I like the prologue!  One question, why is it called "Wilderness Alpha"?  Maybe this is just me, but Wilderness Alpha makes me think of wolves.  Changing the title (just from looking at the prologue) might be a good idea.  Keep up the good work!  *virtually high-fives another eleven-year-old writer*

So, here's Chapter One and I hope you guys like it . . . feel free to comment etc.

Chapter One
Matt

The day I walked into a stranger’s car was the day that led to all of this trouble. I know. My parents always told me to stay out of peoples’ cars. But everything was different that day. Mind letting me just explain?
Jefferson Middle School was pretty normal. Red brick. Dusty desks. Windows that could really use a cleaning. Words scratched on desks. My desk has three messages: One that says Property of Griffin, one that says C + J in a heart. A third one that I cover with my textbook because it should probably be censored. Anyway. Wandering. Sorry. It’s the new instincts. Always on the lookout for prey. Always ready for danger. Actually, now I’m getting way ahead of myself. You’ll understand. Blame the instincts.
Anyway, when I left school, it was a normal day in Carla Beach, California. Warm. Sunny. Kids walking. Blue sky. Gray sidewalk. Drivers. Cars. Had enough sentence fragments? I like them. They generate suspense. They make me sound clipped and probably a lot cooler than I really am. I’m just your average middle school loner. I play soccer and basketball, but I never connected with the kids on my team. I never made friends with the kids at school either. Actually, I never had any friends, until after that day.
There was a line of cars outside the school, parents waiting for their children. I looked for my mom’s car. Minivan. Blue Honda. License plate, 5BX6—
Someone calling my name. I look around. It’s not my mom. It’s a man in a rumpled shirt, with dusty hair and a beard. He looks like a dad. He looks like my dad, I guess. I also have ash-blond hair, clipped short. Brown eyes. No beard yet, but that’s to be expected.
It’s not my dad. Yes, but he is calling my name. Curiosity compels me. Curiosity killed the cat. Curiosity killed Matt, too. I walk over to him. “What are you doing? I don’t know you.”
“Hi, Matt.”
“You’re not my dad. Do you have the wrong kid?”
“No. Don’t you think I know my own kid?” He grins. I step back. “Stop fooling with me. Get in.” I take another step back.
Things were starting to feel weird. I opened my mouth to call attention to my situation, but  the man leaned over. It probably looked like a hug from someone else’s point of view. But I could feel the cold metal pressing against the side of my head. My neck prickled.
“Get in the car,” he whispered in my ear. “Or your brains get blown onto the sidewalk.”
Before I could even think about yelling,  his hand clamped over my mouth. His fingers were like pliers. I struggled. All I managed was a muffled grunt.
“That’s better,” he whispers. “I always liked quiet children.”
Well, I knew I was being kidnapped, but what was I supposed to do? He held all the aces. The gun. The car. My mouth. The sidewalk was nearly empty. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away. I was not going to show weakness in front of this stranger.
I got in the car.
“Good boy,” says the man, resuming his fatherly attitude. “Let’s get home.”
He revs the engine and drives away. The ride is short, only five minutes or so. Carla Beach speeds past. Sun. People. Kids, coming home from school mostly. Houses. We stop in a parking garage. He turns off the car.
Before I can tell what’s going on, he grabs his beard and pulls it off. A fake beard. Then he pulls off the wig he’s wearing and slips colored contact lenses out of his eyes. He looks totally different now. He has black hair worn to shoulder level, hard, ice-blue eyes, and a clean-shaven chin. He unbuttons his shirt to reveal a black suit.
I am dealing with professionals.
He puts the car keys into his pocket. “Step out of the car.”
I do as I’m told.
“Good boy.” He grins. His voice has changed, too. He has an English accent. “Follow me.”
I do. Up three flights of stairs, amid the smell of oil and stale cigars. We stop at  a different car. Sports car. Red. Ferrari? I can’t help being impressed, but I don’t say anything.
“Get in.” A man of few words, many of them monosyllabic. He pulls a new set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the car. The back seats are leather, I think. I get in. I have to twist my legs to the side because there’s no room.
The man doesn’t do anything to ease my discomfort. Instead he backs out of the parking space. I can feel the car’s engine humming beneath my feet. Smooth. Powerful. Like a jungle cat, waiting to pounce. The simile does not help my feeling of apprehension.
“How long are you going to keep me?”
“No talking.” His eyes are focused on the garage ramp. His hands remain glued to the steering wheel.
Could I escape somehow? As a test, I lowered a hand to the seatbelt buckle. He points the gun back over his seat. “Don’t even think it.”
I jerk to the side. The gun moves to the side with me. I curse silently. The rearview mirror, Matt. Pay more attention.
The car exits the garage. The traffic seems to part around us, like the waters of the Red Sea parting around Moses. I can sense the power of the car. We’re doing fifty on a crowded street, easy. But the car is pulling at the reins. This is a vehicle that laughs at speed limits. I wince. No escaping from this thing. I am proved right when we turn off onto a country road.
The man presses on the pedal. The engine goes from fifty to a hundred in three seconds and climbs past that to a hundred and forty. Even though I was forced into this car, the speed is exhilarating. The road is a blur. I manage to ask, “Do you always drive this fast?”
He turns. He does not smile.                         
“I don’t speed for fun. But you’re a special case.”
Sometimes, special is not a great word to hear.

