1 Sensor

Chapter one of the short story for my ICP school project. Chapter is short.

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SENSOR

 

The Driver sighs as he parks the van and opens the door. He looks around briefly to make sure that all the fatties are there.

   Just up ahead of the van three men patiently wait, their heads facing toward ground. They all hold a large thick rope that connects back to the bumper bar. To the side a young girl is staring off into the distance, no expression on her worn face. Her eyes are bloodshot and dry, her cheeks puffy. She can’t be much older than eighteen. In one of her hands she’s gripping a sand belt with a small parcel placed on it; in the other clenching tightly a small, drained water bottle.

   A large woman just behind the van lies on the road. A rope is loose beside her, connecting to the bumper bar also. The Driver walks over to her and kneels down, inspecting her condition.

   Her once white shirt has been torn in countless places through the aid of the whip he keeps, blood has soaked it through. A trickle of blood pours from her nose, joining the small pool beside her face. He grabs her cheeks violently and pulls her jaw down, opening her mouth. Blood spills out onto the desert road and he thinks he can hear faint breathing. You can never be sure. The Driver leaves her there and heads over to the back of the van. He’ll come back to her later.

   The compartment key in his pocket meets the outside world for the first time that morning as he unlocks and unbolts the doors, bringing in light to the remaining deliverers. He looks at them all stoically, motioning to one of them a get out gesture with his hand. But instead another one abruptly darts out into the open plain, racing for their freedom. The Driver grunts, slams the door behind him and starts chasing the escapee.

   ‘Quickly! Wait here,’ one of the slaves’ cries out, throwing the door opening and rushing to the front of the van. ‘I’ll drive.’

   Hopping into the driver’s seat she motions to the three men to hop in the back; the teenage girl watching all this in shock, an empty look still upon her face, cannot move. ‘Hurry up!’ the woman screeches at her, switching the car into drive.

   The Driver hears the van start up and stops his chase, cursing under his breath, turning to look back at the van – the sand belt is unguarded (the package still in its place). As the van begins to speed up he ignites, running toward it at an intimidating speed. He halts as he remembers ‘Driver 101’. He just watches, a smile forming on his face.

   BANG! The weight sensor triggers; an explosion from under the seat splitting the black van open. Debris rains down. The Driver smirks as what is left of the van is engulfed by flame and smoke. Taking his radio out he relays the message: ‘I’ll need a hunting team, there’s a run away. I’ll also need a new van.’

   Fortunately the package goes unscathed. The Driver walks over to the woman on the ground, she hasn’t moved. He crouches down and puts his ear up against her mouth – he can still hear her breathing. When the new van arrives he’ll have to move her over to the side of the road, douse her in gasoline, and strike a match.

Author's Note

Writing style and flow criticism. Word choice suggestions?