Chapter 5
Morgan and Emily were in the chopper flying over the woodlands.
"This is ridiculous!" Morgan raged. "One tiny jet in this wilderness! We'll never find them!"
Emily briefly touched Morgan's arm. "It's the only way, Morgan. Just keep on looking."
Clenching his jaw, Morgan resisted the urge to push Emily's hand off his arm. He knew really how such a gesture was not natural for Emily. To reject the gesture at this stage could destroy her fragile self control.
At least she wasn't punching dents in the bulkheads.
He turned back to the window.
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Hotch lost track of time. The sun rose in the sky and warmed the earth. Gradually, Spencer's body soothed and the sobs grew less.
Hotch did not loosen his grip on the man in his arms. Slowly with the sun rise, Hotch's tears dried on his face as Reid slipped into a fitful disturbed sleep. Hotch held him tight and Reid clung to him.
Hotch was feeling light headed and he knew why. It was his leg. He knew it had become infected, but now he was feeling the poison in his veins. He also knew that he could not give in to it.
Cross would be coming back. He hadn't finished yet.
Hotch thought back to the killings. The husband had been tied to his dead wife and raped as he lay there.
No, Cross had more to do with them.
And Hotch was not going to let anything else happen to this boy who was depending on him.
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Cross was watching them.
He was tired, but thrilled and excited. He had not planned this, not thought about it before hand. Not thought it through. He saw what he wanted and took it.
He thought back to his brother. He hadn't planned to kill him, but after he had taken what he wanted from him, the stupid fool had become hysterical, and he had to shut him up. It wasn't until he was about to drop him off the bridge that he thought of the swap.
Totally brilliant idea!
He was sorry now. He missed Wesley. They had been really close. The thought of his brother being dead saddened him.
He looked through the trees at the two men huddled together. He felt an anger burn inside him. These two men represented everything he hated in the world, everything he had been denied.
No-one had ever loved him.
Only Wes.
And now, his brother was gone.
With an enraged roar, he tore a heavy branch from a tree and ran at the two men.
Two men who were accountable for all his misery.
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Hotch saw him coming. He felt at once that he should have moved Reid to somewhere safe, or at least away from there, but in his heart he knew that where-ever they went, Cross would follow.
Now he had to protect Spencer.
He had let him down bitterly already.
In no way was he going to let that happen again.
He clutched Reid protectively, and rolled out of the way of the madman who was rushing towards him. Trying not to move Reid's arm, he laid him down on his side. Spencer moaned softly as Hotch pulled away from him. His eyes fluttered open and looked up at Hotch.
But Hotch had already turned away to face Cross. He was starting to sweat now, his leg throbbed agonisingly, and he could feel sweat on his face and body. His shirt was sticking coldly to him. He was shivering.
But he was determined to stand between Cross and Spencer.
He stood facing Cross. Putting his weight on his good leg, he leaned forwards, hands out ready. Cross slowly advanced on him.
In his heart he knew he would not be able to stop him.
He didn't have a chance.
But he would protect Spencer, or die trying.
Holding his weapon like a baseball bat, Cross closed in on Hotch. Valiantly, Hotch tried to catch Cross's wrist, but he no longer had the strength.
The club caught Hotch on the side of the neck, and he went down.
Reid knew that Hotch would fall, knew that there was no chance of him stopping Cross.
As quietly as he could, he rolled into the undergrowth.
He was sure that he had seen Cross with his messenger bag.
Maybe the phones were in it.
Or even the guns.
He dared not even hope.
He looked out to Hotch. Cross didn't even seem to notice he had gone; he had other things on his mind.
But it would not be long before he came for him.
Reid had to act now. Now was the only chance they had.
Trying not to cry out, Reid crawled away through the brambles and nettles. They whipped at his face and arms, stinging welts on his unprotected skin, the brambles ripping at him. He couldn't believe that something this trivial could hurt him, after what he had been through, but it was agonizing, drawing pain from new untouched places.
Suddenly he heard a Hotch cry out. Reid did not know what Cross was doing to him. He froze.
Should he go back and help?
Could he leave Hotch?
He had to go on. If he went back, it was likely he would die.
If he carried on and found his bag, at least they had a chance.
So he carried on.
