Waiting was so hard. Our weapons, all at the ready, our eyes scanning the spaces between the evergreens that surrounded us every once in a while, we waited for the warning to come from the closest scout. The call wouldn't come until the Wardens had been seen. It felt like hours we waited, with what-ifs running rampant through our minds.

What if they'd caught the first squad, what if they'd spotted someone? If they had, would they press on in an attempt to find the rest of us? What if Kellen, Jackson, Mark, Becca, Katy, Robert—all those people I cared about—got hurt? I could see Brian's hands shaking every time I chanced a look back; likely, worry for his girlfriend, two squads ahead of us, with an equally dangerous mission.

When the scouts warning finally came, it wasn't exactly necessary. The stream of cursing that spewed into the quiet of the woods was tumbling out of the mouth of a student slung over the back of a Warden.

Was that Tank? Brian held out one finger, the tiniest gesture that had a huge meaning; hold. Whatever we would have done to keep them away from our camp wasn't happening as long as Tank was down there with them.

My eyes caught Brian's for a panicked moment; what the hell do we do? We watched in painful silence, as they picked their way closer to us. They weren't quite traveling in the right direction, heading once again, west of our campsite. But the woods held no roads that offered absolute destinations; their path would change several times between where they were and the next squad.

"Put me down!"

"Shut up, kid."

"Fuck no! Put me down!"

I had to hand it to him, he had balls of steel to talk to the hulking man that carried him like he weighed about as much as the gun he also carried. All ten of them were armed, assault rifles hanging off their shoulders. An altogether terrifying sight.

"Shut up, kid. You're going to help us find your friends."

"Are you fucking defective? There is no goddamn way I'm helping you find anyone, you putrid sack of rotting feces!"

My mouth twitched at his words, surprised at his creative name calling, even at a time like this. But the smile lived on my lips for only a second. I flinched my eyes closed and bit my lip hard to keep from crying out loud, as the Warden he'd told off smashed his face with the butt of his gun.

"Shut the fuck up, Brat!"

But Tank didn't stop his tirade of swears, instead only increasing it as blood spurted everywhere. I didn't understand why he kept talking, knowing they would likely hit him again. It was smart, I supposed; it served as a verbal warning of what was coming to anyone who laid in waiting. It also did a good job of distracting the Wardens from paying attention to noises; like the ones the bodies that flitted through the woods behind them were making.

I couldn't believe that there were people running after the Wardens, ducking to hide every few feet. When the little phantoms drew near enough for us to make them out, I stifled a gasp. Mark! He darted out from behind a tree trunk, disappearing almost instantly as another tree obscured him.

There were three others with him, moving with all the grace and ethereal speed of fairies. If he didn't get himself killed, I would give him a new nickname; wood nymph. From up in the trees, Brian, myself and our squad watched in wonder, trying to figure out what they were doing. Catching Brian's eye, one of the nymphs—Eric?—saluted him with a cheeky grin. And then all hell broke loose.

Tank grabbed the gun on his captor's shoulder and yanked with all his might. Eric, Mark and the others ran right into the Wardens, zigzaging between them, screaming bloody murder and holding knives. 

In the distance we heard the echo of a scout's bird call, followed shortly by a boom that surely rocked the ground where it had happened. Undeterred, Eric wrestled with all his might, face red, trying to free a gun from another Warden. The Wardens scrambled to grab up their guns that had been released from their straps by the nymphs' knives.

Through all the shouting and cursing, my eyes flitted quickly over the action tracking all students. Eric. Gun. Trees. Daniel. Shrubs. Mark. Knife. Flying Dirt. Remi. Running. Falling. Running. Eric. Gun. Trees. Daniel. Running. Mark. Running. Falling. Blood Exploding. 

Mark. Not moving. Mark! 

Brian opened fire. I joined him, tears streaking down my face, sobs clawing their way up out of my chest. There weren't as many Wardens as there had been only five minutes earlier. I could see some of their blurry figures bobbing as they ran, either after the boys that had fled, or in retreat. The ground beneath us exploded, a red mist and dust settling slowly on everything.

