He doesn't want to, but the images race through his mind. Chris on the pier. The water. The bodies in the water. The top of that fire truck. Losing sight of him. His glasses.

The bodies. The smaller body face-down. He's still not sure if it was him, but it might have been. It could have been. He hadn't been anywhere else. And then— and then he couldn't check. He's… not sure why, but there was blood in the water, and waking up in a black bag, like there had been some sort of mistake, and then everything had been too bright, too loud, too much—

Something crunches dangerously. His hand is still pressing a dirty shirt to The Guy's neck. His other hand is somehow holding a phone with a crack in the screen. He thumbs at it, and the screen undims. There's a view of an L.A. sunset from above and the words [Emergency Call] at the bottom. Fuck. Fuck. Of course. He needs to get help.

He hesitates over the button. What if it's Maddie? What if it's someone else but they recognize his voice?

There's a weak groan and a shifting below him, and The Guy's eyelids flicker. He's pale, really pale. "Okay, shit," Buck mumbles, pocketing the phone and pulling The Guy's bulky weight into a fireman's carry. He needs to get him help, but not here. Not where emergency services will get ages to get to. Where he will have to give up his hiding place.

He takes a deep, unneeded breath, nearly going dizzy with the scent of blood, and takes off. Somehow, impossibly, he makes it to the road within moments.

He hits the call button before he can think about it. Rattles off his location to thankfully-not-Maddie, and leaves as soon as he's spotted the lights in the distance.