Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don't much care where-" said Alice.
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.
"-so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Alice added as an explanation.
"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."

(Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Chapter 6, by Lewis Carroll)

Alex gathered his strength together after only a moment or too sitting on the ground. He swiped his hand across his face, and sucked in a breath. Unwinding his legs, he heaved himself to his feet, swaying slightly on the spot. The adrenaline was fading now, and the aches and pains starting seeping in. He could feel every point of impact from Malin yesterday, and his arm was throbbing in time to his heartbeat.

He pulled his legs under him, forcing them to walk through the stiffness and move. The danger wasn't over, far from it, and he knew he had to get further away from the compound. The explosion would not hold them for long, soon enough they would check the cameras and discover he was missing. He didn't think they'd be so kind as to let him go free this time, not when he knew so much.

The road he was on was rural and mostly abandoned. So far, he hadn't seen a single car and he knew it would likely be a long trek to the nearest town. His body screamed at him with every step to stop, slow down, take a break. The cold of the night was seeping through his thread-bare clothes and he shivered continuously as he walked. It was hard to see what was on either side of the road, and he didn't dare leave it, despite knowing that he would be safer if concealed. He imagined fields, and every so often caught a glimpse of trees cloaked in shadows, but the light of the moon didn't grant enough light to see far. The road had streetlamps dotted here and there, pooling soft orange light onto the road, and although he was exposed to enemies in the light, he knew he had little choice. Alone, in the dark, and lost, he wouldn't survive long.

He had been travelling for nearly an hour when his body forced him to the ground again, the road swimming in front of him as his eyes started to shut of their own accord. He was freezing; his body shaking as it tried to generate heat and yet he knew, logically, that he should not be that cold. His arm was throbbing and the pain seemed to radiate out from the wound. He stumbled over to the base of a lamppost, and carefully removed the makeshift bandage surrounding it. He gasped at the pain, biting his lip as clumps of blood tore away with the cloth. The soft light from above allowed him to see the seeping yellow pus mingling with the fresh blood and he groaned. He did not need this. An infected arm would cause him serious problems, and he had no doubt it was infected – the red and inflamed skin around it and the onset of the fever he was currently suffering from helped tell him that much. He leant his head back for a moment, stifling a sob, as his strength seemed to seep out with the blood. He heaved a sigh and ripped another strip of cloth from his t-shirt with shaking hands. He was still wearing his school uniform, and Alex was sure a teacher would be horrified to see the state it was in. The white shirt was no longer that colour, stained with blood by his arm and ripped in several places. His trousers were crumpled and stained, and the tie had gone missing at one point. He wrapped the cloth around his arm, a choked noise uttered as pain sparked from the wound as he tied the new bandage.

He got up again, and he carried on, weaving from side to side as his vision wavered. Malnourishment and exhaustion – on top of the infection – were making his journey slow, and he fought panic at every step as he thought about how easy it would be for Menarc to catch him. He had to keep going, but he was so slow. His head felt thick, foggy, and half-formed thoughts scattered through his head and disappeared. There was only one word present now.

"Move," he said to himself, so quietly he wasn't even sure he had spoken aloud. It shattered the stillness of the night, and he blinked as the noise helped break through the mist in his head. "Move," he repeated, and it became a chant, whispered under his breath as he struggled to put one foot in front of the other.

Half an hour or so later – it was hard to keep track of time – he became aware of a low rumbling. He was so out of it that at first he thought it was merely his mind, or perhaps his stomach uttering its disagreement with its recent diet. It wasn't until the noise was nearly upon him, and it got louder and louder and louder that he realised.

"Help!" Alex cried out, sapping his strength with the words and hearing his voice croak. He didn't allow himself to think, didn't even consider that it might be Menarc. He knew if he didn't get help and out of the cold he could die out in the cold, alone and injured. He had to take a chance, and if he was honest, he wasn't even capable of rationalising his decision to yell at that point, anyway.

The tractor rolled nearer, and Alex began to make out the shape of a middle-aged man in the driver's seat. The vehicle was pulling hay or straw or something behind it, and Alex wondered what in hell the man was doing out at this time.

