She sounded unnaturally loud in the silence, or what amounted to it in a jungle, but when it didn't draw automatic weapons fire, he started to draw closer, afraid to speak up. It was true, he was a total tourist, here to enjoy himself and having no clue that there was a political problem here. The travel guys had told him that the resort was safer than Mexico, and made it clear that everything was under control. And the way it felt when he was there...well, he didn't look too closely, did he? He was caught up in his own hedonism and too busy to notice the sullen eyes and the discontent looks of the locals -- the ones he did meet were hustling for tips and putting on their best customer service smile, and...well, he just never really ventured out. Who did?

And really, it hadn't sunk in yet -- he thought it was al-Qaeda or something out there, and didn't even question the white girl beckoning him to her when he, realistically, should have been. 

When he got to her, he put himself up against a tree like it was hide and seek, breathing heavily, and gasping between whispers, "Is it al-Qaeda? What the fuck is happening? Holy shit! Why do they want me?! Did anyone else make it off the beach beside us?" He was still so worried about the guys supposedly chasing him that he didn't even to stop to get a good look at his rescuer -- it was clear she wasn't a touron.

After all, he didn't have it figured out. This place had gone from Real World MTV to Real World Afghanistan in three seconds flat and the entire world just turned upside down. And then, suddenly, silence and some girl in the jungle where he was pretty much down to his swim-trunks, scraped and abraded from his run through the jungle and hysterically wondering what he'd do without his cell phone, which some terrorist FUCK was probably sampling porn with as they sat here, hiding from Jihad Jim.

"The cops are coming, right?" That was probably the stupidest thing he'd said yet.