Sonja slapped the camera, hard enough to make him fumble and almost drop it. While he was cursing she swung her M4 up and across her body. She didn’t point it at him, but he seemed to get the message.
‘Hey, hey … OK, no camera until you’ve done your makeup. I get it. I’ve gotta say, though, I think you might have overdone it a bit on the method acting, Lara Croft.’
She took a step back from him, her rifle still held up and ready. ‘Who are you?’
He looked around him again. ‘OK. I get it, I get it.’ He cleared his throat again, and laughed loudly.
‘Drink the rest of that water. I think you might have heat stroke. You’re not making sense, mister …’
‘Chapman. Coyote Sam to my friends and gun-toting saviours.’ He winked.
Dehydration and heatstroke – she was sure of it. ‘I found your tent.
