Disclaimer: I don't own The Hills Have Eyes.

Thanks goes to Berry's Ambitions for her constant kind words and support. It really means a lot. I know I say this a lot, but it really is nice that you - and the people that have favorited, etc. - stick with my fics. :) This chapter is just a little exposition. The real action happens next chapter, and I am super excited to write it. I really had fun with this, though. It's always nice to write some nice, human moments. Anyway! Please enjoy!

The Avenger
Chapter Four: Deserter

I found that violent music helped me to...relax.

It was odd, I know. Violent music should aid people to let everything out. To just lose themselves and be able to just go crazy without concern of any consequences whatsoever. But, for me, it brought an unmeasurable amount of peace. I shoved shirt after shirt into my suitcase, listening to the rage-inducing sounds of some metal band whose name I couldn't remember. All I knew was that they helped calm me, helped ease me when other things couldn't.

I shoved a pair of my rattiest sweatpants into the suitcase, not even bothering to fold them, when I got a knock on my door.

"Come in," I called, remembering to be courteous and not just go huh like I'd been doing. The door opened slowly, revealing the petite form of Missy in the doorway. I gave her a smile I wasn't feeling, and ushered her in.

"Loud music, huh?" she asked, shutting the door behind her.

I winced a bit, reaching for the remote to my stereo and muting it.

"Sorry," I said. "I hope I wasn't disturbing anyone."

Missy raised a hand. "Mom's in the garden with Clyde. Dad's mowing. Daniel actually likes whatever it is that you listen to. Personally, I think he's trying to get on your good side."

I snorted. I didn't even think I had a good side anymore.

"You're really leaving today," she stated, as if in awe of it.

I nodded.

Missy walked over to the bed where my suitcase was, shirts and pants and other garments sticking out haphazardly. She gave a light laugh and dumped everything out. I gave a little yelp and said, "Hey!"

"Did you honestly think I was going to let you go with your stuff packed like that?"

I shook my head in awe, pressing a hand to my face. "It's not a big deal, Missy."

It was her turn to snort.

So that was how we spent the time. Chatting, re-packing whatever I packed in the first place. I wasn't sure why I was trying to avoid this the entire day. I had woken up as early as possible, texted Crank and Stump, took a shower, and then began packing. I hadn't spoken to anyone until now, until Missy decided to show up and greet me on my final day in her house.

I would throw things in, uncaring about any kind of order, and Missy would laugh at me and take them out, refolding them more neatly than I'd ever seen anything.

"Maybe you should be in the military," I commented.

Missy gave me her patented look and then put another immaculately folded shirt into the suitcase. I promptly tossed several mismatched socks onto it. I heard her let out a curse - at which I laughed - and then started to match the socks accordingly. She was particularly perplexed when she found one sock left by itself, and just handed it to me wordlessly, eyes dark and judging in her face.

"Not my fault you apparently developed OCD in such a short amount of time," I told her, snatching the lone sock and then shoving it back into the drawer. Things were already looking thin around here, and it was then I realized just how much I had packed.

Really, I shouldn't have needed much. Wardrobe changes were probably the last thing on Crank and Stump's minds, but here I was...packing as if I was actually going to give a damn what I looked like.

We packed in silence, the familiarity of long-time friends encircling us. I didn't feel the need to fill the silence with inane chatter, though I did start feeling the familiar stirrings of guilt pressing against my ribcage as I watched as Missy - caring, always caring despite the stern mask she so often wore - walked over to my dresser and picked up the very picture frame I had stared at days earlier, when Crank had discovered my true intentions.

Missy turned to me and walked over to the suitcase. She pressed the picture frame onto the neatly folded clothes - huh, I guess that's why nothing was fitting - and looked at me with a somber smile. "I'm sure they'd want to go with you."

There went that stupid tugging in my chest, yet again. I could not cry. I would not cry. I would not set myself that far back.

So I just nodded at her, letting the lid of the suitcase fall over the image of my parents' smiling faces.

Crank picked me up at ten o'clock sharp.

He came alone, of course, as to not arouse suspicion as to why Stump was coming with us. I was still annoyed with that, and with the fact that all of these people I'd known since forever were sticking their necks out for me. I cursed myself for lack of tact, lack of stealth.

"Hey, shrimp," he greeted as I slung my stuff into the back of his vehicle.

"I'm still taller than you," I reminded him.

Crank growled at me.

I turned to look at the Martinez family, all congregated outside to see me off. I felt that familiar ache of homesickness start to settle within me. I tried to beat it back, tried to beat back all the feelings that started to swirl around in my chest. A maelstrom of loss, vengeance, dismay...

