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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 5314157" data-attributes="member: 3285">In Media Res: Part 5 – The Hunters ReturnJones looked back and forth between Morgan, who had his pistol drawn, and Morowitz, whose eyes fluttered wildly, knife still at the ready.&quot;Guys,&quot; said Jones.&nbsp; &quot;There's a car coming!&quot;Morowitz snapped out of it, gasping.&nbsp; He looked around.&nbsp; &quot;We have to get out of here.&quot; Morowitz turned his back on the pistol-wielding Morgan and sat in the driver's seat.&nbsp; &quot;You coming?&quot;Morgan didn't move.&nbsp; Bean was gone.&nbsp; Jones hopped in the passenger seat.A full-size Chevy pickup truck towing a camper wound its way down the dirt road towards the cabin. Morowitz stomped the gas pedal.The sedan lurched forward, lights off, a dust cloud in the fading light.&nbsp; &quot;What are you doing?&quot; shouted Jones, who realized at that moment he hadn't put on his seat belt.Morowitz didn't answer.&nbsp; There was nowhere for either vehicle to swerve.&nbsp; The sedan smashed into the pickup truck just as Morowitz buckled himself in.Metal smashed together with a jarring clang.&nbsp; The impact shook Morowitz's world.&nbsp; He was momentarily panicked by the smothering scent of powder and cloth in his face until he realized it was the airbag deploying.&nbsp; Morowitz shoved off of it and stumbled out of the car.Jones fell onto the dirt road from the passenger's side, blood gushing from his nose and mouth.&nbsp; His face swelled up from the impact with the dashboard. He kneeled there, on hands and knees, life pouring out of him.&quot;What in the hell?&quot; shouted Olcott, the driver.&nbsp; He had a wicked bruise on his forehead.&nbsp; &quot;What is wrong with you boys?&quot;Morowitz didn't need to exaggerate his condition.&nbsp; He stumbled towards them.&nbsp; &quot;What the f**k man, didn't you see us?&quot;&quot;Darryl, ain't that your car?&quot; whispered Olcott's companion, Billy. &quot;Son of a…it is! Is that why you were in such a hurrRRKH!&quot;Before he could get the rest of the sentence out, Morowitz stabbed Olcott through the throat with his butcher knife.&nbsp; Billy, who had a hunting rifle in his hands, struggled to aim it at such close quarters.&nbsp; Morowitz shoved the rifle aside with his free hand and it fired, blasting a hole in Olcott's chest.&nbsp; He died instantly.Billy panicked.&nbsp; Morowitz yanked the butcher knife out of Olcott's throat and threw it at the fleeing hunter.&nbsp; It lodged in the back of his neck.&nbsp; Billy flopped down in the dirt, paralyzed but not yet dead.Morowitz checked the rifle. It was a .30-06.&nbsp; He looked through the scope. &quot;Nice gun,&quot; he said to the dying Billy.He checked the cab.&nbsp; There was a shotgun too.&nbsp; &quot;Jones!&quot; shouted Morowitz, turning to throw it to him.&nbsp; A bloody trail began where Jones once kneeled.&nbsp; It swept around behind the sedan.&nbsp; Bean popped up, blood dripping from his mouth. &quot;Jones is busy,&quot; he mumbled.&quot;Jesus,&quot; whispered Morowitz.&nbsp; He had half a mind to shoot Bean, but then he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.There were two other hunters in the camper.&nbsp; They ran, screaming for help.Morowitz kneeled and, chambering a bullet, took aim through the scope.&nbsp; The rifle cracked, and one of the men fell. But the other man made it out of sight.&nbsp; Morowitz swore and ducked back in the cab.&nbsp; The CB was still off the receiver.&nbsp; It was on a police band.Then he heard the helicopter.</blockquote>

[QUOTE="talien, post: 5314157, member: 3285"] [b]In Media Res: Part 5 – The Hunters Return[/b] Jones looked back and forth between Morgan, who had his pistol drawn, and Morowitz, whose eyes fluttered wildly, knife still at the ready. "Guys," said Jones. "There's a car coming!" Morowitz snapped out of it, gasping. He looked around. "We have to get out of here." Morowitz turned his back on the pistol-wielding Morgan and sat in the driver's seat. "You coming?" Morgan didn't move. Bean was gone. Jones hopped in the passenger seat. A full-size Chevy pickup truck towing a camper wound its way down the dirt road towards the cabin. Morowitz stomped the gas pedal. The sedan lurched forward, lights off, a dust cloud in the fading light. "What are you doing?" shouted Jones, who realized at that moment he hadn't put on his seat belt. Morowitz didn't answer. There was nowhere for either vehicle to swerve. The sedan smashed into the pickup truck just as Morowitz buckled himself in. Metal smashed together with a jarring clang. The impact shook Morowitz's world. He was momentarily panicked by the smothering scent of powder and cloth in his face until he realized it was the airbag deploying. Morowitz shoved off of it and stumbled out of the car. Jones fell onto the dirt road from the passenger's side, blood gushing from his nose and mouth. His face swelled up from the impact with the dashboard. He kneeled there, on hands and knees, life pouring out of him. "What in the hell?" shouted Olcott, the driver. He had a wicked bruise on his forehead. "What is wrong with you boys?" Morowitz didn't need to exaggerate his condition. He stumbled towards them. "What the f**k man, didn't you see us?" "Darryl, ain't that your car?" whispered Olcott's companion, Billy. "Son of a…it is! Is that why you were in such a hurrRRKH!" Before he could get the rest of the sentence out, Morowitz stabbed Olcott through the throat with his butcher knife. Billy, who had a hunting rifle in his hands, struggled to aim it at such close quarters. Morowitz shoved the rifle aside with his free hand and it fired, blasting a hole in Olcott's chest. He died instantly. Billy panicked. Morowitz yanked the butcher knife out of Olcott's throat and threw it at the fleeing hunter. It lodged in the back of his neck. Billy flopped down in the dirt, paralyzed but not yet dead. Morowitz checked the rifle. It was a .30-06. He looked through the scope. "Nice gun," he said to the dying Billy. He checked the cab. There was a shotgun too. "Jones!" shouted Morowitz, turning to throw it to him. A bloody trail began where Jones once kneeled. It swept around behind the sedan. Bean popped up, blood dripping from his mouth. "Jones is busy," he mumbled. "Jesus," whispered Morowitz. He had half a mind to shoot Bean, but then he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. There were two other hunters in the camper. They ran, screaming for help. Morowitz kneeled and, chambering a bullet, took aim through the scope. The rifle cracked, and one of the men fell. But the other man made it out of sight. Morowitz swore and ducked back in the cab. The CB was still off the receiver. It was on a police band. Then he heard the helicopter. [/QUOTE]

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