“Let go!” I say, choking. “For crying out loud!”

“What do you want?”

The blonde walks towards me, trailed by the kid with dark hair. They’re all high school age, no older then the guy currently using me as a stress ball. “Um…choking…can’t…talk,” I sputter, feeling my cheeks turn red.

“Drop her,” Blondie says.

The guy I affectionately dub “Choker,” in my head lets go. I stagger forward, gasping for air. “Geez. Thanks a lot,” I spit, hoping my windpipe is still intact. “Are you insane?”

The dark haired one looks down at me.

“Why were you watching us?”

“Why were you watching me?”

“I asked first.”

“Your buddy almost choked me to death.” I shoot Choker a glare. “Thanks, pal.”

The three exchange puzzled glances. Maybe they were expecting me to pick them off one by one with a sniper rifle while I hid in the bear clover. A side effect of watching too many teen television shows.

“Come on. Back to the fire,” Blondie commands, her arms crossed. “Bring her.”

Choker and the dark haired one each take an arm, hauling me across the road. It occurs to me that I should just try to make a run for it, but hey. Maybe they’ve got some food or coffee they’re just dying to share with me.

“Sit.”

Blondie plops down on a log, her legs crossed. The boys stay on each side of me, and then Choker leans behind Blondie’s log and grabs a hunting rifle. He keeps it trained at my head, with his finger on the trigger.

I suddenly feel very uncool about all this.

“What’s up with you guys?” I snap. “I’m just hiking, that’s all.”

“Right,” Blondie laughs, and it annoys me because she sounds a little like Tinkerbell right before she tried to kill Wendy. “You were just hiking. Nobody’s just “hiking” up here anymore. We’re not that stupid.”

“That’s a debatable point.” I say.

Blondie gives me a death stare.

“Were you planning on stealing our food?” she asks, her lip curling. “Maybe killing us in our sleep and taking all our supplies?”

“Um…” I roll my eyes. “Yeah. That was definitely my plan. You got me.”

The dark haired boy opens his mouth to speak for the first time.

“Maybe she’s okay,” he says softly. “Maybe she’s telling the truth.”

“Please.” Blondie’s hands tighten into fists. “I’m keeping my eye on her. We all are.”

I sigh dramatically.

“So now what? You’re going to tie me up and cook me for dinner?” I ask. “Because I don’t really have a lot of meat on my bones.”

Blondie kicks me in the shins.

It doesn’t hurt, it just makes me mad.

“Try to reign in your random violent urges, will you?” I say, kicking back. She cries out, completely falsifying the amount of pain she feels.

“See?” she gasps. “She’s dangerous. Take her stuff. Tie her up. There’s no way we can trust her.”

“Ditto, darling,” I mumble, relaxing into my predicament.

Even though Choker is aiming the rifle at my head, and even though his finger is on the trigger (didn’t anybody teach him firearms safety techniques?), his hands are shaking. He doesn’t look like he wants to kill me. He looks likes he’s afraid of me.

Good.

The dark haired boy moves quickly beside me, pulling out a pair of plastic ties from his daypack. He cinches up my wrists too tight, drawing blood. He doesn’t apologize. He only stares straight ahead, his eyes empty, his face emotionless.

“You move, redhead, and he’ll kill you,” Blondie warns, crouching over the fire. “Got that?”

“Right,” I reply, wondering if any of them are actually capable of killing someone. “Is there a reason you’re making a campfire in the middle of the day, by the way?”

“None of your business,” Choker growls, sitting down. He keeps the rifle in his lap, watching me out of the corner of his eye. Blondie nods, apparently proud that he’s being rude to me.

“Look,” I say, “here’s the thing: I need to find my dad. We got separated and I’m going to be seriously late if I have to hang around with you guys while you do your afternoon marshmallow roast.”

“She’s lying,” Blondie replies, spitting out the words. “Why would she be spying on us if she was really trying to find her dad?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe because the world has gone insane and I don’t know who I can trust?” I look around at them. “Exhibit A.”

Blondie stalks across the small camp area and smacks me across the face. I blink back tears, a stinging sensation crawling across my cheek.

Talk about anger issues.

“That was ladylike,” I remark. “Thanks for that.”

She turns around and starts rifling through my backpack.

“Thanks for respecting my privacy,” I say.

“Shut up.” She pulls out some of my food, the knife Jeff gave me. “Junk.”

She shoves it back inside and walks over to me again. She zips open my coat, patting me down like I’m some kind of criminal. “This is insanely awkward,” I say, shoving away from her. “Knock it off.”

“Hold still, ginger,” she sneers.

She searches my pockets, discarding my waterproof matches, Kleenex, and a random piece of quartz shaped like a heart. Her fingers pause at my neck, where the gold chain that Chris gave me catches the sunlight.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warn.

She smiles — seriously reminding me of an evil pixie — and snaps the gold chain right off my neck. She holds it in front of her face, the tiny shield with Chris’s name in silver glimmering against the gold.

“Pretty,” she says. “Thanks.”

“Give that back,” I say, and this time, I’m not playing Mr. Nice Guy, er, Girl. My cheeks get hot as the blood rushes to my face — I’m angry. No, furious. Chris gave that to me. “Don’t make me remove that from your neck.”

 Blondie holds up the snapped chain and drops it in her pocket.

“We can use this later.”

Choker looks a little disturbed but the dark haired boy — I’m calling him Spot, now — doesn’t look like he cares.

“Give. It. Back,” I say, trying to reign in my temper. I don’t want to explode.

“Come. And. Get. It,” Blondie replies, grinning.

I shift my position, but as soon as I move, Choker aims the rifle at my head again. “Don’t move,” he warns. Spot also places his hand on my forearm.

Great. Blondie’s guard dogs are acting up.

“This is going to be a long day,” I complain.

“Totally.” Blondie pats her pocket and proceeds to pull all of her supplies out of their own packs. They’ve got a quite a bit of food — how they got it, I don’t know — and first aid stuff. Sleeping bags, even. Maybe they were camping out here when the pulse hit.

I also notice a NYC keychain on one of the backpacks.

“You’re from New York,” I say.

Blondie looks up at me, startled.

“How did you know that?” she demands.

“I read a lot of Sherlock Holmes books when I was a kid,” I reply.

“What does that mean?”

“Forget it,” I sigh. “Look. Give me my chain and my stuff and I’ll get out of here.”

“No.” Blondie sets to work making some kind of stew. “I don’t trust you.”

“If this is how you treat all the people you meet, you’re never going to be very popular,” I comment.

She makes a charming remark about my intelligence before returning to their lunch. I scoot down on the ground and lean against the log, tired. Blondie and her cohorts treat themselves to a meal when she’s done preparing it, but they never invite me to join in.  After an hour or so, my lips are chapped and I’m dying for water, but when I bring it up, Blondie just tells me to, “suck it up and deal with it.”

I am so going to stick her head in a hole.

It doesn’t take me long to realize after hanging around these guys that they’re not big on being stealthy. They camp out in the middle of the day, light a fire, and make all kinds of noise. Choker decides to get in some target practice with his rifle, making two idiotic mistakes. One, he’s wasting precious ammunition. Two, he’s making an enormous amount of noise and practically setting up a giant neon arrow over our heads that says, “OMEGA: COME FIND US.”