Disclaimer: Numb3rs and the primary characters belong to CBS and the producers. I am accepting no compensation, and this fiction is presented solely for the joy or writing it and hopefully for the pleasure of the fans who might read it. Jessup and Erica are characters from my own imagination.

A/N: This is my very first "Numb3rs" fic, and it's another Charlie-in-danger story, but this one is very much Charlie-centric, and with only a few exceptions it will be almost entirely from his perspective. I love the characters as they are presented on the series, so therefore I am attempting to stick to canon as much as possible. However, Charlie is completely out of his environment here, and that opens up personal interpretation to how might react in certain situations. In this story, he will know fear and physical pain, so his reactions are how I think he might respond based on what I have seen in the series. As far as I know, there is no highway 13 in California. It is another of my creations.

Summary: While conditioning for a bicycle race, Charlie becomes stranded in the desert following an accident, and ends up playing a game of cat and mouse with an escaped convict. PG-13 for violence and attempted rape.

One

"Charlie, I don't think this is such a good idea," Alan Eppes said as he watched his son attach the bike to the portable bicycle rack on the back of the car belonging to best friend and fellow CalSci professor, Larry Feinhart. "There is a reason why Highway 13 is called 'Satan's Ribbon!' It is the most deserted, desolate stretch of highway in California! What if something happens?"

Dressed comfortably in sneakers, a pair of blue jeans, and a printed tee shirt that had seen too many times in the wash, Charlie patted the cell phone that was tucked into the clip pocket on his belt to reiterate his link to civilization. "That's what cell phones are for. And I have my trusty helmet and knee and elbow pads to cushion the fall if I should have an accident. Don't worry! It'll be fine!" His voice and his smile were cheerful, but it did nothing to reassure his father.

Alan gave a somewhat sarcastic chuckle, without a smile and with no humor in it. "Don't worry, he says. How can a father not worry about his son? It's the middle of the Mojave Desert! You could get dehydrated or –"

"I have a large bottle of water," Charlie interrupted, showing his father the clear plastic bottle. "It attaches to the bicycle on the down tube. My pump attaches to the seat tube, in case I lose air in the tires. I planned this out very carefully. Here, I'll show you." He opened up a California map that Alan had sometimes used during his working days, and, spreading it on the trunk of the car, he pointed to a location in the desert. "See? This is where Larry is going to drop me off." Moving his finger down the thin gray line that designated the highway, he stopped at a small black square beside it which he had circled with a red pen. "Right here is a rest stop at a little under the midway point of my ride, The Desert Oasis. It has a service station, a restaurant, and a convenience store."

Alan's eyes lingered on the tiny square on the map which marked the location of The Desert Oasis, feeling no reassurances whatsoever that a single rest stop and a cell phone were the only things that prevented his son from being entirely isolated from the rest of the world. "I know. I passed them when I took that particular highway once about twenty years ago coming back from a conference in Las Vegas."

"There, see? It'll be fine! I can have lunch at the restaurant and buy another bottle of water for the remainder of the trip."

"Charlie, the reason I took that stretch of road was because they were doing some road work on the Interstate, and like an idiot I thought I could save time bypassing the construction zone. It probably took me even longer because of all the curves around buttes and bluffs and rugged terrain. On that entire stretch of road, I encountered only a few vehicles. People prefer to take the interstate."

"That's why I picked it, Dad. Less traffic means I'm less likely to be hit by some careless driver who's not paying attention to his driving."

Alan gave an indulgent smile at this comment, knowing that lack of attentive driving is what had cost Charlie his own driver's license, and he exchanged an amused glance with Larry over the top of his son's curly head, which was still bent over the map.

Charlie continued, so intent on the map that he did not notice the looks that passed between his father and his friend, "At approximately five thirty this evening, Larry and Laurel will pick me up at the Traveler's Stop Convenience Store on the way home from their hike." He traced the gray line on the map with his finger, stopping at a crossroads where the convenience store was positioned. He grinned at his friend. "Larry and Laurel. That's kinda cute."