After only a short wait, here's Chapter 2. I don't have a lot to do, so I've been working like a maniac. My previous prediction of a week may be a little high. Expect delays of 2-3 days from now on . . . unless I actually get a life and decide to do something.

Anyway...here goes

Chapter 2
Molly

Hi. I’m Molly. Nice to meet you. If you’re reading this, you’re not dead just yet, so you may live to see the end of the world as we know it. Congratulations on that. Maybe I’ll see you sometime when we’re all gathered in a post-apocalyptic world trying to fend off a gang of evil mutants. Including Ender, who . . .
Oh, right. You don’t know about that yet. Forget what I just said. Anyway, the day I got kidnapped was hot. (What else is new? It’s Arizona.) And dry. (Ditto.) Had enough description yet? English was always my weak spot. My teacher last year said I needed more imagination. “Use a thesaurus,” she advised. “Spark up your vocabulary.” I told her where she could stick her thesaurus, giving an example of my very colorful vocabulary. She told me I would see her at detention after school for the next two weeks.
My mom says it’s always my mouth that gets me in trouble. It wasn’t this time. It was totally not my fault.
I had just walked out of school—Truman Middle School of Red Sands—when my best (Read: only) friend, Lexie, pulls me aside.
“What’s up?”
“I’ve got something to tell you.” She looks nervous. Really nervous. “Follow me.”
“Why do I have to follow you? Can’t you tell me here?”
“Please, Molly.” She looks like she was possibly about to cry. I hate crying. I follow her. She takes me behind the school to the dinky little lot full of weeds and cracked mud. All the way to the very edge, where we were hidden behind some scrub. “What’s up?” I ask again. “And why’d you pull me all the way out here?”
She leans close to me and whispers in my ear, “I’m sorry, Molly. They made me do it.”
“What?” I lean back. “What are you talking about?”
Then I find out.
Two hands reach from behind and trap me in a powerful headlock. I try to jerk away, but my captor’s grip is too strong. He could snap my neck with one twist of his arms. I swing my fist back over my shoulder. It connects only with air.
“Lexie, help!”
She’s crying.
“Come on, sweetheart,” says a gruff voice near my left ear. “Cooperate.”
In response, I bite his forearm.
His grip tightens, but he doesn’t make a sound. “No biting.”
I try to headbutt him in the chin, but he jerks his head to the side. His hand clamps around my neck. I struggle for breath. “Help! Lexie!” She just sobs and shakes her head.
The man drags me toward the road. His hands grate on my neck. I gulp like a fish out of water. (For once, when I’m being choked to death, my descriptions are nice and vivid.)
I manage a grunt in Lexie’s direction, one final plea for assistance, but she’s crying too hard to help.
I know where the man is taking me. Behind the trees is a small, winding road. It is always empty except for the occasional pedestrian. I can see the black bulk of a car behind the trees. An SUV. Great. Just what I need. A big armored car to take me away.
I thrash. He releases me, but only to shove me into the car. I spin around, but the door is already shut. He jumps in the passenger side. A driver is waiting, just as big and burly as my captor. I get my first look at them.
They are both huge, swelling with muscle and attitude. The first—the one who had grabbed me—had his head shaved. He is wearing a white shirt with the sleeves ripped off. The second is dressed more formally, in a white shirt with a tie. He has a dark buzz cut like a shadow on his scalp and coffee-brown skin. He wears black wraparound shades. A thick Rolex is strapped around his wrist.
He punches the accelerator. I try the door.
My captor leers back over his seat. “Childproof locks, sweetie. Don’t bother.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Nowhere special.”
“Am I ever gonna see my family again?”
“No more questions.”
I swear at him and turn to look out the window.
The drive is short, but it feels like an eternity trapped in the car with the two men. Red Sands zooms by. Then actual red sand. The driver stops the car and the two men step out.
“Now,” says my captor as he opens my door, “The road ends here, so we’re going to walk. Cooperate or I’ll be forced to shoot you.” He pats his waistband. I feel sick. “What are you going to do with me?”
“We’re taking you on a little trip.”
“I’m just a kid!”
He smirks. He has perfect teeth. “We’re getting paid to take you. Nothing personal, sweetie.”
I almost cry, but change my mind. Now is not the time for tears. Now is the time for wishing really hard I knew karate, or kung fu, because maybe if I wished hard enough I could learn by osmosis. Yeah, right.
“What about Lexie?”
“The girl?”
“Yeah.”
He sighed. “Easily frightened. We threatened her.”
“You’re sick.”
He smirks again. “I’m just doing my job.”
The driver has not said a word. Now his full impressive size looms over me. “Look, kid. It’s not my fault we’re kidnapping you. We get paid to shut up and do what we’re told. No small amount, either. So it would be best for both of us if you just got real quiet and followed us like a puppy.”
I spit at him.
The first guy frowns. “Temper, temper.”
“Just walk.” The driver positions himself behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders. Before I know what’s happening he wraps a thick cloth blindfold over my eyes. I can’t see a thing.
“What are you doing?”
“Just a precaution,” the man calmly explains. “We don’t want you retracing our path. The place we’re taking you is highly secretive.”
“Take it off!”
“We can’t. Now. Eagle is going to walk in front of you to make sure you stay in line. I’m going to walk behind you and guide you. Don’t get any ideas.”
“Why would I get ideas?” I ask innocently.
“You’re a little fighter,” he says.
I concede with silence. He’s right.

