One could hardly have picked a worse place to beat a hasty retreat. The rocks underfoot are all but tailor-made for twisting an ankle, and that's in good lighting. And God only knows what's lurking in the brush up ahead.

Still, it beats the alternative.

"How many of these things are there??" cries Donna, alternating between running and firing her SMG. "I thought they couldn't stand to be near each other! Why are they all in one place?!"