It turns out that somebody--a barely-out-of-his-teens boy, actually--was yelling "It fits!," rather than indicating a gunshot wound. The "it" was an empty Corona bottle, and Anna, kneeling beside the campfire with three young men encircling her, was providing the throat where it "fits."
You discover this as you quietly push aside the last branch blocking your view of the campfire scene. It had been eerily quiet--probably as your fugitive agent companion held the young campers' attention with her talents--until Anna manged to fit a stunning majority of the bottle neck into the back of her throat. Then the boys had erupted in cheers, while a similarly young woman stared on from a log bench just a few feet away. She was staring, but nowhere near as enthusiastic.
Suddenly, Anna yanks the clear glass bottle from your mouth, then drops her hands on her knees as she gasps for a quick breath. Looking up from her quick pant, her training has apparently kicked in (or you're not all that good at hiding, more likely).
"There you are!" she yelled, her voice beginning to show the signs of yet another batch of bad decisions. "Whur have you beeeeen?"
"You're the one who snuck away without saying anything," you whisper harshly. "Aren't you supposed to be laying low and keeping quiet?"
She lays the empty Corona on the ground next to her, then leans over to the cooler, pops the lid, reaches in, and twists the cap off another. "Oopsie!" Her tiny little taunt gets a big laugh from the boys lurking over her. They, too, have been imbibing quite a bit, it seems.
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