He stopped completely, facing the tractor coming up behind him fully and yelling again, waving his good arm in the air in desperation. The tractor came to a stop a metre or so in front of him, and the driver hopped down. He had a frown on his face and seemed wary. Alex didn't blame him – he must have looked a sight.

"What are you doing out here?" the man barked, and Alex recognized a Northern accent. He was still in England, and obviously somewhere up near Scotland.

"Please," Alex said, quieter and begging. "Can- Can you direct me to the nearest town?" Alex beseeched the man with his eyes, a lump in his throat. He didn't dare ask for a lift, knowing it might be seen as rude and yet was hoping strongly the man would offer. If he didn't . . . Well, sod manners, Alex would ask.

The man stepped closer, his face not softening. "Why are you out by yourself?" he asked instead.

"I-I got lost," Alex made up on the spot, knowing it was an awful excuse but too tired to come up with another. He felt his hand shake and clenched it in a fist. "Please," he begged again.

The man looked at him, and Alex met his stare. Whatever the man saw, it caused his face to lose the slightly wary look and he shook his head. "Get in the tractor," he said briskly, turning away from Alex. "I'll give you a lift to Lithen."

Alex hurried after him, hoping to hell Lithen was the nearest town. He hauled himself into the tractor with one arm and perched on the seat next to the man. He quite frankly wasn't that worried about getting into the car with a stranger; it really wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him.

"Thank you," he told the man gratefully. The man started the vehicle and it rumbled on down the road. It was loud, but the seat was comfortable and the man mostly silent. Alex allowed himself to sit back and relax. His head was still swimming, but his jelly legs had a chance to rest.

"What were you doing out so late?" the man asked after a couple of minutes of silence, his voice gruff.

Alex looked out of the tractor, contemplating an answer. "It wasn't purposeful," he admitted quietly, but his voice wasn't inviting. He hoped the man would ask no more questions.

"Hmm," the man said, glancing over at him. Alex didn't meet his eyes.

"Could you tell me where we are?" Alex queried, to forestall anything else he may say. The man shot him a weird look, which Alex didn't acknowledge.

"About fifteen minutes from Lithen," he said at last.

Alex winced. "Perhaps more vaguely?" he ventured. "What county are we in?"

The man uttered a disbelieving noise and choked out a low laugh. "Are you having me on, kid?"

Alex shook his head.

The man sighed. "We're in Cumbria, though it seriously disturbs me that you don't know that."

Cumbria? Well, that explained the rural nature of the area, and the Northern accent. But for Christ's sake, did Menarc have to take him as far North in England as possible? At least it wasn't Scotland.

"Thanks," Alex muttered, and the conversation died again.

"One of my horses started to foal," the man mentioned out of the blue, and Alex looked at him, confused. "That's what I was doing out at this time," he explained in answer to Alex's expression. "It looked like it would be a difficult birth, so I had to stay on the farm until the foal was safe."

"And is it?"

"The foal?" the man clarified, and Alex nodded. "Yeah." He smiled. "Both the foal and the mare made it through – now has a beautiful baby colt to look after."

Alex smiled tiredly back at him, resting his head on the seat. "That's good."

"'Tis a beautiful thing, watching a birth," the man continued, and Alex suspected it was more for the sake of breaking the silence than the actual words. "There's something magical about watching a new life begin, no matter how many times you see it."

Alex closed his eyes briefly. How different watching a creature come to life would be from watching one die – especially at your own hand. How he wished he had experience with the former, not the latter. "I've never seen a birth," he offered. The man braked as he went around a sharp corner, and there was silence for a second or two.

"You should, kid," the man said. "Gives you a new appreciation for life, it does."

Alex nodded, and the tractor fell quiet again.

"Not a great talker, are you?" the man said, his gruff voice loud in the small area. "I haven't introduced myself, have I?" he realised when Alex didn't reply. "The name's Max."

Alex hesitated. "Tom," he said at last, unwilling to disclose his actual name to a complete stranger. The man glanced from the road to him for a moment, and gave him an understanding look.

"Where are you from, anyway?"

"London," Alex answered, knowing the man wouldn't be able to single out one 'Tom' from a city of seven million.

