Chapter One: Seized

Author's Note:

Hello! This is my first fanfic, and also my first piece of writing that I've ever posted for others to see, ever!:3 I hope you lovely people enjoy it, and I encourage constructive criticism. Don't be too mean, though, I still need to have some courage to post the next chapter. That is, if this one goes down okay.

Anyway! Enough from me. I hope you enjoy. ^3^ 3

I do not own the Hills Have Eyes, or any of the original characters.

3

"That looks about right." I comment blandly to myself as the knife in my hand makes the finishing cut in my victim's face. My hands are stained a pretty wine colour, and I can't help but compare it to spring roses, which I can remember my mother showing me as a child. It is surprisingly similar to the rich dye from the flowers, if it wasn't for the metallic fragrance and flavour. The coppery taste does nothing to appease my hunger though, and I find myself running my tongue across the serrated blade with a glint of madness in my silvery gaze.

"Mmm..." I moan, closing my eyes at the familiar, bittersweet taste, "Tasty."

I hear the old man groan, and I allow my silver eyes to flit down to him, rather surprised that he's still conscious. When I look at him, his glassy eyes roll back in their sockets. Blood oozes from the several cuts around his face.

I lick my lips, watching as the life slowly and painfully slips out of him. About time, too, I think bitterly as his eyes close dreamily and he takes his final breath. I always find it more... intriguing, shall we say, to actually watch them die. It's strange, no matter how many times you cut them or slice them open, when they take their final breaths, the same look comes over them. Every single one. Their eyes soften and become peaceful, gazing at you like you're some sort of angel, sent straight from heaven to make their life a whole lot better.

I often find myself wondering if they even remember I was the one who ended their delightful little lives.

Smiling, I shove the dead man from beneath me. I need to dispose of him, and fast. I still have a while before he'll start to smell, but I don't particularly fancy dragging him around when his skin turns waxy, especially since his skin is already wrinkled and leathery.

Without much thought, I scan the surrounding area. The banks of the desert loom over me precariously, but there is no-one in sight. I'm not really expecting anyone to be here, anyway, considering I'm in the middle of the desert. Well, no human anyway. I am well aware of the mutants who abide in these hills. I'm one of them. Except I've been a loner since my mother died, but many a clan have made attempts to lure me into their traps. I have managed to avoid them so far, and I'm certain that some sort of violation or painful death is in store for me if I ever get caught.

Nothing less than you deserve, a little voice whispers in my head. I ignore it.

I survey the area one last time before I grasp the man's collar and begin to drag him through the desert. I've already got a place in mind to put him, ironically the very same place where I found him.

It isn't too far, but it seems to take double the time to get there because of the extra strain of towing the dead man along behind me. His body leaves a trail of blood in the sand which I'll need to cover up later, or just wait for something else to clear it up. After some mental deliberation, I decide to go with the latter. I'm not really in the mood to go dusting off the sand.

As I reach the designated burial place, a triumphant smile plasters itself onto my usually cold and collective face. A shack in the distance, which, as I stumble closer, reveals itself to be a gas station, is the place where I'm heading. I've never been in this part of the desert before, and when I began to head in this direction I had many doubts. I'd been slowly starving to death, loosing my grasp of reality. That was when I'd come across the small gas station, a miracle it seemed, especially when I found the old man inside. It didn't take me long to raid the station of all food sources before slicing off patches of skin to feast on from the victim himself. I didn't care how ill it might make me. I'm certain I'll regret it later, but at the moment I can just revel over my full stomach.

While whistling a merry little tune to myself, I yank the gas station door open and drag the old man inside. There's a little room down the back, so I dump him in the corner before raking through his belongings which are in a big bag in the middle of a table. There isn't much except for a few pieces of jewellery and a small amount of money. I decide to take it, fastening a silver chain around my neck simply because I think it looks pretty.

I begin to stuff my new findings into my little, worn-out rucksack. It is already full, and some of the items threaten to spill out the holes in the bottom, but I manage to stuff the jewellery and money down the sides before tucking my knife into a little pocket in the back of the bag. Once I've slipped everything in, I'm just about to swing it over my shoulder and slink through the door when I hear a taunting voice calling from outside.

"Jeeeb."

I cock my head to the side, and allow myself one peek around the edge of the door frame. There is no-one there. I can't hear footsteps. I convince myself that it was just my imagination, and go to take another step through the door when the same voice calls again, but sharper.

"Jeb!"

It was close. Whoever it was, they were close. I manage to maintain my composure, but the worry in my eyes would be hard to miss. I can hear footsteps now, and not just one person is making them. I drop my bag back onto the table before slithering over to the darkest corner of the back room, opposite to where I dumped the old man, and I sink into the shadows and pull my dark balaclava up to my nose. I was glad I had the forsight to wear it today.

The footsteps near the door, but they begin to slow as they do. My silvery eyes are glued to the door-frame, waiting for someone to emerge. When suddenly, the footsteps stop.

"Pluto, stay 'ere." I hear a hoarse, southern voice coming from the other room. Someone makes a strange, but taunting, noise in response to the first voice's statement, and the footsteps, only one pair now, advance towards the door.

