The van doors opened. In fact, they opened in a fashion far more dramatic way than I can convey with words. But I'll try anyway:
Springing open like caged rabbits eager for fresh lettuce, the metal doors of our confinement stood at attention. Sunlight bathed us like the care-worker of an elderly man, stroking itself softly across my wrinkled, fully clothed genitals. Terrified, we recoiled, fear snaking around our hearts, as if our very entrails would crush the life from us. Fearful, the Mexicans recoiled, mumbling and crying out in a manner cliched enough to be called racist.
Outside, the bears. Now we were away from civilisation and their need for disguises, they were dressed in leathers. Leather biker coats, leather caps and large sunglasses. They looked a little like that one member of the village people, but without moustaches. Also, they were giant killing machines. The first one held the keys for the van, the second appeared to be clutching a submachine gun. Modified for his bear-fingers, of course.
Gesturing sharply, the first bear ordered us out of the van. Stepping onto the desert outside, I felt like the first human to set foot on Mars. Although hopefully, that achievement won't be overshadowed by bear kidnap. The Mexican family followed me out, huddling together near the van. I stretched and looked around. Nothing for miles, red sand stretching to the horizons, and no signs of life beyond the trail from the van stretching towards the sunset.
This probably wasn't good. Still, it's my birthday in October, and maybe someone's planning an elaborate surprise. One should never give up hope...