"Explains the accent," the man said sagely. There were a couple of beats where no one said a thing. "Look, kid," he began uncomfortably, and Alex looked at him. "Have you got somewhere to go in Lithen? It's late, and whilst it's a pretty safe town, you shouldn't be out by yourself. Especially not after what happened today."

"I'm not a child," Alex snapped back immediately, but calmed quickly. "A friend's going to pick me up from there," he invented, the fog in his mind clearing the longer he rested. "I just got a bit lost on the way, couldn't get a bus, you know?"

Max didn't seem to believe him, but he didn't call him out on it. "Got money?" he questioned sharply.

Alex stayed silent for a moment too long, his normal fast reactions and responses dulled by pain and exhaustion.

"Take some out of the tub there," Max ordered him with a sigh, jerking his head to a box in the dashboard in front of him. "It's only spare stuff, but you could use it."

"I shouldn't-" Alex said awkwardly, staring at the coins.

"Take it," the man replied firmly, and Alex did as he said, picking up a couple of pound coins.

"Thanks," Alex responded, pocketing the change.

"Be careful tonight, kid," was all Max said.

Silence fell once again, but it was comfortable rather than oppressive, and Alex nearly drifted off to sleep. He was snapped out of his relaxed state by the tractor stopping, and Max's low voice.

"This is the town centre," he told Alex briskly. "There's a café over there, it'll be open all night for the night shift workers at the factory. She'll let you hole up until your friend comes."

"Thank you," Alex said, more grateful than he'd even been. He held out his hand for Max to shake, and the man did, his hand rough and steady.

"Good luck," Max wished him, and Alex nodded. Stepping carefully out of the tractor and wincing at the aches in his legs and body, Alex picked his way over to the café Max had pointed out. It was indeed open, and it advertised that it was so for twenty-four hours a day – except Sundays. The lights inside were dim, and the place looked deserted. Nonetheless, Alex stepped inside. His first port of call was phoning for help. He didn't have MI6's number – a stupid oversight that had yet to be corrected – nor any other governmental number. The normal police would call out those from Cumbria, and they wouldn't know what to do. No, his only option was to phone Ben, and hope to hell that he wasn't asleep. After finding a phone, came food, toilet, and rest, not necessarily in that order. Sleep was low on his list; he couldn't shut his eyes until he was safe at home.

"Welcome to Marney's," a girl behind the counter greeted him, her eyes tired and leaning against the wall. "Take a seat."

Alex smiled wearily and did as she said, carefully lowering himself into a chair at the back of the small café, facing the door. The table was covered in a quaint cloth with small red flowery patterns on it. The girl – or woman, really, she looked to be in her early twenties – came to stand in front of the table, placing a menu down for him to read. Alex worried at his lip, knowing he only had two pounds, and needing money for a phone call.

"Do you have a phone I can use?" he asked, not looking at the menu. "I can pay you for it," he hurriedly added when the girl frowned. She evaluated him for a couple of seconds, obviously taking in the blood and rumpled clothes.

"I'll ask," she told him abruptly, flinging herself away from the table and striding into another room.

A minute later, she came back out with an older middle-aged woman, wrapped up in a dressing gown. Alex immediately apologised for disturbing her.

She waved it away, smiling gently. "Don't be silly," she said briskly, her accent strong. "I wasn't asleep. Now Keira tells me you need to use a phone?"

"Yes please," Alex replied, rubbing a hand over his face and pondering how surreal this was, sitting down in a sweet local café and chatting to a woman and her daughter whilst Menarc was surely hunting for him. An itch to move and get out of the safe little room hit him, but he repressed it. The only way he would escape Menarc's clutches would be by getting someone to collect him. He didn't have the money or ability to get back to London by himself.

"There's a phone in the house you can use," she informed him, gesturing for him to get up. He did so, following her out of the door Keira had gone through originally. It turned out to lead into a lounge, complete with TV and sofas. Their house was obviously attached to the café. He was taken through to an entrance hall and handed a portable phone.

"Ring whoever you need," the woman said. "We'll be in the café when you're done."

"Thank you," Alex replied sincerely, fumbling in his pockets for the change Max had given him. He held it out.

