Just a heads-up – this story isn't in chronological order. Also, there's a reason for the switching of perspectives, which you'll eventually work out why.
Elbow deep in the bowels of a dormant engine, Marceline was desperately attempting to tighten one of the last remaining bolts, the process taking much longer than anticipated; thick, black grease coated every inch of her fingers, and every attempt made to wipe them down the front of her shirt was futile.
"Hurry, they'll be back soon!"
Marceline cursed under her breath and furiously wiped her hands on her shirt for what would have had to have been the eighth time in the past few minutes, ignoring the way her greasy shirt clung to her skin. Her grip on the handle of the wrench was feeble at best; without the aid of a jack, she couldn't get underneath the car safely, and nonetheless had to go from the top instead. Neither her or her companion could fit underneath anyway due to the uneven terrain, and one of them had to keep an eye out for trouble.
"Just keep the light steady!"
The sun had set long ago, leaving Marceline and her male companion in perpetual darkness – save for their flashlight – but she couldn't stop now; she'd been working on this engine for weeks, and it was so close to being finished.
Another three members of their small group had stumbled upon this particular vehicle roughly five miles out about a month ago on the way back from one of their scavenging runs, or it could've been three weeks ago, she wasn't sure; it was difficult to tell with no calendar, though Marceline kept a diary in her pack that counted the days – whether it was for a purpose, or just to keep her sane, she didn't know. Perhaps it was the latter.
The car itself wasn't in too bad of shape either; the ignition parts were still intact, as was most of the engine; it just needed a few adjustments as well as a new fan belt, which made Marceline question why a vehicle such as this was just abandoned when in near perfect condition – very little blood, one broken window and only a few dents.
However, their group was running dangerously low on supplies, and had exhausted all means of nearby supply areas within their safe ten-mile radius; they had no choice but to move on – but without a vehicle, they were essentially trapped. It was either that, or they walk, and no one in their group had the slightest idea of where the next safe area was; they were surrounded by forestry and death on all sides, and nowhere near equipped enough to venture outside of their safe zone.
Also, the days were beginning to get shorter and cooler, and living in camping tents that were patched up with old clothes wasn't going to shield anyone from the cold for very long, especially the children and elderly. They needed shelter, and soon.
Unfortunately for them, another group had stumbled upon the vehicle just the other day. So, in an effort to dissuade them, Marceline had made the quick decision to sabotage the engine – much to the protests of her group – and hoped that it would send the unknown group on their way.
It was a bold move, perhaps even a stupid one, but she had to try.
Much to her dismay, Marceline watched from the nearby dense shrubbery just yesterday afternoon as some of their men had returned the following day to assess the damage she'd done. As they talked – quite loudly, which was an immediate red flag – Marceline took notice of just how clean and healthy these men looked; they weren't just any typical survivors, these men were strong and had weapons, and her gut clenched sourly as she realized that they must be from a much larger group somewhere nearby.
When the men had left after over an hour without even touching their tools, Marceline breathed a long sigh of relief, though something in the back of her mind told her that she wasn't out of the woods just yet. And judging by their actions, Marceline knew that they were definitely planning to return – how soon, she wasn't sure – but she didn't want to stick around long enough to find out if they, too, had a competent mechanic.
The sound of a twig snapped behind them, and they both looked to each other, jaws clenched.
"Could be another dead one," her companion, Ben, whispered. He then flicked the flashlight to the dense woods, and they held their breath, waiting for the typical wet growls and uneven footsteps that usually followed, but couldn't hear anything. "Should I go check it out?"
"We don't have time," Marceline replied impatiently, turning her attention back to the engine. "I'm nearly done."
Ben reluctantly returned the light to the engine and Marceline cursed as her grip suddenly gave way and the wrench slipped through her fingers. It fell through the gaps with a series of loud clangs, and she cursed again when she didn't hear the expected thump of metal falling on dirt.
"Shit, shit, shit…" she murmured, quickly dropping to the ground on all fours. "Give me the light, quick," she urged.
Ben obeyed and quickly tossed her the flashlight. With a grunt, Marceline tried to wedge herself underneath the car, but even with her small frame, the rugged terrain of the woods prevented her from getting very far. She waved the light back and forth, but couldn't see the wrench.
"Can you see it?" Ben asked, voice thick with worry.
"No," she grunted. "See if you can find it," she instructed.
Ben nodded and went to stand over the engine where Marceline had been moments ago while she shone the light upward.
"I think it fell towards you left," she said. "Can you see it anywhere?"
"No," he replied. "Maybe try and—"
Marceline paused and waited for him to finish. "Try and what?"
No answer.
"Ben, what do you want me to try and—?"
"—do you hear that?" he asked, voice suddenly low.
Marceline tried to clamber out from underneath the car. "Hear what? Ben, what are you—?"
"Shh!" he hissed as he came over to where she was, roughly grabbing her by the wrist and hauling her from underneath the car. "Listen, do you hear that?"
Marceline rubbed her wrist, paused and listened. It was barely there, but she heard it – a faint rumbling sound. She looked to Ben, and even in the dim glow of the flashlight, she noticed that his usually calm expression was tightening with anxiety.
Ben was one of the few people in her group that she liked to have around – especially when it came to things like scavenging for vehicles and parts. He was about five years older than her nineteen-year-old self, and was one of the few people in the group who knew how to use a firearm. Ben was also a calm person, never acted on impulse, and always knew what to do in a bad situation.
And when Ben said that something didn't feel right, Marceline knew that something was wrong.
