Author's Note: Once again, direct continuation.

No Peace For The Damned

"Hotch?!" Reid yelled as his eyes popped and his arms fell back to his sides, "oh thank God it's you!"

He started running around the front of the car, now rambling in a near panic.

"I got lost in the woods, and I thought I was going to freeze to death but then I stumbled over this caa . . ."

It wasn't possible for Spencer to get the last word out, because Hotch had just yanked him into a bear hug. An action which was so BIZARRELY out of character . . . his boss didn't hug, EVER(!) . . . that it caused him to freeze like a statue, with his arms locked awkwardly down at his sides.

'What the hell was this?!'

"Uh, um," he started to stammer against Hotch's shoulder . . . and of course then he was immediately let go.

"Come on," Hotch shifted his grip to grab Reid's sleeve, "we'll talk inside the SUV!" He started frantically tugging him back towards the SUV as he yelled over his shoulder, "it's not safe out here!"

Jesus Christ, he couldn't believe that they'd actually just STUMBLED over him! And he was alive!

That was a God damn MIRACLE!

And Hotch was still so stunned by this turn of events, that when Reid suddenly seemed to spot who was in the driver's seat just ahead, he was able to shake off Hotch's grip, to take off at a run.

Ordinarily Hotch would have had him in a vice grip.

"EMILY! YOU'RE HERE!" Reid was yelling as he sprinted up to the Suburban, trying to hug his friend where she was half hanging out the driver's side door. But again, outdoor reunions weren't safe here either, which Hotch knew that Emily already knew full well . . . even if Reid still didn't get it.

So while she was hurriedly twisting herself away from them and back inside the vehicle, Hotch was grabbing Reid by the scruff of his parka. Then he shoved him through that open back door.

There was no time for gentle guiding.

But of course with Spencer not expecting to get grabbed, he actually stumbled getting himself pulled inside. But Hotch was just a half a step behind him, trying to push him along the floor of the rear cabin.

His youngest agent was basically sprawled out in a pile of gangly limbs.

Once his legs were at least out of the way though, Hotch was able to get his own feet inside. Then he reached over to yank the door shut behind them. That's when Emily hit the locks and spun around and over, twisting down to snag Reid around the neck.

With him still basically lying in a lump, it was an extremely half assed hug.

"I'm so happy to see you Spencer," she murmured tearfully against the back of his shoulder, "but where's JJ?" She pulled away with a sniffle.

"When did you two get separated?"

"Separated?" Reid repeated back in confusion while trying to push himself up into a more dignified position, "what are you . . .?"

And that's when a shot of adrenaline hit him, and he wrenched away from Emily to whip his head around.

OH SHIT! THERE WAS NOBODY ELSE IN THE SUV!

"Where IS JJ?!" he yelled, now spiraling into a terror filled panic as he realized that something ELSE had gone horribly wrong, "and Derek?!" His wild eyes snapped back and forth between Emily in the front and Hotch beside him.

"Where did they GO?!"

The questions were coming out rapid fire, but that was because Spencer could feel that whatever had gone wrong here was somehow his fault. And that would have been bad enough, but then when he saw both Emily and Hotch's faces twist with grief, it felt like he'd been physically punched in the stomach. He gasped.

Oh God, what had he DONE?!

"What happened to them?" He whispered breathlessly as his shaking hand came up and his fingers brushed over his lips, "because when I left they were fine." His voice began to fade when his eyes started to glaze. "They were in the SUV and they were fine."

Hotch's eyebrow shot up.

"What do you mean, when you left?" Hotch countered dangerously. "You don't mean that you left them, deliberately?"

Oh please God, don't make me kill the kid right after I found him!

"Yeah, I um," Spencer blinked and scrubbed his hand across his forehead, "I left them to go after you two. Not at first," he winced, "at first I stayed like you told us to. But we were so worried, and the minutes kept passing. First five, then ten, and when it was coming up on fifteen, finally I just couldn't stand the waiting anymore so I grabbed one of the shotguns and I tried to go after you because I was sure you were both in trouble and needed help. But," he bit his lip as his voice fell in shame, "then I couldn't find your trail in the snow, and I got lost in the storm and ended up just wandering around until I found the road again. I guess I went the wrong way though because I couldn't find the SUV, and it was so cold, so I just kept walking along the road hoping I'd stumble across it. But then I found that car," he made a disinterested flapping gesture towards the window, "and it was unlocked so I figured that I could hole up in there until the weather got better." Then his head snapped up as a thought occurred to him.