The woman flapped her hands and shook her head. "Don't be silly," she retorted immediately, her Northern accent even stronger, if possible. "You don't need to give us money for the phone. We all need to stick together at this horrible time." Her face saddened, and Alex just knew that the missile had hit Birmingham as it had been planned. He took a breath, wanting to know, to ask, but fearing the answer. Did he want to learn the extent of the damage at this point?

Alex nodded, deciding not to say anything about it, putting the money back into his pocket but vowing to buy a cup of tea or something later to make up for it. "Thanks," he said again, and the woman smiled and left.

With slightly shaking hands, Alex sat down on the staircase and dialled Ben's number, praying he had remembered it correctly. The ringing tone soon came through and Alex took a deep breath. It was the middle of the bloody night, what were the chances of Ben picking up?

It rang and rang, and Alex felt fainter with every second that passed. He had no idea what to do if Ben didn't answer.

The mechanical voice asking him to leave a message kicked it, and Alex felt like he had just been hit in the gut. A hitched breath escaped him as he pulled himself together again in time to speak after the beep.

"Ben?" he began, deciding to keep in succinct. "It's Alex. Ring this number as soon as you get this."

He hung up the phone and stared at it. The throbbing in his arm yet again made itself known and he ran a hand through his hair. Right, it wasn't the end of the world. He just had to hang around long enough for Ben to wake up and get his message.

Images of rows on rows on Menarc men bearing down on the town crossed his mind, and he shook them away. No need to be fanciful, the truth was frightening enough. One or two men from Menarc could take him now, if they tried. He simply had to count on the explosion being distracting enough. He hoped desperately they wouldn't find him here.

He trailed through to the café again, spotting the woman chatting to a man in his thirties in working clothes, presumably on a break from his night shift. She saw him quickly and wandered over.

"Any luck?" she asked.

Alex shook his head. "He didn't pick up," he replied. "I left a message asking him to ring me back, if that's alright?"

"Of course," she confirmed. "Take a seat. I'll tell you straight away if he calls, okay?"

"Thank you," Alex said, so grateful to this kind woman. He had the weirdest habit of finding the worst, and the best, of humanity. He sat down at the same table again, glancing around at the café. Apart from the worker, he was the only customer there, and he liked it that way. The place was peaceful, but he couldn't relax. He needed food and drink desperately, but didn't want to spend the small amount of money he had in case he had to use it in an emergency, or if Ben never rang back.

Keira walked over silently, her eyes blinking slowly. She seemed to be falling asleep, and Alex didn't blame her. She placed a mug of tea on his table. "Free of charge," she said shortly, and turned away.

"I can't accept this," Alex said, hating the charity.

She jerked her head over to the strange woman. "My mother thinks you need the energy," she said, nothing except tiredness in her tone. The lack of pity calmed him somewhat, and he nodded uncomfortably.

"Thanks," he said. She shrugged as if to say it was nothing to do with her, and walked back to the counter.

He sat, still and silent, for over an hour. The tea grew cold as he absently sipped it, but Keira routinely came with a fresh cup. There was no conversation, and Alex's eyes were drooping as time went on. His arm was still throbbing, but it was a constant pain that he found easy enough to ignore. His stomach was grumbling, but the tea was easing his thirst. It was probably best for him to stick to liquids now, anyway, what with the low grade fever he could feel hovering over him.

Alex rested his head on his hand for a couple of minutes, noticing bleakly that Keira seemed to have fallen asleep against the counter. He didn't envy her; doing a night shift at a café had to be awful, especially as there seemed to be so few customers. He'd never heard of a twenty-four hours café before, but thanked god for the existence of this one – and that he had ended up in the north of the country with all the factories.

The sound of a phone ringing a few minutes later had him jerking into full awareness, staring with wide eyes at the woman who seemed to own the café as she smiled gently back at him. She stood gracefully from where she had been sitting chatting to yet another night-shift worker, and hurried into the next room. Alex strained his ears, but couldn't hear any conversation.

Please, he thought to himself, desperation flooding his mind. Please, please, please, be Ben. He didn't know what to do if it wasn't.

His heart leapt and he gripped the edge of the table when the woman popped her head into the café, holding up the portable phone.

"I think it's for you," she told him, her accent strong. "Alex, right?"

