Numb3rs fic; Just A Mathematician, Chapter 2/4

[msgrahamcracker]

Title: Just A Mathematician
Author: msgrahamcracker
Characters: Charlie Eppes, Don Eppes, David Sinclair, Colby Granger
Pairings; none
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4039
Spoilers: a little one for Primacy
Summary: We all use math everyday; to predict weather, to tell time, to handle money and when the situation calls fo it, to save a couple of friends lives.
Disclaimer: I don't own Numb3rs, it's characters or it's concept.

Previously on numb3rs_ fic; from Chapter One - Colby

There was no time for last minute reflections on his life - no slide show of memorable moments in the life and times of Colby Granger. There was nothing but a breathless instant when he saw the wall rushing closer as he flew towards it. He saw the shelves that lined the wall, filled with rusted machine parts, and experienced a perfect moment of both clarity and doom. “Aw, shit,” he thought. “this is gonna hurt.”


Just A Mathematician

~by MsGrahamCracker

Chapter Two - Charlie

Charlie's flight was less dramatic than Colby's. Hurled into the metal container by Granger's muscular arms, he was only airborne 1.3 seconds before he landed awkwardly and painfully on his side on the hard bottom of the cart. The impact caused his head to snap violently to the side and sent a jolt of searing pain through his left shoulder and hip where they connected with the metal. Before he could recover from such an ignominious landing the homemade bomb exploded.

The sound was deafening, thunderous. Even through the thick steel he felt the tremendous air pressure and belatedly, he threw his arms over his head and ears. He felt the heavy container shudder and shift, rocking unsteadily as it fought to remain upright against the force of the shock wave. The air above him turned into a rolling inferno of bright orange flames that rushed over the top of the container, sucking the oxygen away in one heated instant.

He realized suddenly that he was moving - or rather, the steel container was moving and he was it's unwilling passenger. Pushed ahead of the tremendous energy generated by the explosion, the cart sped along the concrete floor on it's cast iron wheels so quickly Charlie couldn't get his bearings. It sped across the room, out of control until it slammed into the side of the wall with such force it actually bounced backwards. Charlie's individual inertia, however, continued to carry him forward when the cart hit the wall. Even though, as Larry Fleinhardt would tell him, they were essentially occupying the same space, he and the cart were now traveling in two different directions. As the container began it's reverse trajectory, Charlie continued forward until he slammed into the end of the container, yelling out in pain at the impact. He tumbled backwards then, he and the cart occupying the same space once more until the wheels hit a large pile of debris and unexpectedly upended, tossing him out onto the concrete floor.

He rolled away, his body moving painfully across the floor through the scattered debris. He jerked and cried out when a broken fragment of sheered metal pierced the tender skin on his side, just above the waistband of his jeans. Without thinking, he grabbed the large jagged-edged piece, slicing the palm of his hand in the process, and pulled it out, realizing too late that it was the wrong thing to do. There was blood - a lot of it and he moved quickly to cover the wound with his hand trying to staunch it.

He sat, trembling, hand pressing into his side, trying to catch his breath. What the hell had happened? Startled out of his mathematical musings by Colby's yell, he had been immediately subjected to a bouncy, humiliating ride over the agent's shoulder, only to be dumped into that unyielding torture chamber of a box.

His head cleared a bit as he sat there and suddenly he remembered Colby's warning to his partner. A bomb! It couldn't have been a bomb! His calculations said four days from now. It couldn't have... but, it had, he knew, and now ... .

A sudden, loud noise startled him and he twisted around. The open loft, some distance away from him and fully engulfed in flames, suddenly disintegrated into pieces and crashed to the floor. It had a strange, muffled sound to it and, confused, Charlie put his fingers to his ears and jiggled them, as though he were trying to dislodge a plug. Numbly, he realized his hearing had probably been affected by the explosion.

Completely rattled now and afraid that he had survived the explosion only to have the whole building collapse around him, he tried to stand up.

The breakdown of the loft had weakened the trussel that supported the roof above it and before Charlie could even gain his footing a large section of the roof caved in, this time bringing down the immense wooden beams that had been part of the structural support. It was far enough away that the debris did not hit him, but the resulting pressure wave knocked him off his feet again. The smoke and dust swirled around him, choking him, gagging him, blinding him and in the midst of the hellish chaos Charlie heard a scream. The sound was muted through the dense smoke and his traumatized eardrums, but he was certain he had heard a person cry out. It echoed eerily through the smoke and he twisted his head around, trying to discern where it came from. It had been a sharp sudden yell, filled with pain and surprise and Charlie's stomach, bile and all, rose to his throat.

