Snippet #1626894

Brandon sat in the cab of the rusted truck that no one had taken any liking for. It was cozy, protection from the wind, and no one could see you if you laid on the seat. He couldn't remember much, all that he knew was that he was by the river when they came. He stayed put, there was nothing he could do any way. So now he sat in the cab of a truck, his machetes and hatchet lying on the dash. His favorite knive he spun in his hands. It was sharp, that was all he could testify for it; it was just a kitchen knife after all.

Someone was coming, he slid down father in the seat, no need for them to find his hiding place. The bed rocked, someone climbed in the back and settled down. He waited a few minutes, and finally poked his head over the back. It was that girl... He thought he had seen her before, he didn't remember. He slid back down into the seat, grabbed his weapons, and readjusted the scarf he wore over his nose and mouth.

Another girl was coming. What was it that attracted so many people to a rusting truck? She dropped her bag at the front, moving to the bed. She sat down as well. He sat up, he was done caring. The new girl started yelling.

He opened the door, the hinges squealing, he slid to the ground, his bare feet crunching on the loose gravel. He slammed the door shut, walked to the bed of the truck, and looked in.