So, there you go. Feel free to commence with the torches/pitchforks/cruel critiques. I'm ready. (For the torches and pitchforks, that is. Not the cruel critiques, pathetic soul that I am.)

Expect Chapter 3 shortly.

Okay, here we go. Chapters 1 and 2, take two. @ admin, hope this isn't too long. You can only post part of it if you have to.

Chapter One

The day Matt walked into a stranger’s car was the day that led to all of the trouble. Matt knew to stay out of peoples’ cars. His parents had always told him to. But everything was different that day.
Jefferson Middle School was pretty normal. Red brick, dusty desks, and windows that could really use a cleaning. Words scratched on desks.
When Matt left school, it was a normal day in Carla Beach, California. Warm and sunny. Kids walking. Blue sky. Gray sidewalk, drivers, cars. Nobody was talking to Matt. He was just your average middle school loner. He played soccer and basketball, but he never connected with the kids on his team. He had never had any friends at all until after that day.
There was a line of cars outside the school, parents waiting for their children. Matt looked for his mom’s car. Minivan. Blue Honda. License plate, 5BX6—
Someone was calling his name. He looked around. It wasn’t his mom. It was a man in a rumpled shirt, with dusty hair and a beard. He looked like a dad. He looked like Matt’s dad, actually. Matt also had ash-blond hair, clipped short. Brown eyes. No beard yet, but that was to be expected.
It was not his dad. Yes, but he was calling Matt's name. Curiosity compelled him. Curiosity was his downfall. Matt walked over to the man. “What are you doing? I don’t know you.”
“Hi, Matt.”
“You’re not my dad. Do you have the wrong kid?”
“No. Don’t you think I know my own kid?” He grinned. Matt stepped back. “Stop fooling with me. Get in.” Matt took another step back.
Things were starting to feel weird. Matt opened his mouth to call attention to his situation, but  the man leaned over. It probably looked like a hug from someone else’s point of view. But Matt could feel the cold metal pressing against the side of his head. His neck prickled.
“Get in the car,” the man whispered in Matt’s ear. “Or your brains get blown onto the sidewalk.”
Before Matt could even think about yelling, the man’s hand clamped over his mouth. The man’s fingers were like pliers. Matt struggled. All he managed was a muffled grunt.
“That’s better,” the man whispered. “I always liked quiet children.”
Matt knew he was being kidnapped, but what was he supposed to do? His captor held all the aces: The gun. The car. Matt’s mouth. The sidewalk was nearly empty. Tears pricked the corners of Matt’s eyes, but he blinked them away. He was not going to show weakness in front of this stranger.
He got in the car.
“Good boy,” said the man, resuming his fatherly attitude. “Let’s get home.”
He revved the engine and drove away. The ride was short, only five minutes or so. Carla Beach sped past. Sun, people, kids; coming home from school mostly. Houses. The car stopped in a parking garage. The man turned off the car.
Before Matt could tell what was happening, the man grabbed his beard and pulled it off. It was a fake beard. Then he pulled off the wig he was wearing and slipped colored contact lenses out of his eyes. He looked totally different. He had black hair worn to shoulder level, hard, ice-blue eyes, and a clean-shaven chin. He unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a black suit.
Matt was dealing with professionals.
The man put the car keys into his pocket. “Step out of the car.”
Matt did as he was told.
“Good boy.” The man grinned. His voice had changed, too. He had an English accent. “Follow me.”
Matt did follow him, up three flights of stairs, amid the smell of oil and stale cigars. They stopped at  a different car. A red sports car. Ferrari, maybe? Matt couldn’t help being impressed, but he didn’t say anything.
“Get in.” Matt’s captor was a man of few words, many of them monosyllabic. He pulled a new set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the car. The back seats were leather. Matt got in. He had to twist his legs to the side because there was no room.
The man didn’t do anything to ease Matt’s discomfort. Instead he backed out of the parking space. Matt could feel the car’s engine humming beneath his feet. Smooth, powerful. Like a jungle cat, waiting to pounce. The simile did not help his feeling of apprehension.
“How long are you going to keep me?”
“No talking.” The man’s eyes stayed focused on the garage ramp. His hands remained glued to the steering wheel.
Could Matt escape somehow? As a test, he lowered a hand to the seatbelt buckle. His captor  pointed the gun back over his seat. “Don’t even think about it.”
Matt jerked to the side. The gun moved to the side with him. He cursed silently. The rearview mirror. Pay more attention.
The car exited the garage. The traffic seemed to part around the car, like the waters of the Red Sea parting around Moses. Matt could sense the power of the car. They were doing fifty on a crowded street, easy. But the car was pulling at the reins. It was a vehicle that laughed at speed limits. Matt winced. No escaping from this thing. Matt was proved right when they turned off onto a country road.
The man pressed on the pedal. The engine went from fifty to a hundred in three seconds and climbed steadily past that to a hundred and forty. Even though Matt had been forced into the car, the speed was exhilarating. The road was a blur. He managed to ask, “Do you always drive this fast?”
The man turned. He did not smile.                         
“I don’t speed for fun. But you’re a special case.”
Sometimes, special is not a great word to hear, Matt thought.

