The Chaos Blade

A few moments later his back bumped into a wall, not the one made of windows fortunately. Everyone's eyes had adjust by now so the temporary advantage of darkness was now gone. Only two of the attackers remained and another pain of glass was broken out. The leader faced off against Eric, but Yamara had managed to get captured by the remaining thief. Or perhaps they had planned it that way.

"Give us the sword and we let the bitch go," The leader snarled at him, his left hand across his body holding onto his hip where a slowly spreading dark stain could be seen. Eric grinned at his discomfort and ignored the blood running down his own right arm.

"Kill the bitch, I don't care. I think she works for you anyhow," He responded, calling their bluff.

Turned out it was not a bluff. The man holding Yamara acted on his own initiative and tried to plunge the dagger into her chest. She twisted and lashed out though, causing his attack to partially miss. The point of his dagger grated along her bottom rib then slipped off, plunging into her belly. She whipped around quickly, the dagger coming out of her wound before he could do any more damage with it. Her foot came up and around in what Eric recognized as a roundhouse kick. The man stumbled backwards, spitting out teeth. In his defense he had kept the dagger up in front of him and managed to cause a deep cut in Yamara's calf. Another half step backwards and he shook his head and spat out a stream of bloody spittle. Yamara advanced, ignoring her injuries. She kicked low, striking the top of his front foot and drawing a grunt of pain from him. He tried to draw his leg back but that unbalanced him and Yamara reached out with her hands and grabbed his dagger wielding arm. Her foot slipped behind his back leg as he tried to retreat and she deftly tripped him to the floor, falling on top of him and keeping the dagger held between them.

"Oops," Eric muttered, distracted by the ruckus the two were causing. The leader capitalized on this, lunging forward with his saber and very nearly emasculating Eric. Eric jumped back and twisted his hips, drawing only a slight scratch on one thigh from the attack. He landed off balance and tried to cover it up by lashing out with his sword. The attempt failed simply due to bad luck. The cultist's rapier, which had been coming in for a lunge at Eric's chest, was foiled by the nearly blind swipe. However, the same swipe foiled it by putting the back of Eric's wrist in the way of the saber. Cut nearly to the bone, the short sword dropped from Eric's suddenly numbed fingers.

Jumping at the chance to recover the artifact for their religion, the cultist dropped his saber and grabbed up the short sword. He grinned happily and was met by Eric's right fist crashing into his nose. Stumbling backwards, he tripped on the bed and lay there for a second while blood gushed from his broken nose. He rolled off the far side of the bed and regained his feet rather clumsily. Yamara stood up over the dying cultist that had stabbed her, her legs a little shaky. She held the dagger in her hand and glared at the leader of the invaders.

Eric grabbed up the dropped saber in his right hand. It felt awkward there since he was so badly out of practice, but he had taught himself to use a weapon in either hand years ago. He stalked forward towards the cultist, intent on extracting vengeance for the attack on his penthouse and person.

"Drop the sword or die!" Yamara hissed. Clearly the shock of her wound had worn off and the pain had set in. Eric had noticed the stinging in his own arm from his earlier wound and was concerned about the numbness wearing off on the wound in his wrist.

"No way, he dies regardless, dropping the sword just makes it a little less painful for him," Eric growled.

The cultists eyes widened a little as he came to fully understand his predicament. He began muttering something then under his breath. Eric was clueless as to what he was doing, but Yamara seemed to have a good idea. She threw her commandeered dagger as he finished his spell. The dagger bit into the cultist a fraction of a second before he disappeared with a slight pop as air rushed in to fill the vacuum of space that he had just occupied.

"Shit!" Eric grunted. He let the saber dip down and looked over at Yamara. She was holding the hole in her belly and slowly sank down to sit on the bed and look at him.

His training took over then. Never forgotten, the para-rescue trooper in him came to the fore. He quickly walked over to her and pulled her hand away from the wound. Glancing at it while blood seeped out he gritted his teeth and cursed. "Sorry about that, guess I was wrong." He muttered.

She chuckled weakly. "Nice to know a man can admit to being wrong."

