The passenger of the fifth vehicle (the one in the cart) cleared his throat. "Hey, can you guys let me out of this thing?" he asked. "I gotta take a piss."
"Hold it," his driver (jailor?) said. "We're almost there."
"Dude, I seriously gotta go. Unless you want me to piss in the cart."
"Shit. All right, keep your hands where I can see them," the driver said curtly. Another guard drew his pistol and kept it pointed at the prisoner the entire time that the driver undid the chains, careful to keep one hand on his own weapon the whole time. And then, to Spider's horror, the passenger walked straight over to the oak tree behind which she was hiding and unzipped his pants.
She winced silently, willing herself to hold perfectly still, as the scent of ammonia rose in the night air. He didn't actually piss on her (thank God for small mercies!), but she was certain, at any moment, that he was going to notice how the light bent oddly at the base of the tree, if he didn't hear her heart pounding like a bass drum first…
The man in the orange jumpsuit whistled a cheerful tune as he finished his business, shook himself off, and zipped back up. Spider willed herself to slowly exhale as the Foundation agents regrouped, then breathed shallowly until the convoy had driven away. Only then did she risk raising her head slightly and scanning the clearing for the other team members.