Hope?

Now there was an odd feeling.

It wasn't the airy, light hope that would be more at home in a romantic comedy. It was a strange, dark hope. Hope that maybe blood would stain my hands and relieve this frightening pressure that often arrested my heart.

I shook my head and focused my gaze on the dark eyes of my best friend.

Crank nudged my shoulder. "Go say bye to them, chica."

I closed my eyes, letting a breath slowly inflate my lungs. "Yeah," I whispered in response.

Walking with a sense of purpose I wasn't sure I was supposed to be displaying, I embraced each of the Martinezes in a tight hug.

I wasn't sure if I was the only one feeling the heaviness of the situation until I hugged Missy. She was last, standing off to the side as if she could sense something wrong. Her brows were knitted over her dark eyes, mouth pursed as if in deep thought, but she lightened up as my arms went around her. She whispered in my ear, "You're just going to look at your new college. It's not like you're going to war or anything."

I felt chills go down my spine. If Missy Martinez was anything, it was astute. She could obviously feel the tension in the air as I said goodbye to each one of her family, and was interpreting it for what it was. For a moment, I was frightened she'd prevent me from going just because she was that good at predicting what was going on.

"Yeah," I told her, squeezing her shoulders before parting. "I'll just miss everyone."

"That's what phones are for," Daniel piped up.

I rolled my eyes at him. Before I could say anything snarky in response, I felt a hand against my knee. Small, not even encompassing my kneecap. Looking down, I could see Clyde pressed against his mom's legs, but his tiny fingers ran across my knee in a timid manner, his large eyes cast gleaming up at me.

"You'll come back soon, 'mber?" he asked me.

I just gave him a smile, kneeling and ruffling his hair.

The hungry, vengeful thoughts were one thing - I welcomed them, yearned for them - but lying to a child was the one thing I just could not bring myself to do.

"Are you serious, Crank? What is this crap?"

We had been riding for only an hour since picking up Stump from his apartment, and this was the first time he had been difficult. Of course it had to do with the music selection. Crank and Stump were on two ends of the spectrum. Hip hop and rock. Jay Z and Foo Fighters. I didn't think this would be the more pressing problem as we sped toward the desert.

I had been delegated to the backseat after of Stump's adamant cry of, "Shotgun! No one can override the claim of shotgun!" And the running that had accompanied it was rather undignified. I wasn't sure why - or how - he was so lighthearted, even in the darkest of circumstances. I found myself wishing that I could be like that, which was a strange thing in and of itself. As far as I knew, no one wanted to be like Stump.

Well, until now.

I shook my head with a reluctant little smirk on my face. It was weird, hearing those two argue like nothing had changed. Almost as if we really were going to the college in New Mexico instead of somewhere completely different.

I tried to ignore the sounds around me. The frantic curse words and the constantly flip-flopping radio station. Kanye to Led Zeppelin, TI to Black Sabbath. It was a constant cycle of stupidity, as far as I was concerned.

I stuffed my earbuds in my ears and turned up the music to some growling, hate-infused band. I couldn't even make out the words. The only thing I could hear was the roar of the guitar, the pounding of the drums, the snarling vocals that were indecipherable by anyone not named Satan.

And yet, a calm rolled over me.

Just as I was starting to question my sanity for the thousandth time, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I looked up, reluctantly taking the buds from my ears, and saw Stump staring at me with a kind smile. I hadn't realized my surroundings until I heard the buzzing of a speaker to my left. "Sorry, but this is the last fast food joint before we get to tonight's motel - "

"Motel?" I asked, the term jarring me more than the words fast food and how they related to my mission.

"Stump. Jesus." Crank slapped a hand over his face and started to curse. The speaker buzzed angrily.

"Motel?" I repeated, completely clueless to this development.

"Yeah, I want a number two, hold the mayo - "

"Crank!"

Stump, realizing that I wasn't going to shut up any time soon, lunged into the backseat and clamped a hand over my mouth, muffling any sounds of protest. Crank finished ordering the food - getting my typical order completely right. I hated him for it - and then turned back to me as he eased the vehicle forward behind the next car.

"Motel?" I asked again, feeling somewhat like a parrot. I stretched forward and turned off the godawful music that was blaring from the radio.

Crank sighed, not even bothering to turn around and look at me. "Did you honestly think we were going to drive through the night?"

Honestly, I didn't know what I had been thinking.

I found myself opening and closing my mouth in movements similar to a fish. I ran a hand over my hair, twisting the dark locks in my fingers. "I just wanted to hurry up and..."