"Oh, my shotgun's still over there."

"Never MIND that now!" Hotch shot back with enough ferocity to make Reid jump. "How the HELL could you leave them alone!?" He continued on in a shaking fury, "Derek was BLIND! And JJ had a concussion! What the fuck were you THINKING?! How could you have been so Goddamn STUP . . ."

"Hotch," Emily words cut in softly as her watery gaze fell and her hand pressed against her forehead, "please stop. Please. It won't help."

"Won't help what?!" Reid asked tearfully, "you still didn't tell me what HAPPENED?!"

Dear God why won't they answer that ONE question?!

"Derek is dead," Emily whispered, with a catch of Hotch's eyes . . . at the moment she didn't trust his temper to get even that much out without screaming it, "we found him outside on the road behind the SUV. His throat was ripped open." Her faintly watery gaze shifted over to Spencer's horrified one. "You and JJ were missing. We thought you'd both been taken by whoever had killed him, but apparently," she swallowed, "it was just her."

Though Emily stood by her decision to stop Hotch from tearing Reid in two . . . making the kid literally piss his pants wasn't going to fix any of it . . . she couldn't deny that she had her own anger with him on these points. Mostly though she was just utterly BAFFLED at his decision to go! God, how could he have gone off and left them alone knowing what had happened the LAST time that he and JJ had separated out in the middle of nowhere?! Her fist clenched.

Had he lost his freaking MIND?!

"I . . . what?" Spencer whipped his head back and forth in confusion. "No, no, no," he stammered in disbelief, "no that can't true. Derek can't be dead. Derek just needs to go to the hospital for his eye . . ." his voice broke, "he's not dead. He's not."

"He is dead Spencer," Hotch let out on a weary sigh . . . Emily was right, his anger had no place in the now. "He is most definitely, dead. And I know that's a lot to process, and we do need to eventually finish talking about what you did, but Prentiss is right, we have no time right now because we still don't know what happened to JJ." His jaw twitched, "which means that we still need to go for help and come back here again." He jerked his thumb towards the door. "Now I'm going to go get your shotgun, because we've discovered that weapon is VITAL to our survival out here. But when I get back, we're going to leave." His gaze shifted up and over then, locking onto Emily's sad, angry, faintly teary, one in the rearview mirror.

There were just too many emotions for one day.

"Cover me?"

The question was asked softly. But of course it was a rhetorical one anyway. And he could see Emily sniff and nod while wiping one gloved finger under the corner of her eye.

"Yep," Emily cleared her throat, "let's do it."

So momentarily ignoring Spencer's shell shocked, eyes glazed, demeanor . . . they weren't being deliberately cruel with their bluntness because of his fuckup, there was just no time for coddling right then . . . they quickly repeated the process they'd gone through minutes before.

Locks up . . . doors open . . . Hotch running.

This time, knowing the car was empty, he ran straight over and yanked the passenger side door open. Then he was snatching up the Mag light off the dash, and the shotgun off the seat. He was just turning around again, when he heard Emily scream.

"NINE O'CLOCK!"

And his head whipped around to see that those figures were once more coming at him through the snow. And they were coming up fast.

SO Goddamn fast!

OH SHIT!

Even as he took off at a dead run, Emily was already firing.

It was just enough cover for him to make it back to the SUV . . . but not enough to save him completely. Because there were at least three of them that he'd seen, and they moved like the freaking wind! So even though Hotch managed to hurl himself through the open back door, he wasn't able to get it closed before they got there too. And feeling the icy fingers scratching at his calf, he felt a wave of terror wash over him . . . that was just before he was yanked back out the door.

FUCK!

He was clawing at the edge of the carpet, and then the underside of the seats, trying to hold onto anything that would keep him inside, even as he heard Reid screaming, "WHAT IS HAPPENING?!"

And Hotch was about to yell for him to snap the fuck out of it and HELP HIM(!) when he heard Emily, still firing, while simultaneously screeching almost those exact words.

"REID! GRAB HIM FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!"

