Recycled.
Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.
Tin Het once said: Crap, I think we all just died.
They stood in a huddle and looked at how the marks on the floor suddenly stopped.
"They picked him up." Morgan was walking further long. "But there is no blood trail. So he was either not bleeding, which seems unlikely, or he was put in or on something."
Flanders eyes caught a glimpse of one of the big bins and started to run towards it.
Aaron turned to see the medics running in their direction, but they received a shake of the head. "Stay with us. He's not far." And he joined Flanders who was frantically pulling open the bin lids.
Morgan was still inspecting the floor and looking for any signs of blood which would lead them in the right direction.
"Spence where the hell are you?" Flanders was muttering to himself. Morgan looked over curiously at the man who actually did look and sound like he did care after all.
A hand on his shoulder which he pulled away from, and rough wiping of the wetness appearing on his face. "They are all empty. They are empty. Someone emptied the bins." And he was looking around and then running deeper down into the corridor. Hotch, Morgan and the medical team followed as he ran to the end. He pulled down a large metal door and looked down into the darkness. "Garbage chute." He muttered and started to climb. Again a hand on his shoulder! Always with the hands! "Let go of me!" He elbowed quickly back and made contact with something hard then threw himself head first down the chute.
He fell and twisted and rolled down the chute to the sounds of shouting coming from the opening he had foolhardily leapt probably to his death to. If this went directly to the furnace it would definitely be a just end. He wanted to laugh at the thought of it, but the smacking pain on the back of his head let him know he had reached the bottom. Floyd lay on the floor for a while trying to get his breath back and getting his eyes to adjust to the darkness he was surrounded by. He was laying on concrete. No soft landing for him. Not that lucky. He was rolling out of the way groaning when Morgan hit the bottom foot first and did a quick roll and jumped up. He shone his flashlight around the room. There were other chutes, some with piles of trash in front of them. If Reid had been thrown down with the rubbish, then he would be there somewhere.
Hotch joined them after a minute and stood next to Floyd.
"Do you know your way around down here?"
He shook his head but was trying to grab the flashlight from Aaron's hands. "Over there by the wall." And he was off again at a run.
Morgan stood and looked at the pile of rubbish then looked back at Flanders. "What is it?"
"Oh god - oh god - oh god." Flanders was beginning to panic and trying to get Aaron's flashlight again. "He was here. There is blood. Where is he?! Spence!" And Floyd was shouting.
And again it was Derek there touching him, and now it was one touch too many. "Get your hands off me you son of a whore!" and he spat at Morgan's face. He watched with satisfaction as Morgan blinked and dropped his hand. "You are wasting my time. I need to find him!"
Hotch stood forwards between the two men. "You need to calm down Flanders. Reid needs us to stay calm. We will never find him if we are shouting at each other. There is an exit passage that way. We will go and check it out calmly."
But Flanders was already at a run, and as he raced down the dark unlit passage he suddenly stopped.
Hotch and Morgan saw Floyd run then fall silently backwards into the shadows. Flashlights and guns raised into the darkness. A long passage with a door at the end and Flanders laying on his back on the floor about half way down.
"Now what the hell?" muttered Morgan.
……………..
The pain was across his face. It felt like that hit had broken his jaw. Slowly he rolled onto his side and spat a tooth out. He wanted to get up and kill whatever had just done this to him. Why were they stopping him from finding Spence? Someone was pulling him back out of the way by holding him under the arms and as he looked up Derek was there again looking down at him shining the light on his face and wiping blood off his fingertips. Floyd looked up at him. He didn't realise it was possible to fee this angry.
"I just want to find him! I need to hold him!" he said through his battered mouth.
Hotch let go of his shoulders. "This is why we need to take it slowly Floyd. There might be scared people hiding down here. We don't know. Take it slowly, let us take the lead. Calm down and follow."
He made a desperate sobbing sound and tried to get to his feet. Derek was staring at him. "Walk behind me." Derek said to him. Blood was dripping down his chin. He wiped it away roughly with the back of his hand and nodded.
They walked slower. Laying on the floor near a small side passage was a crow bar. They each looked down at it but didn't comment or move it. Carefully they made their way to the door.
Hotch carefully placed his finger tips on it, and checked to see which way it would open. He put his hand carefully on the door handle and twisted it. Slowly the door opened. He room was in total darkness. He shone his flashlight slowly around the room and took a step inside. It looked like a store room. Packing crates over to one side, and a pile of rubbish in the corner. There seemed to be nothing else. He walked further into the room with Morgan behind him and stepping past Derek, Flanders stood and looked around following Hotch's light and it was there. A pile of dirty tarpaulins in the corner and a foot. A battered bloodied foot.
Someone was calling for the medics as Floyd walked in slow motion – impossibly slow over to the foot sticking out from the filth and dirty tarps. Hands, not just his were pulling the covers off who they knew was going to be underneath. Floyd could hear strange whimpering noises, and he wasn't sure if it was him or Hotch making them.
"Oh god no."
Someone said. It didn't matter who voiced it. They were all thinking the same thing.
Spencer lay on his right side facing the wall with his knees bent up tight to his chest. His right hand was resting next to his head; his left arm was bent behind him. He had been stripped out of his own clothes and an old sheet was wrapped around him almost like a shroud.
Someone put a slow shaking hand on Spencer's shoulder and pulled him so he was on his back.
Screaming for the medics as his eyes stared back accusingly at them.
"He's not breathing!"
"I can't find a pulse!"
"We are too late, no no no we are too late!"
…………………..
Hotch, Morgan, and Flanders stood back as the medics dived into action.
They watched them touch the paddles to Spencer's chest and the saw his body arch. They watched them try to intubate him, and watched the paddles touch his skin again as his chest bucked and fell still on the rubbish he lay on.
They saw shaking heads and panicked movements through eyes clouded with tears. There was a lot of shouting and orders given but it all seemed to Floyd to be silent.
Floyd saw the small sharp blade going to Spencer's throat and he wanted to run forwards and rip it from their hands and slice them with it, but Aaron's hand was holding his arm in a grip like a vice and saying something to him his ears wouldn't hear because all he could hear was his own strange keening noises. They saw the Tracheotomy and the tube being inserted and the air being pumped into his lungs and they saw again his body buck.
More people were arriving. People with a gurney and drips and portable monitors and they surrounded Spencer and lifted him carefully. A medic looked over at the three men and gave a small shrug, and then they were gone. Running down a dark passageway towards the waiting ambulance.
………………
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Floyd sat by the bed holding Spencer's hand tightly. He was awake. He spent his days just staring at the ceiling. He wasn't very responsive. The cut on his neck was healing, but would scar. They were still unsure about how much brain damage had been caused. They needed to do more tests.
Flanders had told Hotch he would stay with him. They kept a constant eye on him though. Someone watched. They didn't trust him.
They maybe had good reason not to trust him. But it wouldn't be for much longer. He guessed a few more days, judging by the infection rates and the ease of contamination. Air born virus' were nasty. Almost impossible to stop, and in this case completely impossible to survive. Unless you had been given the antidote. Unless you were immune. Unless you were your very own typhoid Mary.
……………..
Derek didn't feel well. His eyes felt sore and his neck hurt. It felt like he was getting the flu, or at least some nasty cold bug. He stood in the queue in the chemists and coughed into his fist.
The young cashier gave Derek his meds for the bad throat and took the money from his hand and stuck it in the cash register. He turned to leave and coughed again. The cashier yawned and put her hand to her mouth.
……...
END