I throw a rock at him sort of high in the air to hope it hits him.
It hits him in the head, and he loses consciousness. The bike is yours, but you think you might've given him a concussion.
i thought yewere givin' me reasons not to blow her head off
"Well... I... uh...."
I scribbled down in Russian and English asking him where i was and what had happened to all my stuff
"They found you on the outskirts of Seattle, vomiting up your stomach and covered in the surrounding radiation. You're damn lucky they found you... I'd reckon a small group of hazmat-equipped foragers finding you in all that rubble and gunk is about a one in a billion roll. So congratulations, you won the lottery.
Anyway, your stuff is in that locker." He gestures towards the locker in question.
Marcus goes through the soldiers' gear. There is little other than various maps and irrelevant scribbles and journals. Marcus singles out the one who appears to be the leader and questions him first. He uses the man from Dearborn as a translator and says, "I'm going to be as concise as possible; you are either going to tell me why you and your men are above the 44th parallel after the Guard and your country agreed this was our territory, or you're gonna be wearing cement boots at the bottom of the strait. Your choice, make it fast."
"We never agreed that this was your territory, American. We left you to stabilize this stuffhole while we organized a police force."