I hear Will before I see him. The loud whistle of an obnoxious tune I’ve long since banned him from humming during our journey out of necessity, before I bashed his head in to get it to stop. Up until now, he’d complied but set one parameter on our little rule.

I scramble to snatch Will’s bag beside me and dump it before he can fully climb the ladder and turn the corner to our campsite. By the time Will turns to see me, he’s grinning ear to ear as I pump his prize possession, the Remington 870 short-barreled shotgun. My expression is steeled despite the obvious gleam in his eyes. My eyes trail up the two men holding each of Will’s arms and the one behind him. I catch the glint of a knife pressed into Will’s side in a threat. They all look startled at my presence. How long has it been since we’ve come across another person? Six months, maybe?  I was hoping Marcy would break that record for us, but it seems we get the pleasure of dealing with these asshats first. They clearly followed the smoke trail and must have thought they hit a lucky break when they found Will all alone. The pride for me in Will’s eyes is infectious. I can feel it soak into my body and still my subtle shake. Frankly, he could stand to look a little less happy with me.

“Drop the knife,” I command, having to tap into the way I used to reprimand my 9th-grade students to make sure my voice comes out stern. All it would take is one flick of that man’s wrist for him to take Will away from me, and yet my idiotic companion is smiling like a proud father. I stand to get on a more intimidating level, the barrel still aimed at the man who has yet to drop the knife. “I said Drop. It. ” I call out again as I move the gun to aim at the person behind him. I originally assumed it was a young man, but now, with her hood falling from the wind, I can see it’s a girl about my age, one of her hands clenched onto the man’s shirt. “Hey!” The man on the opposite side of Will shouts, both at his friend and me. The sound of metal clattering on the floor falls over the crackling of embers. I move the barrel back to the first man as recognition for him listening to me. I feel a sense of reassurance wash over me, the lump in my throat lessens, and I make eye contact with Will. His smug grin has been replaced with a calm stare. I know only from our time together that we are having a silent conversation. It’s an argument that I lose. Not that I have ever truly won an argument between us. “This has been fun,” Will suddenly calls out as he jerks his arm away from the man I have the gun pointed at and rams his elbow into the girl's head. She staggers back from the blow, tripping over her own feet before sluggishly falling to the floor, gripping her head. The man she’d been holding onto rushes over to her aid, and the other lunges at me. I may be holding a gun, but that doesn’t mean I’m prepared to actually use it. The fear that had been aimed at Will rears back for me as he grabs onto my arm and tries to pull the gun from my grasp. The struggle only goes on for a second before Will grabs the man from the collar of his shirt and yanks him back. “Oh no you don’t, you wanna fight, you can come over here and fight me,” Will sneers out as he places his knee in the man's stomach and watches him crumple. I feel useless, but this isn’t my style of fighting, and Will knows that. We both have our strengths, and hand-to-hand is his. I won’t let my need for gratification jeopardize our safety.