David or Colby. One of them was hurt.

A secondary, smaller explosion from the far end of the building startled him and he scrambled to his hands and knees, gasping in pain. I've got to get out of here, he thought - get some help. He crawled back towards the container and the protection it offered. Upended on one of it's sides the cart's open end beckoned him to hide inside but his stomach rolled at the thought of being in there again. What the hell had Granger been thinking putting him in that? It had almost killed him. His head and neck still hurt from the first impact, as well as his shoulder and hip, but his collision with the end of the container and subsequent tumble head over heels assured he would be black and blue everywhere for some time.

Instead of crawling inside, Charlie reached up, using the edge of the cart as leverage, and pulled himself to a standing position. A bout of dizziness swept over him and he closed his eyes, just standing still for a moment. When he felt it was safe he opened his eyes - and nearly lost his stomach. The entire side of the container bore the marks of the explosion. The heavy gauge steel was dented and pitted, with several extremely large shards of metal actually embedded in the side. Blackened scorch marks from the intense heat of the fire covered every inch of the cart's exterior. He swallowed hard at the realization that the thick walls of the metal container had taken the brunt of the explosion instead of him. By putting him inside the heavy receptacle, Colby had definitely saved his life. He'd have to thank him - when they get out of here.

But, first, he'd have to find the two agents and that was going to be the hard part.

In a smaller, more confined space the fire and the smoke would be deadly in a very short time. The vast openness and 30 foot ceilings, as well as the fact that nearly 76 per cent of the building was concrete, gave him a little more time. Even then, breathable air was quickly becoming scarce. The air was thick and heavy with the odor of the explosive but the real enemy was the smoke that had started to settle around him. Scratchy tendrils of it slid down his throat, blocking his airway and he started to choke, then cough, earnestly.

The racking cough intensified every ache and pain he had and he couldn't stop himself from isolating the different sources of agony. His head hurt and a tentative touch to his left temple confirmed an open gash, still bleeding slightly. His shoulder still ached but it was his hip that gave him more discomfort. He found it hard to put weight on that leg and he stood, swaying slightly on his right leg as he pulled his shirt up and examined the wound in his side. When he had pulled the metal shard out, it had bled profusely, and the left front of his jeans was wet with blood. He became queasy just looking at it. It didn't seem to be bleeding as heavily now and he dropped his shirt over it again. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment.

His injuries suddenly seemed minor as the building itself seemed to moan and Charlie looked around, frantically, for the source of the noise. With a tremendous roar, another large portion of the roof crumpled and gave way, crashing to the floor just twenty feet behind him. Another massive wave of dirt and debris and smoke engulfed him, burning his eyes and choking him.

Shaking now with shock and fear, Charlie was beginning to panic. He had to get out.

Disoriented, he looked around. He had been so engrossed with his calculations when they walked in, he wasn't sure which way to go and the smoke filled room gave no hints. He turned around several times before he saw the doorway - nearly sobbing with relief when he saw the smoke-muted sunlight beckoning on the other side.

He took a few unsteady steps in that direction - then remembered the cry of pain he had heard earlier. Either David or Colby or even both of them were injured or worse. He couldn't just walk out.

Glancing around he saw that the roof collapse had scattered the pockets of fire throughout the area and with the greater influx of oxygen feeding the flames, the fire was burning brighter and hotter. He knew by the time help would arrive it might be too late.

Logic dictated he should leave the building and call for help. He didn't know if either of them was alive or injured or trapped, but one thing he knew for sure - they were still there, in the burning building. In Don's stead or a sense of duty or out of friendship, neither of them would leave without all of them getting out - and for identical reasons, he could do no less.

Decided and suddenly more clear-headed than he had been since the explosion, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. The faceplate was cracked across the screen but it still lit up when he pushed 911. For just an instant he had considered calling Don, but his brother was on the other side of Los Angeles and there was nothing he could do except mobilize emergency personnel, which Charlie could do himself. He also knew if he talked to Don, he would put his brother in the position of ordering him out of the building in fear for his safety; an order that could result in either David or Colby or both of them not making it out of the building in time. He would refuse - Don would insist - and time would be wasted. Milliseconds counted.

The voice that answered was so low Charlie wasn't sure anyone had answered.

“Hello?” he croaked. He was dismayed to hear his own voice was barely discernible. Obviously, his ears had not recovered from the explosion yet. “Please.” he said, in all probability louder than necessary. “I can't...my ears...”

The experienced voice on the other end must have understood and the familiar announcement was repeated at a louder level and Charlie was able to hear the second time.

“911. What's your emergency?”