That seemed to do it. Because then Reid was half on top of him, grabbing him under his arms, as he tried to yank him back into the cab.

But those things were much stronger than even he and Spencer were together. And Reid was only able to pull him back enough to get his shoulders inside, when suddenly there was another hard yank from the other end.

GOD DAMN IT!

As Hotch felt his gloves slipping off the underside of the bench seat, and his cheek sliding along the last few inches of the wet carpeting, his terror unexpectedly gave way completely to another emotion.

Fury.

Because this was a SHIT way to die! Eighteen years with the Bureau, over a decade hunting serial killers, and now he was getting torn apart by some MAKE BELIEVE creatures?! What the hell was THAT?!

Who DIED like that?!

And it was just as he released a bellow of pure rage . . . half muffled by the carpeting that his face was scraping along . . . that Hotch heard Emily make a similar sound.

And he could tell from the empty click of the Remington . . . she was out of shells again.

And with his shotgun on his back and Reid's half jammed under the seat from when he'd thrown it through the door, they were screwed.

It was just then that Hoch felt something viciously digging into his leg . . . something besides the dozen or so sharp nails that had snared him . . . and then there was an excruciating pain in his calf. His heart dropped as he bit down a scream of pain.

JESUS CHRIST! Were they BITING him?!

"HOLY SHIT EMILY!" Reid yelled as he tried to give Hotch another hard yank, "THEY'RE BITING HIM, THEY'RE BITING HIS LEG AND I CAN'T GET HIM INSIDE!"

And that was Reid confirming Hotch's worst fears . . . he was being SNACKED on! And somehow having that confirmation was enough to shake him out of the momentary paralysis he'd felt. So he started kicking wildly even as he heard Emily yelling at Reid to shoot them.

Just fucking shoot them.

But then Reid was screaming back that if he let even one hand go, that Hotch was going out the door.

Before Hotch himself could weigh in on that point . . . because he was indeed about to go flying out the GOD DAMN DOOR(!) . . . he felt a fresh gust of cold wind hit his cheek, and he realized that another door had just opened.

And that could mean only one thing.

"EMILY!" He let out a muffled screamed, still with his face jammed against the floor, "GET BACK IN HERE!"

Though he knew that she was the only one who could save him, he still didn't want her out there with those creatures.

But per usual for this night, she knew better than he did exactly what needed to be done.

And after he heard two shots from what was definitely a handgun, there was her yell over the storm, "JUST BE READY!" And then there were six more bullets coming rapid fire just behind him.

It was immediately clear that she hit her marks, because the tension on his lower body slackened just enough for him to kick off . . . and Reid yanked him back through the door.

THANK YOU CHRIST!

Hotch was already yanking out his Sig even as he fumbled to roll over onto his back, elbowing Reid out of his way in the process.

There was no time to take a clean shot . . . there was no time for anything really at all . . . all that mattered was not hitting Emily. But out of the corner of his eye, he could see her scrambling back into the front seat, so he fired straight at the creature coming at him through the door.

Its mouth was wide open. There were a whole lot of blackened teeth in there.

And a whole lot of insanity in those pale blue eyes.

And then the bullet was skimming off the top of its skull . . . it scalped him. But it wasn't even close to a kill shot . . . not for these things. Still though, that shot did its job well enough. Because the force of the impact was just enough to throw the thing back and out into the snow. And that gave Hotch the split second he needed to reach over and snag the door handle.

He fired another shot at the hand that tried to snatch it away. And then he got his grip again and he was screaming, "GO, GO, GO!" even as it was slamming shut.

That's when the face of the one he'd just scalped, slammed against the back window. And missing the top half of his skull like that . . . he definitely looked pretty pissed.

Ah shit.

Hotch braced himself against the seat, getting ready to fire again if it came flying through. But just as it started to pull back its arm to punch through the glass, Emily floored it, the tires screeched . . . and there was a thud.

And then they took off in a fishtail . . . one which she immediately straightened out.

"I think I hit one!" Emily yelled, and Hotch scrambled up to lean over her shoulder.

"Yeah," he rasped back as his eyes locked onto the figure visible in the driver's side mirror, "there's one down. There are two still moving that I can see, including the one I shot in the head, but they're just watching us."

