Status: Updated once or twice a week.
After the World's End
Chapter Two
Chapter Two
The boy was running down the highway, climbing on top of old, broken down cars just because he could. He'd never have thought that he could have so much fun running around all day and exploring. The boy already felt so much healthier after only a week. His sickly pale skin now had some color in it and he'd gained a bit of weight since he'd been stuck in that hole hiding without food.
The boy hadn't so much as seen anyone else during his journey. On one hand, he felt like he had the world to himself, but on the other, that kind of thinking was a little lonely.
The boy giggled when he slipped off the roof of a small car and landed on the asphalt. It would have seemed like an odd reaction to anyone else, but the boy was finding entertainment in every new experience. He was rarely happy, so when he was, the boy was almost drunk off the feeling.
He rolled to his feet and kept running around. The boy wasn't in any hurry. In fact, he was perfectly happy to stay on the highway. He had plenty of cars to sleep in, that would protect him from the elements and keep him warmer. He could also hide at a moment's warning behind any of the cars.
What he didn't realize was this meant his enemies could just as easily hide from him.
The boy climbed into a giant Hummer and started going through the glove box, for no reason other than being nosy. As he was making a mental note to sleep there that night, he heard a sound like a pebble being kicked across the asphalt. He froze and waited for another sound. Sure enough, there was another sound just like it, but from a different direction.
The boy tensed. At least two people were walking around here and if they weren't concerned about being found, which was insane to the boy, what would they do to him if they found him?
He crouched on the ground and started creeping backwards, feeling like a cornered animal. He kept hearing the footsteps and it was all he could do to not childishly burst into tears right there. The boy knew that wouldn't help anything, but the urge was still there.
He kept looking for the people in front of him. It was where the footsteps were coming from after all, so he never thought to look behind him.
The boy felt a hot breath on his neck and heard a soft, cold voice laughingly whisper, "What are you doing all alone?"
The boy tried to bolt, but it only took a split second before something sharp, he couldn't see what, was pressed against his throat and he was slammed face first into the asphalt. "Don't try to run again. How quickly do you think you'd die if I cut you right now?"
The boy whimpered quietly. There were no brave thoughts of not letting his captor see his fear. He was trembling so badly, he didn't think he could try to escape even if his captor had given him the chance.
"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you before my friends get here," he whispered. "I'd tell them you tried to fight me, and they'd believe me…and you'd be dead."
The boy started crying silently. He couldn't see the man who had caught him, but he knew his captor was smiling. Why was he doing this?
"Please! I don't want to be a part of the war! Just leave me alone. Please, I can't hurt you," he sobbed.
"I caught one!" the boy's captor yelled, victoriously and soon the boy could hear several pairs of footsteps, running towards them. The boy's heart sank even further if possible. To him this meant that if there was ever any chance he wasn't going to be killed, it was gone now. He heard them stop and he knew his captors friends were in front of him.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" another voice, also a man's, sounded cold and distant to the boy, as if the boy were already dead. "Where are your friend?" he asked, spitting out the last word as if it were acid.
"I'm not part of the war. Please, believe me!" the boy sobbed. "I don't have anything you want. I only have a little food and you can have it. Please, let me go!"
"Oh, look at the poor thing," a girl said. "He's scared. Cohen, he looks hurt. Loosen your grip on him."
"He's one of them, Caroline. You're too soft on them," his captor, Cohen, said, but he loosened his grip just a tiny bit. The boy unsurprisingly didn't feel very grateful. His arms still felt like they were being wrenched out of their sockets.
"What's your name, honey?" Caroline asked, ignoring Cohen's words and dropping to her knees so she could see the boy better.
The boy could see her as well, even with his face pressed into the ground. He noticed that she had a tiny frame and he thought hopelessly that he could have easily gotten away from her if she was the only person around.
"Don't be afraid," she murmured, in what she obviously assumed was a soothing tone.
The boy was in no mood to be soothed. He looked directly into her face, trying to show her that he wasn't afraid of them. His newfound confidence was short-lived. The piece of glass was pressed against his throat again and all of that confidence was gone again. He looked back at the asphalt, but the girl's delicate features, dark eyes, and hair were burned into his mind as something evil. He couldn't let her fool him into thinking the girl was kind. He'd been taught since he was a small child to be afraid of strangers and one person's lies weren't going to change his mind. He knew they were all going to hurt him and he'd never been so scared. He didn't know what had made him look into the girl's face. How was it any of his business if the girl knew how afraid he was?
"Cohen, I said stop!" the girl said again, sounding hurt that he hadn't listened to her. "Don't be afraid," she whispered to the boy again and wiped the tears off his cheeks.
"Please, let me go," he murmured, never taking his eyes off the asphalt as new tears replaced the old.
"You don't really want to be alone, do you? We can be friends if you want. You just have to clear some stuff up for us first," she said. "What's your name?"
The boy thought about that for a long moment. He finally decided something. If they were going to kill him, he wanted them to hurt for it. The boy wanted them to think of his name and maybe they'd feel a small twinge of regret. "Max," he whispered. "My name is Max."