"Never mind that," Larry said quickly. Focusing on the map, he said, "Are you sure that is enough time for you to get there? That looks like a pretty long stretch of road."

Charlie nodded, vigorously. "Sure. I made my calculations based on the length of the highway, an average estimated cruising speed, allowing for adjustments in my speed going up and down numerous small hills, plus approximately one hour to stop for lunch and an additional thirty minutes scattered at various intervals to rest along the way. Figuring in the effects of mild wind drag generated by the very light breeze we will have today, my calculations put me into Traveler's Stop somewhere between five fifteen and five forty five. There are too many variables to set a precise time, but five thirty is a good round number. However, should something happen that promises to delay my ETA past five forty five, I will give you a call. You do have your cell phone, right?"

Larry showed him the phone that was clipped to his belt.

"Then we're all set," Charlie said, happily. He started to open the rear door of the car, but was stopped by his father's hand on his shoulder.

"Look, son, I know you've been conditioning yourself for that charity endurance ride that the University is sponsoring in a couple of weeks, but why can't you be content with a nice ride in the park, like other people?" Alan asked, his worry evident in the creases on his brow.

"Where's the adventure in that?" Charlie asked.

"As a father, I would like a little less adventure where my sons are concerned. It's bad enough that I have to worry about Don. I was happy when you became a professor, because I figured it was a nice safe job."

"Dad, I appreciate that you are worried about me, I really do, but I'm not a little boy any more."

"If I'd had my way, both you and your brother would have stayed little boys forever," Alan said, wistfully. "The point is, a father doesn't stop worrying just because his children are grown up." He gazed at Charlie's face, noticing the excited sparkle in his dark eyes, and sighed. "I can't talk you out of this, can I?"

"Sorry, Dad. I really want to do this. The proceeds are going to the charity of the winner's choice. I want to donate it to cancer research."

Alan looked away, reminded that his beloved wife had passed away a year before of the deadly disease. It was only natural that his son would want to do his part to find a cure for the illness that had claimed the life of his mother.

"I've planned it all out carefully, and I can't foresee anything that could go wrong," Charlie continued, barely pausing for breath. "I've had my bike thoroughly checked for soundness, the tires are brand new, and the brakes are reliable. I have all my protective gear and my cell phone. What could possibly go wrong?"

"I shudder to think," Alan muttered.

"It'll be okay, I promise," Charlie assured him. "I've been training on bicycle paths and on neighborhood streets, but I need something more challenging to test my endurance. This ride is exactly what I need to pinpoint where my weaknesses are, and what I need to work on. I think I have a really good shot at winning that race."

Alan lowered his gaze to the ground and said no more. Charlie was a grown man, and he could not forbid him to do this, no matter how much he wished he could do just that. He had never seen his younger son so enthusiastic about anything outside the realm of math before, and watching him train for the endurance race had been a pleasant change, but when he had announced his decision to ride, he had never considered that part of Charlie's training would include a ride down a lonely stretch of highway in the middle of the desert.

Charlie opened the car door and started to get into the back seat, but paused with one foot inside to look back at his father, recognizing the apprehension on the older man's face. "Would it make you feel better if I call you when I get to the Oasis?"

"That would help," Alan said.

"I'll talk to you a little after noon, then." Charlie got in the car and Larry backed the vehicle out of the driveway. Alan watched until the car turned the corner heading for the Interstate, the fastest route to the starting point, then went back inside the house, preparing himself for an entire day of worry.

xxxxxx

With the car's motor idling, Larry helped Charlie unfasten the bicycle from the bike rack, and placed it on the asphalt. Charlie nudged the kickstand down with his sneaker, and securely attached the pump to the seat tube, then fastened the bottle of water to the down tube.

Rising up again, he smiled at his best friend and mentor. "All set," he announced.

Gazing at the desolate landscape that surrounded them, Larry's face was etched with concern. "Are you sure you don't want to reconsider, Charles? Your father brought up some valid points. You're out in the middle of the desert, far from help if something should happen. I mean, there are other places that you can train for that race."

