Chapter 3
Scott woke up at the crack of dawn to check his rabbit traps. He walked over to the one nearest him and found a rabbit twitching in excruciating pain, one of its hind legs, broken and mangled beyond recognition, trapped in the snare. Scott couldn't bear to see the poor animal in distress. So, looking away from what he was about to do, he snapped the neck of it like a twig. There was a sickening crunch, out of the ordinary compared to the seemingly happy, carefree morning birdsongs.
After Scott had collected the rest of the ensnared rabbits for his food supply, he headed back to his makeshift home. Suddenly, he stopped. He heard an abnormal sound, an electronic sound, behind him. He turned around and about 50 metres away he thought he saw a head quickly duck behind a tree. He carefully and quietly put the dead animals down on the ground and advanced to the tree. He crept the last 10 metres on tip-toes, not making a sound. He stalked quickly around the wide base of the tree once he arrived, but he could see nobody there. "It must have been my imagination," he thought to himself. He ran back to where he had left his rabbits but alas, they were gone! Scott wasn't sure what exactly was happening but knew something was going on, and he didn't like it.
Scott lived like that for a couple of days, constantly paranoid that something bad was going to happen. But nothing did, and his food supply was running out. He decided to walk to the outskirts of town, convinced that his drunk father would have reported Scott as missing. He began the long journey back into town, walking past the freshwater stream that had kept him going over the past few days, past the big old gnarled tree stump, past the wombat hole that he had spotted the day before.
Scott arrived on the outskirts of town half an hour later, and he walked to the nearest supermarket that he knew of. He walked in and bought lots of food, non-perishable stuff, for example cans of beans, tinned fruit, biscuits, etc. After he had collected all of the items he needed, he walked up to the check-out. The teenager shot me a questioning look, but said no more. Just as he was walking out of the supermarket he felt that strange feeling again. Scott could tell that something bad was going to happen but had no idea what. He started to walk back to where he had the place that he had made into a home, keeping a lookout for anything or anyone suspicious or abnormal.
"Give me your money!" the voice coming from immediately behind Scott demanded. Scott felt something sharp sticking into his back. He was in trouble and he knew it. He needed to do something unexpected and stupid to escape with his money. Either that or give in, and Scott wasn't one for giving in. Scott, in one motion, suddenly ducked and moved forwards, and then twisted around so he was lying on his back. In the blink of an eye, he fired off a two-footed kick into the robber's stomach. The assailant doubled over in pain while Scott jumped up and clubbed the anonymous figure on the back of the neck with both hands, knocking him to the ground. But just as Scott was turning to leave the robber grabbed Scott by the leg and dragged him down, before jumping on top of him and holding the knife right up to Scott's adams apple , limiting his movement. Scott responded by kneeing the attacker in the groin. The assailant yelped in pain and rolled off Scott, while he used this advantage to snatch the knife off the robber. Scott then jumped up and sprinted away, leaving the attacker lying on the ground, cringing in pain.
As soon as Scott's home was within sight Scott knew something was wrong. As he walked cautiously forwards he could pick out more and more detail, like the sleek, black, powerful four-wheel drive standing next to his shelter. When he got closer he could pick out two gaunt, serious people dressed in dark suits and mirrored sunglasses. As he walked slowly up to them, the lady standing on the right spoke to him.
"Scott Phoenix?"
"Yeah," Scott replied, curious and apprehensive to why they were there.
"I am Mrs. Smith, and this is Mr. Johnson. We work for the A.S.S, short for the Australian Secret Service."
