Legion’s advancing line. This next part was going to be tricky—if they had left anyone behind to watch their backs, things could get dicey. I moved carefully and deliberately, using the forest to stay hidden.
When I finally drew close, I realized that I needn’t have worried. The raiders were so focused on the firefight in front of them that they would not have noticed me if I had ran naked and screaming into their midst. Not a single one was paying attention to what was going on behind them.
Dumb move on their part.
I wrapped my scarf around my face, detached the suppressor from my rifle, and ran up the hill toward the closest knot of gunmen. They were working in three-man fire teams, spread out at five-yard intervals. Not much room to work with, but it would have to do.
“Hey!” I shouted as I drew near.
One of them turned to look at me. He was young, not even old enough to grow a beard, and he looked frightened halfway out of his mind.
“They got a sniper dug in up this way,” I called out, pointing to the right, “He’s shot six guys, but we got him pinned down. Come on, I need more help to take him out.”
With that, I turned and began running back up the hill.
One of the many lessons I’ve learned in my life is that if you act like you know what you’re doing, nine times out of ten people will buy it. After a few running steps I stole a glance over my shoulder and, sure enough, the three men had left their post and were following me up the embankment. I was a good thing I had covered my face, otherwise they might have seen me smiling as I tried not to laugh at them.
When we were halfway back to the scene of my original firefight, one of the raiders behind me snagged his foot on a root and pitched face-first into the dirt. One of his companions, the oldest of the three, stopped and turned around.
“Goddammit, Grayson, watch where the fuck you’re going,” he said, reaching down.
They were his last words.
The report of my rifle startled the man next to him, who had been looking backward when I put a bullet through his friend’s head. He had half a second to register shock before two more bullets ventilated his brain and sent him to his final reward.
I looked down at the last of them, fully ready to pull the trigger again if he moved. His rifle had gone flying from his hands when he tripped, and lay on the ground several feet way, out of reach.
“Please,” he said. “Please, don’t kill me. I didn’t want to do this, you have to believe me.”
Tears began to drip down his ruddy cheeks, and even though I firmly believed that he would have killed me if the tables had been turned, something made me hesitate. Maybe it was the sincerity in his voice, or the fear in his eyes, or maybe it was just the fact that he was so damned young, I don’t know. But I didn’t shoot.
“What’s your name, boy?” I said, pointing my rifle between his eyes.
“G-Grayson. Grayson Morrow.”
“Tell you what, Grayson Morrow, I’ll make you a deal. If you want to live to see another day, you will do exactly as I tell you to. Make one false move, or even twitch in a way that displeases me, and I will paint the ground with your fucking brains. Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-yes s-sir.”
He was shaking now, eyes wide with fear. Good.
“I want you to put your face down on the ground, look away from me, and put your arms out with your palms up to the sky. Do it now.”
He did as I said, his back twitching with quiet sobs.
“Cross your feet.”
He did.
I took one hand off my rifle, drew my pistol, and then slid the M-6 around to my back. Keeping my gun trained on him, I grabbed one of his upturned palms, bent his arm at the elbow, and planted a knee into the back of his neck. With his arm trapped on his back, and his face planted in the dirt, he had nowhere to go. I holstered my pistol so that I could grab a few zip-ties from a pouch on my belt.
“Give me your other hand.”
He struggled
When I finally drew close, I realized that I needn’t have worried. The raiders were so focused on the firefight in front of them that they would not have noticed me if I had ran naked and screaming into their midst. Not a single one was paying attention to what was going on behind them.
Dumb move on their part.
I wrapped my scarf around my face, detached the suppressor from my rifle, and ran up the hill toward the closest knot of gunmen. They were working in three-man fire teams, spread out at five-yard intervals. Not much room to work with, but it would have to do.
“Hey!” I shouted as I drew near.
One of them turned to look at me. He was young, not even old enough to grow a beard, and he looked frightened halfway out of his mind.
“They got a sniper dug in up this way,” I called out, pointing to the right, “He’s shot six guys, but we got him pinned down. Come on, I need more help to take him out.”
With that, I turned and began running back up the hill.
One of the many lessons I’ve learned in my life is that if you act like you know what you’re doing, nine times out of ten people will buy it. After a few running steps I stole a glance over my shoulder and, sure enough, the three men had left their post and were following me up the embankment. I was a good thing I had covered my face, otherwise they might have seen me smiling as I tried not to laugh at them.
When we were halfway back to the scene of my original firefight, one of the raiders behind me snagged his foot on a root and pitched face-first into the dirt. One of his companions, the oldest of the three, stopped and turned around.
“Goddammit, Grayson, watch where the fuck you’re going,” he said, reaching down.
They were his last words.
The report of my rifle startled the man next to him, who had been looking backward when I put a bullet through his friend’s head. He had half a second to register shock before two more bullets ventilated his brain and sent him to his final reward.
I looked down at the last of them, fully ready to pull the trigger again if he moved. His rifle had gone flying from his hands when he tripped, and lay on the ground several feet way, out of reach.
“Please,” he said. “Please, don’t kill me. I didn’t want to do this, you have to believe me.”
Tears began to drip down his ruddy cheeks, and even though I firmly believed that he would have killed me if the tables had been turned, something made me hesitate. Maybe it was the sincerity in his voice, or the fear in his eyes, or maybe it was just the fact that he was so damned young, I don’t know. But I didn’t shoot.
“What’s your name, boy?” I said, pointing my rifle between his eyes.
“G-Grayson. Grayson Morrow.”
“Tell you what, Grayson Morrow, I’ll make you a deal. If you want to live to see another day, you will do exactly as I tell you to. Make one false move, or even twitch in a way that displeases me, and I will paint the ground with your fucking brains. Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-yes s-sir.”
He was shaking now, eyes wide with fear. Good.
“I want you to put your face down on the ground, look away from me, and put your arms out with your palms up to the sky. Do it now.”
He did as I said, his back twitching with quiet sobs.
“Cross your feet.”
He did.
I took one hand off my rifle, drew my pistol, and then slid the M-6 around to my back. Keeping my gun trained on him, I grabbed one of his upturned palms, bent his arm at the elbow, and planted a knee into the back of his neck. With his arm trapped on his back, and his face planted in the dirt, he had nowhere to go. I holstered my pistol so that I could grab a few zip-ties from a pouch on my belt.
“Give me your other hand.”
He struggled
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