Author: KC
Premise: Sun and Jack are on the run in a stolen pickup somewhere in Central America. Five years after the island, the survivors are still being hunted, one by one. Locke awaits their arrival in a Peruvian monastery. But how long can they run and how much can they endure before they lose the last vestiges their humanity? Will they be able to find salvation in each other? Perhaps, with the help of an unexpected friend, they can make it to safe harbor.
Theme Song: Run to the Water by Live
Chapter 1 of 20
Time
It used to be the story of how they all came to know one another that was the big mystery. But that long-forgotten island was now five years gone, and Sun had trouble really recalling any of the details. Sometimes even the crash itself escaped her memory. Now, the real mystery was how any of them were still alive.
Not even half had made it off the island. Her recollection of that remained clouded in her mind. Perhaps, if she had lived a quiet life from then until now, maybe then, those screams would still haunt her. But their faded guttural cries didn't bother her any longer. They had been the lucky ones; she knew that now.
Jack drove down the deserted road, the stolen white pickup kicking up rocks and mud in their wake. They were in some unnamed Central American country. Sun had trouble keeping track these days. She rolled down the window, allowing the cool humidity from that afternoon's heavy rainfall to waft into the cab and fill her nose and lungs. She knew that smell – the must from the forest, the freshness of tropical rain. Along with the noise from the truck grinding its way through the underdeveloped landscape, the scent of the air was somehow a comfort to her. Running was the easy part. It was staying that scared her now. It always ended badly.
He hadn't spoken in a long time. Hours? Days? She didn't know. He'd pull over so they could sleep – always in the truck – or stop for food, but she'd barely heard more than a grunt from him since Claire had been taken in Mexico City six days ago. She had been the last. Jin had been the first. They had long since stopped any rescue efforts. It was no use. They were taken and they were as good as dead. Now, she and Jack, along with John Locke were the last known survivors of flight 815.
Locke had found safe haven somewhere in Peru, and they were traveling south to join him. Flying wasn't safe, and they'd almost gotten nabbed at a couple of borders. Whoever they were, these guys had connections. They weren't the Others. That seemed like a joke to her now. No, these guys were different. And whatever they'd seen on that island, they wanted the survivors gone for it. No negotiations, no explanations; only executions.
She turned towards him and reached out, absently fiddling with a hole in his sleeve. The white t-shirt he wore now resembled the worn-down rags they wore on the island. She swallowed and turned her gaze back to the road and then down to her sandal-clad feet. It would be nice to have a pair of sneakers. The better to outrun them with, she thought and then pushed the notion to the back of her mind.
"Jack," she finally spoke, "we should really see if we can find some clothes somewhere." They'd had to leave their things behind when Claire was taken. There was no time. It had happened before and it would inevitably happen again.
"Yeah," Jack said quietly, not bothering to look away from the road ahead. Sun closed her eyes. She preferred the silence over these uncomfortable words.
Jack and Claire had shared a bond. Both of them had seen someone they loved die at the hands of these merciless people. After Aaron, Claire was different. She stopped caring whether she lived or died. Truthfully, that had been hard on all of them. The child was more than a child. He was a symbol of hope. With him gone, it was hard to keep going, yet easier to hide – a truth none of them would ever speak aloud.
More than anything Jack wanted to protect Claire, this childless mother, broken from all she had witnessed and all she had lost. He was one of the few who had ever gotten away. When they killed Kate in front of him, Jack vowed it would never happen again. It was like he felt guilty for escaping, like it was his duty to make sure everyone else stayed alive. And they had, for a while. But now Claire was gone too and he knew there was nothing he could do to save her. Sun knew that all these quiet days were spent with that heavy burden.
Jack could sense her uneasiness. He glanced sideways to the passenger seat where she sat, staring out the side window with one knee propped under her chin. Her dark messy hair was pulled back into a loose bun with several free strands falling haphazardly around her neck and down the back of her red tank top.
She bore no resemblance to the woman who had crash landed on that island with him just over five years earlier. That person had long since gone. She was stronger – soft flesh giving way to lean muscle, hope giving way at first to despair and then finally to resilience. Her voice had changed too. Once timid, she was now all conviction and thoroughly American, only a hint of her Korean accent left. It was deliberate. Sounding more American helped her to blend in and likely saved her life more than once.
"We should get a tank of gas and clean up before heading back to the coast. There will be a lot of tourists," he paused, realizing how foreign his own voice sounded to him after going so long without using it, "good for getting lost in the crowd."
"It would be nice to sleep in a real bed," she added, hopeful. She turned towards him, her lips curling into that slightly lopsided vulnerable smile she reserved strictly for moments like this – when it was a choice between another uncomfortable night in this smelly truck or a bed and a shower and, if they were lucky, a television.
He chuckled slightly, bowing his head. "Very subtle." Back roads, with few amenities, had all too often become a necessary evil.
"We need the rest. I can't sleep in this truck," she said, vying for the sympathy vote. Then she added, "It's not safe, Jack."
He nodded gravely, dodging a puddle in the road ahead. That, he knew, was true. They'd have to get rid of this truck soon anyway – and sleeping in the open had been a risky move to begin with. He always found a remote place to park, but with the world outside no more than a windshield away, he'd begun to feel apprehensive. They'd stop a little ways ahead and check the map. They were somewhere in the middle of Costa Rica. They'd be in Panama soon.
He sighed, glancing at her once more, finding her eyes full of hope. It was nice to see, but beyond that hope hid fear. "We're probably just a couple of hours east of Quepos. We can find some food, clothes, and a place to stay for couple of days there before heading on to Panama."
"Thank you," she mouthed silently and smiled before he turned back to the road. She leaned into the seat, sinking into it fully for the first time in six days.
Sun rinsed her hands in the tiny sink of the gas station bathroom and dried them on a paper towel. It had been the only station they'd seen in a long time, so they had little choice. Jack spoke Spanish, a language that she only vaguely understood, to the short balding attendant in order to get the key to the toilet. It wasn't much, but it was something.
Wanting to stretch her legs a bit, she let Jack go first with the promise that she'd stay close by. She almost laughed at that. The place looked as though nobody had been there in a hundred years. What were the odds that anybody would find them out here? Instead of running water, she'd half-expected spiders to come scurrying out of the faucet.
She sighed and stared at herself through the soiled foggy mirror, which was cracked precisely down the center, distorting her vision of herself even further in the dim yellow light of the room. Cleaning up in here hadn't been exactly easy. Luckily, she'd picked up a few bars of soap and a couple of rags at the last station because this dump had none of it.
Hooking her finger underneath her ponytail holder, she let the loose tendrils fall around her face and shoulders. She thought she was imagining it, but now she was sure that her hair was adopting a slight curl. Her entire life, she'd always had straight hair. This was new to her. She shrugged, tossing her things into the brown sack she'd carried them in with and exiting the lavatory. She allowed the heavy metal door to slam shut behind her.
Jack was standing at the payphone on the wall by the door as she came out. He uttered one last instruction into the recording and hung up the receiver.
"Touching base?," she asked as she walked past him to open the door of the truck and put her things inside. He turned to watch her as she went, catching her scent. He still smelled like shit, he knew. How was it possible that she could smell so good after attempting to clean up in that dirty little hole?
"We're getting closer," he answered finally, remembering himself. "We still don't know exactly where we're headed. Peru is a big country."
Sun shrugged turning back towards him, "Do you think he'll try to contact us soon?"
"I hope so." Jack said, following her to the attendant's station to pay for their gas and a few bottles of water. "…I hope so."