You know, I think I've used more bad language in this fic than all my other fics combined. It's sort of fun. :p


UNTIL THE BELL TOLLS
By TIPPER
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CHAPTER TEN: DUMB MOVES

Shea breathed out slowly as he peeked around the corner, only to find himself looking down yet another empty, dark corridor of featureless, identical metal doors marked by numbers like "SB-503." Fuck, he was stalking a madman through the bureaucratic back halls of hell.

Funny. He often pictured hell as something he would feel comfortable in, could control. Washington Heights had been a hellhole when he was a kid, but it was a hellhole he understood, a place he knew like the back of his hand. Sing Sing was a hellhole, but he quickly owned it, ran it like he'd run Washington Heights. This place was foreign, quiet and dead, just like those cold cases in the room they'd been in. This was the place where things were lost and forgotten.

He shuddered at the thought of being just a name on a box, wondering if that was what was going to happen to him. Who would miss him?

Vanessa would. Maybe some of his old crew. And, honestly, he thought Lloyd might.

He suddenly imagined Lloyd down here, smiling wryly as he walked with Shea, eyes bright with curiosity even as he'd be shaking like a leaf with terror. Place like this was exactly the sort of thing Lloyd loved and hated, all at the same time.

At least Lloyd was safe at the hospital. Erica too. And they were together. The only one risking his life this time, was him.

How the hell did that happen? Erica was the one who ran towards danger like an idiot. Lloyd often stumbled into it, also like an idiot. But Shea? He was supposed to be the smart one, the one who did only as much as he needed to, only as much as he wanted, and he did not get into trouble. He definitely did not walk down creepy dark corridors looking for a man who was probably just waiting for someone to look at him wrong so he could blow them all up.

This job was making him dumb. That was the only explanation. He was losing it. If this was how he was going to die, maybe he deserved it, for losing his edge so much.

He turned the corner and sidled up to the first door on this new corridor, gently checking the handle. Locked. Every door down here had so far been locked. And there were a lot of doors. The only one that had been open so far had been the broom closet—though the only thing in there had been a really sad looking, smelly mop. When it shifted slightly upon his opening the door, he'd nearly jumped out of his skin.

It was just too fucking creepy down here.

And being alone sucked.

He touched the radio, fingering the talk button. After a moment's hesitation, he pressed himself up against the closed door and hit the button.

"Ray?"

"You okay?" The response was instant, and Shea smiled.

"Yeah, just…checking. I've not seen Hughes yet."

Ray didn't reply for a moment, then, "You're doing good, Shea. Keep your eyes open."

Shea nodded. "Yeah."

"Just so you know, the building's been evac'd. Bomb squad is the only one on the premises. Well, them, and us. And they've made some progress."

Shea lifted his eyebrows. Funny to think stuff was going on somewhere else when it was so dead down here. "What's going on?"

"They found a bomb in the courtroom already. Dogs found it pretty fast. They're working on disarming it now."

Shea straightened instantly. "What? But that'll set the other ones off. Are they trying to kill us?"

"They say that they know what they're working with now. They're going to sever the wireless connection first, then disarm the bomb."

Shea closed his eyes, holding the radio to his chest.

"They can do this, Shea," Ray said then, his voice muffled by Shea's shirt.

Shea opened his eyes, and hit the button. "Sure."

"Just keep trying to find Hughes."

Shea opened his eyes again. Finally, he sighed and lifted the radio again. "Yeah," he whispered. "Good advice. Thanks, Ray."

Ray snorted a laugh, before adding, "And don't screw it up."

Shea shook his head. He tucked the radio behind his back and, lifting the gun and the flashlight, he continued down the hallway, checking each door as he went.
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Julianne stood very still, standing outside the door of the room two doors down from where she'd been sitting for the last twelve hours. It was nearly identical to Lloyd's—same colors, same bed, same everything. Just unused.

Except for the bomb she'd found stuck to the underside of the bed.

"Ms. Simms?"

