Disclaimer: See first chapter.
A Meddlesome Tree in the Road
"I have lost friends, some by death... others through sheer inability to cross the street." – Virginia Woolf, The Waves
Prentiss could barely see through the heavy downpour that assaulted her windshield. She followed Burrows' patrol car through the dirt roads turned muddy with the rain, grateful for the SUV she drove. She wondered how Burrows could navigate the patrol car through the mud without getting stuck and decided she wouldn't be surprised if he ended up in the SUV after all. They were going at a snail's pace which would get them to her team in about thirty minutes. Maybe Hotch and Morgan had gotten stuck in the mud or had decided to wait out the rain, but why hadn't they tried to reach them using their CBs if that was the case?
Worry began to tickle the back of her mind, but she quickly brushed it aside. Hotch and Morgan were excellent agents, she had no doubt that everything would be fine when she reached them. They had probably decided to wait the storm out and had been unable to contact them to let them know. Perhaps there wasn't a phone where they were waiting out the storm. Maybe they had found Aiken and were returning him home to his father and would be calling in any moment. She was sure she would just have to turn the SUV around and make her way back to headquarters.
Blinking rain out of his eyes for what he was sure was about the hundredth time Hotch continued to hold pressure on both Savannah's and Morgan's wounds wondering how something that should have been so simple had gone so wrong. How had a simple search for a young boy led to a shoot-out in which at least three people had been injured and one agent had gone missing? Things had certainly not gone according to plan and he wondered how he would get help for Savannah and Morgan while continuing to apply pressure to both their wounds.
Moving his vice-like grip from Morgan's wound; he pulled his cell phone from his pocket yet again and willed it to work. Damn, no signal. Maybe he could load them both into his SUV and bring them to the hospital. Shaking his head to dispel the rain, Hotch replaced his cell phone and unsteadily rose to his feet, holding Savannah like a child while maintaining pressure on her wound. He took a few teetering steps toward the nearest SUV and a dizziness washed over him. He shook it off and continued to slog through the mud, dipping and swaying under Savannah's slight weight.
Half-way to the SUV, he slipped in the mud and fell to his knees, jarring his own injury. Savannah remained unmoving in his arms. His heart hammered in his chest as pain shot up his leg. Closing his eyes against the sudden pain, he gripped Savannah tighter to his chest and grit his teeth; he somehow managed to straighten up and stood, wavering slightly. Willing his legs to carry him the remaining twenty feet, he lurched forward and nearly toppled. Straightening his back, he continued forward at a painstakingly slow pace. Worry for Savannah and Morgan lending him determination.
Red taillights jarred Prentiss from her thoughts and she slammed on her brakes, skidding to an abrupt halt in the slick mud inches from the vehicle she had been following. That was close. Putting the SUV in park, she steadied her nerves and attempted to get a good view of what had caused Burrows' patrol car to stop so suddenly. The rain-pelted windshield obscured her view. She had no choice but to leave the dry confines of her car to check on Burrows. She couldn't even tell if he was still in the patrol car. Releasing her seatbelt, she readied herself to jump out into the pouring rain when Burrows' face unexpectedly appeared in her rain-streaked window startling her. Catching her breath, she rolled the window down at Burrows' gesture.
"What happened? Did your car get stuck in the mud?" Prentiss questioned, a slight smile pulling at her lips.
"No ma'am, there's a downed tree blocking the road," Burrows frowned apologetically, rain rolling down his face in rivulets, "'fraid we won't be able to reach Savannah's place using this road."
"Is there another way to get to her place?"
"We could try the old forty, but more than likely it's been flooded out, it always floods out in storms," Burrows shrugged his shoulder and looked to the ground.
"Can we move the tree?" Prentiss craned her neck to look around Burrows and the car in front of her, but couldn't get a clear view as the heavy downpour continued to block her vision.
"Not unless we get ourselves a chainsaw and a tractor," Burrows' gaze met her own.
"So, the only road in and out is blocked by a tree," Prentiss clarified.
