Hey, guys! I'm back for another chapter! I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Eight

I jump as I wake from another nightmare about Zola and Pierce again. At least one of them always appears in my dreams. During some of those dreams, I actually think that Pierce is Steve. After they used that machine on me, my mind was so scrambled that the blond hair and pale skin of a younger Pierce somehow got confused with my fading memories of Steve.

The wind races through the trees, and the leaves move, letting me see the dock beyond. The sun was up, and people were moving about, opening the place up and moving crates into the large, metal shipping containers.

I unzip the backpack and drink the last mouthful of water from one of the disposable plastic water bottles. I have two full disposable ones and half of the hard black one left. I don't know how long this trip will take-a week or two minimum-so I'll have to ration even more drastically than I already am.

I swing the pack over my shoulder and stand. I wait until most everyone has their back turned to me and slipped out of the tree cover. I keep to the shadows as best as I can in this nearly full sunlight. I go behind the small building that must be their control building and wait, watching the workers. They were blocking the path to the metal shipping containers. I had to wait for them to move before I could slip inside.

"James!" a voice calls, and I nearly jump.

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes."

"Come on!" the same voice orders.

It's not Steve. Just one of the workers.

"Alright! I'm comin'!" a man shouts. Must be James. The man appears in front of me with a yellow package in his hand. "I haven't had breakfast yet!"

"Doesn't matter! We've got a quota!"

James groans and unwraps the package in his hands. He takes a bite of whatever was inside before placing it on the bench in front of me. He walks off towards the dock filled with shipping containers and forklifts.

I don't have much food left. A handful of granola bars, an apple or two and a roll I got two days ago. Looks like his sandwich is going to be my breakfast. "I'm sorry, James," I mutter, "but I need this more than you do."

I come out of the shadows, quickly snatch up James' yellow package and move towards the shipping containers. I pressed myself up against the back an open container as a forklift backed out of the open doors so I couldn't be seen by the two guards in the front.

I bend down and pick up a small stone. I wait until the forklift had turned around and throw the rock towards the two men standing guard on either side, aiming towards the wall of the container. The stone clangs against the side of their container and both of them turn towards me. The one closer to me takes a few steps towards me while the other one takes his spot and watches after him.

I slip around the back of the container, tapping the wall of the container with my gloved metal hand to keep him interested in the sound. I keep tapping as I go around the container until I reach the end of it. I rush towards the other container and cling to its side as I make my way around it. I peak around the corner and make sure that workers are still loading up the forklift and that the other man is still distracted.

The forklift beeps, so I slip into the container and quickly force myself into the small space between the back wall and the other crate of supplies they had place in here before. If my left arm was flesh rather than metal, it would be a lot easier to squish myself into this position. The unyielding metal made it more difficult, but it wasn't impossible.

My head aches, and the world starts to tilt again as the metal container rattles. I force myself to maintain my focus as the forklift slides into view and deposits another crate before backing up.

I'm completely covered now. As long as I keep quiet and still, they won't notice me. I can let the memory take me for now.

I close my eyes and focus on the memory. Steve was there and so was a girl. We were in some kind of carnival, and I was trying to do one of those shooter games to win that girl one of the prizes hanging off of the wall of the carnie's game.

"Come on, Steve, just let me try one more time," I asked, glancing at Dot who smiled and laughed.

Steve sighed before rummaging through his pocket and pulling out our last two coins and slapping them on the counter. "You sure? We won't have any money to get home."

"I'm sure we'll figure something out," I dismissed, entirely focused on Dot.

Steve pulled his hand away from the counter and the carnie gladly took the money. He took the toy gun from my hands and reloaded it with three more shots before passing it back to me. I took the gun and took careful aim.

I had shot this gun enough times to know that it doesn't shoot quite straight. I adjusted my aim to be slightly to the left and above the target and took the shot. The toy gun popped, and the plastic pellet that served as ammo bounced off of the wall the target was hanging off of. Exactly where I had aimed.

