The Hunt

Chapter 7 - Stories

"Got you, Timber."

Striker said, pinning me down on the concrete and beginning to cuff my wrists behind my back.

Well, it worked.

My simple plan to turn myself in worked.

But why wouldn't it work? He wants me, so he got me. Simple plan. Easy. Toddlers could accomplish the same thing.

Striker lifted me off of the ground and didn't bother to try and carry me bridal style of anything, he just shoved me on my broken shoes to the side of the plane and tossed me in, and starting it up as if I wasn't there.

It's like he just went grocery shopping.

Sitting up to adjust myself, I propped my head up to look out the window, grunting against the gag and fighting the straps from the seatbelt.

Letting out a bit of a bewildered breath, I watched as a familiar car seemed to catch up to the plane, drifting to a stop. Guilt was creeping up my spine as Rocori's unmistakable figure leapt out of the car, stopping the traffic going both ways but she didn't care. Her eyes were full of fear, anger and anxiety.

We weren't so high off of the ground yet, and I could barely just hear her yell in the distance over the whirring propellers; "FUCK! YOU IDIOT!" Her scream of anger echoed in my ears for a few minutes, watching the city of Arcana fade behind me as he was taking me nowhere East.

Nowhere east?

I started protesting against the gag, and he was visibly agitated to take it off; he still held it in his hand ready to put it back. "We passed the prison." I brought the salvia back to my mouth and reset my jaw.

"I know." Striker said blankly. Sheesh. I hope he doesn't have some creepy torture chamber or something that he's gonna take me to.

I was still silent afterwards, becoming lost in a haze by the cloudy view blocking my vision for any idea of where we were going.

He didn't bother putting the gag back in after understanding my silence for about three minutes, and he shifted in his seat.

"Hazel, can you turn on the radio please?" I flinched when he started talking, trying to turn my head around to the backseat. Who the hell was Hazel? Mother? Sister? Cousin?

Girlfriend?

Moments after, he pressed a few buttons on a little keypad in front of him and the music started to play.

A hyper 80's song rattled my bones with the bass-line, but all of this was a little suspicious.

"I am truly sorry, Timber." Striker sighed, seeming to go on autopilot. I turned to face him, puzzled.

In a flash, my world seemed to start fading black and my eyelids felt heavier than the plane itself. With a whine, my head became jello and I lost consciousness.

•

Zapping awake to the sound of a screeching chair being moved, I darted my head around to try and understand where I was — only resulting in a headache.