Ten Days - Part Four
Title: Ten Days
Fandom: NUMB3RS
Pairing/Characters: Colby, David, Don, Charlie
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Up to and including When Worlds Collide
Summary:After ten days he began to doubt that they would ever find him.
Thanks to my beta,
pruehall. I don't own NUMB3RS.
Ten Days - Part One
Ten Days - Part Two
Ten Days - Part Three
Ten Days: Part Four
He had hardly gotten out of his car when they started shooting. As he rounded the front of his car, heading for the entrance to the warehouse, the first bullets had whizzed past him. It was a miracle that none of them had found their mark. In fact, it was also a miracle that, despite the hundreds of shots that had been fired- mostly in his direction- he hadn’t been hit sooner, and that when he finally had been hit, it had only been in his arm and in his vest. How he wasn’t dead, he had no clue.
He had to attribute that one to sheer, dumb luck. Though, given his current situation, he wasn’t sure how lucky he really was. It might have been better to die there, to have gone down in a hail of bullets. As it is, he would most likely going to be tortured to death. That, or his captors will decide that continued interrogation was pointless and that he was no longer of any use to them and simply shoot him there. He was startled to find that he didn’t find the prospect entirely undesirable.
He had been pinned behind the car’s door. A flimsy, thin piece of metal that wouldn’t stop hardly any, if any at all and defiantly not the barrage that had be fired in his direction during the course of the fight. He didn’t know why none of them had found their mark and ripped through his flesh. He could only guess and say that, most likely, the angle that his opponents were at to his car- if his estimation was correct- meant that most of the bullets hit the hood or windshield before they got anywhere near the door. Not that the door didn’t take some serious heat- it looked like an overused dartboard- but it didn’t take as much as it could have and that had probably been a saving grace. But it was a double edged sword that was preventing him from getting into his trunk, at least, without getting shot. He cursed the bureau for setting all their car trunks to open only if the key was inserted into the specially designed trunk lock under the drivers seat. Meaning no wireless trunk pop, no hitting the button inside the glove compartment to pop it, but rather having to physically move around to the driver’s side of the car.
There was no way- no fucking way. He would be dead before he ever even got near the lock. Had he been able to pop it from the glove box or his keys, both of which were within easy reach, he probably would have been able to just reach into it from where he was and at least pull something out, but as it was, he had enough firepower to star in a Die Hard movie and no way to get to it. Which was just perfect, really. The lock was a great idea from a security standpoint, but a truly shitty one when considered from this perspective.
He knew he couldn’t stay behind that car forever, the way the those bullets were slamming into the hood, it was a wonder that the engine had blown up already and he wasn’t too fond of the idea of hanging around all day to wait for it to go up like a roman candle.
Going for the cover of the brick wall had seemed like a good idea, at the time. It wasn’t. It just presented them with an opportunity to shoot at him in the open and far less cover than he had originally hoped for. Plus it put him even farther from his spare ammo with now close to zero chance of getting to it. He had figured that making a break for it was probably his best chance at survival, but had soon discovered that it wasn’t really an option. There was no way out where he had adequate cover. Hell, he didn’t have a way out with any cover. He was forced back to the small bit of brick that jutted out from the rest of the wall; and to make matters worse, he was down to his throw away.
He needed that spare ammo. He wasn’t going to last long if he couldn’t fire back. Going for it was the only option he had left. He would undoubtedly die without it, so he might as well chance dying when going for it. He wished that he hadn’t wasted the six shots in his back up now. He had no way to lay down any cover fire. He was going to have to make a break for his car without anyway to detract their shots. Ten feet had never before seemed so damn far. He figured he’d try to fake it with his gun, make them think that he was going to fire on them, maybe throw them off enough to get him to the relative safety of the car.
His dash for the car didn’t go well. They’d hit him. Several times. Grazed his arm, sunk at least four, maybe five, rounds into his chest. If he hadn’t been wearing his vest he would have been dead right then and there. His gun had skittered off under the car- not that it matter, the damn thing was useless, anyway- and his head had connected hard with the pavement, making stars dance in front of his eyes, momentarily stunning him. A moment was all it took. The next thing he knew tires were squealing in front of him and someone was pressing a cloth soaked in what his hazy mind quickly identified as chloroform over his mouth and nose.
He had struggled, though he knew that it would make no difference. He was unarmed, injured and halfway to oblivion and they were armed and mostly unharmed, though he was proud to see at least 2 of them nursing wounds before he blacked out.
