The Long, Lonely Road Ahead

The following events take place after Hotch’s divorce but prior to JJ’s giving birth.

Yes, I know it’s a Mary Sue in some ways, but it was fun to write, so I’m throwing it out there for you to read and see what you think.
Please, read and review. Or at least vote on this story. I know you’re out there…

The Long, Lonely Road Ahead

Chapter Twenty

The next morning came much too early, but I knew if I wanted to get to the compound before the FBI, I had to make my connection. I left my room key on the dresser, as Julie’d told me to last night, and slipped out into the parking lot. The sun was just beginning to show on the horizon and there was frost on the ground. I put on my helmet and started up the bike, rolling out of the parking lot and onto the road, heading to the airfield. When I got there, a man in his twenties who was clearly related to Henry was waiting at the gated fence.


“Are you Brad?” I asked, removing my helmet.
“I am. You’re heading west, I understand?” he asked, unlocking the gate.
“I am. I have cash for you… and you can have this Harley too,” I said, passing him the keys and a wad of bills.
“Excellent.” He counted the cash and then motioned me through to the airstrip. “My baby’s this way.”
“Great. How long until we get to Kentucky?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m going to take you the whole way,” he said. “We’ll have to refuel a few times, but we’ll get there before tomorrow. It’s not as fast as a jet, but it’ll get us there.”
“That’s great! Will the cash I’ve given you be enough?”
“It should do,” he said. “I’ve got a delivery to make just outside of Sacramento anyway, so this is a bit of a business trip,” he said, helping me into the plane. It was tiny; just big enough for three people and some cargo. The back was filled with crates and to my trained eye, I could tell they held guns.
“That’s a distance to go for a delivery,” I said, strapping in.
“I like to fly, so it’s not a big deal to me,” he said, turning everything on and getting ready to take off. He contacted the tower and got clearance after filing his flight plan to Kentucky. “We’ll have to make a series of stops though, to refuel. We can refuel ourselves then too,” he added with a chuckle. I nodded and sat back as we taxied down the runway and into the lightening sky above.

(Hotch entered the Redding field office three hours behind the rest of the team. The Department of Homeland Security had sent several representatives to liaise with the FBI; the BAU was only there to consult, ostensibly, but the insider information they could provide was invaluable.
“I was able to get a connecting flight,” Hotch told Rossi as he strode into the conference room. “Where are we at?”
“We’re just sharing info at this point,” Prentiss told him as Reid and JJ poured over a map on the wall. “This is SSA Aaron Hotchner,” she said, introducing him to the members of the DHS. “We’ve told them about Terra,” she told Hotch.
“Terra Wintersmith’s mother, Margaret Wintersmith, is still with the Blackhawk Militia,” one of the DHS men told him. “We’re familiar with the subject. You say the daughter is on her way back?”
“Yes. We’re, uh, pretty sure she’s going after multiple targets, specifically these three men,” Reid said, handing them file pictures.
“Seriously? She wants to take out Herald himself?”
“She does. And she’ll stop at nothing to get to him,” Hotch told them.
“We’re still waiting on a warrant,” Prentiss told Hotch.
“We don’t need a warrant,” DHS Agent Taylor told her.
“We want to do this as legally as possible,” Rossi told them. “We can’t afford another Waco.”
“I don’t think it’ll come to that,” Taylor said.
“Why not? Josiah Herald is a leader on par with Jim Jones of the People’s Temple,” Morgan said.
“And look how that turned out. On November 18, 1978, over 900 men, women and children killed themselves with cyanide laced Flavour-Aid because he told them to,” Reid said.
“Flavour-Aid?” Prentiss asked.
“Most people mistakenly call it Kool-Aid, but…”
“That’s enough, Reid. I think we get the idea,” Hotch said. “From everything we’ve learned, Herald’s people would kill for him and die for him. We don’t want to start anything we’re not prepared to finish.”
“I hear you,” Taylor said. “We’ve been watching this creep’s group for years, but it’s almost impossible to get a glimpse of the man himself. He hides in his house, curtains drawn.”
“Terra said he had escape tunnels,” Reid said, looking at the map. “But she said she didn’t know where they went to.”
“I think I know where they might come out,” Taylor said, walking to the map. He searched for a moment and then indicated a small spot southwest of Weed on the map. “The compound is here, right? Well, there’s a house in the middle of nowhere about ten miles from the compound. It looks abandoned, so we’ve never really given it a second thought. But when I think about it, it’s in pretty good shape for an abandoned house.”
“You think the tunnel comes that far away from the compound?” Prentiss asked.
“I do. It makes sense. Herald’s paranoid in the extreme. He’d want an escape route that’s as hidden as possible,” Taylor said.
“What better way to hid than in plain sight?” Reid mused.)

