car, Mike popped the trunk. Both men grabbed their backpacks and brought them into the car with them as they seated themselves in the front seats. Laura slid in the back. Even though both men wore lightweight black pullovers, they stripped them and their blood-soaked shirts below. Then they removed their bullet-proof vests and tossed them onto the back seat. Laura Lee watched them stow the soiled clothing in their zip bags. Mike Rogers produced a package of wipes from his bag and passed a few out to each of the others.
Holding the fresh wipe in one hand, the soiled one in the other, Laura Lee just looked down at her blood-stained clothing. The arms of her jean jacket had blood stains, as did the front of it and her peach-colored sweater below. She didn’t even know where to start wiping. Would it matter?
“Oh, here, Laura,” Mike said, handing a long-sleeved black compression shirt towards her. “Change into this and give me your soiled clothes. I’ll put them in with mine.”
She watched both men wipe the blood from their arms and then pull clean shirts over their heads. They were both calm and focused, like cleaning other people’s blood from themselves was common for them. And then she realized it was. Sebastian was a Navy SEAL corpsman. Mike was an army medic who’d been assigned to the 75thRanger Regiment. They’d both seen combat.
She slipped her jacket off and handed it to Mike when he turned to look at her.
“Your shirt,” Mike said. “It’s toast.”
She only had her bra beneath and, as crazy as it was, she didn’t want to disrobe in front of them, like it should matter after what just happened. “Can you turn around for a second?”
Sebastian turned in his seat and laughed an incredulous chuckle. “Are you kidding? We’re both medics. Had you been one of the people just shot, we probably would have cut your shirt off to treat you.”
Mike turned forward in his seat. “Let me know when I can turn back to take your soiled shirt.”