Chapter 2

As dusk approached, the sports car took them out of Carla Beach and into a kind of abandoned countryside. Fields, small farms. That kind of thing. They turned off onto a rutted dirt path. Crops blurred on either side as they bounced past. The car turned in at the farmhouse driveway, next to the barn.
Immediately, Matt noticed what was different.
It was like the puzzles little kids do: Find ten things wrong with this scene. There weren’t ten, but there were enough. Two cameras, mounted surreptitiously at strategic locations. Alarms, concealed beneath the eaves.
The barn door was painted red-and-white, classically decorated. But on the side, concealed from view by the main road, was an electronic keypad. The man got out and punched in a code. The barn door swung open—no, it retracted into the roof like a portcullis.
The man opened the door of the sports car and led Matt out. “Don’t try anything,” the man said.
“Don’t worry. I won’t.” It was true.
On the inside, the barn and farmhouse were connected to form a much larger space. The inside walls were lined with metal and the floor was cold concrete. A helicopter was waiting for them.
The man pushed a button and the barn door shut. The room was clad in darkness for a moment before harsh fluorescent lights fastened to the ceiling flickered on.
The helicopter was black as tar—it would be nearly invisible against the backdrop of the night sky—and sleek. It reminded Matt of the sports car; built for speed. The windshield was heavily tinted. There was no registration number. The only marking on the copter was a silver diamond at the front.
“Get in.”
“How are we going to get out of the building?”
“Get in.” The door slid open.
In the back there were two seats, side by side. Matt slid into one and buckled himself in. His captor climbed into the pilot’s seat.
He drove a Ferrari over one hundred miles per hour and now he was piloting a helicopter. Matt was not enthusiastic.
He was surprisingly calm. During the drive, things had resolved themselves for him. He saw the events with clarity. He was being kidnapped. He did not know why, how, who, or where. Sure, it was scary, but he was able to feel like it was simple. The best, and easiest, thing to do was to cooperate.                                                                        The man pressed a button. A humming sounded all around them.
Hidden hydraulics in the walls did their work. Slowly, the roof began to retract, folding down into the walls. Matt couldn’t suppress a gasp. How much the place must have cost, he couldn’t imagine.
“Like it?” asked the man without turning around. He slipped on a pair of goggles.
Without waiting for an answer, he lifted off. In the few minutes they had been inside the barn, the night sky had darkened to blackness. Matt couldn’t see a thing. He wondered if the man could see where they were going.
As if he had read Matt’s mind, the man tapped his goggles. “Night vision,” he said. “Trust me, I can see where we’re going. Don’t worry. I’m a licensed pilot.”
Matt doubted that, but he didn’t say anything.
He could practically feel the cold night air whipping past, the stars blurring into streaks of light. He couldn’t help but start to feel drowsy, but he force himself to stay wide awake. No way was he falling asleep in a helicopter with a stranger. Who knew where he’d wake up.
But the ride was so long he eventually fall asleep.

