A/N: All right, I'm not sure how far this story is going to go – I'm running out of time to write it, and I'm worried it will die. But no fear of that in the near future – I'm halfway through chapter five at the moment.
We meet a few more boys here, and I know they're gonna seem a little bit more… er, harsh, than they did in the movie or in most other fics, but then again, the movie was by Disney, and I like them being more kickass. No pansy slingshots here. No, Spot I'm not insulting you! Nooooo! Not the marbles!
The too-large sun was beating down on David's back, causing sweat to leak from his pores and mingle with the layer of dust on his skin, while simultaneously baking the muddy film to concrete. He'd removed his school blazer nearly half an hour ago, his tie fifteen minutes ago, and was currently unbuttoning his shirt.
Nothing helped. He'd been plodding along the dirt road after the car – having no other direction to go – for nearly forty minutes, and he was slowly being cooked alive. Fear had given way to despair, which had given way to a loss of brain function. If his head was a television, David was sure it would be crackling with static, or emitting a high-pitched keening.
So a man had kidnapped Les, taken him to this place, and then driven off in a car. But where was 'this place'? It looked rather like Arizona or Nevada or one of those states in the southwest – not that David had ever been outside the state of New York (other than Great-uncle Ira's funeral in New Jersey).
Had he been drugged and transported here without knowing it? Was he in some lab, or testing facility? Were there scientist laughing at him from behind two way mirrors? Conspiracy theories flashed through his head, only to be squashed quickly by the more rational bit of his brain. Where the hell would they put two-way mirrors in the middle of the desert, anyway?
The sun was too hot and the dust was too unpleasant for it to be a hallucination, but David was too tired to dredge up any more ideas as to what the hell had happened. So he trudged onward, as the sweat beaded on his upper lip and trickled down his chest. He tried to worry about Les, but at this point all the horrific implications of what had happened crashed down on his consciousness, and his brain flat-lined. He plodded down the road.
David had become so used to the bland unchanging landscape, that when the truck stop came into view, he didn't notice it for several minutes. Even when he did, he figured it was a hallucination – like those stories of guys wandering off into the Sahara, thinking they saw an oasis.
But the distant building didn't waver or disappear as David got closer. In fact, it got properly larger, and strains of music drifted to his ears. But most importantly, there was a dusty black car parked out front, with a few yelling guys standing around it.
Suddenly the hour or two of trekking he had done fell away, and energy rushed back into his legs. Soon he was jogging at a good clip towards the car, eyes desperately scanning for his brother's slight frame.
As he drew closer, the men eventually noticed him, and all turned to stare. David supposed he must look rather odd, running down the road, alone. His hair was soaked with sweat, his open shirt flapped behind him, and he was absolutely caked in dust. But Les could be in that car, and so everything else didn't matter.
He skidded the last few steps to the vehicle, panting hard and feeling despair creeping into his heart. Les wasn't there. Neither was the creepy man who had dragged him off. The car was empty, all the doors flung wide open. "Les?" he called, in the hopes that his brother was somewhere nearby.
"Hey buddy, you okay?"
David turned to the man, and found himself staring at a tall boy no older than himself. "Where are the people from this car?" he gasped out.
"Gone, the fuckers." Another snapped. "Took my car and bolted."
David almost collapsed. "They're gone?"
"What I said, ain't it?"
Something of David's frazzled and despairing thoughts must have shown on his face, because one of the other men stepped forward and put a hand on David's shoulder. "Let it go, Skitts. I know you're pissed, but there ain't nothing we can do about your car now. Anyway, can't you see this guy's dead on his feet? Come on, you look like you need a drink." Ignoring David's feeble protests, the group of guys propelled him inside the diner.
Noise bombarded his ears, and a variety of unpleasant smells invaded his nostrils. The place wasn't even a truck stop, not really. Sure, trucks could probably stop there, but it was really nothing more than a glorified bar. Not that David would know much about either of those places. But whatever it was, he found himself plopped unceremoniously on a barstool in front of a buxom waitress.
"What can I get ya?" she asked, in a forty-million-packs-a-day voice.
David blinked. "Um… a water would be really great, thanks. A big water."
One penciled eyebrow rose. "A water?"
"Yeah."
A heavy arm dropped around his shoulders, and one of David's 'rescuers' grinned sideways at him. "Only a water? Can't have that now." The guy turned his grin to the waitress. "Two Nosebleeds, Delilah."
Worried, David clamped one hand protectively over his nose. "No really, a water's fine."
"Nosebleed."
"Water."
"Nosebleed."
"Look." David grated out, finally fed up. "My brother's been kidnapped, I have no idea where I am, I'm hot, tired, and I've been wandering through the desert for the last couple hours. So if I say I want a water, THAT'S WHAT I FUCKING WANT!"
David's 'friend' looked surprised and rather taken aback, but the waitress just snapped her gum and snorted. A few people nearby had glanced up, but didn't look alarmed – or even surprised.
