A.N. You guys continue to blow me away with your support! Thank you everyone!
Special thanks venetiaj who gave a little idea for some dialogue to add to this chapter a few reviews ago... No it totally isn't fair for Sam to be doing all of the work! That will change shortly though.
garb50, yes I would want to have a guardian angel like Sam, too! Though I dearly hope I am NEVER in this kind of situation... as fun as it is to write, it would be terrifying.
Thank you also to missblueeyes63, Buckeye am I, Everlost101, 4 Guests, Roseiibabii, SerenityKieraSilverwind,aesir21, and Cynthia.
I'm glad you all liked the different point of view! It was a fun, interesting challenge for me :) Hope you enjoy this chapter as well.
The moment the bullet pierced Sam's left shoulder, he knew his time was up. He'd given up stealth the moment the man had fired at him, forcing him to dive into the aisle and allowing him to pull his confiscated gun, but now it was well and truly time to go on the offensive… just as soon as he regrouped and confirmed he was not about to pass out.
Up until this point his injuries had been relatively minor. The crease to his side had stopped bleeding due to Libby's careful ministrations, and the slash to his chest was long but not deep. A painful annoyance, but not life threatening. The kick he had taken to his chest had cracked a couple of ribs, but they were not broken… yet. The hit to his shoulder was another story. While he could immediately tell it had only torn through muscle and had fortunately left his collarbone intact, it was causing him to lose blood at a rate more rapid than he was comfortable with.
His own shot hit true, shattering the gunman's knee and effectively incapacitating him without killing him. Once the gunman's eyes were not on him and instead were squeezed shut in agony as he fell to the ground, Sam focused on disappearing. As he fled to the end of the aisle, ducking around the corner and continuing down the row towards the back of the store, he used his right hand to stem the bleeding as best he could—no matter how well he hid, it wouldn't matter if he left a trail leading straight to him. When he was about three quarters of the way back, he ducked right, heading towards the south side, as far away from the group of gunmen he'd just taken out as he could get. It was the logical place that they would next search for him—prey always tried to get as far away as possible—but he could worry about that later. For now it would buy him much needed time.
He settled against the outer store wall, sinking down to a seated position and allowed himself one small sigh, his ribs aching with every breath. Of all the days you could have chosen to shop for Wordy's daughter, he thought to himself, you had to choose today, Sam. Good job. The party wasn't for another week and a half, he'd had plenty of time, but he had decided that today would be perfect. He wished he'd chosen any other day but today. No you don't, he admitted. If you hadn't been here, Libby would be dead. No matter the cost to himself, he was glad that thus far he'd been able to prevent that from happening.
Closing his eyes he used his right hand to assess the damage to his left shoulder, trying to determine the extent of the injury and he couldn't stop a hiss of pain from escaping his mouth. He mentally cursed his decision to avoid a kill shot, but only half-heartedly. In truth he was glad he hadn't had to kill the man. After all, though he knew their intent was to assassinate Libby, thus far they hadn't killed anyone. In his days in the military, that distinction wouldn't have mattered, but he'd left the military and joined the SRU for a reason: to save lives, not take them if at all avoidable. Instead he'd chosen to waste precious seconds aiming at the man's knee in order to avoid killing him, which gave the man just enough time to aim at Sam.
Pushing such thoughts from his mind, he focused on the more pressing matter of dealing with his shoulder. While not immediately life threatening, it was serious nonetheless and needed to be taken care of. He'd chosen his current location strategically because this was where, according to Libby's map, the first aid supplies were. He didn't have time for anything fancy, but he needed to stop the bleeding as best he could. Locating the gauze—conveniently right next to him so he didn't have to move—he worked quickly to wrap the material tightly around his shoulder over his t-shirt, tying it off as best he could with just one hand. He gave himself five breaths to collect himself, before he reached into his pocket and pulled out the burner phone. He dialed the number he knew by heart.
It didn't even finish its first ring when a familiar voice yelled out, "Sam! Samo please tell me that's you, buddy! If it's not and this is some damn prank caller I swear I am going to hunt you down and make you regret the day you dialed this number!"
Sam smiled at the man's outburst. "Yeah, Ed, it's me. Though I wouldn't mind if you hunted me down and got us all the hell out of here," he admitted quietly, trying to keep his voice light and sarcastic… worried he had failed.
"Damn it is good to hear your voice, Sam. Where are you? What happened? Are you okay? We saw you go after those three guys and take them down, but then you disappeared."
Sam frowned in confusion. "Didn't Spike get the feeds I sent him? Can't you see the store through the video cameras?"
"Yeah, Sam, we can," Greg called—I must be on speaker phone, Sam thought distantly. "We saw you take three subjects down, saw one of them chase you into the aisle and aim at you, saw him go down and you run, and then you just dropped off the cameras. Nice job, Sam, that was really well executed. Not sure if I would have been able to make that shot myself given the circumstances. Where are you? Are you hit?"
Sam debated for a moment whether or not he should disclose the full extent of his injuries, his pride and military training rearing its head, before he ultimately decided that Greg and the rest of the team had a right to know, especially if he was to be of any further use to them. "Uh, I'm okay, but yeah, I'm hit." He heard the team's collective indrawn breath so he rushed to continue. "Not gonna lie to you, it hurts like hell but it's a through and through in my left shoulder. Didn't hit bone."