Eric felt like an ass, to put it mildly. Not only had he lost the sword to the cultists, but on top of that, he had damn near gotten Yamara killed. For that matter, she was not far from it still. He put her hand back over the wound and said to her gently, "Keep pressure on this, we've got to get to a hospital right away!"

Then he remembered the window. "Shit, cops probably already on their way." His brain fired off several ideas rapidly, each of which he rejected. Then he began to become aware of his own wrist. The cut was bad but not life threatening. He still had almost full control of his hand too, so any damage to his tendons was minimal as well. He gripped it tightly with his right hand while he tried to brainstorm a way out of this.

"My purse," Yamara whispered, her voice quiet with controlled pain. "Get me my purse."

Having no better idea, Eric left the bedroom to find where Yamara had left her purse. It was with her clothes in the living room. He grabbed it up and returned to the bedroom, dumping it's contents out on the bed beside her. She reached for a small flask with a hand covered in blood, either hers or the cultists, he was not sure.

Eric pulled the cork stopper out of the flask, wondering at the odd shape and size of it. To small to hold a pint of liquor, it was also cylindrical instead of curved. She took a few swallows of the contents then offered it to Eric. Her eyes were closed and Eric decided that the cops be damned, she needed a hospital. He took the flask from her and put the cork back in before tossing it on the bed.

"Phone - 911!" Eric called out to the computer. Immediately they heard a dial tone and then some ringing over the hidden speakers in the penthouse.

"Drink," Yamara said, her voice still quiet. Eric looked at her and saw that she had picked up the flask and offered it to him again. He frowned and popped the cork back out. He took a sip, knowing that alcohol would hardly be beneficial to either of them at this point. He shrugged and drained what little remained in a single swallow.

It tasted like cool refreshing water with a hint of a fruity taste to it. As he liquid went down his throat it soothed and relaxed him. The feeling spread more slowly as time passed, but by the time the emergency operator had come on the phone Eric had noticed that the wound on his arm had clotted and the gash in his wrist had begun to clot and heal up some as well. He looked at Yamara's belly and saw that some of the skin over her rib looked a little pink at the edges, the color of healing flesh. The bleeding had slowed some as well, but by no means stopped. A hospital was still necessary for her survival, but at least now he thought that she would probably make it there.

Chapter 3

Eric had an air cast over his wrist - the damage had been a little more substantial then he had first thought - and a bandage over the 15 stitches on his arm. He walked down the hall at the hospital pondering the latest events. Two of the three invaders to his penthouse had been slain by Yamara and himself, although he had to admit that Yamara had actually scored the kills. The police had found nobody. Neither on the street below nor in his apartment. Blood yes, lots of blood, and not all of it Yamara's or his. That alone seemed to be what had saved them, though the detective in charge was still not cutting Eric any slack.

More appropriately, Yamara was being cut no slack. She had no proof of citizenship. No drivers license. Not even a birth certificate. Fortunately, she had been injured seriously enough to be unable to answer any questions yet. Eric had informed the hospital that any bills her care racked up should be charged to his account, and he had stopped in at least twice daily to check on her. Her strange accent would not help matters when the time came for the police to talk to her. Eric hoped to get to her first, for in the back of his mind he had began to have a sneaking suspicion.

He entered her room after showing his identification to the policeman stationed outside of her room. He sat down next to her bed and looked at her. Her eyes were open, a sign he took to be a good one since she had seemed to steadily worsen since being admitted to the hospital. Open yes, but focused no. They held a glazed look and beads of sweat broke out open her forehead as her body struggled to fight. Eric knew the doctors were mystified by this, though they were hesitant to admit it to him. Her wound was serious yes, but it was clean and her symptoms seemed to be those of someone suffering from a major infection.

"Yamara, what's wrong with you, why aren't you getting any better?" Eric asked softly, staring into her eyes. She twitched a little at his voice and blinked a few times in an attempt to focus on him.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she was able to make any sound. Then finally she gasped out in a ragged whisper, "poison!"

Eric leaned back, shocked at the word. She tried to say more, causing him to lean back in quickly. "Must... leave."