David suddenly felt sort of ashamed. "Sorry." He mumbled, as the waitress slid a tall glass of water in front of him. "I'm kinda stressed out at the moment."
The other guy blinked at David – or winked, because he only had one eye, the other covered in a black patch - and smiled ruefully. "My fault, I didn't realize. Is all that stuff why you were running all alone in the middle of the desert?"
David took a long drink of his water, relishing the feel of the liquid sliding down his parched and dusty throat. It tasted rather metallic and chemically, and it was a far cry from cold, but it was the best drink he'd ever had. "Yeah. I was chasing after the guy who had Les. It was probably pretty stupid of me – I mean, I'm only seventeen, what the hell was I gonna do?"
The other guy raised an eyebrow. "Well, you could have shot the guy, or tackled him, or just beat his head in."
"What, like in an action movie? Some stupid teenage hero pulling off an impossible rescue?" David snorted. "Right. I don't do sports, I don't go to the gym, and I don't carry weapons."
"You don't?" The Cyclops guy blinked – winked – again, startled.
David shivered, and began re-buttoning his shirt. "Uh…no. It's not like I need to defend my little brother everyday or something. Besides, I really would rather not get expelled for carrying a concealed." Suddenly suspicious, he narrowed his eyes at his companion. "Why? Do you?"
"Well, yeah. I'd sure be dead if I didn't." He pulled up the back of his shirt so that David could see the gun stuck under the waistband of his jeans. "I'm surprised you lasted this long without a weapon. Are you some kind of martial arts master?"
Unnerved, David started slowly edging his glass away from the boy. "No… I don't know why I'd need to, this is the first time that anyone I know – myself included – has ever been in a situation requiring a weapon. And even if I did have one, I wouldn't know how to use it!"
Incredulous, the one-eyed guy leaned forward. "Jeez…where are you from, anyway?" His single eye narrowed. "You're not from The Compound, are you? Don't lie, either. We have dogs outside, they'll sniff you out."
Worried, David scooted backwards, nearly falling off his stool. "The where?"
"You heard me. You're one of them, aren't ya?"
"Who?" Suddenly David found his wrist locked in his companion's iron grip. "Wait, what are you doing?" The other boy said nothing, merely dragged David off his stool and headed farther back into the bar. "Stop! What the hell? Stop it, you crazy bastard! Can I get some help here? Help!"
The one-eyed kid turned and dealt David a vicious backhand, causing his head to knock against the plaster wall. "Shut up." He deadpanned, before dragging David forward again.
Seeing stars, David stumbled along behind him – too dazed and tired to be terrified. This had definitely been a Bad Day.
He was dragged to a back table, were the Cyclops kid thrust him forward with a harsh jerk.
"I think he's one of them, Cowboy."
David found himself staring at one of the guys who had been outside around the car. It was the tall kid who had first asked if he was okay. The guy – Cowboy, he'd been called – raised an eyebrow. "He's kinda pitiful looking, Blink. Looks like they're getting desperate." He stared at David with hard hazel eyes. "So what's the deal, kid? It'll go better for you if you tell me now, maybe we won't kill you."
Again, David realized that he should be absolutely shaking in fear, but couldn't dredge up the desire. "I have no idea what the hell everyone is talking about. I have no idea what the hell is going on. I have no idea where the hell I am. I just want my brother and my glass of water."
Cowboy raised an eyebrow. "Well I ain't heard that one before. But you still didn't answer my Q."
"Your what? Don't you people talk normally?"
"He's avoiding it, Cowboy." Murmured a boy from the next table, glancing suspiciously at David. "Better check 'im."
David's tired brain fizzled and died. He could honestly not think of any other explanation than that these crazy guys were all actors stationed here in some sort of elaborate role-playing game or lab test. He looked at the Cyclops kid, who was now gripping both of his arms behind his back. If he was an actor, he was a damn good one.
"Well," Cowboy drawled. "He don't look like one of them, but I been fooled before. Check 'im."
A/N: So, what did you think? We're getting closer to some explanation about what the hell is going on, but not quite. That comes in the next chapter or so. I'm writing this fic so that you only know as much as the character you're following (I forget what the technical name for it is). So, while David might know the square root of 322,624 (568), or the definition of masochistic (adj. Deriving pleasure from being humiliated, abused – mentally or physically – by another or by oneself), or the relative population of Kazakhstan (15,185,844), he has no idea WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON, and so, therefore, neither do you. Loves!
Shout outs to the first chapter's WONDERFUL reviewers: Oxymoronic Alliteration (silent scream, acute apathy, affirmative action – haha. I wasn't going to put The Crack in there, but just for you, I will. Have I successfully completed my punishment, Cruel Mistress?), Gamble 7 (Ah, the mysteries of my twisted mind…), hobbit1400, and Sparks Diamond.
Everyone else, please review – any criticism welcome, if you feel it's warranted. Look out for the next chapter (which I quite like) sometime soon!
Cheers,
Rama