cover, she had shattered one of the antique bottles from the shelves overhead at every point of ingress: two windows and a door.
Using the noise as a guide, she popped up and aimed her only weapon. A shadow crouched ten feet away, silhouetted against the fiery glow outside. She pulled the trigger. A blue spark of brilliance shot from her gun and struck the figure. A sharp cry of incapacitating pain followed as the Taser’s barbs struck home.
She vaulted over the counter as the assailant collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony. She aimed her Taser X3 and fired a second cartridge to silence him. She was taking no chances. Her weapon held a third round, but she knew it wasn’t enough. It was why she had set up this ambush in the store.
She crossed to the man—now unconscious, maybe dead—and relieved him of his rifle. She holstered her Taser and quickly ran her hands over his assault weapon. While she rarely carried a side arm, she had taken the mandatory weapons training. The rifle appeared to be a Heckler & Koch, model 416 or 417. Either way, it was similar enough to the AR-15 she had practiced with on the shooting range.
She hurried to the door, dropped to a knee, and brought up her rifle. She studied the view. The cry of the soldier had not escaped the attention of the other hunters. Through the smoky firelight, men ran low among the burning remains of the ghost town. They were attempting to flank her. She aimed for the closest man and fired a burst of rounds. Dirt blasted at his toes, but one round struck the man’s left shin and sent him crashing to the ground.
His teammates darted for cover. While it wouldn’t stop them, her attack should slow them down. Return fire peppered the facade of the general store. Rounds ripped through the old wood like hot coals through paper. But she was already moving, dashing back to hide behind the thick-beamed counter. She would make her last stand here, intending to take out as many of the others as she could.
Once in position, she rested her rifle on the counter and searched through the night-vision scope for her next target. She kept a watch out both windows and the door. It took her a little time to adjust to the zoom. For a moment, she captured a view of a man in the distance, far out in the meadow. Though he wasn’t an immediate threat, it was his frantic action that momentarily snagged her attention.
He ran toward the ghost town, his rifle tumbling out of his hands; then he fell to his knees. His back arched in a convulsive spasm before toppling on his side in full seizure. She remembered the jackrabbit and suddenly knew what had driven the helicopter away.
That poisonous sea must be rising, starting to swamp the summit.
Her finger trembled on the rifle’s trigger, recognizing the futility of her foolish attempt to make a last stand here. No matter how many of the soldiers she killed, in the end they were all doomed.
She thought of Nikko, hiding under the tractor. She knew he would still be there, obeying her last command, ever loyal. She had hoped her sacrifice would at least protect him, allow him to be found by any rescuers dispatched by Bill Howard.
Nikko . . . I’m sorry .
A figure appeared through the window to her right. With a burning knot of anger in her gut, she fired a savage fusillade, aiming center mass, and watched with satisfaction as the man’s body was blown out of sight. A renewed barrage of return fire tore through the store. It sounded like a thousand chain saws taking down a forest. Blasted fragments of dry wood rained down all around her.
She ducked lower but kept her rifle in position on the counter. Whenever she spotted a shadow move, she fired at it. At some point she had begun to cry. She only knew it when her vision blurred, requiring her to wipe her eyes.
She sank to her knees for a second, dropping out of view, struggling to comprehend her tears. Was it fear, desperation, anger, grief?
Likely all of the above.
You’ve done
Using the noise as a guide, she popped up and aimed her only weapon. A shadow crouched ten feet away, silhouetted against the fiery glow outside. She pulled the trigger. A blue spark of brilliance shot from her gun and struck the figure. A sharp cry of incapacitating pain followed as the Taser’s barbs struck home.
She vaulted over the counter as the assailant collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony. She aimed her Taser X3 and fired a second cartridge to silence him. She was taking no chances. Her weapon held a third round, but she knew it wasn’t enough. It was why she had set up this ambush in the store.
She crossed to the man—now unconscious, maybe dead—and relieved him of his rifle. She holstered her Taser and quickly ran her hands over his assault weapon. While she rarely carried a side arm, she had taken the mandatory weapons training. The rifle appeared to be a Heckler & Koch, model 416 or 417. Either way, it was similar enough to the AR-15 she had practiced with on the shooting range.
She hurried to the door, dropped to a knee, and brought up her rifle. She studied the view. The cry of the soldier had not escaped the attention of the other hunters. Through the smoky firelight, men ran low among the burning remains of the ghost town. They were attempting to flank her. She aimed for the closest man and fired a burst of rounds. Dirt blasted at his toes, but one round struck the man’s left shin and sent him crashing to the ground.
His teammates darted for cover. While it wouldn’t stop them, her attack should slow them down. Return fire peppered the facade of the general store. Rounds ripped through the old wood like hot coals through paper. But she was already moving, dashing back to hide behind the thick-beamed counter. She would make her last stand here, intending to take out as many of the others as she could.
Once in position, she rested her rifle on the counter and searched through the night-vision scope for her next target. She kept a watch out both windows and the door. It took her a little time to adjust to the zoom. For a moment, she captured a view of a man in the distance, far out in the meadow. Though he wasn’t an immediate threat, it was his frantic action that momentarily snagged her attention.
He ran toward the ghost town, his rifle tumbling out of his hands; then he fell to his knees. His back arched in a convulsive spasm before toppling on his side in full seizure. She remembered the jackrabbit and suddenly knew what had driven the helicopter away.
That poisonous sea must be rising, starting to swamp the summit.
Her finger trembled on the rifle’s trigger, recognizing the futility of her foolish attempt to make a last stand here. No matter how many of the soldiers she killed, in the end they were all doomed.
She thought of Nikko, hiding under the tractor. She knew he would still be there, obeying her last command, ever loyal. She had hoped her sacrifice would at least protect him, allow him to be found by any rescuers dispatched by Bill Howard.
Nikko . . . I’m sorry .
A figure appeared through the window to her right. With a burning knot of anger in her gut, she fired a savage fusillade, aiming center mass, and watched with satisfaction as the man’s body was blown out of sight. A renewed barrage of return fire tore through the store. It sounded like a thousand chain saws taking down a forest. Blasted fragments of dry wood rained down all around her.
She ducked lower but kept her rifle in position on the counter. Whenever she spotted a shadow move, she fired at it. At some point she had begun to cry. She only knew it when her vision blurred, requiring her to wipe her eyes.
She sank to her knees for a second, dropping out of view, struggling to comprehend her tears. Was it fear, desperation, anger, grief?
Likely all of the above.
You’ve done
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