I own nothing from CSI Miami, it's all CBS's, please review, blah blah blah.
Loud piercing gun shots, angry Russian (and English) swear words, and a roaring engine created a not-so-harmonious symphony to the early morning on the beach. Eric ran as fast as he could through tree roots, low-lying branches, and the occasional animal or swarm of gnats. He was exhausted, and his speed was gradually decreasing as he trekked further. Had he not taken a beating by three very strong grown men so recently, he could go on for miles.
But that wasn't the case, and Eric was sure it was only a matter of time before he collapsed. The gunshot wound on his arm was stinging horribly from the sweat, and his chest was aching, an unfamiliar sensation.
Just as he was about to give up entirely, the engine and shots stopped. Despite the protests from his body, Eric continued. The hundred-pound weight on his chest lifted slightly: had they given up? He allowed his legs to slow down a bit, but kept his guard up. Just because they weren't trailing him on wheels didn't mean they weren't on foot.
Suddenly a bullet zoomed inches from his head, and Eric immediately started sprinting again. Glancing behind his shoulder, the first thing that met Eric's eyes was two of the three burly men, right on his tail.
And the next was damp dirt and blades of dew-soaked grass.
Damnit he was the dumbest person on the face of the earth. How the hell could he trip? All of his efforts from the past thirty minutes were wasted. Two pairs of hands grabbed him under the arms and heaved Eric to his feet. Between his labored breathing and the dirt and grass on one side of his face, he must have been a sight; a ridiculous sight. His hands were once again bound behind his back, and the Russians threw him roughly to the ground. One of them spat on him and spoke to him in a heavily accented voice.
"You stupid thing," the man growled. "Try to pull a fast one on us, hm?" He kicked Eric in the hip to turn him over. Eric winced at the pain; it wasn't broken, but the bone was definitely bruised.
The other man, who had watched the transaction with his arms crossed and dark eyes downcast, pulled out a small folded photograph and shoved it under Eric's nose. It was of Calleigh. Like the other photo, she was oblivious to the camera. The one holding the picture spoke this time.
"Our orders were to kill you as soon as we caught you," he informed. "But we are giving you another chance." Eric looked up at the man with a look of pure hatred. "Like we told you yesterday, we know about this little romance between the two of you. If you don't give us Caine in the next week, your little bitch is dead. Understood?"
Eric's heavy breathing, which had subsided slightly, picked up once again.
"And if I still refuse?"
"Then you're both gone," the first man said. An evil grin spread over his thin lips. "And you will watch her go."
Eric took three deep breaths before giving his answer.
"Fine," he said harshly. "I'll do it." The thought of watching Calleigh die was the worst torture anyone could ever put him through. Admittedly, his decision was extremely selfish, but what were his options? Either way there was an extremely high possibility that someone would die, a guarantee that he, Eric, would if he refused.
The Russians nodded. Picking him up by the arms once again, they stepped out of the forest and began walking the direction they came from. One whistled and the van engine started, driving towards them about fifty yards away. Eric was somewhat confused. He would have bet that they would make him find his own way back. The man with the photograph must have read his puzzled look. "We will take you as far as Key Largo. Form there you are on your own."
A bumpy ninety mintues later, they were pulling into a service station. The man to the left of Eric shoved him from the spacious back to the middle, and then the driver reached behind him to open the left passenger door. He was then given a brown grocery sack and ordered to exit the van.
"Delko!"
The rough voice halted him. He turned his gaze to the back seat.
"If you say a word to anyone, not only will your girlfriend by dead, but your family, also. Caine's, too. And don't try anything; we have monitors, human and technical."
Eric's jaw twitched. With a nod he stepped out of the van.
As soon as he was out, the car was gone, and Eric was left alone standing about ten feet from the entrance of the store. On the left side of the station were a couple of truckers filling up, and on the right was a family of six making a pit stop; they seemed to be on a road trip. He observed them for a moment: A mom, dad, preteen, third-grader, two-year-old, and baby. All children were girls except the third-grader. While the preteen and toddler cooed over the baby, he quietly played his PSP. Eric chuckled. He knew how the little boy felt, surrounded by girls all the time.
