Containment

"Where's Reid?!" Morgan yelled out to his partner. He heard Hotch reloading his weapon and was easily able to place him without a visual. The monster on the ground had his attention and he couldn't look away. He'd shot and killed it, but didn't trust that it was actually dead.

"I don't know," was all that Hotch could say and he was worried. They weren't supposed to move out of each other's sight. But this had been a surprising and challenging encounter. On this specific property alone, they'd had to kill seventeen of these zombie-like beings, all formally humans, and it wasn't hard to lose track of each other in the midst of it all. "I don't know," he repeated to himself as he flashed light into the opened doorway of the shed he stood in front of. This was one of a couple of sheds and a small farm house on the property they'd been sent to check out.

This would be their last stop for the night. The sun was about to set.

"Did he go inside?" Morgan finally allowed himself to take his eyes off whoever he'd just had to put out of their misery and looked around as he headed toward Hotch.

"Reid?!" Hotch called out.

Morgan stopped so he could listen and that's when he heard something. It was so faint, but it sounded like someone wimpering, like they were cold and shivering. "What the fuck is that?" he mumbled. Hotch could hear it too and both men aimed their guns at the sound. It was coming from the far side of the other small shed. They walked past the first shed and then moved toward second shed with their weapons raised. Once they rounded the corner, they saw a young man lying on the ground in a fetal position with his back to them.

There was immediate alarm when they realized it was Reid. Both men holstered their guns as they rushed to him and kneeled down to take a better look. "Reid?" Hotch's tone changed to prompt a response from him, demanding communication, but Reid was shaking beyond his control and sweating profusely. After no response, Hotch's lips formed a hard, straight line. So very carefully, Hotch began to roll him onto his back. Morgan gently braced the young man's head and shoulders.

"Oh, my God," Morgan winced when he saw the bloody bite wound on Reid's arm. "Hotch…?" He knew what this meant. The report provided to them outlined the protocol. In order to contain this outbreak, any human bitten by another who has become infected must be terminated. "We should have worn our gear." The regret in his tone was undeniable. They had all become very good shots and depended on the protective gear less and less.

Hotch bowed his head. He was convinced there was nothing to be done. "I'll take care of him."

Anger weighed heavy on Morgan's brow. "Take care of him? We can't kill him," he tried to whisper. His mind raced for a loophole. From all he'd seen so far, this was way too much like the movies for there not to be a way to save his friend. "He's not one of them yet. There's gotta be something we can do." He grabbed Hotch by his arm and pulled him up, walking him back several feet. "Let's talk about this for a second." All of Morgan's ideas sounded great in his head, but he knew once he spoke them out loud, Hotch would shoot them down, but he had to try. "We can drug him, knock him out and get him back—"

"We have zero guarantee any drugs would affect him."

"We… We can tie him up or cuff him and gag him so he can't bite."

"And then do what with him, Morgan?"

"I don't know, Hotch! Any-thing-else except put a bullet in his brain."

Hotch shook his head. He knew none of it would work, especially without a solid plan mapped right out to a solid outcome. None of that was possible here. He shook his head; he couldn't allow it. "I'm sorry, Derek."

Morgan started to tear up and his Adam's apple bobbed deeply down the front of his neck. Hotch wasn't far behind him, but he tried to maintain his composure for Morgan's sake. "Amputate! We can cut off his arm."

"This virus is already in his system. Nothing we do will save him now." Morgan and Hotch stared into each other's eyes, both trying to work up the nerve to face this. When they heard shuffling, both men turned their heads toward the sound. Reid had managed to get up off the ground and was taking slow, unsteady foot steps toward them. Morgan raised his weapon and Hotch did the same, but neither intended to fire. Hotch stared, but completely on guard. Morgan's jaw dropped and he lowered his weapon, slowly placing at his side again.

This was supernatural. Reid's physical transformation into one of these… creatures had only taken minutes. His skin was a horrid shade of gray, still beaded with sweat, and his body looked sickly. His veins were turning black and many appeared to be pulsing with the poison beneath his skin. His pupils were uneven, but dilated and the color was lost from his irises. His eyes had sunken into their sockets and were beginning to cloud over. The tissue inside his mouth was dark and slowly oozing blood that was almost black. Fluid pooled under his tongue and behind his lower lip and dripped from his mouth like drool. Choking and swallowing noises came from his throat as he tried to breathe. He made no sudden movements, but began to reach out for Morgan.