She looked down the hall, feeling very hazy as a team of four people in a ton of body armor came stomping towards her.

"Ms. Simms?" one of them said. It was a man, though only the voice told her that, considering his face was hidden behind a mask that looked like something out of science fiction. "Are you Julianne Simms?" he tried again.

She nodded.

"You found another bomb?"

She pointed into the room. "Attached to the underside of the bed."

"Okay," he said. "We'll take it from here. You need to get your things and get out. Evac station is in front—go to area 4. That's where you'll find Ms. Reed."

She just nodded again. She'd already packed everything, her carrying case and litigation bag by her feet, papers sticking out the top. Feeling like she was made of very brittle paper, she bent down to pick everything up, the heavy cases dragging on her like hundred pound weights. With extreme care, she hung them across her shoulders. When she was standing again, bags hanging off her like Marley's chains, she just stopped, staring into the room as the four black figures swarmed the bed. They didn't see her anymore. No one ever did.

Her phone buzzed in her thin vest pocket. She didn't want to answer it. It stopped after a moment.

When it buzzed again, Julianne pulled it out, but she didn't look at it. She wanted to drop it. She wanted to drop everything.

Everything felt washed out. Dead. Sweat dripped down her temples, mixing with the dried tears on her face, leaving behind a crusty, salty feel. She'd stopped trembling, but only because her muscles were too tired to keep it up.

Her heart was beating fast, though. She could feel it, beating out of control, making her too hot, too light.

Out of order.

The phone buzzed again. After looking at the name, she closed her eyes and lifted it to her ear.

"Erica."

"Where the hell are you? Why aren't you and Lloyd out here? Why weren't you answering?" Erica's voice was strident, angry,…scared.

Julianne opened her eyes. The bomb squad still hadn't noticed her still standing outside the room, so intent on their work. But why would they look? What kind of crazy person doesn't run when there's a bomb threat?

Was she crazy?

Erica was still talking in the background. Julianne blinked and focused on her words.

"Did you hear what I just said? Julianne? Julianne, so help me, if you don't say something right now, I'm going to send every soldier in this place down there to—"

"I'm here."

"Christ, don't do that! I thought I lost you. I said I'll meet you and Lloyd wherever they take him. I'm in the parking lot outside. Just tell me where—"

"Lloyd's gone."

That earned a moment's silence. Then, very quietly, "Define 'gone'."

Julianne started to shake, the bags getting heavier and heavier, cleaving into her shoulders. "They took him. His…his temperature spiked, and he….They took him away."

Erica didn't say anything for a long moment, she just hissed softly. Eventually, she asked quietly, "What happened?"

"I don't know, really. This happened about an hour ago. Maybe two. I'm not really sure anymore. I'm…I really…I have this thing about hospitals. I can't…I can't….He was there, and then he wasn't. My dad…same thing. I lost him."

Erica hissed again, and Julianne could almost picture her standing up straighter, taking stock, and….

"Okay," Erica said, her voice even. "Here's what we're going to do. The directory says the ICU is on the second floor. That's got to be where he is. Meet me there in ten minutes."

Julianne swallowed. "But what about…the evacuation? There's still two bombs unaccounted for. They won't let you back in."

"They won't be able to stop me. I'll meet you there. Now move." And then she hung up.

Julianne pulled the phone from her ear, blinked a little.

A text message showed up on the face, in all caps.

I SAID MOVE

So she did.
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Shea stared at the two barred doorways in front of him. The one to his left led down the corridor to the exit. The other led deeper into the building.

And both were propped open with broomsticks.

It meant he could leave. Run away and survive, and no one would blame him. Hell, Ray and Charlie both would tell him to run. His legs shifted, muscles twitching in anticipation…

But it also meant that, unlike what Samuels had said, Hughes had known the doors would lock when the power went down. He'd probably grabbed the brooms from the closet with the mop. It also meant he'd probably been the one to shut the power off.