I took aim again on the center of the target and fired the second shot. This pellet hit just above the target. I suppressed a groan of frustration as I lowered my aim a little. This was my last shot and the last of our money. Dot wanted this prize but this stupid gun wouldn't shoot right. One minute it shoots exactly as I aimed, and the next it shoots five feet away. I shot again, and the last plastic pellet bounced off of the wall below the target.

The carnie laughed as I lowered the toy gun down onto the counter. "Sorry, kid," he mocked. "Try again?"

I shook my head and turned to my girl. "Sorry, Dot." I walked away from the counter, and she comes with. "That gun is rigged. It does not shoot straight."

Dot laughed. "It's alright, Bucky."

"Dolores!" several voices called.

The three of us turned to see a group of girls jumping and waving towards us.

Dot turned back to me. "Can I…" She gestured towards the girls.

I nodded. "Go ahead. I gotta get Steve home anyways."

"Thanks!" she said, jumping up to land a kiss on my cheek before running off towards the group of girls.

"You do realize that we don't actually have any money to get home, right?" Steve voiced.

I turned towards him. "Hey. It was your idea to get those hot dogs."

Steve shifts his weight and wipes the last bit of mustard off of the corner of his mouth.

"And you also rode the cyclone at Coney Island," I reminded, smiling encouragingly.

"I threw up."

"Well, if you can survive that coaster and throwing up, you can survive catching a free ride home," I added.

Steve was quiet for a second. "Fine," he groaned.

We made our way out of the carnival and walked a few blocks until we came to the main road. A truck quickly rumbled past us before slowing to a stop by a small building. Steve ran up ahead, and I followed after, jogging by his side.

"Wait, wait, wait," I muttered, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him to the side of the building.

"What?"

"Shh," I spat.

Several men loaded and unloaded crates from the back of the truck for a few minutes until they went inside.

"Go," I whispered. "Go."

We both rushed towards the truck, and I jumped through the open cargo doors and onto the floor. I reached down and grabbed Steve's thin arm and helped him up.

A bell rang, and voices reached us as the door to the building opened. I shoved Steve behind me and towards where most of the crates rested. We both squeezed ourselves between some of the icy cold crates. The space was so small that even Steve had to press his knees against his chest and wrap his arms around his legs.

We kept as quiet as possible as the cargo doors slid closed, cutting off almost all light. Just enough sunlight managed to slip through the gaps between the doors of the back of the truck and the walls, allowing me to at least see Steve and the crates of ice around us.

After a moment the truck shuddered as it started to move. I let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding, and Steve and I both laughed in relief.

I fisted my hand and held it out to him. Steve's knuckles connected with mine, and out laughter grew louder.

My eyes snap open as the metal shipping container pitches towards the doors. Some of the crates slide around, and others on top rattle so much that part of me worries that they'll fall over and crush me. The shipping container stops moving after a minute or two and everything settles. More and more bangs sound around me, and all I can think of is that other containers are being placed around this one. There are rust holes in the corner of the container I'm in, and that lets in some light, but it's not enough to see much of anything.

I wait for what seems like hours before I feel like I'm moving again. The container rocks back and forth, so the ship must be on the water already.

I take out the small flashlight again and click it on, scanning the crates around me. They're nondescript, and nothing let's me know what could possibly be inside. I could crack one open and hope to get lucky enough to find food, but I doubt any of the crates would have food in them, and I couldn't break one open without getting caught sooner or later.

I scan the floor in my small corner and find the yellow package what was going to be James' breakfast. I pick it up and unwrap it. I have no idea what it is, but it's greasy with an egg and bacon in between what looked like two syrup infused pancakes with a curvy letter "M" branded in the top. It's not large, but I can only eat half of it. I'll eat the other half tomorrow.

Yes, the breakfast sandwich Bucky ate was a McDonalds thing. I can't remember what they're called though. Anyways, I hope you all liked this chapter, and I hope to see you again soon for Chapter 9!