Bandana and Macha

There had been only one option that occured to me after the door had slammed its signal that my fate was to die ... And that was to literally run to the hills. There's this garden outside the back of my school, a sort of mini-forest with a clearing and a devastatingly polluted burn. I figured there would be many hiding places there. What I did not count on was my theory being totally, utterly, unimaginably wrong. Not the theory about hiding spots, but one that had immediately occurred to me on the forst shot.
He is going to kill about twenty kids.
Nu-uh. He was going to kill about two hundred. I'd seen many wounded, none definitely dead, but definitely enough to convince me that the sniffing I heard was in fact a pair of tracker-dogs. That's when I saw the shirt, the beautiful purple shirt. He couldn't be here. He would die. His glorious scebt was far too distinct. The dogs would get him.
They'll get me.
No, no they won't, not if I just stay -
"Well lookee here!" the man with the dogs - the one with the beard cried, "If it isn't Mr Cumberbun! I've heard of you, Benny! Macha! Over here! We got ourselves a hostage!"
The accent was ... Well from somewhere in Eastern Europe but to be honest, it felt like he was directing his speech at me.
The reply came "And his buddy! I saw them together earlier, at lunch, with a little midget kid -"
"Fiona is not a midget! She is going to grow!"
I'm usually one to mock Fiona's height, in fact, but that doesn't give a stranger - who's shot some people I've known for over a decade - the right to call her a midget! I turned around and hoped to God that they took me and Ben together, not separately because I, the fangirl that I am, had concocted the notion that Ben Would Protect Me.
Macha hauled me by the armpits to where Beard was kicking Ben's stomach while holding him on the ground. I guess it was Ben that needed protected right then but I had no idea of any way with which to provide it.
They slung us into a truck parked at the edge of the school carpark, and as the doors closed, I heard Ben's phone Bu-Bu-Ding. Not the time for him to admire spams of himself, not the time.