And he obviously hadn't left yet, or both doors would be shut. He was still inside the complex, setting a bomb to go boom, probably very shortly.

But not immediately.

More importantly, Hughes had left the door to the exit propped. That meant only one thing—Hughes was going to try to escape. To survive. And that, all by itself, was a game changer.

Shea knew how to work with someone who wanted to survive. He'd done it every day at Sing Sing.

And capturing Hughes and saving the day would do more than just help him survive, he'd earn more time off his sentence. And he'd do it his way.

Plus, he really wanted to get this guy, for all the shit he'd put them through.

Looking away from the exit, he lifted the radio to his lips.

"Ray."

"Hey."

"Hughes propped open the door leading deeper into the complex. Where does that corridor go?"

"Hang on…." There was a pause, then, "Apparently it leads to under the courtroom, and, further, to the main hearing rooms of the city and county governments, but there are more barred doors. There's still no way out." He was frustrated, Shea could tell. "But, look, hear that?" A loud hissing sound became audible. "I got someone to bring me an acetylene torch. I'm going to have this door open in fifteen minutes. You should get back here."

"Not necessary."

"What? Why?"

"Because Hughes also propped open the door that leads to the exit."

"What? That's great! Get out of there. I'll let Charlie—"

"Wait," Shea said, his voice strangely calm. "They disarm the bomb in the courtroom yet?"

"No, not yet. They also found another under the legislative hearing rooms. That one was probably to make Peters happy."

Shea nodded. "That still leaves four bombs missing."

"Two, actually."

Shea frowned. "Two? But I thought—"

"They found two more at the hospital—Erica figured it out, actually. One of them was just feet from where Lloyd and Julianne were in the basement."

Shea huffed in surprise. "Are they okay?"

Ray hesitated a little too long.

Shea frowned. "What's going on, Ray?"

"Lloyd had a setback. He's in the hospital's ICU. Erica and Julianne won't leave him. Charlie's furious. Since we don't know where the other two bombs are, it's a safe bet at least one of them's still in that hospital somewhere."

Shea frowned, and took one more look at the door to the way out.

The smart thing would be to leave. Escape. Survive.

"I'm going after Hughes," he told Ray.

"No. Absolutely not. You get your ass out of—"

Shea shut the radio off, and pushed through the door leading deeper into the complex.
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Julianne fiddled with her scarf as she stood outside the room, watching through the window as Dr. Quereshi moved around Lloyd's bed. He had no interns with him now, not even a nurse, it was just him, checking monitors, scribbling the chart at the end of the bed, and showing almost no emotion on his face.

Finally, a few minutes after too long, he walked to the glass door and opened it, stepping outside to face the two women standing there.

"You're both very stubborn," he said, without preamble. "I don't know how you got back in here, but—"

"Just tell us how he is," Julianne said, having no patience for that now. "Will he be alright?"

"He's stable, and he's awake again. We should be able to move him out of here soon. He and the other critical patients."

Erica breathed out heavily. "But does that mean he'll be alright?"

"I'm not going to make any promises," the doctor said, grimacing slightly. "Right now, I'd say yes, but moving him in this condition is not going to do him, or anyone else on this ward, any favors." He frowned as he looked up and down the hall at the skeleton staff that was trying to keep the handful of people still in the ICU alive. "In any event," he said then, looking back at them, "there's not much more anyone can do right now for these people other than pray. None of them should be moved, but…." He simply shook his head in resignation.

"Can we see him?" Julianne asked.

Quereshi inclined his head. "Just one of you, though. And once you do, I really suggest you listen to the men over there who have been trying to get you both to leave." He nodded at the Sergeant Vega's soldiers standing by the doors, looking at them as if they were the dumbest people in the world for still being here.

Erica snorted, and crossed her arms. "We're not—"

Julianne took her arm. "You have a daughter."

Erica frowned deeply. "Yes, but someone needs to—"

"I'll be here. They won't kick me out. Though…if something should happen, will you ask Charlie to be gentle with my mother? She's very fragile."

