Outcasts {ic}

Derek was checking the load of his handgun. It was a 2nd generation Glock 32, a compact Glock chambered in .357 Sig Sauer with 10 or 13-round magazines and an accessory rail, though he didn't need it, or have accessories to put on it in the firstplace. He first ensured there was a round in the chamber, then ejected the magazine and loaded one more round into it to make 14 rounds total. He had always loved guns; when he was a little boy, his uncle had taken him on a field day that included over 20 guns they shot from dusk til dawn, then shot tracer rounds at night. That was a good day, he thought to himself.
He had brought several guns with him on this trip. In his bag, he had a full-sized USP in .45, a dual-toned M1911A1 in .45, and a Mossberg 500 'Cruiser' shotgun in 10-gauge, plus a ton of ammunition he had acquired over the years (not to mention the shit he had hidden out at the land). He mostly had your standard .45 FMJ rounds, but he did make sure to pack a few magazines with jacketed hollow points, just in case it came down to it. He also had about 100 10-gauge shells of buckshot and 50 slugs for assurance. If that wasn't enough, he had stashed his personal favorite weapon at the land: an AR-15 assault weapon chambered for 5.56x45. It had tactical accessories like one couldn't believe; an off-brand flashlight, an Aimpoint red dot sight interchangeable with a long-distance 4x scope, and an assortment of high-capacity drum magazines with regular magazines dispersed along an airsoft vest (it was way cheaper than the real thing). He had been collecting these things for three years whilst working at the local pizza place, and now, if the time called for it, he would be ready.
Suddenly, he heard one of the girls in the back ask to go to the bathroom. He considered not even replying to keep them wondering; maybe it would scare them a bit. Suddenly, the urge to say something overcame the non-existent fear factor. He turned around in the cab and banged on the back wall, near the cargo area of the van. He made sure to make his voice nice and loud so they could hear him.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP. IF WE STOP, WE ARE EXECUTING THE NEXT PERSON THAT TALKS RIGHT THERE."

Kappie sighed softly, resisting the urge to smack Derek in the face. Instead she looked up through her curtain of pink hair. "Do you have to yell so loudly?" she asked, in her ever soft voice. "I already have a headache and, even though the thought of executing someone is enlightening, I don't have the brain power to contemplate such a task." And there it was. Her logic talk that mostly got her in trouble with people. Mainly the cheerleaders, who, in her opinion, couldn't understand anything besides the occasional highlight and the word money.

Kevin's iPod was blasting in his ears, as his fingers tapped against the steering wheel to the beat of the song that was playing. He had been driving for almost twelve straight hours, and couldn't resist yawning as he saw the sun rising. He realized that he had reached their exit, and turned the van off of the highway. It took him a few minutes to steer down the correct road, and when he was sure he was on it he pulled the earbuds from his ears.

Just as he glanced backwards to tell the others that they were almost there, Derek began to scream about executing the hostages. A smirk fell onto Kevin's face, as he was sure that one of them had said something while he was listening to music that had pissed Derek off. He was a cool guy; one of the few people that Kevin got along with. Kappie asked Derek if he could resist the urge to scream like that again, and Kevin laughed softly.

"Don't worry guys, we're here. Now we can relax and let the fun begin," he said, turning his attention back to the dirt road that he had turned down. The long and narrow road lead to a white gate, and after punching a code into the lock box, it slid open and Kevin drove through, watching as the electronic gates clicked shut behind them. That took care of anyone get in or off of the property without the password number. They would never be able to escape, and the plantation was located in the middle of nowhere, so Kevin doubted that they would be having many unannounced visitors.

He looked around at the green fields that were all theirs, and would soon be the workingplaces of the girls that they had captured. Tobacco, corn and wheat were already growing on the property, along with marijuana, leaving them self-sufficent enough to rarely have to leave the property.

He slowed the car as he pulled infront of the house- a large white home, that looked similar to a barn. It was nice looking though, with a wrap-around porch in the front but the white paint was chipping, and Kevin decided that they would have to get the girls to work on that too.

"Home sweet home," he said with a grin, flashing a sinister smile towards the others. "Let's unload 'em now. I call I get the runner," he said, referring to Scarlet as he hopped out of the car and moved towards the back of the van, pulling the doors open and grabbing the girl. She was thin enough for him to easily lift and hold over his shoulder. "What's your name again, runner?"