When I look at her, the version of me that is hiding behind the car, I see Lucas pull his hand away. 

“It’ll be okay, Waverly,” he says to her.

I watch her from the short distance, a look of shock and confusion is spread across her face. It’s hard to watch myself, seeing the pain of fear.  

Lucas holds his hands up in the air and slowly stands. Scarecrow and his men point their guns at him instantly, and Lucas winces as if he almost expects a flurry of bullets to rip through him. When no gun goes off, he raises his head to look at the raiders standing in front of their trucks and SUVs.

When I look at her…Waverly…me. I hate what I see. Her brown falls around her face and shoulders in tangles as she whispers frantically to Lucas. Her thin, pale arms shake in fear. These last three years have not been kind to her. She’s not very tall, add malnourishment to the mix and she looks sick. As I watch, it seems that her whispers to Lucas go unheard. 

Gilbert shakes his head, muttering curses toward Lucas while Ethan sits quietly frozen with white-knuckled fingers holding tightly to his weapon.

“There are more of you rats,” Scarecrow says with a scowl. He holds his gun a little higher, taking aim at Lucas. “Have them show themselves or I’ll split your head open like a rotten fruit.”

Lucas holds out his weaponless hands, trying to calm the lead bandit. “We don’t mean any harm,” he says. “We’re just trying to pass through.”

“I don’t care what you’re passing,” Scarecrow says. “Have your men show themselves or I’ll blow your head off.”

“I assure you,” Lucas says, “we don’t want a fight, but we have you outgunned two-to-one.”

Scarecrow’s eyes narrow at Lucas’ words. 

“Now, you can take my word for it and drive away, or you can take your chances and blow my head off.” Lucas starts to lower his hands. “So, why don’t you just play it safe and drive out of here and let us pass through?”

Scarecrow seems to ponder his words for a few seconds. “If your men are so heavily armed, then why are they afraid to show themselves?” He looks back at his men for affirmation, and gets a few nods in response. 

“Doesn’t matter to you,” Lucas says. “You’ve got a choice to make. For you and your men’s sake, I think you should turn around and let us pass.”

Scarecrow smiles at this. His teeth are yellow and crooked, many of them are even missing. He doesn’t look much different from a greyskin. “How old are you, boy? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

“Eighteen,” Lucas says confidently.