They both continued to listen, the sound gradually growing from a faint hum to a moderate growl; it was definitely getting closer. Marceline strained to identify the noise; she'd definitely heard this sound before, but it was different – muffled in a way that didn't make sense to her.
"What do we do?" she asked, watching the gears tick behind Ben's unblinking eyes.
Suddenly, a set of bright lights pierced through the darkness, causing Ben to drop the flashlight.
"Run!"
And they both took off, but before they could make just three steps, a loud crack of a gun pierced the air, and Marceline heard Ben's cry of pain as he tumbled to the ground.
She skidded to a stop and whirled around to see Ben on the ground, clutching at his leg, and Marceline's stomach clenched in fear as she saw the anguish in his eyes.
"Go!" he shouted, using his free hand to wave her on. "Go, just go!"
But Marceline hesitated, and in those last few seconds, she had sealed her fate indefinitely. She ran to his side, ignoring his plea to just leave him and run, and helped him to his feet. But before they could move, another shot pierced the air above their heads. Marceline ducked and tried to run, but Ben's weight caused them to both fall to the ground. He cried out again, and Marceline clung to him, putting herself between him and their attackers as they exited their vehicles and stepped forward.
The brightness of the headlights made it difficult to see just who had attacked them, but the dread in her stomach told Marceline had a fair idea of who they might be. In all, she counted six of them, and didn't miss the dark silhouettes of their weapons, either.
A palpable silence had fallen over the small clearing, save for Ben's laboured breathing.
The man in the middle then stepped forward, close enough that Marceline could make out his distinct features through the darkness; a receding hair-line and a thick moustache.
"Well shit," he said, pursing his lips at the sight of her wounded friend. "This isn't how I wanted things to go." He then shook his head and let out a long sigh. "Guess this needs to be quick then," he said – more to himself than to them.
Slowly, Marceline used her free hand to snake behind her to retrieve her knife, but Ben's tight warning grip on her thigh stopped her. She looked to him, and he gave a faint shake of his head, sweat already beading on his temples.
"First of all, I'm sorry we shot you, kid," the man in charge said, holding up his hands in defence before placing them on his own chest in a sincere manner. "We didn't plan on that – that's our bad."
His tone of voice was enough to send a shiver down Marceline's spine; the confidence and calmness behind it was unnerving, and she doubted the sincerity he attempted to show.
"What do you want?" Ben spat through gritted teeth from beside her.
The man ignored his question. "I'm Simon, and this here is something we've been planning on for a while now, actually." His dark, beady eyes then flicked over to Marceline, and the weight of the realization settled heavily in her chest.
That car… it was a trap, and they've been watching us this whole time?!
The man – Simon – stepped forward and crouched in front of them, hands clasped and elbows coming to rest on his bent knees. Marceline tried to shuffle backward, but the fear of being caught and possibly being killed weighed her down. Ben's grip tightened on her thigh once again, both comforting her and urging her to be careful.
"You see, we're in a bit of a pickle," he explained with what she defined as a sheepish grin. "I won't bore you with the graphic details," he said, using air-quotes, "but a buddy of ours got himself killed not too long ago."
"So, w-what's that got t-to do with us?"
Simon's eyes flicked down to Ben's bleeding leg, his unsettling features contorting into a grimace.
"Shit, that looks uncomfortable," Simon commented with a chuckle before reaching out to give his thigh a slap, causing Ben to wail and clutch his leg. "As for your question, you'll find out soon enough. But for now, we're going to need your weapons."
Simon then stood to his feet, eyes pointedly looking at Marceline when they both hesitated. "Don't think I didn't see you reaching for a knife, there, little lady," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Hand it over, and we'll help your friend here."
Marceline looked to Ben, who was on the verge of slipping out of consciousness. She could see the refusal in his eyes, urging her to not give in, but the desire to save her only friend ultimately won, and so, Marceline reluctantly reached behind her and retrieved the knife. She spun the blade so that the handle faced toward a grinning Simon, who reached down and grabbed it with enthusiasm.
He appreciatively spun the weapon around a few times before sheathing it in one of the belt rungs on his jeans, next to a pair of handcuffs. "You keep on following the rules and you'll be just fine," Simon said with a smile as he signalled for his men.
Two of them began collecting the tools that Marceline had kept in her backpack, which was still by the abandoned truck, and Marceline felt her heart sink; she'd risked her life for those tools and they were just… taking them, like it was so easy. More men jumped from the trucks and quickly surrounded them, two of them reaching down to carefully lift Ben up, who had since passed out due to the significant blood loss from the gunshot wound, but Marceline quickly intervened – more out of a fear of being separated than her concern for Ben's welfare.
His men quickly apprehended her, gripping her upper arms as well as her hair, and Marceline struggled to fight back, managing to kick one of the men in the groin. But weeks without sufficient food had made them both weak, so he recovered quite quickly, but not without shooting a glare in her direction. Simon laughed before he tisked twice, shaking his head as they dragged Marceline a few feet away.
"Still got some fight left," he chuckled, reaching for the set of cuffs that hung on his belt. "I like that, but we can't have that groin-kicking shit," he said as they both watched two more men come and take Ben away to a nearby truck, Marceline looking after him as the men ungraciously released their grip on her upper arms and headed toward the other truck.
"Promise me," she said with a shaky voice as they released her, looking up at Simon as he roughly turned her around and began to cuff her. "Promise me that he'll be okay."
Simon then bowed graciously. "You have my word."