Charlie laughed. "You and Laurel are hiking through the backcountry by yourselves. This is no different."

"This is very different. Laurel and I are together," the older man reminded him. "We aren't completely alone. Should something unexpected happen to one of us, the other will be there to call for help. Why don't we just put the bike back on the rack, and you can hike with us instead?"

"I don't want to hike; I want to ride. Besides," he added, nudging Larry in a teasing manner with his elbow, "I'd be a third wheel, especially if you and Laurel decide to get cozy out there in the desert together."

"I heard that!" Laurel called from the passenger seat.

Larry ignored Charlie's comment, and glanced up at the sky. It was clear and blue with only a few wispy cirrus clouds floating lazily in the upper-level currents. "You know, the sun can get really strong out in the desert. In spite of your ethnic appearance, you're not much darker than I am. You could burn to a crisp."

Charlie reached into his pocket and withdrew a small tube of sunscreen. "I'm prepared for that too. I put some on before I left the house, and I will put some on each time I stop to rest as extra protection." With a friendly laugh, he patted Larry's shoulder. "I'll see you at about five thirty. Enjoy your hike, and don't worry about me, okay?"

That was easier said than done. Larry watched silently while Charlie put on his knee pads and elbow pads, and finally he covered his long dark curls with a helmet. Last, he put on a pair of wire framed sunglasses to protect his eyes from the strong sun.

Turning to his friend, he saw the worried expression in Larry's eyes. "Larry, my life has always been structured and scheduled. I get up at the same time almost every day, I go to school, teach class, come home and grade papers, and go to bed. If I'm lucky, sometimes Don needs my help on an FBI case or you need an equation that breaks up the monotony, but the fact is, I have never done anything that was even remotely spontaneous or daring in a physical sense."

"Is that what this is about? Doing something 'spontaneous and daring'? Or are you trying to prove yourself to Don and your father? You don't have to do that, you know. Your dad and your brother may have trouble understanding your mathematical capabilities, but you have demonstrated your value on so many of Don's cases. Both of them are very impressed! And I've been impressed with your abilities since the day I met you! So what if you're not as athletic as Don? It doesn't matter."

"That isn't what this is about." He shrugged, and shifted his gaze to the surrounding landscape, as if searching for something that eluded him. "I can't really explain it, but I just feel like I need to be here for some reason."

"Now that's your imagination."

"Perhaps. But I'm here, and I'm taking this ride." He paused to look at the highway that stretched out ahead of him. "Los Angeles is that way, right?" he asked, pointing with his finger.

"Charles!" Larry exclaimed before he noticed that grin which revealed that his friend was teasing him.

"It'll be okay," the younger man repeated. With that teasing grin still on his face, Professor Charles Eppes mounted his bicycle and began peddling down the highway.

Larry returned to the driver's side door and opened it, but instead of getting into the vehicle, his gaze lingered on the retreating figure of his former student and dear friend.

"You're worried about him, aren't you?" Laurel Wilson asked through the open window of the car.

Larry nodded, slowly. "I have a bad feeling about this."

He stood and watched for several moments until his friend disappeared over a rise in the highway, then he got back into the car with his hiking partner and sped away.

xxxxxx

Charlie stood up on the pedals, leaned forward to apply a little extra effort to get his bicycle up the gently sloping asphalt. His pulse increased with the exertion and sweat trickled down his back, causing his tee shirt to cling to his damp skin. His scalp, concealed under the bicycle helmet, tickled annoyingly with sweat.

The first few hours of his bike ride had been pleasant. The morning air was cool, and the ride was fairly easy. But as the morning progressed toward noon and the sun moved higher in the sky, the temperatures began to rise and the terrain became rougher, forcing him to stop to rest more often than he had planned. When riding in a vehicle, the endless stretch of black asphalt seemed nearly flat, but when riding a bicycle, powered by his own legs, the small inclines in topography were much more noticeable. He knew that if he did not reach The Desert Oasis soon, he would be thrown off schedule by an overwhelming need to stop and rest once again. But this was exactly what he had been striving for on this ride – to test his endurance.

