Maf was panting softly as they ascended the mountain. The rocks were all loose and the tramp had become more of a scramble, and it didn't help that Maf wasn't in the best physical condition for slogging up mountains. He was an offensive guard, not a linebacker or a marathon runner or whatever. He was built for short distances and king hits. Like that one on Bret. That kind of thing.
No. Maf shook his head. Dwelling on the past like that wouldn't do him any good now. He had to make sure his friends lived, he had to make sure Jennifer lived, he had to make sure he lived. Thinking about Bret wouldn't help.
Jason stopped next to a small, rocky ledge and held up his hand. Maf halted, chuckling to himself at how their leader was playing soldier. Jason had probably watched SWAT too many times or something. It was kind of funny to see the lithe white Australian making hand gestures and lurking around like he was on some sort of terrorist hunt.
The Australian edged to the top of the ledge, looking intently at what was beneath it. Maf began to hear what Jason doubtless heard when he stopped them. Voices. Not just any kind of voices, though, no - whiny, nasally voices. Voices making sales pitches and bitching about not being listened to. Maf raised his head slightly. They were actually being really loud. Stupid loud, given the situation. He didn't recognise any of the voices off-hand, but behind him, Nathan (their new second-in-command, bringing up the rear) hissed something about Jimmy Brennan, the little ginger kid with the big mouth. Maf nodded in accord; it certainly sounded like the angry midget, come to think of it.
Jason turned back to them and held out his hand - four. Four students. Maf nodded again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that on the island, he noted as he moved closer to Jason. He stopped again as he saw Jason move back towards the group, his feet swivelling on the loose pebbles right at the top of the ledge.
Maf watched in horror as they began to skitter down the slope, one by one.
Very.
Loudly.
Jason froze and spun around, his gun ready in his left. Jimmy Brennan squealed as he traced the pebbles back to their source, sounding like a stuck pig being prepared for Christmas dinner. A girl shrieked at the other three people down below about their penises. It was all happening far too fast.
Maf clambered onto the ledge as quickly as he could. He skidded to a stop next to Jason and pulled his tiny pistol out of his bag, readying it at his hip in his now-default CSI position. He scanned the ground below. Maf had been right. The voices were whiny and nasally - all of them were geeks, except for the girl, whom he recognised as the shrill Leila Langford. But given how quickly the situation had escalated, going to the same parties didn't seem like enough to strike up an alliance.
Hell, this was fast.