The three words had exhausted her. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed. Eric ground his teeth in frustration and looked at the machinery around her bed. Everything looked right, from the IV drip to the monitoring equipment. He had seen far worse set ups in his time in the military, yet he had never seen anything like this. Then again, he had to remind himself, he had only been certified as a paramedic, not a doctor, and even that was years ago.

After a few more minutes of pondering, Eric decided on a course of action. Resolved, he got up and walked out of the room. He nodded to the cop outside the room and kept going, reaching for his cellular phone the moment he got out of the hospital.

"Cowboy," He said into it after a few minutes of pleasantries with his friend from his time in the Air Force, "I need a favor."

*****

At 19:00:00 hours that very night, or 7:00 PM to the average person, Eric did his best to look nondescript in the stolen nurses uniform. He pushed a seemingly peaceful and borderline unconscious man in a wheelchair down the hallway. The man wore a hospital gown and looked the part of a critically ill patient with the IV tubes going into his arm and waxy pallor of his skin.

Moments before reaching the police officer - a different one then the one that had been posted earlier today Eric noted - the man in the wheelchair broke into action. With a manic cry of glee, he burst out of the chair and tore the IV tubes out of his arm. Turning to Eric, who appeared stunned by the sudden movement, he leapt at him. He landed, fist leading the way into Eric's face. Eric fell back and stumbled to the floor, blood already flowing down over his face.

The man stopped and looked around then, crouched low with his eyes wide an his breath coming quickly. The cop was slow to react and only now was he reaching for his pistol. The former false patient growled at him and took off running back the way Eric had brought him. In a true defender of the public fashion, the officer took off after him. A few other nurses and orderlies trailed along, intending to aid in whatever way they could.

Eric slowly picked himself up, shaking his head and fighting the urge to sneeze the blood out of his nose. A nurse came over to help him but he just waved her away. "I'll be alright. Get that crazy son of a bitch!"

She nodded and took off after the rest of the crowd, leaving only a few stunned onlookers only now coming to their senses from the sudden events. Eric pinched his nose shut to try and stop the bleeding and grabbed onto the wheel chair with his other hand to steady himself. He moved over to the closest door and moved through it, pulling the wheelchair behind. It just happened to be Yamara's room.

He moved quickly then, stopping only long enough to step into the bathroom and glance in the mirror to see how much of a mess his blood nose had made on him. Sure enough, his shirt had several dark splotches on it. At least his nose had already stopped bleeding so he did not risk much more in the way of a mess.

Eric returned to the bed and quickly checked Yamara out. Her leg was bandaged and not a concern to him, but her belly wound did bother him. He pulled the sheets away from her and saw how securely bandaged it was. The bandage appeared fairly fresh, so he left it on without checking it. He grabbed a couple of cotton swabs out of a drawer and carefully removed the IV. Then he turned off all of the monitors, hoping nobody at the nurses station noticed right away, given the recent excitement that surely had them talking. Besides that, the nurses station was down the hall a ways at a junction, hopefully they would not notice. Eric pulled the sensors off of Yamara next and removed the catheter from her, wincing as he did so. He had a few unpleasant memories of catheters and did not envy her in the least.

Fortunately for Yamara, she was oblivious to the world. He picked her up from the bed and put her in the wheelchair, using padded Velcro straps to secure her in it. He made certain that her hospital gown covered her from any indecency and slipped back in the bathroom long enough to wash his blood from his face and neck. That accomplished, he prepared to leave but stopped when he remembered her purse and her pendant. He glanced about the room and saw a single closet. Opening it up he saw a small box with her personal belongings in it. He grabbed it and returned to Yamara and pushed her out of her room and headed down the hall towards the elevator.

He heard a commotion from another wing and knew that Cowboy was still leading his pursuers on a merry chase. Or not so merry, Eric thought to himself, remembering his very sore nose. He made it to an elevator without incident and punched the button for the bottom floor, hoping the rest of his hastily planned rescue attempt went as well.

Yamara moaned softly in the elevator. Eric cursed, hoping she would not gain consciousness. His hopes were answered after a few tense seconds as her breathing returned to a deep, regular pattern. It seemed almost healthy to him, healthier then it had been in her hospital room.