His heart was hammering loudly in his chest, and the muscles in his thighs were beginning to knot up when he finally reached the summit of the slope. Gasping for breath, he allowed his bike to coast to a halt for a brief rest. Looking anxiously ahead, he saw the grouping of buildings that he knew would be The Desert Oasis. It was still several miles away, a cluster of small dots beside the endless ribbon of road. The good news was that it was at the bottom of the gradual descent.

His stomach grumbled eagerly, ready for lunch, and he glanced at his watch to verify the time. It was shortly after noon. "Yes!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, pleased that his calculations were nearly right on the money, even with the extra rest stop he had made a half hour ago. He was making excellent time.

Removing the water bottle from its holder, he tipped it up and took a drink. The liquid was warm from the heat and the sun, but it was wet and refreshing to his dry throat. With the back of his hand, he reached up to wipe the perspiration from his brow.

After a few moments, he felt his pulse slowing down to a more comfortable pace. Returning the bottle to its holder, he gripped the handlebars again, and pushed off.

The bike coasted easily down the long, shallow grade, progressively gaining speed and momentum on the gradual descent, and Charlie was content to sit back on the saddle and allow the speed to build. The tires on his bicycle glided smoothly on the asphalt with a slight "whirring" sound, and the wind generated by the rapid descent whipped past, blowing the dark curls that peeked out from beneath his helmet. For this one day, he was as free as the warm wind that blew across the dusty landscape that was dotted with clumps of brush and dried twisted trees that competed with desert wildlife for the scant moisture.

Keeping his eyes on the cluster of buildings as they drew nearer, he quickly deduced that things were not as they should be. There was not a single vehicle in the parking lot, and there was no sign of any activity. Even if there were no customers at that time, he would have expected to see some employee vehicles. A little nearer, he noticed the decidedly disheartening panels of plywood that covered the glass windows and doors of the buildings. By the time he turned into the parking lot, it was abundantly clear that the establishments had gone out of business, presumably due to lack of customers on this lonely stretch of road.

Coasting to a stop in the parking area that separated the restaurant and service station, Charlie was immediately struck by the impression of total abandonment, like a ghost town. On his left at the service station, the ancient pumps used back in the sixties and seventies still stood like silent sentinels beneath the awning, but the garage doors were securely padlocked. The letters spray painted on one of the boards read Closed. On his right, the restaurant and adjacent gift shop and convenience store were equally secured against vandals. Clumps of tumble weeds were nestled against the sides of the buildings, and the mild breeze whistled in a lonely manner through the rafters.

"Aww, man!" Charlie exclaimed his disappointment aloud, and his stomach grumbled resentfully, echoing the sentiment. There would be no lunch for him that day, except for the packet of peanuts that he had tucked into his pocket as an energy booster. Well, this was a setback, but nothing he could not endure.

Still straddling the bicycle, his gaze fell upon the awning that stretched across the drop-off point in front of the restaurant doors. It would provide adequate shade for him to rest beneath before continuing his ride. Dismounting, he guided the bike under the canopy and pushed down the kickstand.

He immediately felt a slight drop in temperature as he moved out of the sun and into the shade, a welcomed relief from the constant glare. Reaching up, he unfastened the chinstrap of his helmet and lifted it off his head. He refastened the strap and looped it over one of the handlebars, and ran his fingers back and forth through his hair, relieving the sweaty tickle that had plagued him for some time. Then he removed his sunglasses from the bridge of his nose, and hooked one earpiece over he neck of his tee shirt. Stooping, he removed his bottle of water again, and tipped it to take another drink, a shorter one this time, for he would be unable to replenish his supply of water until he reached the Traveler's Stop at the end of his journey. He would have to conserve his ration. After recapping it securely, he returned the bottle to its holder, and fished the packet of peanuts out of his pocket.