It took most of the day and part of the night to get to California. We touched down in a small airfield outside of Weed at about midnight.
“Are you going straight home from here?” Brad asked me.
“No, it’s too late. It wouldn’t be safe,” I said, and he nodded in understanding. “I know what your cargo is. Would it be too much to ask to buy something off you?”
“Hell, you can have one if you want,” he said, opening the nearest crate. “I’ve got a few more than the buyer requested. It’s always good policy to give the customer a bit more.”
“I get that,” I said, taking a second 9mm from him.
“Need ammo?”
“Sure.” I took a box of bullets from him, and pocketed them.
“Well, good luck. I’m sure the Feds won’t have a clue where you are now,” Brad said, shaking my hand.
“Let’s hope. I don’t need the frickin’ government breathing down my neck when I’m this close to home,” I said with a tired grin.
“Hey, I’m heading into Weed for the night. My friend’s going to pick me up when I call. Need a lift?”
“That’d be great,” I acknowledged. And in twenty minutes, I was checking into a room in a motel in Weed. It was a bit skanky, but it had a bed and I was exhausted. I peeled off my boots and fell onto the bed, asleep in seconds.

I dreamed of Aaron that night, a dream that involved us making love in my hotel room. I was in his arms and we were both naked on the bed, me on top of him, riding him, when the door was flung open and Pen entered, a gun in her hands. I climbed off of Aaron and held up my hands, begging her to give up the gun. She was crying and shaking, saying something I couldn’t make out over and over again. I turned around to Aaron, but he was suddenly wearing his suit and tie, a gun in his hand pointed at me too. He told me to stop or he was going to have to shoot me. I didn’t know what he wanted me to stop. Then Pen opened her mouth and screamed, a high-pitched sound coming out of her mouth just as Aaron pulled the trigger and shot me.

I woke with a start; the high pitched screaming noise was the alarm clock I’d set before I’d gone to bed. I looked at the clock; it was eight in the morning. I was still in my clothing and I needed a shower. There was soap and shampoo in the bathroom, so I stripped and showered, putting my clothes back on once I was clean. I headed from my room into the coffee shop attached to the motel for breakfast. The motel was a truck stop too, and the coffee shop was filled with truckers enjoying breakfast. This would be a great place to hitch a lift to the tiny town of Gazelle, just outside the compound. I ate a quick breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast and coffee, then headed out to the freeway to hitch a lift up the number 5 to Old Hwy 99. It took a while, but finally a truck stopped for me.


“Where’re you going?” the driver asked.
“Up to the old hwy… 99?” I said.
“Hop in. I can detour a bit. The 99 links back up with the 5 awhile up,” he said as I climbed into the cab.
“Great, thanks,” I said.
“So,” he said, pulling away from the side of the road, “what’s up the 99?”
“Gazelle,” I said.
“Gazelle? There’s nothing in Gazelle,” he said, puzzled.
“There’s a tiny motel there,” I told him. “I’m meeting my mother.”
“Is there? The only thing I’ve ever heard of near Gazelle is that Blackhawk ranch,” he mused. “Bunch of loonies up there, from what I’ve heard.”
“Yeah? What have you heard?” I asked.
“Oh, there’s been stories about that place for years,” the driver said, obviously interested in the subject. “I’ve been driving this route for years myself, and every time I pass through Weed, there’s another story going around about the goings on up there.”
“And?”
“Well, they say that leader of theirs has, like fifty wives. And that they sacrifice goats once a month to the devil. That kind of thing. They say they’re a Christian group, but there’s never been any evidence of it that I’ve heard.”
“That’s interesting. I don’t know much about them.”
“If your mother lives in Gazelle, I’m surprised you don’t know about them,” he said, obviously hoping for more stories.
“I’ve heard that the DHS and FBI might be raiding the compound sometime in the next week,” I told him and he grinned.
“Really? That’s amazing! Very cool. Where’d you hear that?”
“From a federal agent I know. But shhhh… it’s all very hush-hush,” I said, finger to my lips.
“Oh, of course. Yeah, I won’t tell anyone. You can trust me,” he said, nodding knowingly. I shook my head at him. “So, you wanna know what else I’ve heard?”