Hotch swiftly placed his hand on Morgan's chest just in case Morgan thought it was okay to approach his dead friend. He could feel how hard Morgan's heart was pounding.

The closer Reid came, the more convinced Morgan became that something wasn't right here. He could see trails from tears down Reid's cheeks. He swore he could see fear in his expression. He looked down at the arm that was bitten and it had blackened all around the wound.

"I'm sorry, Morgan," Hotch repeated as he used both hands to carefully aim.

"Hotch! Don't!" Morgan yelled at him, refraining from pushing his aim away from Reid. He didn't want the gun to go off.

"Turn away," he told Morgan as the emotion he'd been concealing began to break through in his eyes.

Reid kept advancing, slowly, not reacting to Hotch's obvious intentions.

"Damn it, Hotch!" Desperate, he held his arm out in front of Hotch's body, trying to force him back while he continued to watch Reid.

"That's not Reid anymore!" Hotch yelled.

Right as Hotch said his name, Reid's head turned his direction and Morgan saw it. "Wait! Wait a minute. Did you see that? Reid!? Look at me!" Reid was less than three feet from the tip of Hotch's pistol and Morgan's eyes kept bouncing between the two knowing Hotch was going to fire at any second. "REID! STOP!"

And just like that, Reid's feet stopped moving and he lowered his arm. A tear slipped from Morgan's eye and he looked at Hotch with amazement. That took Hotch off guard as well. Reid wasn't dead yet. Or at least his brain wasn't. This wasn't the normal transformation they had seen in days past.

"Morgan…" But Hotch was not seeing that ray of hope that his partner was.

"Look at me, kid," Morgan yelled toward him. Reid seemed to be able to hear or sense Morgan was speaking to him, but wouldn't or couldn't look directly at him as if he was now blinded. "Reid! It's Morgan. Look at me. Follow my voice."

This time Reid clearly heard Morgan and he turned his head toward the sound of his voice. He opened his mouth and made some strange noise that sounded like a primitive grunt.

"I'm right here, Reid. Follow my voice," he said with a little less volume, overwhelmed with the tiniest bit of relief.

Reid made a frustrated guttural noise again as his hand quickly reached to grab at the sound of Morgan's voice causing Morgan to jerk back just as fast. But then as he continued to watch him, he could tell Reid didn't quite understand what was being asked of him or he was having trouble executing the task. Hotch remained on high alert, ready to fire.

"Reid, can you fight this?" he asked as he tried to read any expression on Reid's face. "Reid, I need you to communicate with me."

Reid's lower jaw opened, spilling out blood and saliva. He opened and closed it a couple of times.

"Reid, are you trying to talk?" Morgan glanced at Hotch who was still very much on edge with his finger on the trigger of his weapon.

Reid opened his jaw again, this time exposing his yellowed teeth and he slowly chomped them together several times.

Morgan's hair stood up on the back on his neck. "Reid?!" he yelled sensing a change in him, not yet ready at all to admit it.

Reid cocked his head at Morgan and an audible snapping noise came from his neck.

Both men winced, but Hotch was the one who spoke up. "He's gone," Hotch said to Morgan gently.

"He's trying to talk!"

"He's tasting the air!" Hotch said firmly, not taking his eyes off the dead man standing before him.

"Hold your fire, Hotch! Reid! Come toward me."

Reid's heavy feet began to shuffle toward him.

"That's right, Reid. Follow my voice," he smiled. "Maybe we can secure 'em and bring him in. He's not like the others. Maybe this is temporary for him."

Hotch could see the hope in Morgan's eyes and it was heartbreaking. He steadied his aim at Reid's head and discharged his weapon.

This was so fun to play out in my head. I guess you could say The Walking Dead inspired it, but only subconsciously. TWD never crossed my mind as I wrote it. Anyway, so sad. I hope you enjoyed it. I've marked this complete! I don't intend to write anymore on this one.

write anymore on this one.