Opening the long cellophane bag, he walked to the front door of the diner and sat down on the curb, folding his legs beneath him. Emptying some of the nuts into the palm of his hand, he observed them with a wistful sigh. A couple of handfuls of peanuts would do little to stave off the gnawing hunger generated by the strenuous physical exertion of his lengthy ride. Leaning back against the plywood that covered the front door, he ate his meager lunch, one nut at a time to make them last longer, but all too quickly, he had consumed the last nut. The cellophane bag was wadded up and tucked into the rusted old cigarette receptacle that still stood near the door. Leaning back again, he allowed his eyes to drift over the desolate landscape that surrounded the rest stop.

Never before had he been in such a lonely place. It was difficult to guess how long the Oasis had been abandoned, but the absence of human occupation was palpable in the unkept appearance of the buildings. Apparently, at one time, before the construction of the interstate, it had been a thriving business. The double garage doors at the service station suggested that mechanics had been on duty to make repairs for stranded travelers, and while they waited they could browse the gift shop or sit for a meal at the restaurant across the parking lot.

The restaurant building was large, suggesting a large patronage during its heyday. The plywood had been securely nailed in place over the doors and windows, but the deterioration that comes from neglect was evident in the shingles that were beginning to detach from the roofs, and rust was beginning to gnaw away at the antique pumps of the service station. Graffiti had been spray painted on some of the boards and married the stone walls of the buildings.

The curb on which he sat was refreshingly cool. Twisting his body parallel to the building, he lay down on his back on the concrete, allowing it to cool his overheated body. As he began to relax, he closed his eyes for a while to rest them, taking care not to doze off, for that would throw him behind schedule. As he rested, he listened to the silence of the desert. There was no traffic, no car horns, no school bells, no sirens, and no people shouting. Only complete and total silence, the most perfect silence he had ever heard.

After a while, he began to feel the warm haze of sleep sliding into his mind, so he forced himself back into a seated position, fearful that the peaceful quiet would cause him to doze off. Remembering that he had promised to phone his father, he withdrew his cell phone from its holder, and called home. Alan answered quickly, suggesting that he had been waiting beside the phone in anticipation of the call.

"Hi, Dad."

"Charlie?" Alan's anxious voice came back to him. "How's it going? Is everything all right?"

"I'm fine, Dad. I'm just checking in as promised to let you know that everything is okay."

Alan heard the teasing quality of Charlie's voice. "Ah, in other words you're rubbing it in, right?"

Charlie laughed, happily. "Now, would I do that?"

"Yes, I think maybe you would." He heard the soft laughter on the other end of the line, and felt his heart warm with affection for his younger, gifted son. "You're enjoying yourself, then?"

"Yeah, I am. I will admit its a little harder than I thought it would be, but everything is going smoothly and I'm right on schedule. I haven't seen a single car this entire trip, though. I'm at The Desert Oasis right now. Was it open for business when you were here?"

"Well, I didn't stop, but there were cars in the lot when I passed. Why?"

"They've closed down. Looks like it's been closed for a long time."

"Well, that's hardly surprising, is it? Like I said, most people prefer to travel on the interstate, and it was twenty years ago when I traveled that route. So, you have no place to buy water, then?" he asked, the worry returning to his voice.

"I've used it sparingly, so I still have some. I've been resting in the shade under one of the awnings, and I had the peanuts for lunch that you insisted I take. Thank you for insisting, by the way, since it is the only thing I will get until supper. Speaking of which, don't hold supper for me. I'm going to suggest to Larry that we stop for a pizza on the way back." He paused to glance at his watch. "Well, I'm getting ready to head out again, so I'd better get off of here and get going."

"Okay. I'm glad you called, son," Alan said, meaningfully. "Be careful and have a safe ride."

"Sure, Dad. Talk to you later." Ending the call, he returned the phone to its holder.

Sufficiently rested, he stood up and stretched, driving away the slight fog of drowsiness that had settled over him. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the tube of sunscreen, and smeared a generous portion over his bare arms, face, and neck to protect himself from the strong sun. Then, he returned to the bicycle and put on his helmet and sunglasses again. Pushing up the kickstand, he mounted the bike and pedaled down the highway once again, heading toward Los Angeles, unaware of the danger that awaited him.

TBC