ϠϠϠ

When he woke up, he at first panicked, then realized he was still in the helicopter. The man was hunched over the controls. He had taken off the night vision goggles, so Matt could see the bags under his eyes.
It was morning, so Matt had slept through the night. That also meant they had been flying for a while. Matt peered out the window and felt a sudden surge of vertigo. They were thousands of feet up above nothing but cold, unforgiving ocean.
The sun was on the horizon, like an egg yolk balanced on the edge of a big blue table, just before it spills over and fills the world with light. It was beautiful. Matt turn the pilot to see if he was absorbing the sight. He couldn’t tell.
“Hey,” Matt said. “Are you going to fall asleep and crash the helicopter?”
Matt’s captor shook his head. “No. Intensive training. I could stay awake long enough to pilot this copter around the world.”
“Are we going around the world? Sure feels like it.”
“Nope.”
Matt saw something approaching ahead. It just looked like a line, a faint border, like in a kid’s paint-by-numbers. As the border approached, he could see green, then trees.
“Where is this?”
“Western Europe.”
The guy was crazy, Matt thought. “How much longer?”
“ ’Bout four hours. Sit down.”
True, he was kidnapping Matt, but he was acting friendly enough (for a kidnapper). Matt sat down. “Where are we going?”
“United Kingdom.”
“England?”
“London.”
“Where in London?”
“Enough questions.”
He’d given Matt enough answers, too. He wished he had a cell phone with him. I could text my parents, he thought. Then again, they would get to London about sixteen hours too late, by which time Matt would be gone. And, judging from the professionalism of his captor and his captor’s colleagues, completely hidden.
Great.
Hours passed inside the helicopter. Matt judged time by the sun, which he watched lift from the horizon, like a swollen hot-air balloon. It floated slowly up into the sky, which changed from red to a bright azure blue. Eventually he switched his gaze to the ground below. Water rushed by underneath. “Where are we now?”
“English Channel.”
“Close?”
“Yes.”
Thirty more minutes passed. It should probably have been more, but the sleek helicopter was incredibly fast. Faster than some jet planes, even. Matt could see patches of gray speeding below them.
Matt tapped the man’s shoulder. “Um, that’s London, there.”
“We’re not landing in London.”
“You said we were.”
“Near London. Not in the city.”
The gray buildings passed and the ground morphed to green again. Trees. Fields. He began to slow down.
As the helicopter circled lower and lower, Matt could see the contours of a small building amidst the trees. It was only visible if you were looking for someplace to land. As they dropped still lower, he could make out a helipad on the roof.
They set down.
The man opened the door. A woman was waiting. She was a little overweight, with dark, curly hair down to her shoulders. She was wearing a white lab coat, a white shirt, and black pants. Wraparound shades hid her eyes from Matt.
“Thank you. I’ll take him from here.”
The man nodded and gestured for Matt to step out. He did. The roof was cold and hard under his shoes. His arms and legs were ferociously cramped from the long ride. He took the opportunity to stretch while the man and woman talked. The woman was making notes on a small pad. She tucked it in the inside of her lab coat before turning to Matt.
“Hello, Matt.”
“Hello.” Matt regarded her suspiciously. She didn’t look strong, but she emanated malice.
“My name is Erin Swartz. I’m the head scientist here at Black Diamond Laboratories. I’ll be  interviewing you, then taking you to your residence.”