When the elevator doors opened Eric half expected to see a squad of cops waiting for him. He breathed a sigh of relief to see that there was none. He pushed Yamara out of the elevator and headed towards the emergency section of the hospital. He could not help but smirk to himself at the irony of what he was doing. He pushed her through the busy emergency ward and headed towards the ambulances. Nobody stopped him. After all, where else would you find a paramedic with blood splattered clothing if not the emergency section?

Trouble reared it's head when Eric was transferring Yamara from her wheelchair to the stretcher in the ambulance. He had just began to secure her to it with the straps when somebody came up behind the vehicle and looked in.

"What the hell are you doing? This is my bus, buddy!" the man said.

Eric turned and looked at him. He hopped out of the vehicle and looked at the markings on the back of it while sneaking a quick glance around to see who else had a line of sight to them. "Shit!" Eric exclaimed. "I don't believe this! I'm supposed to do a transfer and I grabbed the wrong ambulance. Sorry about that."

The man laughed good naturedly and clapped Eric on the shoulder. "No problem, my man. Here, lemme help you just swap stretchers with the one you're supposed to be in."

Eric thanked the EMT and they managed to quickly switch Yamara to another ambulance. Eric was amazed at how smoothly he still did things, considering it had been years since he had been in the trauma business. Then again, this was a painfully calm situation here, nobody was shooting at him and nothing was exploding nearby. In a few more moments, Eric was away, driving his stolen ambulance down the streets. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small circuit board with a button on it. He pushed the button and grinned as somewhere back in the hospital a detonator set off a tiny flame that ignited a couple of particularly foul smelling and smoky chemicals. He turned on the scanner in his commandeered vehicle and was satisfied to hear that all emergency traffic was being redirected to other hospitals due to the fire alarm going off.

That was also Cowboy's signal to get out of Dodge. He gave up on the cat and mouse game he was playing in the hospital, which was good because he was running out of places to run. He abandoned all pretense at being a madman and increased his speed, heading directly for a stairwell. In a flash he was through the door and heading up the stairs. He ran until he reached the roof and burst out onto it, noticing the fading light as the sun had begun to set. Grinning at the adventure, he stripped off his hospital gown and slipped on the jeans and black Harley - Davidson t-shirt arranged beside the door. A few more seconds and he had a decent pair of socks and his combat boots on, then he was off at a run again, covering the distance to the edge of the roof where he could drop down onto another of the multi-tiered roofs of the hospital. A few more such trips and he managed to land on the blacktop parking lot, all signs of pursuit lost. He ambled over to where his hog was parked and, with a contemptuous roar of exhaust, road out into the night.

*****

"You son of a bitch, you damn near broke my nose!" Eric said, scowling at a hurt looking Cowboy. For his part, the look was genuine, since Eric had just leveled a punch into his jaw that sent him stumbling back a few steps.

"You wanted it to look real," Cowboy said, massaging the side of his face where the blow had landed. "I think you knocked a tooth loose."

"Serves you right." Eric said, smiling in spite of himself. Cowboy chuckled and glanced over at the brown van parked nearby. Eric had abandoned the ambulance a few blocks away from the hospital and switched to the van in the hopes of making any pursuit, real or imagined, that much more difficult.

"This ain't like you Eric, going all out for a chick like this," Cowboy muttered, heading towards it as his curiosity got the better of him.

"Naw, I owed her. Sorta. I think," Eric said, wondering whether he really did or not. "I'm not to sure about much with her, to be honest, but I do know that I nearly got her killed and I owed her for that."

Cowboy chuckled. "You're always letting broads get you in trouble man, when you gonna learn?"

"You should talk Bill," Eric responded, clapping him on the back and walking towards the van with him. "Remember that waitress in Thailand?" That brought a gale of laughter from both of them. The joke had been on Cowboy, who had been bound and determined to land her in bed that night. Only to find out later that she had been more then just a little waitress... she had been a lot of man too, in all the wrong places!

"Okay," he admitted after they stopped laughing. "But at least I never broke any laws for one!"

"Wrong, my friend," Eric pointed out. "97 in Saudi, we damn near had to scrub the entire mission, remember?"