For a second, he watched back, just to make sure that none of them decided to run after them.

At their attack speed they might just catch up.

But for whatever reason, for now they were letting them go without any chase. He bit his lip. And that made him more than a little nervous.

It was like they knew something that he didn't.

But no matter . . . he blinked and shook his head . . . they just needed to keep moving. Because when they stopped, that's when they were hit.

Every. Time.

So no more stops for anything. Not unless JJ was right there in front of them. And now that they'd found Reid unscathed, Hotch once more had hope that she was alive out there somewhere too. But God only knew where, so for now he just refocused on their current nightmare.

The one where Emily kept saving his ass.

And with all of her attention currently on just keeping the SUV on the road, he reached back to slip the shotgun off his shoulder.

He slid it down next to her by the console.

"This one's loaded," he rasped out while leaning over to snag the barrel of her Remington, "and I'll take care of this."

"K," she murmured, "thanks," but then a thought seemed to occur to her and her eyes shot up to his in the rearview mirror.

"But you check that bite as soon as you're done," she added anxiously. Then she raised her voice, "Reid, get the kit for him."

Reid's head whipped around . . . he'd been staring out the back window.

"What?" He asked in a daze.

"The kit," Emily repeated impatiently, "the medical kit. You need to get the disinfectant and some bandages out to clean Hotch's leg."

"Oh," Spencer nodded dumbly, "yeah, okay. Right."

But he didn't actually make any move to find the first aid kit that they'd been using on Derek a couple of hours earlier. Instead he was just staring down at the tiny rips running haphazardly along Hotch's jeans . . . and then the larger bloodied one at the back of his calf.

Given that Hotch himself was scrambling to reload the empty shotgun with the shells he was pulling out of his coat pocket, he didn't seem to be paying his ripped up pants, or Reid, any attention at all.

So finally Reid reached out and put his hand down on top of his boss'.

When Hotch looked up, he dug his gloved fingers into the other man's palm.

"What were those people?" Spencer whispered hoarsely, "what is happening out here?"

Over and over he was rewinding those moments of tug a war that he'd been playing, and he still had NO FUCKNG CLUE(!) what the hell was up with those people that had been trying to tear Hotch in half?! They were so pale and their teeth were so pointy.

And how the HELL had that tall one come flying back up after Hotch took off his SCALP!?

How was that possible?!

These were hard questions, and Reid could see from the flickering of emotions going across Hotch's face . . . tension, fear, pain . . . that there was not going to be an answer coming that he'd want to hear.

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you," Hotch responded quietly, "but suffice it to say," he swallowed down the lump in his throat while remembering back to how he'd made his own uneasy peace with the impossible, "they're lightning fast, they're lethal, and they're . . . they're . . ."

For a moment he stammered, trying to think of a way to explain the worst of it, without actually saying the word that couldn't be said.

But then, thank God, Emily saved his ass again.

"Cannibals," she called out softly from the front seat, "they're cannibals."

"Right," Hotch nodded firmly, "yes, correct . . . cannibals."

Or close enough. But either way, it was enough for him to finish what he needed to say.

"So," he continued on while gently moving Reid's hand off of his . . . his anger with him had finally faded, "if they get close, protect your face and neck, and shoot to kill. And forget the Bureau guidelines about aiming for a cluster of center mass shots. You take head shots only," he added while looking down to start loading shells into the Remington again, "that's an order, because we can't waste ammo. And if they're coming straight at us," he lightly tapped the item in his hand, "this should be your primary weapon."

Looking up to seeing the twists of horror and confusion on Reid's face, Hotch knew that he had more questions he wanted to ask . . . probably many, MANY, more questions . . . but they had no time for any of them. Not now. So before his youngest agent could speak again, Hotch cut him off with a shake of his head.

"I know that you're scared and confused, Spencer," he shot him a hard look, "but lock it down. All of it. You just need to trust us and go with what's happening. We'll talk about everything later after we find JJ and we're all safe. For now," he slapped the last shell into the gun, "just stay sharp, react quickly, and shoot straight at their heads." Then he took a breath and reached out to squeeze Reid's shoulder.

"We'll make it out of this, somehow."

Those last words he added softly, trying to offer what little comfort (lies) that he could. And with that, Hotch gently pushed Reid aside so he could crawl over and get into the front passenger seat.