He heard a muttered curse word or two in the background, but he couldn't pick out who had uttered them. He wouldn't have been surprised if it was everyone. This situation sucked.
"You just have all the luck, don't you Samo?" Ed demanded, trying to lighten the mood. Normally Sam would play along, but fatigue was beginning to pull at him.
"Not feeling too lucky right now, Ed," he confessed.
There was a moment of silence from the other end. Shit, Sam cursed in his head. Did I really just say that out loud? Now they're gonna be doubly worried.
Greg obviously had decided it would be best not to pursue the matter further and drill him on questions of his injury, for which Sam was grateful. "Can you tell us where you are, Sam? We still can't find you."
This continued to confuse Sam. Why couldn't they find him? And more curiously, why hadn't they seen his mad dash through the store? His tired mind raced to find an explanation, and then it hit him: he'd been avoiding the cameras. Not consciously, but it was a skill so ingrained in his brain that in active situations during which stealth was key, he just did it without thinking. Even now he could see he was sitting directly in a blind spot. "Uh, sorry guys. I guess I've been staying in the blind spots. Didn't even realize I was doing it. I'm on the south wall about three quarters of the way back from the front."
"Is Bethany Oakes with you?" an unfamiliar, slightly hostile voice demanded.
Sam stiffened. His entire demeanor changed as he pushed all fatigue and emotion from his voice, dropping the friendly communication he shared with his teammates. He was willing to be honest with his teammates, but throw a stranger in the mix and no way was he giving away anything about his own wellbeing. "Who wants to know?"
"Just answer the question Constable! We've worked too long on this case for it to go to waste now because of some upstart, cocky SRU officer who thinks he can be a hero!"
Sam's jaw clenched as he fought back the words he wanted to throw in this stranger's face. His self-control was obviously better than Ed's, because he heard a metallic slam—presumably a fist landing on a surface in the truck—followed by Ed yelling, "Officer Wade! Sergeant Parker has already rebuked you for questioning the actions of Constable Braddock! He doesn't tell people off twice because after the first time it's my turn and I give a whole hell of a lot worse than just a few words! You have no jurisdiction here while this is an active hostage situation! If you cannot either keep your mouth shut or remain respectful and only speak when you have something useful to add, you will physically be forced to leave the premises!"
Sam smiled faintly at Ed's words, his heart warming. He was about to thank the older man and to respond to the initial question when he shifted without thinking, sending pain lancing through his shoulder and ribs. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood in order to avoid crying out, both to avoid detection by the subjects and to avoid further worrying his teammates; there was nothing they could do for him right now anyway. It took him several breaths to get himself back under control and he was worried that they would notice his silence, but when he tuned back into the conversation, he heard that they were finishing up the argument and he heard the stranger say curtly, "Apologies, Constable Braddock. We saw you help Ms. Oakes onto the shelves but have no angle from which we can see her. Is she still on top of the shelves or is she with you?"
"To my knowledge she is still on top of the shelves. She is not with me," he replied shortly.
"Okay Sam, we know time is running out for everyone," Ed spoke quickly. He didn't expressly say "you," but Sam knew he was thinking it. "Wordy has a plan." Sam heard Wordy's muttered "can we even qualify it as a plan?" in the background, before Ed continued, "And we're gonna run it by you, because it requires you, and if you're not up to it, Sam, just say the word. No one expects more of you. You've done amazingly already." Ed's voice was warm and filled with pride, causing Sam to work very hard not to lose the control he was hanging onto with every ounce of willpower he had left. He was scared and he was tired and he just wanted this to end, but there was no way he was going to admit that to his team in front of strangers. Ed's kind words and implicit trust mixed with all of those other emotions caused a lump to form in his throat.
Pushing that aside he replied, "I can do it, Ed. We both know I'm the person in the best position to change things. Just what exactly am I going to be doing?"
"Well, we've got a possible way to neutralize one of the subjects guarding the hostages in the front of the store and an entry point… but we can only neutralize one subject. Which means we need you—" Ed paused, and Sam wasn't sure exactly why. He was sure if he weren't so damn tired he would have figured it out already… That's not good, he thought miserably, blood loss must be getting to me. "We need you to get the rest of the subjects to leave the hostages and enter the back half of store."
Oh. "You need me to bait them."
"Yeah, Sam buddy," Ed told him regretfully, "that's what we need you to do. I know it's completely unfair of us to ask you to do more because heck, you've done all of the work already and I feel like we've just sat here, but this is the only thing we can think of."
Sam closed his eyes. Truthfully he'd known he wasn't done, but he realized that subconsciously he'd hoped that now he was talking to his team that they'd be able to take things from here. He let out one sigh before steeling himself. "I can do that. How much time do you need?"
"As long as you can give us, but three minutes is probably safe."
Three minutes. Such a short amount of time, but right now it seemed like an interminable age.
"Okay. How long do you need to set up?"
He heard brief conferring between his teammates, before Ed came back with "Let's say ten minutes, okay? And Sam?" Ed paused. "You can do this. I'll see you when this is all over after you have royally kicked their asses. That's a promise."
Sam grinned tiredly. "Copy that. I'll wave at a camera when I'm starting. But first, what can you tell me about these guys? How many of them are there?"