Fandom: NUMB3RS
Pairing/Characters: Colby, David, Don, Charlie
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Up to and including When Worlds Collide
Summary:After ten days he began to doubt that they would ever find him.
Thanks to my beta,
pruehall. I don't own NUMB3RS.
Ten Days - Part One
Ten Days - Part Two
Ten Days - Part Three
Ten Days: Part Four
He had hardly gotten out of his car when they started shooting. As he rounded the front of his car, heading for the entrance to the warehouse, the first bullets had whizzed past him. It was a miracle that none of them had found their mark. In fact, it was also a miracle that, despite the hundreds of shots that had been fired- mostly in his direction- he hadn’t been hit sooner, and that when he finally had been hit, it had only been in his arm and in his vest. How he wasn’t dead, he had no clue.
He had to attribute that one to sheer, dumb luck. Though, given his current situation, he wasn’t sure how lucky he really was. It might have been better to die there, to have gone down in a hail of bullets. As it is, he would most likely going to be tortured to death. That, or his captors will decide that continued interrogation was pointless and that he was no longer of any use to them and simply shoot him there. He was startled to find that he didn’t find the prospect entirely undesirable.
He had been pinned behind the car’s door. A flimsy, thin piece of metal that wouldn’t stop hardly any, if any at all and defiantly not the barrage that had be fired in his direction during the course of the fight. He didn’t know why none of them had found their mark and ripped through his flesh. He could only guess and say that, most likely, the angle that his opponents were at to his car- if his estimation was correct- meant that most of the bullets hit the hood or windshield before they got anywhere near the door. Not that the door didn’t take some serious heat- it looked like an overused dartboard- but it didn’t take as much as it could have and that had probably been a saving grace. But it was a double edged sword that was preventing him from getting into his trunk, at least, without getting shot. He cursed the bureau for setting all their car trunks to open only if the key was inserted into the specially designed trunk lock under the drivers seat. Meaning no wireless trunk pop, no hitting the button inside the glove compartment to pop it, but rather having to physically move around to the driver’s side of the car.
There was no way- no fucking way. He would be dead before he ever even got near the lock. Had he been able to pop it from the glove box or his keys, both of which were within easy reach, he probably would have been able to just reach into it from where he was and at least pull something out, but as it was, he had enough firepower to star in a Die Hard movie and no way to get to it. Which was just perfect, really. The lock was a great idea from a security standpoint, but a truly shitty one when considered from this perspective.
He knew he couldn’t stay behind that car forever, the way the those bullets were slamming into the hood, it was a wonder that the engine had blown up already and he wasn’t too fond of the idea of hanging around all day to wait for it to go up like a roman candle.
Going for the cover of the brick wall had seemed like a good idea, at the time. It wasn’t. It just presented them with an opportunity to shoot at him in the open and far less cover than he had originally hoped for. Plus it put him even farther from his spare ammo with now close to zero chance of getting to it. He had figured that making a break for it was probably his best chance at survival, but had soon discovered that it wasn’t really an option. There was no way out where he had adequate cover. Hell, he didn’t have a way out with any cover. He was forced back to the small bit of brick that jutted out from the rest of the wall; and to make matters worse, he was down to his throw away.
He needed that spare ammo. He wasn’t going to last long if he couldn’t fire back. Going for it was the only option he had left. He would undoubtedly die without it, so he might as well chance dying when going for it. He wished that he hadn’t wasted the six shots in his back up now. He had no way to lay down any cover fire. He was going to have to make a break for his car without anyway to detract their shots. Ten feet had never before seemed so damn far. He figured he’d try to fake it with his gun, make them think that he was going to fire on them, maybe throw them off enough to get him to the relative safety of the car.
His dash for the car didn’t go well. They’d hit him. Several times. Grazed his arm, sunk at least four, maybe five, rounds into his chest. If he hadn’t been wearing his vest he would have been dead right then and there. His gun had skittered off under the car- not that it matter, the damn thing was useless, anyway- and his head had connected hard with the pavement, making stars dance in front of his eyes, momentarily stunning him. A moment was all it took. The next thing he knew tires were squealing in front of him and someone was pressing a cloth soaked in what his hazy mind quickly identified as chloroform over his mouth and nose.
He had struggled, though he knew that it would make no difference. He was unarmed, injured and halfway to oblivion and they were armed and mostly unharmed, though he was proud to see at least 2 of them nursing wounds before he blacked out.