Burrows nodded, "That about sums it up. I'll radio in the situation and see if we can't get some more manpower out here to move the tree. I'll also check out the status of the old forty, see if it's flooded. I'll have to set up something at the turn off a mile back in case anyone is out in this weather; don't need anyone getting stuck out here," he turned to walk back to his car.
"What would you like me to do?" Prentiss called after him.
Shrugging, Burrows shook his head, "Not much you can do, you should go back to the station."
Rolling her window up, Prentiss blew out a frustrated breath. They were so close and a damn tree blocked their way. Buckling her seatbelt, she backed up and turned the vehicle around to head back to Rossi when she caught a movement in her rearview mirror. Burrows was frantically waving his arms, gesturing for her to stop. Sighing, she stopped the SUV and waited for Burrows to catch up to her before she rolled the window down yet again.
"The CB's not working," he informed her, slightly out of breath from his jog.
"You've got to be kidding me," Prentiss grabbed her own CB and attempted to communicate with Rossi. It was useless, it didn't work. Damn!
"Um, Miss," Burrows' gaze slid to the ground once again, "my car's stuck in the mud. May I?" He gestured to the passenger's seat, his face turning red in embarrassment.
Smiling tightly, Prentiss nodded and unlocked the passenger door. He ran around the front of the vehicle and scrambled gratefully into the dry seat, collapsing against it, happy to be out of the rain.
Hotch reached the SUV panting and out of breath.
Sweat comingled with the rain that ran down his face. Shifting Savannah in his arms so that he could open the door, he removed the pressure from her wound and noted that the bleeding had at least slowed down a little. It had by no means stopped, but it was no longer pumping out of her at an alarming rate either. Maybe she would be okay after all, Hotch thought, now to get her settled and then go back for Morgan. He wrenched the door open and lifted Savannah onto the seat. Resting his head on the doorjamb for a minute, he gathered what strength he had left and hoisted himself into the vehicle and repositioned her body so that she was slumped up against the passenger door.
A shiver wracked her body and Hotch swallowed a thick knot in his throat. Knowing that it was a less than ideal position for her, Hotch checked her vitals once again, relieved to find a pulse, albeit erratic, he lowered himself from the cab to head back for Morgan when something occurred to him, The CB, why hadn't he thought to use the CB? Hauling himself back into the cab of the vehicle, he grabbed the CB. Switching it on, he grasped the small black communication tool tighter and pressed the button. A high-pitched whine emanated from the would be life-line and Hotch let out an angry curse. He quickly adjusted the tuner, hoping for a clear channel, and was met only with static. Closing his eyes, he let out a frustrated growl and dropped the defunct CB, slamming his fist into the dashboard.
Okay, not going to help matters, he thought as he shook out his smarting hand. Sighing heavily, he jumped to the ground and grimaced as blinding pain radiated from the injury in his thigh. Leaning against the car door, he took an unsteady breath and straightened out his aching frame. Wearily, he gathered himself for the walk back to his wounded friend and took a faltering step.
Prentiss had never been more thankful for the four-wheel drive capacity of her SUV than she was at this moment. She glanced over at Burrows, noting that he was soaked and that his legs were covered in mud. He was rubbing his hands together in an attempt to restore some warmth to them and leaned gratefully toward the heat coming from the vents. Prentiss turned the heat to full blast and Burrows flashed her an appreciative smile.
"So," she turned to face the shivering man.
"Well, we have a couple of options," Burrows began, "we could go check on the old forty and see if it is flooded, that would take us round about a half an hour or we could head back to the station and see about getting a chainsaw and a tractor to move the tree."
"My team is back there and could be in trouble," Prentiss began.
"We could also get out and walk the rest of the way to Savannah's," Burrows grimaced, "that would take about fifteen, twenty minutes, provided that we don't meet any other obstacles along the way."
Sighing, Prentiss started back toward the station realizing that it would take more time, but was the best option they had at the moment. Getting the road cleared would be the best thing to do right now.