His words flew out rapidly then - loudly and breathlessly - giving them the details; the address, the explosion, two FBI agents lost somewhere in the flames and smoke and destruction.

“I've got units on the way.” the voice assured him quickly, but way too calmly for his tastes, then asked his name.

“Char...lie.” He choked out, coughing, then corrected, “Charlie Eppes.”

“Charlie, you need to get out of the building.” Finally, there was a sense of urgency to the disembodied voice. “Is there an exit? Can you see the door? I want you to find an exit and get out right away.”

Having already accepted what he needed to do, he didn't waste time with a response.

“Charlie?” The voice returned, concerned and worried. “Charlie? Are you still there? You need to stay on the line with me, Charlie.”

Charlie Eppes didn't possess his brother's fatalistic view on life. He didn't buy into that mind-set that fate played a part in life or death. The scientist in him allowed for too many differing variables and constraints. Like Schroedinger's cat, one could hypothesize that it is possible to be both dead and alive at the same time. Don and his team faced every day knowing it could be their last and they accepted death as an end - a final formula, if you will. It gave Don a freedom Charlie could only imagine; freedom to charge into danger without thought, without hesitation; to do what needed done, no matter the cost. He envied his brother in that because right now, he was afraid - more afraid than he had ever been. He wanted out. He didn't want to die there today, in that building.

Walking out that door without David and Colby, though, was not an option. His few days of FBI training last year had not prepared him for such a rescue mission and he knew his skills were totally inadequate, but, right now, he was all there was. He didn't want to let them down.

“Please.” He spoke into the phone, his voice both firm and imploring. “Tell them to hurry.” He snapped the phone closed and returned it to his jeans pocket.

Focused now, he moved back to the container. His backpack had fallen off during his brief ride and he reached into the cart, pulling it out now. He didn't have any trouble with the zipper this time - his shaky fingers nearly ripping it open.

The fire was spreading rapidly, but he knew it was the smoke and the dust in the air that was the greatest danger at this point and if he was going to look for David and Colby he knew he had to address that first.

He shook off his jacket and tossed it aside. Crossing his arms in front of him, he lifted the hem of his T shirt up and pulled it over his head, gasping when his injured shoulder and puncture wound in his side painfully protested the movement. Panting, he worked quickly, tearing the material into three long strips, tossing the large section of the shirt that was covered in blood aside.

When he was done ripping the material, he tucked the ends of two of the long strips into the right side of the waistband of his jeans. Reaching into the backpack he removed a bottle of water and quickly opened it. Working with trembling fingers he poured some of the now precious liquid onto the center of the strip of cloth he was holding, soaking it thoroughly, then closed the bottle. Covering his nose and mouth with the wet strip of material, he tied it securely behind his head. He shoved the bottle of water into a pocket of his jeans.

Bare-chested now, he was acutely aware of the intense heat the fire generated, but he was relieved to find it was easier to breath through the wet cloth.

His eyes burned as he glanced to the general area where he last heard David tell Colby he was going to check out the office. There was nothing there but a large pile of rubble and debris from the loft. If David was in or under that pile, maybe it would be easier to find Colby first and hopefully, if he wasn't hurt too badly, they could find David together. Of course, he didn't know for sure that was where David was when the bomb went off. He swallowed hard, chastising himself for being so distracted and nonobservant.

The support beam that hid the bomb had been the first casualty of the explosion, of course, but Charlie looked in that direction, trying to pinpoint where he and Colby had been standing before the blast. The ceiling and roof above the post was gone - chunks of wood and steel and plaster blown all over the room. The mid-morning light outside sent a lone sunbeam down through the smoke and for an instant Charlie found himself wondering how the world outside could still be bright and clean while it looked like a war zone inside. Shaking it off, he studied the area, estimating the size and type of explosives, calculating in the dense air quality that had been in the overheated pre-explosion building, burn rates, pressure waves and Colby's size and weight. He turned his head slowly, his eyes tracking the invisible trajectory. Knowing the force of the explosion would propel the agent in a perpendicular line away from the bomb, Charlie limped towards the far wall. His eyes burning, he searched through the rubble of metal shelving and machine parts scattered around.

He found Colby right away. The agent was lying in a tangled mess of debris and dirt. Charlie paused briefly at the sight of the injured man. Aside from a highly enjoyable moment during his last year at Princeton when Marshall Penfield drank himself into an unconscious stupor, Charlie had never seen anyone unconscious before.

Granger was sprawled on the concrete floor. His body was a mass of cuts and bruising and burns and blood. His left arm was obviously broken, probably in two places, since it seemed to be pointing in several different directions at once. A large gash above his right eye bled down the side of his forehead and into his hair. There was a long, open wound on his right arm that extended from his shoulder to just above the elbow and that, along with a jagged cut across his lower chest, was the major source of the blood that was pooling on the floor around them.

