Hunted || Wesari

Chapter Four: Ride

There was silence.

The purple-haired woman had rolled down the window, letting the cold wind blow through her hair and onto Wes' face. The two passengers in the front of the car weren't saying a word, keeping their eyes on the road.

After wiggling around in his restraints for a while, Wes gave up. He stared out the window, at the forest outside, wishing he could be running through it. For a while, the trees were familiar, from all the times he'd gone down this road on the motorcycle. It didn't take to long for them to look unfamiliar.

A tear rolled down his face. This had all happened so quickly. He couldn't believe that it had only been a day since he woke up. With Remina's death, figuring out he was immune, Keith's murder, and getting kidnapped, there was nothing Wes wanted to do more than curl up into a ball and sob. He hadn't felt this horribly since David had turned.

He needed to get out. Now.

His eyes racked the car, trying to find anything that could be of use to him. It was a small car, with very little room between the front and back seats. The leader had placed his guns on the dashboard, so there was no way Wes could reach those. There were a few knives in the cupholders, but those were too far away. From what he could see, there was nothing around him that could be of use.

Then his eyes trailed to the woman sitting next to him's pocket. The pocket that she had slipped the key into. It was a long shot, but he had to try.

Wes pulled his arms over his legs, so his hands were at the front of his body. He scooted closer to her, not really having a plan. Perhaps if he grabbed the baseball bat and hit her with it, he could grab it in the confusion, open the door, and slip out of the car. It was his best bet.

It happened faster than he could blink. Her hand shot to her side, and next thing he knew, she had stabbed the leather seat, barely a centimeter away from his hands. She hadn't even turned her head to look at him.

"Don't even think about it," She stated mundanely, pulling the blade out of the seat. The leader looked at them in the rear-view mirror, and chuckled. Wes' cheeks burned.

He inched away from her, and leaned against the door, feeling the vibrations through the car. He'd lost all hope of escaping the car. He sighed, defeatedly, and stared out the window. He felt like this would be the closest thing he'd get to freedom for a long time.

• • •

They'd been driving for an hour when they pulled off the highway.

Wes sat up, his interest peaked. It wasn't anything like the bumpy path leading to his camp; it was made of smooth concrete, just like the road.

They seemed to be in a small town. Run down houses passed by him quickly, barely giving him enough time to take in their appearances. However, Wes had seen enough boarded-up homes with graffiti spray painted on them and broken glass littering their yards to know what they looked like.

Still, it gave Wes an uneasy feeling. Seeing an urban area completely deserted gave him the chills. It just seemed so... unnatural, without all the people and cars. Like a forest filled completely with stumps, the trees long forgotten.

They kept driving, and Wes started to wonder where they were going. Cities weren't a good place for camps; they attracted attention, both from other survivors and infecteds. They were hard to protect, and hard to manage. Almost everyone avoided them, stragglers and groups alike.

To Wes' surprise, they drove out of the city as soon as they'd driven in. He looked out the front window, and instantly saw where they were going.

A large factory towered over them. It was a simple factory, a gray, rectangular shaped building with a few stacks lining the top, though they weren't releasing any smoke. As they got nearer, Wes noticed a fence around it, which was probably used in the time before to keep out trespassers. A few infecteds were clawing at it, and Wes watched as a young man walked over and started stabbing them through the chain links.