Snippet #1394626

As the men dismounted and headed towards his comandeered car Jeffers felt his heart sink. Any hope he'd had of a peaceful negotiation crumbled as he saw the weapons and the handcuffs. He considered once again the possibilty of a fight. His revolver, now tucked down the back of his jeans, had three round left. If he was steady enough he could take the two as they neared and then hit the gas. But the thought again didn't last long, he was outnumbered and outmatched. So, with a sigh, he waited for them to arrive and listened to their orders. Only nodding in agreement, he stood on the seat, crouched low, and stepped back between the front seats to let himself fall onto his rump in the back, praying silently that his gun wouldn't go off and leave him minus an ass-cheek. He hoped they wouldn't search him and find his only realistically effective weapon and he was lucky enough in that respect. But he was unlucky enough to be cuffed to the headrest in front of him. This of course left him unable to sit down with any back support and he knew an uncomfortable journey loomed ahead. If he could even stand after half an hour of this it would be a miracle. He could of course perch himself on the edge of the back seat but the risk of the gun making an appearance was too much. Whatever good it may have been was far more than it would be now. Any chance of escape now was out of the question. It was possibly the worst punishment a man could receive in these times; if a member of the walking dead that was the population of the world now managed to get inside the car he was screwed. Chances were he was screwed anyway, but he tried to keep that thought away from the front of his mind.

As the car started and the bikes revved as if signalled, the radio was switched on by the driver. The channel was still set to Radio Truth and just as a song was finishing, the host began a small monologue, instantly delving into a problem reported to him by listeners. The problem of a rogue motorcylcle gang. "Thanks for the warning Stan..." he muttered under his breath, starting to think that a risky maneuvre like ramming the bikes would have been more worthwhile, even if he had found himself dead before his time.

Before the driver or passenger could say anything to him he spoke up, questioning them this time. "Why are you taking me?" This was of course the first thing he wanted to know and a question they likely would have anticipated. Whether they would answer (With words or actions) he had no idea. In all honesty he hoped one of them would just take a whack at him with that bat and lay him out until they were done with him.