Erica's frown deepened. "It won't come to that. And I'm not leaving you. We're all getting out of here."

"Erica, please."

"No, I know you're trying to save me, but—"

"Stop. Listen to me. You need to go find Charlie. He needs your help more than Lloyd or I do right now. We're still two bombs short. Plus, we still need to find Dr. Madison and Meredith Hughes. You're the best one to help him figure out where they all are."

Erica frowned uncertainly. "But—"

"Please."

Erica said nothing for a moment, obviously torn, but, finally, she looked away with a nod.

Julianne gave a relieved sigh. "Thank you," she said, meaning it. "And thank you for…what you did earlier, on the phone." She'd wouldn't have found her strength again if Erica hadn't forced her to come up here.

Erica's gaze narrowed, her lips quirking. "Anytime." She took a step back, then grabbed Julianne's arm. "Be safe. And keep him safe."

Julianne nodded, and then looked up at Quereshi. The doctor stepped to one side so she could enter Lloyd's room. She glanced once more at Erica, only to see the woman frowning as she reluctantly walked away.

Quereshi cleared his throat. "He won't be too coherent," he warned her as Julianne looked again at Lloyd. "Don't expect him to make much sense right now."

She nodded her understanding and pushed through door into the room.

It was markedly different from the one downstairs. There were more monitors, wires and tubes, for one thing. But it was also cleaner, whiter, more modern looking. The room in the basement had been a study in eighties pastels, this one was almost purely white and black. The chairs in here were also soft and plush.

She grabbed one and pulled it up next to the bed so she could sit down. Taking Lloyd's hand, she smiled to see him tilt his head and blink at her.

"Hi," she said, squeezing his hand. He blinked again and frowned slightly.

"Julianne?" he whispered. She nodded.

"It's me. I'm here."

He stared at her a moment with half lidded eyes, and then frowned again. "Is my mother here?"

Julianne frowned as well. "Your mother?"

"I thought…Was she here?"

Julianne shook her head once. "No. I'm sorry, Lloyd. She didn't come."

He grimaced, and turned his head away. She tried to understand the reaction. It wasn't hard to know that Lloyd's relationship to his mother was a strange one. He seemed to both hate her and need her at the same time. She wasn't sure how both things could be true, but they clearly were.

And, for no really good reason, she suddenly remembered why Lloyd had picked the house where they'd found Hughes two nights ago. It was the house where Hughes's mother had died—where Hughes, according to Lloyd, had first felt he'd lost control of something, at the young age of ten. It was the last place Hughes wanted to burn down, because he'd loved his mother even if he hated her for leaving him.

But it wasn't really the first time he'd felt like he'd lost control of something, was it? Hughes's mother had spent nearly six months in this hospital, undergoing chemotherapy and dying by degrees, before being sent home to finally die. Hughes would have been told, along with his father, that his mother was all but dead right inside these halls. Julianne knew, because she'd been through it herself.

She stood up suddenly, and Lloyd turned his head to look at her again, startled by her abrupt motion.

"I'll be right back," she promised. He didn't look like he believed her, so she squeezed his hand again. "I promise. And I always keep my promises, Lloyd, you know that."

He just watched her, his expression still obviously uncertain, so she smiled briefly. "I'm not going leaving this hospital without you," she whispered. "Scout's honor." Lloyd blinked, but the tiniest smile touched his lips at those words. Julianne almost crushed his hand in hers before letting it go to walk away. She could feel his eyes on her the whole way to the door.

Dr. Quereshi had left to work on another patient, but the two bomb squad soldiers were still nearby. She waved one of them over

"There's at least one more bomb in this hospital," she said, "and I think I know where it is."
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The thin band of light under the door told Shea three things. One, someone was inside this room. Two, he really probably shouldn't go in there. Three, this was probably the last time he'd have to wonder about how he'd ended up risking his life like this.