His could see just ahead a flattened area of undergrowth from where Cross had been watching them. He inched his way painfully through the tangle of brambles and fell exhausted into the clearing where Cross had been. His breaths were coming in harsh rasps. Blood was running down his arms and face dripping onto the dirt, his skin stung where the nettles had whipped against him. There was not a part of him that was not in agony.
But what he was hearing hurt far more.
He could hear the sound of fist against flesh. He carefully parted the branches.
Hotch was on his back, the bandage ripped from his head. Fresh blood was running through his hair. Cross kneeling astride him. His right foot was resting on Hotch's left leg, and Cross was beating Hotch in the face and chest.
Now he would lean forward and say something to him.
Now the beating would start again.
Hotch wasn't reacting. He was either unconscious.
Past caring.
Or dead.
He could have escaped.
But instead he had stayed with him.
Now he could be dead because of him.
This couldn't go on.
Distraught, Spencer searched for his bag.
He saw where Cross had torn the branch off the tree.
He saw his messenger bag.
He dragged it towards him.
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Hotch was not unconscious or past caring.
In fact he cared very much.
He had noticed Reid crawl away. He had remembered the bag. The longer he could keep Cross here, the longer Spencer would have to find it.
Cross leaned forward.
"I'm not going to kill you," he hissed. "I'm just warming up!"
Hotch met his eye with unwavering defiance. "You will never…" He was cut off mid sentence when Cross pressed hid foot lightly against Hotch's leg. Hotch screamed in pain. "See what I can do?" he smiled sweetly. "That was only a little press. How about this!" and he pressed his foot hard.
Hotch couldn't scream. The paroxysm flowed through his body like an electric shock. Every fibre of his being was on fire. His eyes rolled and tears flowed. As the pain subsided he breathed again.
Where was Reid?
Please let him find the bag.
Please let there be a gun!
Cross hit him again.
Hotch lay still and took it.
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The bag!
Reid was shaking so much he had difficulty opening it.
He almost cried out with relief when he found the guns.
He couldn't stop his hand from trembling as he checked they were loaded. He put Hotch's guns in his waist band and held his in his hand. There was no point in concealing them. He wouldn't get a second chance.
He wiped the blood from his eyes with his shirt front, and wiped what he could from his hand. He was a lousy shot at the best of times. He could not afford any mistakes.
For a full minute he lay still, trying to control his breathing, and the tremors that were shaking his body.
Fragile control.
He put his hand in the bag again.
He felt a small bottle at the bottom of the bag.
And a small plastic packet.
He took these from the bag and put them in his pocket.
"It's ok, Hotch," he breathed, "I'm coming."
Reid pulled himself upright, clutching the gun tightly he pushed his way through the bushes.
His arm hung freely at his side, the blood soaked bandage at his wrist. He waved the gun in front of him.
"Get off him, you bastard!"
Cross looked up and laughed. Hotch's eyes were closed, his face wet with sweat and blood. Spencer looked at him and his stomach clenched.
What if he was too late?
He tried to steady the gun in his shaking hand. His hair had fallen across his eyes, and he pushed it away with the back of his hand.
That was all the distraction Cross needed. He stood and rushed at Reid.
Spencer's reflexes faltered and too late he fired the gun. The bullet whistled harmlessly over Cross's shoulder. Cross drew his fist back to hit him.
Enough time.
Front sight………controlled trigger press……..follow through
Cross blinked in surprise. Holding his hand at his chest, he took another step forward.
Reid closed his eye and emptied the gun.
Cross fell forward onto the dirt.
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Spencer fell to his knees. The stress and pain of the last few minutes overwhelmed him, and his tears flowed unchecked as he crawled to Hotch.
Hotch was very still, his arms straight out, palms up, his head to one side, bleeding from his mouth and nose. His head wound was open; his hair dirty and bloody. Reid could not see him breathing. Gently he felt for a pulse.
It was weak, but regular.
Softly Spencer brushed Hotch's hair from his eyes.
"It's OK, I'm here. It's over."
Reid took the bottle from his pocket.
There was only one dose left. He did not hesitate.
"It helps, Hotch. It'll be all right."
Reid moved Hotch's arms to his sides and lay down next to him. Exhaustion and pain crushed him, as he put his arm across Hotch's body protectively.
There was no-one now to hurt him. Even if they were to die here, it didn't seem to matter any more.
Spencer pulled himself closer.
As he fell asleep, in the distance, he thought he heard helicopter blades.