He dropped the shotgun down between the seat and the door. It was when he turned to grab the belt, that Emily blindly reached over to smack his arm.

"God damn it, Hotch," she shot him a scowl before her eyes shot back to the storm outside the windshield, "you didn't clean up your LEG!"

"Oh," his nose wrinkled even as his gaze dropped down to his torn, slightly bloody, jeans, "right. Shit. Okay uh," he snapped the belt into place while calling back to Reid.

"Spencer, can you get me that disinfectant and bandage. And uh," he looked down at the torn denim, "maybe another pair of socks out of my bag."

This was obviously NOT the time to be yanking off his jeans, but he should probably at least change out the bloodied, gnawed on, sock.

And after Reid stammered out an anxious, "yeah, right one second," and began fumbling around in the back seat, Hotch heard Emily's quiet countermand from across the console.

"Actually Reid, get the extra socks out of my bag."

Then she threw a quick glance over to Hotch.

"For my boots, I wear men's thick, wool knee socks." She looked back to the slippery road, "so if you're not going to change your pants, then that's what you need to be wearing to cover under those tears."

"Oh," Hotch tipped his head, "thanks. And thank you for before. But really," he pulled his leg up to prop his boot on the dashboard, "it's not that bad." He started running his finger along the edge of the flapping material, "the denim must have been hard to chew through, because I think it was really just the uh," he swallowed, "the fangs, that made it down to the skin."

Though the thought of 'fangs' sinking into his skin had actually just shot a chill down his spine. And now he was flashing on Bela Lugosi stalking helpless young women in their bedchambers. Then the monster leaning down and digging his shiny white fangs into their soft flesh. Which was essentially what had just what happened to him.

Without the bedchamber.

Ah Christ . . . he swallowed . . . he couldn't be infected now, could he?

"Emily," he started softly, "you don't think that when it bit me that it could have . . ."

But before he could get the horrible question out, she'd already cut him off.

"No," she shook her head vehemently, "no, absolutely not. They just bit you, not the other way around. And every damn story we've ever read, and movie we've ever seen, always says it has to be the other way around. So we'll assume that's true, because the other things we've seen have been true too. And besides," she bit down on her lip, "you said it was barely a bite if that, so," she shot him a tight, reassuring smile, "I'm not worried about that kind of infection at all."

Though she would not have been above lying to him in that moment . . . he was clearly terrified . . . Emily really did believe what she was saying. Clearly the basic mythology that had been passed along from the centuries old literature, had been filtered down from real events. Yes, that was INSANE . . . but it didn't seem to make it any less true. So no fucking way in hell was Hotch now going to "turn" into a blood sucking, throat ripping, MONSTER just because he had a little nibble on his leg! She scowled.

Yeah, that was a bullshit line of thought right there!

For a second Hotch just stared over at Emily, even though her eyes had shifted back to the road. Then just when he was about to speak again, Reid tapped him on the shoulder.

He jumped.

"Here you go Hotch."

And Hotch turned to see Reid holding out three small items for him to take . . . so he took them.

"Two disinfectant pads and a bandage," Reid continued softly, "just let me know if you need another one." Then he dropped another item onto the console.

"And the socks."

"Thanks Spencer," Hotch murmured as he turned back around. And as Reid pulled away, he added over his shoulder.

"You belt up now, and make sure you keep that shotgun in hand for a couple of minutes." He looked down to start untying his boot. "I'm going to be a bit distracted here."

"Right," Reid fell back onto the bench seat while nodding a sharp affirmation that Hotch couldn't see, "okay. Got it."

Though Spencer wanted VERY badly to ask what it was that Hotch and Emily had been referring to . . . about the infection . . . he was afraid that they wouldn't answer him.

Or more so, even if they did, that the answer wouldn't be one that he'd want to hear.

So for now, as he should have done earlier he just did as he was told, fixing his belt before leaning over to grab his still partially loaded shotgun. Then he reached down to snag his Mag light.

For all that he'd done wrong that night, he didn't want to fuck up again. And he had a feeling that if something happened and they had to stop, that he'd need to be ready to move in an instant.

To that end, as he tucked the flashlight into the gap in his vest, he called out softly to the other two.