I risk a frantic look around the room I am hiding in, desperately seeking a weapon. Anything will do. My rucksack is lying on the table, next to the old man's things. If only I could reach it, I think longingly to myself, wishing I had my knife tucked safely in my black jean pockets.

My eyes, which were gazing at my pack, have now abruptly shot over to the door. I can hear a plank creaking beneath someone's feet, as if it is warning me that my captor is about to enter. No, I remind myself firmly, he is not my captor. My shoulders straighten with my new found confidence, but it is short lived as I see the man peer into the room.

I find myself slouching deeper into the safety of the shadows, desperately hoping he can't see me. He takes another step forward, before gesturing for the other to enter. It's hard to get a look at his face from where I am standing, since they are facing the old man's side of the room rather than mine, but I know, even before he entered, that he is a mutant like me. From what I can see, he has coarse, greying hair and badly burnt skin. I too have burnt skin, but his is a new extreme. A scary looking spike strip wraps around his waste, dragging across the ground like some sick and grotesque excuse for a tail. He must've carried it with his hands when he entered, I'm sure I would have been able to hear it rattling across the ground otherwise.

It isn't long before the second one enters. He's huge. I can't see his expression either, just the back of his head, but I can tell he's clumsy by the way he lumbers around, gurgling like a child.

"Lookie here, Pluto. He's dead, jus' like Goggle said."

Pluto makes a loud burbling noise, and I cannot make up my mind if it's sad or cheerful.

"Now all we gotta' do is find the killur!"

The excitement in his voice is sickening.

Both the men are bent over, inspecting the old man's dead body. I decide this is a good time to run. Moving as if I were a shadow myself, I coast along the floor, keeping my back to the wall and my eyes on the mutants. I'm about to turn and run, until I see my rucksack laying on the table. I can't leave it! They men, Pluto and the one with the spike strip, would surely take it with them. I won't be able to survive without it.

Gulping back my fear, I lean out the shadows and reach out for my pack. Both men are still inspecting the body, so I try and move as quickly as possible. My fingers hook through the straps, silently curling around the fabric.

Okay, now I just need to lift it and run.

I pull my wrist back to my body slowly, trying to contain the shivers of fear which are taking over my arm. These men might kill me, or worse, if I don't get out now. My arm is almost fully back, when suddenly, a piece of stray jewellery slips out of a small hole in the bottom and clatters onto the ground.

Both men jerk around, and I see their horrific faces for the first time, and they see mine, well, some of it, considering the balaclava has it hidden up to the nose. I barely have time to shoot out the room before the smaller mutant has jumped up and in my pursuit.

I haul the door open and take off through the desert. I'm small and fast, but so is the one with the spike-strip. The bigger one is chasing after me too, but I know he won't be catching up anytime soon. It's the little one I need to be worried about. Once again, I begin to wish that I had kept my knife out. That's when a plan begins to form in my head.

I know where my knife is. I put it in the back pocket like every other time I put it in my rucksack. The knife is the only thing in that pocket, so there is no reason why I would have to fumble around for it. I can unclip it and get it out quickly enough, and maybe I can fight my way out of this before the bigger one catches up.

I pull the bag up infront of me, and instantly try to unclip it whilst maintaining some speed. I can feel the mutant closing in, and my steps are becomming slower the more concentration I put on getting this damn knife out. With shaking fingers, I manage to undo the clip, and my fingers find themselves feeling around for the knife. It isn't long before the serrated edge catches on my finger, causing some blood to spill. Nonetheless, I wrap my fingers around it and yank it out.

I'm just about the spin around to attack my pursuer, when I feel my legs being taken out from under me.

I watch as my last glimpse of hope skitters away from me, the knife digging itself in the sand about a meter or so to my left. I try to get up, but my legs were hit hard with something, and they only collapse under me. I risk a glance over at the mutant, who is now reeling his spike strip back to him. Then it clicks. He must've used his spike strip to trip me up, I think solemnly, watching as his clumsy partner catches up. They both approach me, amusement smeared across both their faces, the smaller one in particular. I get a good look at both of them now.

The small one's lower face just seems wrong. His jaw is twisted and his lip curls up into a permanent sneer. His skin looks hard to touch, burnt severely from the sun. The larger one's face appears to be swollen, the skin an unpleasant purplish colour and over-lapping his right eye, where a thin trail of puss is leaking out. He has barely any hair, and, although he is nothing short of a giant, he generally seems more pleasant than his counterpart as he gives me a childlike grin, exposing his mangled and yellow teeth.

The small one just guffaws and jumps on top of me, holding my arms down with his knees while he pulls down my balaclava. He seems shocked at what he finds.

"Pluto, looks like Goggles bin keepin' secrets!" He exclaims, bringing his face uncomfortably close to mine, "He told us 'e saw a stray mutant walkin' 'round here, but he firgot to mention she's a purty one!"

Pluto begins to giggle while the skinny one pulls me to my feet, easily brushing off my attempts to wriggle free as he hands me over to the giant, who simply picks me up and slings me over his shoulder

"I got plans fir ya, pretty lady." He tells me whilst looking me up and down like a tasty slab of meat.

"Yup. I certainly got some plans fir ya."

The next thing I feel is being hit over the head with something hard. I just manage to squeeze out a lovely 'fuck you' before being pulled into darkness.