Alex strode over to her, taking the phone with a mumbled 'yes' and a 'thank you so much'. She smiled again, walked over to Keira and rapped her on the shoulder. Alex brought the phone up to his ear and took a deep breath.

"Ben?" he said, his voice low and hope straining in the short word. His heart was pounding.

"Alex?" came a frantic voice, and the boy in question had to sit in the closest chair as relief spread through him.

"Ben," he said again, in confirmation this time, his voice ragged and his breath hitching. Hold it together, he told himself firmly.

"Where are you?" Ben asked, his tone so worried that Alex had to close his eyes.

"Lithen, in Cumbria," Alex said succinctly, not wanting to get into details over the phone. "Will you come?"

"Cumbria," Ben repeated, and Alex nodded in futility. Both of them knew the emotional reunion would have to wait – he wasn't out of danger yet. "You escaped from Menarc?"

"Yeah," Alex said in affirmation, purposefully pushing his mind away from the memories. "How long will it take someone to get here?"

"There's a team already near you," Ben told him, and Alex frowned. "They were investigating a compound up there – probably where you came from, yes?"

"Sounds like it," Alex agreed. His mind was racing; they must have noticed the explosion. What would they have thought?

"I'll get in contact with them, get them to meet you. Is there anywhere in particular you can meet?"

Alex cast his mind back to the dark journey in the tractor. He vaguely recalled seeing a park opposite the café, lit up by streetlights. It would be light enough to see the men coming, and he would have the advantage of being able to watch them from the café before they saw him. He would have to be careful, making sure they were SAS not Menarc before he ventured out.

"There's a park in Lithen," he said concisely. "I'll meet them on the little tarmacked part of it with the basketballs hoops. It's lit up by a streetlight and opposite a row of shops and cafes."

"Sounds perfect," Ben agreed. "I'll let them know – I can't imagine they'll be too long."

Alex toyed with the idea of asking Ben about Birmingham, the need to know wrestling with the knowledge that it wasn't safe for him to remain on the phone for long, and that it wasn't perhaps a conversation to take place over the phone. He decided against it, asking another question instead.

"How will I identify them?"

"You'll need some kind of code word," Ben concurred. "They've seen a picture of you and so will recognize your face, but if I tell them to say, umm . . . Scouting, when they see you? Will that work?"

Alex smiled for the first time in forever, knowing exactly where that word came from. He hummed a couple of lines of the song quietly down the phone, hearing Ben sing along.

"And I wish I was James Bond, just for the day." Ben laughed slightly. "I knew you'd figure that out. Will it work ok, though?"

"That's fine," Alex accepted, a hint of a grin still on his face. "I'll contact you as soon as they've found me," he offered, knowing Ben would be worried.

"You do that," Ben said, but Alex detected the gratefulness in the words. There was a moment's pause. "Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked at last.

Alex bit his lip, hating the nervous habit he was developing but finding it hard to stop. "Not badly," he said softly. "I'll be alright."

Ben sighed heavily but didn't question him further. "Ring me as soon as you're safe, alright?"

"I will," Alex promised.

When the word 'scouting' came from the mouth of one of four heavily built SAS men fifteen minutes later, Alex almost sagged with relief. The shortest one, who nevertheless towered over Alex, took a step forward and Alex allowed himself to be supported into their Land Rover.

"Let me look at that arm," the man was saying, but Alex wasn't listening. The fog in his mind grew again as it sunk in that – finally – he may actually be safe.

"It'll take us a few hours to get back to London," the one driving said, glancing over his shoulder. "Get some rest."

Alex did, his head sinking into the seat of the car as he allowed a single sigh to escape. He closed his eyes, safe in the knowledge that Ben would be there when he woke up.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! Not many more to go now :(

Lithen is made up, Cumbria isn't - ask me if you're from outside Britain and confused about locations (or go to Google maps). Hopefully everything is starting to come together now. The next few chapters should tie everything up, but feel free to prod me if I've left a massive plot-hole or something, which I'm prone to doing :)

Oh yeah, for those who don't remember - the song in this chapter, James Bond, is sung by 'Scouting for Girls', hence the code word. It's a good song and I suggest you check it out!

Please review and share your thoughts. It is so greatly appreciated.

Dreams x