Joan is already half way up the tree. The less time she spends staring at that look he shot her, the less she wants to punch him, the better off they all are.

She won't punch him. But she knows she needs to prove her usefulness, or she'll wake up and he'll be gone.

"Jerky," she says with a grunt, shimmying up another branch. "Ammo. Duct tape. Shit they wouldn't notice I was keeping back."