He wanted to run and even envisioned himself doing so, but much to his chagrin, he moved in an uncharacteristically jerky manner, covering the distance from the SUV to the coupe in what felt like slow-motion. Easing himself next to Morgan, his heart skipped a beat as he took in the man's blanched pallor. He put trembling fingers to the agent's neck and searched for a pulse. When he didn't find one, Hotch felt the beginnings of panic, but quickly pushed it aside. Panicking would not help Morgan. Steeling himself, he dug his stiff fingers further into the groove just below Morgan's jaw and waited, counting to ten. His breath came out in a rush of relief when he felt the briefest flutter of a heartbeat beneath his cold fingertips. He then turned his attention to Morgan's chest and when he couldn't determine whether the man was breathing or not, he tilted Morgan's head up and placed his ear over his mouth. Relief washed over him when hot breath tickled his ear. Slumping next to the injured man, Hotch took a moment to regain his composure and ready himself to tote Morgan back to the SUV.
Squatting behind Morgan, Hotch placed his hands beneath the unconscious agent's armpits and stiffly rose, crossing his arms around the man's chest. Morgan's head lolled and bounced as Hotch pulled him up so that he had a better grip. He hauled the agent backwards. It was slow work and he had to stop every few feet to reposition his arms as Morgan slid. Morgan's feet dragged behind him in the mud, leaving a warbled trail in their wake.
Hotch's thigh screamed in protest at the extra strain that had been placed upon it, but he ground his teeth and determinedly dragged Morgan along, shoulders slouched and brows furrowed with the effort. His breath came out in ardent puffs and he had to stoop awkwardly to accommodate the burden of the slightly shorter, yet burlier agent.
Step, stop, lift…step, stop, reposition… breathe…had the bleeding from Morgan's wound increased? Step, stop, reposition… step, stop, lift… breathe…yes, it is definitely bleeding more now that I started moving him…step, stop, lift…step, stop, reposition… breathe…come on Morgan ,hang in there, you can do it…step, stop, reposition… step, stop, lift… breathe….we're almost there, any minute now…step, stop, lift… step, stop, reposition… breathe…is it getting darker? Step, stop, reposition… step, stop, lift… breathe…damn, it is getting darker, what time is it anyway? Step, stop, lift…step, stop, reposition…breathe…How long have we been here? Step, stop, reposition…step, stop, lift…breathe…
He bumped gracelessly into the side of the black SUV before he realized that he had made it there. Removing one of his arms from around Morgan, he reached for the handle and tried to ease the door open. Morgan dangled at an awkward angle from his other arm and Hotch apologetically let the man slump to the muddy ground so that he could turn around and use both hands to open the door. He then, tiredly grasped Morgan beneath his armpits once again and hoisted him up against his chest, just below his chin.
Skirting around so that Morgan was facing the SUV, Hotch pushed him forward and shoved him up onto the seat. He managed to wedge himself in between the steering wheel and the senseless man who now lay face down on the front seat. Taking a deep breath, Hotch turned Morgan over and carefully positioned him upright next to Savannah who looked eerily white in the darkness that had gathered around them. The bleeding from the wound below her elbow was now down to a trickle. Watching her closely, Hotch was relieved to see that she was breathing. He hastily placed his fingers below her chin, next to her throat and felt a moment of relief at the slow and steady pulse. He then turned his attention to Morgan and placed additional pressure on his wound as he settled himself into the driver's seat and shut the door.
Leaning his head back against the seat for a moment, Hotch sat there; keeping pressure on Morgan's wound, he allowed his eyes to close for a few moments and focused on breathing. His heart rate began to return to a more normal pace and the pain in his thigh subsided. What the hell had happened? How had this day become such a nightmare? How had he ended up in a shootout in which both Morgan and Savannah had been wounded? Hadn't they heard him call out to them? Why had they been shooting at him in the first place? How did Reid fit into all of this? Where had that white coupe come from?
Rubbing a hand exhaustedly over his face, Hotch mused that he really needed a shave. Opening his eyes, he looked over at his two charges and was surprised to see Morgan's brown eyes staring at him as the man struggled to place his own hand over the wound that Hotch was applying pressure to. Morgan opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His eyes closed with the effort and he licked his lips to try his voice once more.
"Hotch…" the scratchy voice came out as little more than a whisper, "what happened?" His eyes screwed up in pain and his breathing started coming out in desperate gasps.
