The noise of what she now was believing to be an authentic Wild West shoot out, ended with several victorious shouts and pistols being shot, and the galloping of horses running off into the distance.
The dust settled over her, going down her throat and up her nose. She had the distinct feeling to sneeze, but dared not, unsure if the danger had truly passed.
Her head still pounded, her body still ached, but after a few more minutes of deathly silence, she forced herself up. Every muscle in her body screamed out, and she felt a rush of nausea and dizziness, but she ignored both using specialized techniques and sheer willpower.
Now sitting up, she scanned her surroundings. Everything pointed to the aftermath of a true shoot out. Horse tracks imprinted on the dusty ground, clumps of dirt lying where horse hooves tore the earth, and bodies of what she assumed to be Indians and cowboys.
She put her hand to her forehead to block the bright sun from her eyes. She searched the horizon for the receding horses and riders, and to her slight disappointment, found none. She shook her head slightly to refocus her mind, the act causing another wave of dizziness.
To attention! I am not here to sight see, I must find the chopper. Dad and Damian may need me.
She forced herself to her feet, her legs shaking in protest to her weight. She swayed slightly, but took a few steps in a circle, looking for the distinct gray of the helicopter. She failed to see it, sending her into a slight panic.
What the hell is going on here? Where am I?
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and her right hand moved to her side, reaching for the small pistol she kept there. Her fingers brushed against the metal, and that alone helped to calm her.
She cautiously made her way towards the movement, drawing her gun in preparation for any hostility.
She immediately calmed when she saw what was moving. Her partner, Damien, was moving out from under a fallen body.
"God Damien. You startled me." She said, leaning down to help him, the dizziness returning.
Might be a concussion. I should make note and tell someone later.
He took her hand and pulled himself up, looking around and whistling.
"So this is what was going on..." Damien said, shaking his head.
"Yeah." She replied, looking at him. "Where's my dad?"
"Over here." Came a groan of a reply. An arm was waving them over, the body hidden by some sparse shrubbery.
The two headed over, looking around at the bodies of the fallen.
"It looks like a fucking Cowboy movie." Damien commented, heading over to the body of an Indian.
"I know, right?" She replied, leaning down and grabbing her father's hand.
"Ah, careful Camo. I think my leg's broke."
Camo let go of her father's hand and bent to examine his legs, touching the ground to stabilize herself from yet another wave of dizziness.
The left pant leg was ripped and bloody, the tip of something white visable.
That has to hurt like a bitch.
She looked over at his face, noticing a layer of sweat covering his skin.
And yet he's barely showing how much pain he's in.
"Hey, Damien. Come take a look at this." Camo called out, gingerly touching around the area.
"That bad?" Her father asked.
She chose to say nothing, instead looking up as footsteps approached. Damien squatted down beside her, looking at the leg himself.
"Damn." Was all he said before standing up and looking around.
"C'mon, don't leave me in suspense. What's the verdict?" Her dad asked, looking between her and Damien.
"A bad break, Sir." Damien replied, still looking around.
"What are you looking for?" Camo asked, standing herself.
"The damn chopper."
"Good luck. I didn't see it either."
"It can't just fucking disappear!" Damien said angrily.
But that's what it seemed like. For as far as any eye could see, there was nothing but open land. Visable heat waves rose from the dusty ground, the sun beating down on them like the eye of an angry god, but there was no helicopter to be seen. As impossible to believe, with everything they knew, the chopper had indeed, vanished into thin air.