scared.

Fay runs and the sticks under her shoes snap.
The mud seeps to the sides of the shoes.
She pants; her breath heaves.
She runs from what she's seen: a deer sprinting across the highway, a Suburban rollicking around a bend, and the groan of metal and sliced flesh.
The machines could be anywhere behind her, angrily upturning the underbrush, crushing the mud, catching Fay between their teeth.