"Fuck off, all of you!" She shouted.
What followed was a mass sound of people loading rounds into chambers, pumping their shotguns, and turning off the safety settings on their Kalashnikovs. She thought they were going to kill her for her outburst, but that turned out not to be the case.
Nell was shoved aside roughly, and she fell to the ground like the incapacitated bundle of limbs she was. When she heard the men around her turn away, she contorted herself and used the ground to scrape the hood off of her head.
They were in a heavily wooded area, and it was almost dusk. There were tents set up haphazardly, and the vehicles around ranged from an old Dodge Neon to a Hummer. She had come out of the Hummer.
The men, for the most part, were wearing helmets with tinted visors, so the girl could not see their faces. Two of the men had taken their helmets off. One was younger than the other. He was a black man with regal features and serious eyes. The other was a middle-aged Irish guy with a red face damaged by years of hard sun exposure. His gray eyes were weary from too much television and too little sleep, and all of the wrinkles on his face suggested a predisposition to frowning.
The black man put his helmet on in one swift motion and raised his rifle, scanning the area carefully. "Better put your helmet on, Red," he said in a cautious tone. Nell recognized it as the voice of the Non-Enemy. The Irish guy grunted and followed the advice.
Nell couldn't tell what had caused the sudden change in the group's behavior, but she was glad that their attention was no longer focused on her. Of course, she was still essentially immobilized.
The Neon, a few yards away, suddenly lurched and flipped onto its side, where it balanced precariously. The men opened fire into it, obviously meaning to shoot through the compact car at the target behind it. Good luck with that, Nell thought.
What followed was a mass sound of people loading rounds into chambers, pumping their shotguns, and turning off the safety settings on their Kalashnikovs. She thought they were going to kill her for her outburst, but that turned out not to be the case.
Nell was shoved aside roughly, and she fell to the ground like the incapacitated bundle of limbs she was. When she heard the men around her turn away, she contorted herself and used the ground to scrape the hood off of her head.
They were in a heavily wooded area, and it was almost dusk. There were tents set up haphazardly, and the vehicles around ranged from an old Dodge Neon to a Hummer. She had come out of the Hummer.
The men, for the most part, were wearing helmets with tinted visors, so the girl could not see their faces. Two of the men had taken their helmets off. One was younger than the other. He was a black man with regal features and serious eyes. The other was a middle-aged Irish guy with a red face damaged by years of hard sun exposure. His gray eyes were weary from too much television and too little sleep, and all of the wrinkles on his face suggested a predisposition to frowning.
The black man put his helmet on in one swift motion and raised his rifle, scanning the area carefully. "Better put your helmet on, Red," he said in a cautious tone. Nell recognized it as the voice of the Non-Enemy. The Irish guy grunted and followed the advice.
Nell couldn't tell what had caused the sudden change in the group's behavior, but she was glad that their attention was no longer focused on her. Of course, she was still essentially immobilized.
The Neon, a few yards away, suddenly lurched and flipped onto its side, where it balanced precariously. The men opened fire into it, obviously meaning to shoot through the compact car at the target behind it. Good luck with that, Nell thought.
