D Stop, D Fuck, Fuck.

D was edging around the side of the house, the small but powerful gun in his hand, extended in an expert hold. The shock travelled painfully up her legs and side. She grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her, praying she could still reach him wherever his fear for their safety had taken him. He used one hand to point back at the house, his eyes desperate go back. Above them, the hovering glimmer of the drone moved on. As she signed, put it down. A figure appeared at the end of the path that twisted through the woods from the main road a mile away. D stop. Stop.