Jake, exuberant over the encounter with the creatures ran ahead firing his rifle in all directions as he went.
Zeke crouched down and called out, "Dammit, stop, be careful or you'll...."
No sooner than he said that two rounds hit the jeep's grill.
A tiny creature, probably an infant, jumped from behind a rock and latched itself onto Jake's right hand.
Sreaming, Jake flicked it away. It regained its composure and prepared to jump again. Only this time it exploded in mid-air.
"Good shootin' mate!" Jake said, dusting himself off.
"Zeke picked himself off. "Don't thank me, thank them." He pointed to a ridge some one hundred yards distant. There stood two men.
One was large and slovenly. He had frozey blonde hair and mustach. The other was skinney and sported a Harpo Marx hairdo and horn rimmed glasses.
Zeke made a signal and they double timed it down the slope. Jake didn't know who they were, but he had seen them around camp.
"The big one is Fat Freddy, a manic with a mini gun, Zeke said, the dork is Son of Sam, he can knock a flea off a horse's rear end at a quarter mile with that cannon he's carrying. He just saved you buddy."
"Far out, I would like to buy them both a beer."
"I'm sure they would like that, but first let's take a look at that hand."
Zeke inspected the bite mark with a frown. It was about the size of a half dollar. The wound was an ugly purplish-black with a film over it.
Feel any sensation?"
"Yeah, like someone put a piece of ice there, why?"
"Well the skin is not broken which is good, but the yellow gunk worries me. We have to get you to Triage post haste."
"Oh, no I heard what happens to people there," Jake started to back away.
Fat Freddy was already standing next to him with a huge hand gun drawn. "We don't want you turning into a bugger now do we?"