"Um," he leaned forward slightly, "are there still extra shells? Because I only had time to grab a handful before I left."

Emily answered.

"Yeah Spencer," she nodded, "we have more. When Hotch is done he'll give you some. We have your bullets too. We actually loaded up all of the spare ammo into our pockets and your bag, and that's down by Hotch's feet."

"Speaking of the bag," Hotch cut in while violently scrubbing the drying blood off his calf with the disinfectant wipe, "we also put food and water in there, so if we have to run, we need to keep it with us."

"Okay," Reid nodded nervously, "got it."

Then his gaze shifted down and over to the pile of his loose belongings tucked in behind the four half- open ready bags.

And seeing Morgan's earphones dangling over the zippered edge of his duffel, Reid quickly looked away. His eyes started to burn.

"I know you said that we'd talk later," his whisper was so soft that he wasn't sure his words would carry to the front, "but I just want you guys to know how truly sorry I am that I left them. But," his voice cracked, "all I could think of was Emily being taken the way I was, and the longer you were gone, the more convinced I was that she'd gotten away from you Hotch. That you hadn't been able to catch up. And I was going crazy picturing that, picturing her tied up somewhere for days, and I just," a tear slipped down his cheek . . . one that he quickly wiped away, "suddenly I just grabbed up the shotgun and I shoved in the shells and I ran."

Now that Reid had started his confession, he couldn't stop until he was done. And as another tear spilled over, he sniffled.

"JJ was yelling at me the whole time. Telling me I was being stupid," a sob started to escape, "and that we needed to stay together, because of what had happened before. But I didn't listen to her! I told her that I'd be right back," he sniffled again, "and that they'd be fine if she just locked the door behind me." He bit down on his lip as he wiped his hand across his face, "but obviously they weren't. And I know that's all my fault."

Then he took a breath before adding softly.

"I'll put in my resignation when we get back."

And though the other two had been quiet while he was speaking, at that Hotch turned around.

"You'll do no such thing," he stated firmly, "yes, you screwed up, but you know screwed up, and you've more than learned your lesson. And you resigning won't serve any purpose at all. You've done a lot of good work, Spencer." Hotch's voice began to thicken, "you've helped to save SO many people over these last few years, and all of that good wasn't washed away by you making one bad call." His dark eyes locked onto Reid's watery ones.

"So you'll take a three day unpaid suspension and that's it. That'll be the end of it, okay?"

Three days was officially going to be perceived as 'light' punishment for an action that resulted in the death of a fellow agent. But it was all that he deserved. His intentions were just even if his actions were not. And Hotch would never have even brought up the idea of any official punishment at all, if not for Reid threatening to resign. That was ridiculous.

And the whole idea of it had to be shut down.

And as he looked back at his youngest agent wiping the tears from his face, Hotch felt a pang of true empathy for him.

So he added one more thing.

He added a truth . . . or at least a point that he wanted to be true. Either way, it would make Reid feel better.

That was all that mattered.

"You couldn't have saved them even if you'd been there," Hotch whispered. "They were ambushed, so there was no possibility of winning that fight. So don't feel that Derek's death is on your hands, because it's not. It's not your fault. Just remember the lesson for next time."

And tragically, there would be a next time.

There always was.

And as he saw Reid nodding as he sniffled once more, Hotch figured that was as much as he could do for him.

So he turned back to finish tying his boot.

As he lean over to pick up the edges of his lace, he felt Emily's gloved fingers sliding around his forearm.

When his eyes shot over to hers, he saw the tears on her face.

Then she nodded and mouthed, 'good job,' just before she squeezed his wrist.

Then she let go.

For a moment Hotch just looked over at her, one handedly wiping the tears from her face. Then he blinked and looked back down to his untied boot.

Right, things to do.

And after he got the boot tied, he gathered up all of the medical wrapping bits off his lap, and shoved them into the small trash in the center of the console. Then he reached down to snag the backpack. Once he had it unzipped, he pulled out a half dozen shotgun shells for Reid. Then he reached in again to take out twice that number of bullets for his .38.

After he'd passed those into the backseat, he leaned over to pull Emily's Sig out of her holster.

She was down eight rounds.

So he put a fresh clip in the revolver, and the half empty one into her jacket pocket.