Head scientist? Laboratories? Kidnapped child? Every science-fiction/horror story Matt had ever read clamored for attention in his mind. Matt knew it wasn’t a story, though. They’d probably be testing some illegal drug or injection on him. Not that the thought of that wasn’t scary enough. But he tried to remain calm, and present a fearless face. “Cool.”
Her face remained expressionless. She didn’t respond. She led him over to a hatch in the roof, where he climbed down the metal ladder. Above him, Matt heard the quiet sound—like a whisper of wind, really—of the helicopter taking off.
Inside the “Black Diamond Laboratories,” the metal corridors were cold and empty. When they set off, the clicking of Mrs. Swartz’s high heels echoed loudly. Matt tried to peer into rooms they passed, but they were all too dark.
Mrs. Swartz led him into her office, a space-age/spartan type of place. Sparsely furnished, but what was there was cutting-edge.
Her desk was the exception. Wood and gold filigree. It was the desk of someone important who needed to feel more important. The computer on top, though, was no joke. Very thin. Glowing on the screen: a black diamond on a white background. It practically radiated power. The computer, not the diamond. A quiet, low humming came from under the desk.
A lamp. Not traditional, more . . . futuristic. As Mrs. Swartz sat down, she hit a button that turned on the lamp. A ball of white light floated about an inch away from the tip of the lamp, suspended in the air. It was impressive, but Matt purposely led his gaze away from it. As determined as she was to impress him, he was even more determined not to be impressed. Essentially, it was her who had kidnapped him. If not her, at least whoever she worked for.
“Okay, Matt. I’m going to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Shoot.”
“How old are you?”
“Do you already know?”
“Answer the question.”
“You knew my name.”
“Answer the question.” Matt could sense her getting frustrated, even though she was trying not to show it. He applauded silently.
“Thirteen.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“Yeah.”
“How many?”
“One younger sister. Maddie. Ten.”
“Who’s your best friend?”
“Um . . . can I get back to you on that?”
“No.”
“Well . . . I don’t really have friends.” Matt winced. It sounded even more pathetic said out loud than in his head.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Interesting.” She tapped something into her computer.
“Do you go by Matthew or Matt?”
“Matt.”
“Do you play sports?”
“Um . . . yeah. Soccer and basketball.”
She typed something else into her computer.
“Can I go now?”
“Yes. I’ll lead you to your cell . . . residence.”
Cell?
She got up and opened the door. Matt stepped out. The corridor seemed colder than before. Enough time had passed that he was already hungry. He realized he hadn’t had breakfast.
“We’ll get you lunch in a while,” Mrs. Swartz said, locking the door to her office. “In the meantime, let’s head to your residence.” Matt could tell she meant cell even if she didn’t say it.

So, there you go. 

Have at it with your red pens and scissors.  

I liked the first person better. I think you might be one of the few who can pull off the multiple-narrators thing, and when you switched to third person you lost 60% of the humor, which was in the first draft one of the things that really moved the story along. I think if you really don't want to pull the multiple-narrators thing, at least keep the first person. Without being able to get inside Matt's head, the story just gets boring.