Running steadily behind the rest, game tightly in hand (it could be their only hope, after all), Adelle has no intention of slowing down until she hears the next shot fired. This, unlike barbaric monkeys and bloodthirsty vines, is something familiar, something she has dealt with before. Men with guns might frighten her, send her running like any sane person in the opposite direction, but they don't intimidate her. But there is nothing nostalgic or poetic about being shot, and she enjoys it even less this second time around, when the pain radiates so quickly from her shoulder to the rest of her body that her knees buckle at once. "Stop," she shouts at whomever happens to be nearest, although there is a definite chance the word comes out no more than a gasp.