Randall was hauled as roughly as possible to the old beat up vehicle. He'd been drug there, bound and gagged, and shoved in the trunk with nearly no concern shown to his pain. The two men slammed the door on him, and Randall found himself in near panic mode. Despite him trying to calm the relentless, intense beating of his heart, his breathing grew quick and short. He started to hyperventilate but, remembering his lack of oxygen, closed his eyes and tried to calm his nerves.
The men were planning something for him, that much was made painfully clear to him. He didn't know if they were planning to either kill him or let him go, but either didn't suit the boy too well. He'd hoped that they would have let him stay with them, he wouldn't have minded that at all. Wouldn't have been any trouble. Randall was usually pretty quiet with strangers. He kicked himself now. When he'd first been rescued, he was hoping to make friends with them, show them what a good guy he was, prove himself to this new group of strangers. But now, he was on his way off to god knows where.
Randall thought about his chances of survival, while simultaneously breathing in slow, ragged breathes and avoiding bumping into whatever other objects this trunk housed. It didn't look good for him, that was for sure. On one hand, they might not kill him, however, leaving him out on his own with no supplies, no weapons, and a bum leg is as good as being dead in this horrible, fucked up façade of a world that they now called home. He couldn't fight the walkers that he was certain to come across. He wasn't mobile enough yet for that, and he could barely stand and walk enough to scavenge for food. If the walkers didn't get him, starvation would.
With these thoughts, the boy felt tears prick his eyes. At least he'd get to see his mom again.