"Race to your death," Stump said, oddly somber as he stared at the scattered buildings and smatterings of people around us.

There was a stiffening silence that seemed to lock my bones into place. Crank said nothing, only stared out in front of himself as we moved forward to collect our food. I stared at Stump, hoping beyond hope that this was a dream and that I was actually alone. That my safety was the only thing at jeopardy here, and not the safety of my friends -

Reality slapped me in the face for the hundredth time, mocking me and informing me that I was so, so wrong.

The motel was awful.

I didn't care, of course, but Stump's first reaction was, "Okay, so if there's a dead hooker under my bed, I'm cutting one of you."

The heavy situation from before had dispersed somewhat. I couldn't distance myself from it as well as Stump could, and Crank had been dreadfully quiet ever since we left Missy's house. I supposed I had been, too, but that was neither here nor there.

"Don't be such a princess," I told him.

In response, he threw a questionable pillow at me. I ducked and it hit Crank. Crank, being the hothead he was, started curing in a myriad of languages, and we all laughed at his expense. The first moment of true lightness experienced by all three of us since we left our starting point.

It was late. Too late at night for any non-sketchy individuals to book a motel room. The woman at the front desk gave us a few odd looks and snickered as we made our way to the room. I didn't even want to know what she was thinking.

"Dibs!" Stump shouted, jumping on one of the two beds that were in this particular room. I watched him with a half-amused expression. The other half was just tired and aching, but I knew if I were to lay down, I wouldn't sleep.

Crank rolled his eyes and moved to sit down on the edge of the bed Stump had tackled. I didn't think any one of us had the will or energy to shower at this point in time, so I just placed my bag on the floor next to the couch.

Letting out a sigh, I sat on the couch and put my face in my hands.

"None of that," Crank said. Suddenly, he was beside me, strong hand hooked around my elbow. "You're sleeping on the bed."

I jerked away from him. "I'm not going to be able to sleep."

Opening my eyes enough to see his serious, yet tired, expression, I gave him the full extent of my scowl. "Crank," I groaned, exasperated and feeling so much like a child it was almost chilling.

He knelt in front of me, placing his hands on my knees. His dark eyes were serious, but I couldn't fathom what he was going to say until he voiced, "A tired soldier doesn't get far, Amber."

It took me a while to understand the gravity of what he was saying - ironically enough, it must have been because I was tired - but once the words settled firmly into my head, I felt a shiver go down my spine.

For what seemed like thousandth time, Crank was right. And I hated him for it.

"Well," I started, "I'm taking the couch."

Crank gave a chuckle. "I'm sure the couch is more sanitary than the beds."

I shrugged.

He leaned forward, as if inspecting something particularly interesting, and then reached out a finger towards my neck. It wasn't until I felt the reassuring weight of St. Joan lift from my chest that I realized what he was looking at. "You're wearing it," he commented before rising to his feet, an indecipherable look on his face.

"Don't see why I wouldn't," I said. I hadn't even remembered putting it on this morning. Probably while listening to the awful vocals of that one band...

Crank gave me a smile - it was small, almost insignificant, but it meant the world in that one moment. That someone was still able to smile at me like that meant more than I could ever imagine.

"Get some sleep," he said softly before stepping back and moving to his own bed. Stump's snoring had already begun to permeate the night.

I didn't even bother changing clothes. I was bone tired, feeling the effects of the day's drive finally catch up to me in the darkness. I supposed Crank was right - he always was. There was no way I could possibly defend myself in the state I was in. Though the pure drive of revenge and the thrill of adrenaline was enough for a short fight, I needed to be there for the long run. I couldn't be taken out early just because I was too stubborn to take a nap when I needed one.

I did nothing to make myself more comfortable. I just twisted my body in the couch, leaning my back against the armrest and making sure that the window was in my line of sight. It was still hard to see the stars because of the random assortment of town lights around us, but the moon was in plain view, only half of what it could be.

I had always enjoyed gazing at the moon and stars, ever since I was a child. This was something I felt familiar with. I could name all of the constellations, trace them with my fingertips even now. I remembered looking up the stories behind the stars, the legends intermixed with images of these remarkable etchings in the sky.

Nostalgia gripped my chest.

I shook my head, ridding myself of the memories. Nearby, I heard Crank's soft breathing, just barely audible next to Stump's massive snores. I felt a smile - bitter, but still a smile - cross my features and settle there.

My fingers wound around the Saint's chain at my neck; it didn't calm me, hardly anything did, but I felt a bit better about my mission.

That was how I fell into the darkness of sleep, plagued by the rights and wrongs and in betweens of what could be considered a suicide mission.

End Chapter Four.