It was as he was pulling his hand back, that his eyes widened in alarm.

"There's a tear in your parka." He felt a jolt of panic as his gaze snapped up to her face, "a big chunk of its missing out of the side. When did that happen? Did you get bitten too?!"

It was very possible that she could have been when she jumped out to help him. There were three of those things out there. Only one was completely focused on him the whole time. So at least one of the other two would have gone right for her as soon as the front door opened. There was actually no way that they wouldn't have.

Christ, how the hell had he not thought of that BEFORE?!

But as he stared anxiously over at Emily's pretty face, in the dashboard lights he felt a surge of relief when he saw that she was shaking her head.

"It's just a rip, Hotch," Emily stated firmly, "I promise. When I first jumped out one of them grabbed me and I shot him twice point blank in the chest, but he still had a handful of my jacket when he fell back. And then he was on the ground and I shot the one holding you and the third one was grabbing for my arm, but before he got his claws in, I kicked him and jumped back inside." She shot him a quick look, "so stop freaking out. I wasn't bitten." Her eyes shot back out to the road, "they didn't even come close."

Which was exactly why she hadn't mentioned the ripped jacket earlier. She knew that Hotch would have been in a panic over a non-event.

And there were enough REAL things to panic about already!

Still though, she sensed that he was about to say something else on this point, so she redirected their collective focus by calling out to Reid instead.

"Spencer, please get me the water that should be sticking out of my bag. The already opened one."

A second later, as Reid started to pass up the bottle, she saw Hotch intercepting it. And she was just about to ask what he was doing, when she saw him taking the cap off.

Reid had forgotten.

"Thanks," she murmured when he passed it over. But he just shrugged a shoulder while turning to ask Reid to open one of the protein bars and tear into thirds.

As he turned back around, he added . . . almost like an afterthought . . . that he could use some of the Tylenol out of the med kit too.

Then he seemed to sense her question coming, because he directed his next words directly to her.

"I'm just a little sore from being the rope in a human tug of war."

Her eyes crinkled slightly.

"Okay," she whispered back, "just checking." And then she took a swig of water before passing the bottle back to him. In return he passed her one of the two pieces of protein bar that Reid had just handed over.

It was peanut butter.

So of course she needed another drink after that. But before she'd even asked, Hotch was passing her back the bottle.

It was strange sometimes how their brains worked.

In sync.

But that time she only took a tiny sip. The last thing she wanted to do in the situation that they were currently in, was to work out the logistics of lady peeing. Fortunately the almost constant adrenaline that had been surging through her body, was pushing down such basic biological needs. But still, eventually her little girl bladder was going to betray her. And then she was going to be pulling over and trading seats with Hotch so that she could get into the way back and squat down over an empty shotgun shell box.

That was a moment she was hoping to put off for as long as possible.

So for now she just focused all of her attention away from her prospective bladder issues, and onto the slippery road. Just like when Hotch was driving, it was difficult really to get any speed.

At least without killing them.

But at their current, "breakneck," twenty-six miles per hour, it sort of felt like they were flying through the whipping snow.

Kind of like a bat.

No . . . she scowled . . . no, no, no, no, NO! Stupid Emily. That's just REALLY, really asinine! They're NOT going to turn into bats and come FLAPPING after us in the storm!

Not a chance in hell.

Still though, asinine thought though it may have been, it didn't stop her from involuntarily ducking down to look up out the top of the windshield.

But then she heard from across the console.

"What is it?"

And she felt her cheeks burning.

"Nothing," she whipped her head back and forth, "just thought the snow might be, uh, letting up."

A bold face lie, but one that Hotch should believe without question. Not like if she'd said, "oh just looking to see if Dracula was about to flap HIS way through our windshield!"

Even after EVERYTHING that they'd seen, that would have been a freaking psych exam response! And it was at least clear that he thought her answer was totally valid. Because he just responded back, "no unfortunately, I don't think we're coming out of the storm yet."

And then they were both quiet again.

Her gaze flickered down and up, before she murmured, "gas is starting to worry me. We're got maybe a quarter of a tank left."

"Yeah," Hotch's brow creased as he leaned over to read the gauges, "I was afraid of that. Though," he shifted back to his seat, "we are at least making some distance. It's about seven miles now since we started up again, right?"

