Chapter Text
Jay walks toward the treeline, following the trail of footprints.
Two black teenagers had showed up out of nowhere taking shots at a pair of school teachers watching their kids play on the playground before fleeing into the trees.
Unfortunately, gunshots are common in this neighborhood and by the time one of the kids had run to a nearby house to call for help, the shooters had already been long gone.
The three frightened children hadn’t been able to give very good descriptions of the shooters, just that they were black, young and wearing dark hoodies.
Hopefully ballistics will give them something but until then, the crime scene is their best clue.
He sees movement deeper in the trees and waving to catch his partner’s attention he moves in, a hand on his weapon as he does.
“Chicago Police.” he calls. “Is someone there?”
There’s a rustle in the trees on his left and he swivels, drawing his weapon.
“Police.” he repeats. “Come out with your hands up.”
“Jay?” Hailey calls from behind him and he slows his tracks to let her catch up.
Something is off here.
Then a kid darts out from behind a bush and Jay breaks into a run.
“Stop!” he shouts. “Police.”
It doesn’t take long for the small thatch of trees to give way to a parking lot and he slows as his target starts weaving between cars.
A shot rings out and then pain is ripping through his calf as his legs are slammed out from under him sending him crashing to the ground.
He hears Hailey screaming his name but he’s more focused on the man that’s dragging him to his feet.
He spins, throwing a hard punch that knocks the man away from him.
“Hai-”
His call for his partner cuts off as a hand reaches out from under the car, grabbing his leg and squeezing hard dropping him to the ground.
And then he’s being lifted into the air and thrown into the trunk of a car.
And then he’s shut in the dark and the car is moving.
He searches for something to hold onto as the movement slams him against the back of the trunk but before he can find anything, he’s thrown to the right as the car turns out of the lot.
The drive is just a series of turns, repeatedly being thrown to and fro in the trunk.
His captors are driving erratically and when his ears finally register the sirens, it occurs to him that his team must be in pursuit.
He kicks out the tail light, groaning in pain when he inadvertently uses his injured leg to do so.
But it allows him to slide up against the opening to peer out.
Several patrol cars are at the front of the pursuit, which makes sense because his team would have had to double back to the park and then make the connection to the parking lot that he’d been lured to.
But he thinks he can see Voight’s SUV a few cars back.
And then a hard turn slams him toward the front of the trunk and he screams as his leg is knocked against the side wall.
And then the sirens start to get further away.
These guys know the streets and have a plan, utilizing train schedules, dump trucks, and even buses to lose their pursuit.
And soon enough, the sounds of the city start to fade too.
Who is behind this? And were they specifically after him or just someone from Intelligence?
The emergency release has been removed, which doesn’t surprise him giving the planning that has gone into this, and he can’t find anything that was left in the trunk, let alone anything that will help him pop the trunk.
At least he’s not being tossed around like a rag doll anymore.
He pulls off his jacket, pulling his t-shirt over his head and starting to shred it. He’s able to use it to bandage his leg, pulling the knots tight to hold it in place.
He’s trying to pull his jacket back on when the car comes to an abrupt, crashing stop that sends him flying against the front.
He blacks out as his head bashes against the top of the trunk.
He wakes up with a groan.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been out but there’s still light filtering into the trunk through the hole from the missing taillight.
Though it’s smaller than he remembers it being.
He drags himself forward, feeling around it.
The frame of the trunk has been crumpled, partially closing his small window to the outside.
He shifts his attention to the main trunk opening and finds the metal warped along the seam.
He moves to lie on his back, bracing his feet against the roof of the trunk and pushes up. His leg protests the force but he ignores it, pushing harder.
But it doesn’t budge.
He pounds his fist against the musty carpet of the trunk and coughs as dirt and chemical infused dust is kicked up.
He reaches for his pocket, searching for his phone and groans when he comes up empty. It must have been knocked out when he was fighting with the guys in the parking lot.
He moves back to press his face against the opening in the trunk.
The back of the car is pressed up against a stand of trees meaning that it must have spun when they collided.
But why had they crashed after the pursuit had fallen away? The vehicle had slowed down, driving more cautiously by the time they’d crashed. It would have made a lot more sense to crash during the pursuit.
And where is the driver?
A lot of planning had gone into this abduction for them to just cut and run, leaving him here at the first sign of trouble.
But they may have had to leave to get a crowbar to get the trunk open. Or they might be seriously injured and trapped themselves.
Regardless, he’d rather not just sit here and wait. Sit here, waiting for his team, hoping they get here before someone involved in abduction.
Or before the heat gets too bad.
The call out to the crime scene had come practically as soon as they’d gotten to the office this morning which means that the temperature is still climbing.
And its already getting suffocatingly hot in this trunk.
Mixed with the musty dust that’s caked into the carpet and the chemical smell, like antifreeze or something similar had been spilled on the carpet at some point, it’s getting pretty miserable.
Almost hard to breathe.
At least there isn’t part of a Humvee sitting on his chest this time.
It’s getting fucking hard to breathe.
But the heat is worse because it’s making it harder to stay in the present.
He can feel the sand blowing across his face, the sun beating down on him and the crushing weight on top of him.
Can hear the sound of shells exploding in the distance, approaching gunfire, and screams of injured friends.
And he knows that it’s just memories, bordering on a complete flashback, but it seems so real.
He’d give anything to know if the smell of gasoline is from his memories or if there’s a leak in the fuel lines somewhere.
It’s unlikely to ignite at this point but the fumes could be hazardous.
An explosion sounds in the distance and he starts, looking around and seeing nothing but sand for miles.
“No, no, no.” he mutters. “Mouse!”
He pulls himself forward, searching for his friend. They’d been in the lead Humvee together. Mouse has to be around her somewhere.
But he’s trapped.
Something heavy is pressing down on his back and making it next to impossible for him to move.
He tries to push up, hoping to roll and get whatever is crushing him off his back but he can’t.
It’s too heavy and the attempt just causes pain to explode in his chest.
He falls still, trying to breathe through the pain.
He needs to get to Mouse. Needs to get to the second vehicle and check on the rest of his men.
Needs to get to a radio so that he can call for backup and get all of them the hell out of here.
He needs… to breathe.
He needs help.