He wants to scream, but his mouth won't open. His brain commands him to stop, but his legs won't listen. He keeps running, eyes wide and nervous. He can't trust anyone. Not now. Not anymore. Not after them.
He glances behind him every so often, just to make sure they aren't following him. Sometimes he thinks he can hear their voices whispering, lulling him to come back, that everything will be better if he comes back.
He's getting more exhausted every second. He begins to gasp, trying to get every ounce of air into his lungs that he can. He can feel his hands shaking uncontrollably. They're cold and sweaty.
His sneakers skid to a stop as Jack grabs him by the shoulders.
Jack stares into his eyes. They're an electric shade of green. Jack's never seen that color of green in eyes before. His hair was dark blonde, and was in the middle of being short and being long. He looks to be around sixteen or seventeen.
"Who are you?" Jack asks.
He tries to turn away, but Jack tightens his grip on his shoulders. "Who are you?"
He won't answer. He stares at Jack, his eyes wide. He begins to cry, taking Jack by surprise. "Hey," he says. "Hey, calm down. It's gonna be okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. I just want to know what your name is."
"No," he whispers.
"Why not?"
"I'm not going back there. You can't make me. Nobody can make me. I'm never going back there."
"Wait, you're never going back where?"
"There."
"Where?"
He points a shaky finger behind them.
Locke comes out from somewhere, peeking around cautiously, a rifle in hand.
"Oh God…" he mutters, eyes fixated on Locke's gun.
"John, what're you doing here?" Jack asks.
Locke shrugs. "Nothing much. Just looking around." He eyes the boy, looking him over. "Who's this?"
"I don't know. I just found him."
Locke takes a step toward the boy, who tries to shy away, wanting to stay away from the gun as much as possible.
"John, don't. He doesn't like the gun," Jack tells him. Locke stops.
"What's your name, son?" he asks in his Locke-like voice.
He doesn't answer.
"He won't say anything. He just keeps telling me that he'll never go back there." Jack nods toward the area behind them.
"Are you bringing him back to the camp?"
"No!" the boy yelps. "I'm not going back! You can't make me!" He begins struggling again, and Jack has a hard time restraining him.
"We're not going to make you do anything," Locke assures him. "We just want to help you."
"No, you don't," he whispers. His eyes have a look of paranoia in them.
"Jaakkee…" a voice sings out. "Come on out, Jake, we're not gonna hurt you. We just want to talk. It's okay." The voice is a long way off, but is making its way toward them.
He reacts to this. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God. No, God, please, no." He stares at Jack and Locke pleadingly. "You have to let me go," he begs. "I have to get away from them. Please."
Jack and Locke look at each other. Locke looks Jake over.
"He's not going to lose them in we let him go," he observes. "He's too tired."
Jake's eyes widen as he realizes what Locke is suggesting. His breathing quickens, and his voice becomes panicked.
"I need to go," he repeats. "Please."
"We can't, kid. You won't make it by yourself," Jack tells him. With that, he turns him towards their camp and begins marching him forward.
"No!" Jake yells. "Let me go! Let me go"
"Jake, are you all right? C'mon, buddy, we're here to help you." The voice is getting closer.
Jake begins hyperventilating. He feels lightheaded, and images surrounding him begin to swirl around in his head. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to dig his heels into the dirt. "I can outrun them," he tells Jack. "I can."
"No, you can't, Jake, and you know it," Locke says, quickening the group's pace.
Jake stares at him, wild eyed. "How do you know my name?" he asks. "You're one of them, aren't you? Oh, God, help me."
"Jake, stop. Just calm down, okay? Can you do that?" Locke asks.
"No," Jake answers. "I won't let you do it again. I won't. I won't." His breathing gets even faster, and suddenly Jack feels his body go limp.
He stares at Jake's motionless body, then looks up at Locke. "We need to get him to the camp fast," he says.
"Jake! This isn't funny anymore. This isn't hide-and-seek," the voice says. It's a guy, maybe in his mid-thirties.
Locke nods. He bends down and picks up Jake's ankles. "Let's go."