From his friend's position, Charlie surmised that he had been slammed into the wall by the force of the bomb's energy. If he was still conscious at the time, he would have been knocked senseless the instant he hit the unyielding concrete. There would have been no time to cry out in pain. The yell he had heard couldn't have been from Colby - it had to be David.

Even as that knowledge weighed heavily on Charlie's heart, another horrifying thought made him look at the still form in front of him. Maybe, just maybe, Colby wasn't unconscious; maybe he was... . Charlie held his breath. He reached towards the agent's neck with shaky hands and felt for a pulse. Disgusted with his inability to stop his hands from shaking long enough to determine if the vein in his friend's neck pulsed with any regularity, Charlie sat back on his heels.

He knew he had a tendency to shut down instead of dealing with stress or personal trauma and he found himself wishing he had called Don, after all. Don would know what to do.

Fighting off the panic, he brought his hand to Colby's chest and splayed it across his rib cage. It was more than relief when he felt the labored breathing and the weak, unsteady heartbeat under the bloody charred shirt; it was a call to action. He had to do something. Miraculously, Colby was still alive and it was up to him to keep him that way.

Quickly, he pulled one of the strips of material from his waistband and the water from his pocket and wet the center of it, like the one he was wearing. He placed it over Colby's nose and mouth and turned his head gently so he could tie it behind his head. Then he assessed the situation.

He didn't think he could just pull him out of the building to safety. First, both of Colby's arms were injured too badly and he wouldn't be able to get a good enough hold anywhere else. He considered pulling him by his legs until he saw the horrible burn marks. There was no way he could carry him - even accounting for adrenalin. He remembered pulling the agent from the rushing waters of the Northgate Dam a few years ago. The difference was, at that time, Colby was able to help pull himself up, slinging a leg up to the walkway and helping Charlie pull him to safety. This time, Colby was limp, unresponsive, a solid weight and Charlie wasn't sure what to do.

He was fighting down the panic when he saw the plastic tarps lying a few feet away. He ran to them. The first one he picked up was torn, a large rip from the center to one edge and Charlie quickly tossed it aside. The second one he deemed too small, but the third one had only a few small tears in it and he was pleased with it's heavy weight and size. He carried it back and spread it out quickly beside his friend.

He would have to roll Colby onto the tarp, but he was afraid to hurt his already severely damaged arm. He stood up and unbuckled his belt then dragged it quickly through the belt loops. He knew his belt would not go around Colby's broad chest, so he did the same with Colby's belt, then slid the end of his in through the belt buckle of Colby's and connected them together. As gently as he could he slid it under Granger's back, then crossed the agent's two injured arms against his chest. Charlie brought the belt buckle around and fastened it, hoping it would hold Colby's arm's in place. Being as careful as he could, working as quickly as he could, he straightened Colby's body as much as possible, then slowly, keeping his friend's back and neck straight, he rolled him onto the open tarp.

He took a moment to look at the doorway, judging it's distance and obstacles between them, then leaned over and grabbed the edge of the tarp with both hands. He pulled, hard, and the tarp moved several inches.

Charlie stopped. He was already panting, gasping in pain as the exertion magnified every injury he had. Obviously, terror induced adrenaline wouldn't be enough this time. He knew, though, what might help.

He searched through the rubble on the floor until he found a section of wood nearly a foot long and an inch or so thick. He placed it on one corner of the tarp, a few inches in from the edge. He brought the end of the tarp up and wrapped it securely around the piece of wood and began rolling it towards the center, as though he were rolling a poster around a cardboard tube. After he had rolled it in nearly a foot or so, he grabbed the makeshift handle with both hands and pulled again. It worked. The tarp slid across the floor with less effort and Charlie had Colby to the doorway in less than a minute.

He dragged the agent away from the building, into the fresh air. Sinking, exhausted to his knees, Charlie removed the cloth from his face, breathing in the clean air. He reached over to do the same for Colby when he noticed the man was stirring, a faint moan emanating from under the cloth. Quickly, Charlie untied the strip of material and tossed it aside. “Colby,” he croaked, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Colby, come on, man.”

Granger's head moved slightly in response, but his eyes remained closed and then, once again he settled into stillness. It wasn't much, but Charlie felt rejuvenated with hope. He re-wet his cloth, tying it over his nose and mouth again, then returned the bottle to his jeans pocket and staggered to his feet. With one last look at Colby, Charlie turned and limped back into the inferno after David.

TBC

Up next; Chapter Three - David