"Morgan, you need to calm down. You and Savannah have both been shot, but you are going to be okay. I'm taking you to the hospital now," Hotch kept his voice calm and spoke straightforward, with confidence, he didn't mention that he was the one responsible for their current state. That would come out later, when he was sure that both Morgan and Savannah would be alright.
Morgan's eyes opened and sought out Hotch's. His hand continued to flail in his attempt to replace Hotch's over his own wound. Hotch placed the injured man's hand over the bloodied bandage, "I need you to keep pressure on this, can you do that?" Hotch placed his hand over Morgan's and waited until the man nodded, "Good," he smiled, "good." He then removed his hand and fished the keys out of his pocket. Surprised that his hands were steady, Hotch started the engine and turned the heat up to full blast.
"Hotch," Morgan's voice was little more than a murmur.
"Yes?" Hotch concentrated on the road before him as he put the vehicle in motion. Relief flooded through him as he realized that the rain seemed to be lessening though the road was filled with water.
"You okay?"
The question startled him, "Yes. I'm fine. It's you and Savannah who've been injured."
"Oh, it's just," Morgan paused, "well, your shirt is streaked with blood and your thigh," another pause, "looks like it's been ripped open."
"I'm fine," Hotch kept his eyes on the flooded road, unwilling to admit that he too had suffered any pain.
"Hotch," Morgan sounded spent.
"Yes?" Hotch answered teresly.
"You really should do something about that thigh," Morgan's voice was thick with fatigue and his eyes closed, but his hand remained on his wound, applying the necessary pressure.
"I'll be fine Morgan," Hotch said a little more testily than intended.
"Whatever you say," Morgan muttered under his breath as he maneuvered the hand of his injured arm to check out Hotch's thigh.
"Let it be," Hotch gently brushed Morgan's arm away.
"You're bleeding all over the seat of my SUV," Morgan's voice sounded strained, yet determined.
"It's the FBI's SUV and I will be fine. Keep that pressure up on your arm and stop moving it around," Hotch chastised, not moving his eyes from the road.
Morgan opened his eyes and watched his boss for a moment. The man looked stark white. He was covered in streaks of watered-down blood from his chest down. His jacket was missing and one of the sleeves of his white shirt had been torn off completely. His thigh looked as though it had been dug into by some vicious one-clawed cat and it was inflamed. Blood flowed sluggishly from the jagged wound.
Narrowing his eyes, Morgan recognized a sheen of sweat on the older agent's face and ascertained that he probably had a low-grade fever. Hotch was one of the most unflappable people he had ever met and Morgan knew that he would keep going until they had all reached safety or until his body gave out entirely. Morgan hoped that the former thought would prevail.
"Morgan," Hotch gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, "do you know what happened to Reid?"
"Reid?" Morgan struggled to gain access to his memory as exhaustion threatened to drag him back down to blissful sleep. The effort of applying pressure to his wound, worrying about Hotch, and staying awake was becoming too much for him.
"Yes, where is Reid?" Hotch chanced a glance at Morgan and was alarmed to find that the man had slumped further down in the seat and his eyes were once again closed.
"Reid? He's um," Morgan's face crumpled in confusion, "he… I tried to stop him… Hotch, a man took him and that kid we were looking for," Morgan's eyes popped open and he sat straighter in his seat as he remembered what had happened, "he shot me and took Reid, he looked like he had been hurt."
"Wait a minute," Hotch once again glanced at Morgan, "someone shot you and took Reid and Aiken?"
"Yes," Morgan had paled considerably thinking about the younger agent. He hadn't looked well at all. As a matter of fact, he had reminded Morgan of some battered rag doll. Was he even still alive? He shuddered thinking about why that man had taken his friend and what he intended to do with Reid and Aiken. Would he just kill and dump them both now that he had gotten away? Would they recover Reid's bruised and battered body haphazardly discarded along some back road? Or would the young agent face something far worse at the hands of this unknown assailant?
"Which direction did they head in?" Hotch asked.
"The same one we are going in, I think," Morgan closed his eyes once again. The pain in his bicep had flared when he had straightened up in his seat and he was beginning to lose his fight for consciousness as the SUV came to a skidding stop and he was thrown into the dashboard.