The boy was running down the highway, climbing on top of old, broken down cars just because he could. He'd never have thought that he could have so much fun running around all day and exploring. The boy already felt so much healthier after only a week. His sickly pale skin now had some color in it and he'd gained a bit of weight since he'd been stuck in that hole hiding without food.
The boy hadn't so much as seen anyone else during his journey. On one hand, he felt like he had the world to himself, but on the other, that kind of thinking was a little lonely.
The boy giggled when he slipped off the roof of a small car and landed on the asphalt. It would have seemed like an odd reaction to anyone else, but the boy was finding entertainment in every new experience. He was rarely happy, so when he was, the boy was almost drunk off the feeling.
He rolled to his feet and kept running around. The boy wasn't in any hurry. In fact, he was perfectly happy to stay on the highway. He had plenty of cars to sleep in, that would protect him from the elements and keep him warmer. He could also hide at a moment's warning behind any of the cars.
What he didn't realize was this meant his enemies could just as easily hide from him.
The boy climbed into a giant Hummer and started going through the glove box, for no reason other than being nosy. As he was making a mental note to sleep there that night, he heard a sound like a pebble being kicked across the asphalt. He froze and waited for another sound. Sure enough, there was another sound just like it, but from a different direction.
The boy tensed. At least two people were walking around here and if they weren't concerned about being found, which was insane to the boy, what would they do to him if they found him?
He crouched on the ground and started creeping backwards, feeling like a cornered animal. He kept hearing the footsteps and it was all he could do to not childishly burst into tears right there. The boy knew that wouldn't help anything, but the urge was still there.
He kept looking for the people in front of him. It was where the footsteps were coming from after all, so he never thought to look behind him.
The boy felt a hot breath on his neck and heard a soft, cold voice laughingly whisper, "What are you doing all alone?"
The boy tried to bolt, but it only took a split second before something sharp, he couldn't see what, was pressed against his throat and he was slammed face first into the asphalt. "Don't try to run again. How quickly do you think you'd die if I cut you right now?"
The boy whimpered quietly. There were no brave thoughts of not letting his captor see his fear. He was trembling so badly, he didn't think he could try to escape even if his captor had given him the chance.
"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you before my friends get here," he whispered. "I'd tell them you tried to fight me, and they'd believe me…and you'd be dead."
The boy started crying silently. He couldn't see the man who had caught him, but he knew his captor was smiling. Why was he doing this?
"Please! I don't want to be a part of the war! Just leave me alone. Please, I can't hurt you," he sobbed.
"I caught one!" the boy's captor yelled, victoriously and soon the boy could hear several pairs of footsteps, running towards them. The boy's heart sank even further if possible. To him this meant that if there was ever any chance he wasn't going to be killed, it was gone now. He heard them stop and he knew his captors friends were in front of him.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" another voice, also a man's, sounded cold and distant to the boy, as if the boy were already dead. "Where are your friend?" he asked, spitting out the last word as if it were acid.
"I'm not part of the war. Please, believe me!" the boy sobbed. "I don't have anything you want. I only have a little food and you can have it. Please, let me go!"
"Oh, look at the poor thing," a girl said. "He's scared. Cohen, he looks hurt. Loosen your grip on him."
"He's one of them, Caroline. You're too soft on them," his captor, Cohen, said, but he loosened his grip just a tiny bit. The boy unsurprisingly didn't feel very grateful. His arms still felt like they were being wrenched out of their sockets.
"What's your name, honey?" Caroline asked, ignoring Cohen's words and dropping to her knees so she could see the boy better.
The boy could see her as well, even with his face pressed into the ground. He noticed that she had a tiny frame and he thought hopelessly that he could have easily gotten away from her if she was the only person around.
"Don't be afraid," she murmured, in what she obviously assumed was a soothing tone.
The boy was in no mood to be soothed. He looked directly into her face, trying to show her that he wasn't afraid of them. His newfound confidence was short-lived. The piece of glass was pressed against his throat again and all of that confidence was gone again. He looked back at the asphalt, but the girl's delicate features, dark eyes, and hair were burned into his mind as something evil. He couldn't let her fool him into thinking the girl was kind. He'd been taught since he was a small child to be afraid of strangers and one person's lies weren't going to change his mind. He knew they were all going to hurt him and he'd never been so scared. He didn't know what had made him look into the girl's face. How was it any of his business if the girl knew how afraid he was?
"Cohen, I said stop!" the girl said again, sounding hurt that he hadn't listened to her. "Don't be afraid," she whispered to the boy again and wiped the tears off his cheeks.
"Please, let me go," he murmured, never taking his eyes off the asphalt as new tears replaced the old.
"You don't really want to be alone, do you? We can be friends if you want. You just have to clear some stuff up for us first," she said. "What's your name?"
The boy thought about that for a long moment. He finally decided something. If they were going to kill him, he wanted them to hurt for it. The boy wanted them to think of his name and maybe they'd feel a small twinge of regret. "Max," he whispered. "My name is Max."