Meanwhile the toddler dug in her little travel knapsack before emerging victoriously with a drawing, and cried, "Daddy, daddy, look what I drawed!" The father, who was leaning against the bumper, smiled and caught the girl as she jumped into his arms. "See what I drawed? That's you and me and it say to Daddy love Lizzie."
Eric could only watch in longing. He desperately wanted someone to call him "Daddy", to run into his arms after a long day at work, to draw him pictures and tell him that he was loved. With the way things were going with Calleigh, though, kids were probably not in his near future.
The father caught his eye and gave him a brief smile, clutching his daughter into a hug. Eric, embarrassed, slipped behind the building to see what was in the bag.
It was his personal effects: his suit jacket, wallet, pocket knife, phone, badge, and gun. Knowing he looked a mess, Eric ducked into the restroom, washed his face and slipped on his jacket before entering the store.
It was empty except for a trucker, the mom, and the store owner. Eric knew what he needed: rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, ACE bandage, food, and water. Grabbing his supplies and paying, Eric hastily went outside to try and figure how he was going to get out of here.
The family had gone, but he noticed the trucker that had been in the store with him sitting in front of an empty parking space on the right side of the building. Eric sat on the left and ate his club sandwich and water quickly, not realizing how hungry he was until this moment.
Finishing his meal, Eric went to the toilet then cleaned the wound, hoping that it hadn't already gotten infected, and then wrapped the ACE bandage around it. When he exited the bathroom, he saw the trucker heading towards his truck. The man seemed nice enough, and probably wouldn't try anything when Eric flashed his badge.
"Sir…sir!"
The trucker turned at Eric's voice and smiled.
"Where you headed, young man?"
Eric was rather surprised. He wondered if this happened often, and showed the man his badge.
"Miami," he answered. "I work as a police officer there."
"Well Mr.…?"
"Eric. Eric Delko."
"Mr. Eric, you're in luck," the man said jovially. "I just happen to be passing through Miami. Need a ride?"
Eric sighed, relieved. "If it's not too much trouble."
"None at all. Hop in."
Minutes later they were speeding along the rather empty highway/bridge, and Eric was attempting small talk.
"So," he began. "You never told me your name."
"Lewis Cockrell," he answered. "Call me Lou."
Eric nodded slowly. "Well, Lou, do you have a family?"
Lou shook his head. "Nah. The Mrs. left me eight years ago and took my baby boy to boot."
Eric nodded again, was about to say how hard it must be to be away from his son for so long, but Lou intervened. "How 'bout you? Fine young man like yourself ought to have a wife, kids," he glanced sideways at Eric. "Uh, partner?"
Eric laughed. "No kids. But a girlfriend, who is my partner. I'm also a CSI. We work together."
Lou raised his eyebrows in approval. "But no family?"
"No offspring," Eric corrected. "But family, yes. A lot of it, actually." He tried not to think that that number could, in time, be reduced if he wasn't careful.
Eric wasn't exactly sure why he was telling this stranger such personally information, but he was, nevertheless, and the hour-long ride to Miami pushed the hell he had been through to the back of his mind. There was, however, only one person who could make him completely forget, and she was approximately fifteen minutes away if she was at work.
When Lou dropped Eric off at the outskirts of downtown Miami, Eric thanked him greatly. Not exactly sure how the whole hitch hiking thing worded, Eric offered to pay Lou for his troubles, but he profoundly refused ("I ain't no stinkin' cab!") and drove away with a final goodbye.
To get to the lab, Eric actually did take a cab. Upon arrival, Eric rushed to his car, which was parked where it had been two days ago, and hoped no one had seen him. And when he was finally settled behind tinted windows, he turned on his phone and dialed Horatio's number at last.
AN: So I was debating on whether or not to split this into two chapters and in the end I'm glad I didn't. Okay, and now I have some news. Last night we had some terrible storms and a couple of tornados, and one passed through our town and knocked all of our power off for like, 12 hours. So I wrote this chapter and the next by hand, so please review and make my efforts worthwhile!
