"Schizophrenia," Nick explained quietly. It looked as though the poor man had been driven completely insane and had slipped into some kind of delusion.
The foulmouthed Stan, still in his prison uniform, had been about to run his mouth again, but swallowed his words.
The cramped compartment was like an enormous garbage dump, with weapons, ammunition, tactical vests, tactical goggles, and military backpacks strewn everywhere.
Nick even spotted a package of C4 that had been opened and used to start a fire. Beside it lay a jumble of "Claymore"
mines, flashbangs, hand grenades, and other dangerous items.
All of it was piled beside a stove on which something unknown was stewing, a sight that made their eyelids twitch.
"Achoo!" Dahlia could not hold back a sneeze.
They had all been wet and cold, unable to risk lighting a fire in the rainforest. Toughing it out had been tolerable, but abruptly entering the relatively warm compartment raised goosebumps all over their bodies, leaving them feeling uncomfortable from head to toe.
"The feast will be ready soon." Nolan walked over to the stove and gestured invitingly to Dahlia, indicating that she could sit beside it to warm herself. Then he lifted the lid off the pot, his face taking on an expression of bliss as though he had caught the scent of some exquisite dish.
Nick glanced into the pot without betraying anything. When he saw a mush made from the tubers of some unknown plant, he felt inexplicably relieved.
Nolan took off his equipment, which had clearly been cobbled together from the armor of different Predators. His eyes kept roving over the others. Seeing Stan pick up a breastplate to examine it, he gave a conspiratorial shush.
"Hey, kid, put that down unless you want a beating. That's 'Defoliant's' prized possession.