Her Royal Highness of Sarcasm

By the time they had finished the blue taster loop track, both Shannen and Eliza had developed a love-hate relationship towards mountain-bike trails. The buzz was electric, infinite, like that feeling Charlie speaks so highly of in 'Perks of Being Wallflower'. You were more awake, more aware of everything, than you could ever have been anywhere else. Your vision narrowed and narrowed until it was nothing but a slim strip of grey gravel in front of you. Nothing in the entire world could throw you off track because there wasn't anything else in the world to do so. It was just you, the bike and the track.
On the other hand, it bloody hurt like hell.
"Did you see anything that time?" Shannen asked amid a fit of heaving breaths - they'd now gone round the loop three times.
"Nah," Eliza replied, "We're going too fast."
"Well, what do we do, then? Take a tractor round?"
"Or we could just walk, you Royal Highness of Sarcasm."
"What about the bikes?"
"They're not ours. They're not gonna get stolen anyway. There's nobody here."
 Shannen trundled out of the single-track with her legs straddling the bike and shuffling forward. She emerged onto the deserted forest road. And it was deserted. Neither of them had any idea where the youth group they'd seen earlier had scurried off to. Wherever they were, it was probably for the best that they'd not settled on 2k of blue, since the stereotype they'd projected had not been one Eliza would have suggested abandoning the bikes around.
 "We'll lift them up onto that ledge," Shannen indicated a grassy sill that was coated in a thick, bouncy moss.
 "Sure," Eliza grunted as she hoisted her bike onto the ledge.
 Shannen followed suit, then they shimmied onto the same ledge and walked along it, always parallel to the track and about three feet above it.
 "So," Shannen murmured, "we're just looking for something out of the ordinary? Something that shouldn't be there?"
 "I guess. I mean, there's hardly gonna be a gigantic road sign that says 'Terrorist Highway in Fifty Yards'."
 "They said there was a cave, and that it was under a ... ledge," Shannen's eyes brightened like the start date for 'Sherlock' season three had been announced. She pounded her foot into the ground, "Any terrorists holding our friend and the most astonishingly handsome six-syllables in the entire world captive down there?!"
 Some midge-sized insects emered in a mushroom cloud from the spot she'd stamped, so they darted forward a few metres away. The forest began to thicken, and they figured the camp would be further in than the path anyway, so they turned left and headed straight into the midst of the trees.
 "God, this would be easier if we had Sherlock," Eliza mumbled.
 "Yeah, and this was all an elaborate hoax concocted by the Moffinator and any minute now Andrew Scott's gonna pop up round the corner and try to blow us up!"
 "And we have one eyebrow each as a fuse."
 "At least we'll die with the most spectacular view as our last."
 A twig cracked. And another. The sounds were coming from behind them. As one, they swivelled around. What would they find? A man in a headscarf with a bazooka in his hand, some other sort of stereotype of a middle eastern terrorist? Whatever it was, it was bound to be bad news.
 What did appear, was utterly indescribable.

"Guntas?" Shannen whispered.