MANDIE + MARCUS
Throughout the course of his life Powell had been in a number of high stakes, dangerous situations but nothing quite compared to the one he was living at present. It would have been hard enough to keep himself together but the number of survivors made it all the more difficult. Sure, he could have taken up what guns and ammo he had with him and made a run of it on his own but his sense of duty-even if he was an Air Marshal of a crashed plane now-would not allow him to stray. Even if the traditional notion of there being safety in numbers did not seem to hold so true.
He had been by the plane when he felt the first tremor flow up from the ground and through his boot. The metal remains of the plane had seemed to him a good place for shelter, both from the elements and whatever other dangers the island might present but nothing could quite compare him for the herd of dinosaurs he saw stampeding toward him.
Firing into them would have only made the situation worse and wasted precious ammunition. Instead he scrambled up along one of the wings until he realized, with a string of obscenities, that it was a horrible position. He stayed just long enough to see what was driving the horde before cursing again and jumping to the ground, dodging and weaving his way among the panicked dinosaurs.
When he caught sight of a blonde out of the corner of his eye he headed toward her, drawing his Sig. He could hear the crunching of the passengers who had not made it out of the plane in time but maybe, just maybe, he could try to protect one passenger.
"Just climb, I'll cover you!", he shouted as he put his back to the trunk, prepared to climb up after her as soon as she had gained some more elevation.