"Yeah," Emily nodded, "that's about what I calculated too." Then she added on a sigh, "if only we knew how much farther we'll have to go though, I might be a little more excited about that number."

"Well . . ."

Hotch was just about to respond with some random, 'rah, rah,' BS response, when suddenly he saw something just ahead.

"Stop! Now!" He hissed while leaning over to grab Emily's arm, "as quickly as you can without spinning out."

Unfortunately it was clear from the terrified look that she shot him back across the front seat, that she had not yet seen what he'd seen.

"What is it?!" She asked worriedly while gently tapping the brakes, "what do you . . . see?"

Her words trailed off just as her eyes widened.

"Oh my God. Is that what it looks like?"

"Yeah," Hotch nodded excitedly as he leaned forward to see better through the whipping snow . . . he wiped his hand across the condensation on the glass, "it most definitely is."

It was a sign.

Jerusalem's Lot. Est. 1765

Pop. 1003.

Finally . . . Hotch shot Emily a small, though elated, grin . . . civilization!

A/N 2: So yes, obviously, NOT the place you want to go for help. Kind of like, "yes, Gomorrah!" And according to Wiki, that is the year they were incorporated. Also obviously that is Mr. King's town, not mine :)

Though we still have a couple of twists left, we are hitting the top of the hill so we can begin winding towards the end here. And I already wrote the VERY end, so yay on that point. I just have to fill in the missing bits between here and there, so maybe (rough estimate) four to six chapters to go. Depends how much 'live' versus narrative. Narrative obviously goes faster, but when you're writing something with an element of suspense to it, experiencing the events 'live' with the characters, clearly helps :)

Emily's thoughts on peeing! Once I watched this TERRIBLE, low budget, poorly acted, horror movie (because I love them dearly) and these teenagers were lost in the woods for two and a quarter days and only one of them needed to pee (of course she was murdered for it) and the whole time, the ONLY thing these kids consumed for solids or liquids was a shot each from a flask of purloined whiskey. This was after like a seven hour hike in the sun where again, nobody brought even a single a bottle of Dasani. I guess that would have put them over their minimal budget. But I digress. The point was, I always find it extremely annoying, to the point that it distracts me from the story, when people are lost for lengthy periods of time and at no point is there any acknowledgement of basic biological urges like thirst or urination. Like just because you're getting chased by vampires in the middle of a snowstorm, doesn't mean you might not have polished off a grande mocha cappuccino when you landed at the airport. Fight or flight adrenaline only pushes off those urges for so long, and then you have to cowgirl up, and take a squat. And I figure at this point they've already been on the road like five hours, with no travel end in sight, so it's wise for Emily to start planning for the inevitable. Which is also why I like keeping her in total badass mode here. She can cry because she's sad, and worry about having to pee down her leg in the back of the SUV, while still jumping into the fray like a one woman A Team so she can save Hotch from becoming a Lunchable. And I AM holding steady on the old school mythology rules. I even looked them up again just to confirm, back in the day, "infection" was with the cross transfer of blood. Not just being bitten. Which I guess is your big dividing line between vampires and "walkers." And yes, I do still have a very specific idea for a CM crossover with Walking Dead, but let's not even think about that!

And I kind of hated to have to give Reid that suspension, just because he felt so awful, and he meant well, but, he still fucked up. And any report that only says he got a 'stern warning' for an action that contributed to the abduction of one fellow agent, and the death of another, one who was already incapacitated and unable to defend himself, would look RIDICULOUS. As I've stated many times before, I try to go for 'real, fake life.' Even (or especially) in stories about vampires :)

Lastly, once again, thanks to you guys sticking with this one. This was never one of my most popular stories and coming back to it again, it is still very much an 'exclusive reading club.' :) And this one was the last of the chapters that had been posted on the original version. Anything that goes up after this (and the muses are still here) would be NEW CONTENT! I am as hopeful as you guys are, that I really can get it up, and get this wrapped, because I skim over my other stories and I see all of their endings in my head and I would just love to get those back up, and wrapped as well. But like I said from my first note here on the repost, one thing at a time, and we keep all expectations low. But even if we get stuck again, thank you all for coming back to read my stuff again. I really do appreciate it.