Sadly, it wasn't a very long answer, and it ended in, "because you are an idiot."

He stared at it for a time, fingering his radio and wondering if Ray had kept his promise or not, or whether he'd left. He might have been forced to leave. He could see that happening, to be honest. Ray was hurt, and, let's face it, Shea hadn't exactly been "Team Ray" lately.

After what he'd said, if Ray did leave, Shea would actually understand. Shea had all but said he didn't want to work with them anymore. So what value was he to them?

But Ray had said he wouldn't. And, though Ray wasn't the most upfront of people—he'd never seen Ray actually lie about something that mattered. And in that moment, when Ray had said he wouldn't leave, he'd sounded like…like Shea mattered.

Hell, when it boils down to it, he just didn't want to die alone. And if he went inside that door, to see where the light was coming from, he'd probably do just that.

He closed his eyes and backed off the door, sighing slightly.

Not going through the door was still an option. He could turn and run right now. But if he did, Erica and Lloyd could still die, along with a bunch of others since they hadn't found the last two bombs, and those men and women disarming the ones they had found would probably die as well. But if he did go through that door….he might also be able to save them all. It was all him now.

And Shea Daniels did not like to back down from a fight. If he played this right, he could still win this.

With that in mind, he pulled out the gun from behind his back and cracked open the magazine. After a moment's hesitation, he removed all the bullets but the one in the chamber. Ignoring the voice in the back of his brain screaming at him to run, run, run, he put the gun back together and pocketed the bullets. The gun would be part of Plan B, if Plan A didn't work. Shoving it behind his back again, he drew in a breath, and depressed the handle on the door.

It opened easily.

Inside, the room was almost oppressively hot and, instantly, Shea knew what was shedding the light. Massive black boilers had heated the apartment building where he had grown up, and if you opened the grates, the fires inside could shed light on even the darkest night. Someone had done that here.

Leaving the door open behind him, he looked around the large room, most of which was blocked off by open shelves packed to overflowing with random landscaping and janitorial equipment, most of which looked highly flammable. Of course. Bags of fertilizers and plant soil were stuffed in the corners, small mowers with gasoline in them were shoved in between garden shears and electric pruners on shelves, and paint cans had been shoved on higher shelves, along with other painter's materials. Only thing that didn't look like it would blow up were the carts filled with toiletries for the bathrooms. Only closer inspection, though, the chemicals in the cleaners were probably not exactly retardants.

Shea put the radio back in his pocket and pulled out the gun, holding it in both hands as he sidled up next to the first set of shelves. Once there, he stopped to listen.

Fire crackled inside the boilers in the room, the metal creaking and banging with stored up steam, while the massive pipes carrying the heat to the rest of the building hissed and whistled. In a nearby corner, something—or somethings—skittered and scuttled across the cement floor, squeaking and sniffing. Rats, attracted to the heat, probably. Meanwhile, all around, wooden support beams groaned in the humid air, the building settling like the old man that it was.

But nothing human made a sound.

He padded to the end of the shelves and peeked around the corner, looking deeper into the room. Still nothing obvious. Frowning slightly, he pivoted around the end of the shelves and walked down the center aisle, always listening, trying not to be too loud.

And then he saw him.

Hughes had his back to him, leaning against a workbench along one side of the room, shoulders hunched and his head down.

Shea came to a stop, looking at him through the shelves. Hughes was looking down at something small, black and with wires sticking out of it. That'd be bomb number eight. Just one unaccounted for now.

Plan A was simple. Surprise Hughes by tackling him before he finished messing around with that thing. Or he could just shoot him. Maybe both. Then he'd just beat on Hughes to make him talk, to tell him where the last bomb was. Then he could just leave and—

"I know you're there," Hughes said suddenly, not turning around. "I've been standing here listening to nothing but rats and pipes for the last ten minutes. Trust me, no matter how quiet you thought you were opening the outer door, it wasn't quiet enough."

Well, shit.
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Continue to Part Eleven