After The End: Alex Rider FanFiction

~Chapter Thirty-Four~

Mack's (POV)

Oh cheese and crackers!

The sound of a vehicles engine fills the night air, the rain only a mild sprinkle now.

I look up the hill we just crashed on....again!

I'm seriously starting to think rocks have it out for me.

I keep my eyes focused on the top of the large hill, trying to see if I can spot any lights.

It stays dark.

Relief spreads throughout me. Maybe they're still a good distance off?

That reminds me-

Guilt tightens in my chest.

Alex tried to tell me about this, but....I didn't believe him.

I hang my head. If only I'd taken a moment to think things over and process everything.

Then maybe, all this could've been avoided.

I jerk my head back up as I hear movement, wincing as it irritates my sore neck.

Alex walks over to the flipped truck, his face studying.

I grimace.

The truck.

It's laying on its roof, all the windows on the front completely broken, the front axle split in half.

It looks just peachy.

But I suppose this doesn't matter. You know, with a group of criminals back at the farm ransacking everything.

Helplessness grips my lungs, squeezing the air out of them.

Lucy and Don.

This...This was their life.

It's almost funny how quickly everything you know can be taken away from you.

In a heartbeat.

Polly walks over to the truck also, cradling her left arm in her right.

Moving to the back of the truck, she leans in, pulling out a small tan backpack.

Ah, good thinking.

The emergency backpack. It has a flashlight, a small medical kit, a blanket, a few granola bars, and few other odd things.

Good old Lucy keeps one in every vehicle.

Which I guess this is an example of when it would come in handy.

I frown, the taste of vomit still lingering in my mouth. Yup, it's going to be awhile before I get that taken care of.

I mean, what'd you expect my reaction to be after nearly getting shot, then rolling around in a big hunk of steal.

I'd say I took it rather well.

I sit back down, waiting to see what Alex is going to do. But mostly because my broken leg is starting to act up a little.

I stretch my bad leg out in the wet grass, messaging my leg through the soggy cast with my right hand.

My brows furrow as I feel strange bumps sticking out of the cast. I lean down. Using my finger, I pry one of the pieces out.