This time it hadn't been me. As the haze cleared, there were two Wardens writhing in pain on the ground, three more running, and two nervously looking around, fingers on triggers, guns aloft. Brian looked away, heaving as if the breakfast he hadn't eaten was coming up. In a tree some twenty feet away, Elliot's hunting slingshot dropped out of his shaking hands.

Mark. Where was Mark? His body was no longer lying where he'd gone down. And Eric? I found him easily enough, shaking violently, a gun still clutched tightly in his white tipped fingers, a silent scream twisting his face. One of the Wardens found him at the same time.

"This is for my friends," he said as he swerved his―no doubt loaded―gun toward the incapacitated boy. He didn't get to shoot Eric, instead he roared a stream of curses as an arrow pierced through his shooting hand and his gun dropped.

I looked to Brian and again he looked sickly, at odds with the fact that it was his crossbow leveled at the man. While the loudly pained cursing continued, the other Warden looked up, as if only just noticing we were there.

He faced the fifteen assorted trajectory weapons that were pointed at him with a sudden pallor. I almost laughed at the sight of the giant man, gulping nervously and then running, or should I say stumbling, as he dragged his singularly focused friend with him.

We could still hear the bangs of distant weapons ricocheting off the trees; ours or theirs, we had no way of knowing. After assessing the situation once more, I jumped down from the tree I was in. I held my slingshot ready as if it offered me any protection. The two Wardens on the ground were alive, though clearly in no position to be shooting anyone.

"Nicole." Brian's wobbly voice held a warning. "Careful."

As I picked my way through the underbrush, I examined one of the Wardens, so consumed by his pain that he barely acknowledged me. The other followed me with his eyes, his teeth gritted and chattered as his mouth twitched, trying to say something to me.

I skirted past the first man, so pale he was grey. His breath was shallow but quick, his eyes panicked as if he were trying to figure out where everything had gone. If he was seeing anything, it wasn't what was in front of him. I closed my eyes, feeling sick as I tried to fathom his suffering.

Crouching down beside Eric, I touched his shoulder; he was catatonic, shivering, his leg bent at an odd angle. Tears pressed the backs of my eyes once more as I shrugged off my jacket and wrapped it around him. He needed it more than me. His hands were caked in blood, and I didn't know if it belonged to him or a Warden. His fingers clutched a gun as if seized by shock, and I had to pry them off so I could take it.

I turned back to the two bleeding Wardens lying helpless on the ground. The explosive had most likely landed between them; the aftermath was something I would be seeing in nightmares for years to come. Thank you for this, Tannen, I thought bitterly, gripping the stock of the gun so the barrel dragged in the dirt.

"We're just kids." I whispered, barely audible, to the one whose haunted eyes followed my every move. His lips moved in a shivered semblance of a word.

I imagined it was an apology.

Or a plea.

Was I imagining it because I was trying to convince myself that they couldn't be left to die like that? I held his gaze for a long time, tears wetting my face, I couldn't bring myself to say what I wanted to, what I needed to. Could I do it? Pull the trigger and end what was left of his life? In the cold, with blood seeping out of his body at an alarming rate, did I even need to?

His lips shivered at me again, and he blinked slowly, like a nod, eyeing the gun in my hands before he caught my gaze again. This time I read it as forgiveness.

Gulping down my anguish over the decision I'd been struggling to make, I nodded at him and blinked to clear the tears from my eyes. He'd tried to kill us, but I could give him this one mercy; a quicker death. Shouldering the gun, I leveled it at his hysterical companion first, and before I could change my mind, commanded loudly, "Look away!"

The bangs that echoed in quick succession felt like they came from somewhere else. I closed my eyes, dropping the gun as a numbness spread through me. I still saw those eyes, burned into my retinas, desperately trying to communicate something to me; an apology, a plea, forgiveness. 

I'd like to think it was all three.