Fighting Rough

by Ryan Westfield

  But her thoughts started to shift.

  Rose didn’t know what it was. Or where it’d come from.

  She knew it wasn’t quite hope.

  But it was something.

  She had to go on. She had to continue.

  She had to try to stay alive.

  She was going to act.

  Maybe it’d been listening to Max over the last week. Maybe his attitude had rubbed off on her in some subtle way. Maybe it’d been spending time with the new group of people, the group who always managed to go, go, go, the group that never stopped when the situation seemed completely impossible, completely hopeless.

  She rose slowly to her feet.

  The pain in her arm was intense. She unzipped her jacket to examine the wound. She didn’t know what to make of it. This was her first encounter with bullet wounds.

  It was more strange than horrifying to see her own flesh injured in such a way. Rarely in her life had she ever had a serious injury. She’d never even accidentally cut herself on a knife.

  The bleeding didn’t seem to be too bad. At least not yet.

  Since Rose didn’t know how to stop the bleeding, she decided to ignore the wound for now and try to get back to camp.

  The revolver lay partially-buried in the snow. Rose reached down with her good arm and grabbed it.

  Rose took one last glance at Jake. There was nothing she could do for him now. Or his body. She’d come back with the others to give him a proper burial.

  She felt a pang of guilt in her chest as she turned away from Jake’s body. She was leaving him out here like he was a dead animal.

  But Jake would have wanted it this way. He would have wanted her to continue.

  Rose passed the man she’d shot. He had another gun on his back. Some kind of huge rifle. Rose didn’t think she’d be able to carry it with her injury, and she didn’t know how to use it, so she left it.

  She didn’t think to look in the man’s pockets, or his small sack, for anything useful. The only thing on her mind now was to get back to camp.

  Rose set off, her boots wading through the snow that had started to ice over in the cold.

  It was a long way back to camp. But Rose was confident she could find her way back. The moon was bright, and she had no trouble seeing.

  Rose kept the gun ready, her finger on the trigger in case she encountered someone else. She knew she had to keep her guard up.

  It wasn’t until she’d been walking for a good five minutes, all the while not turning around once, that Rose realized how exhausted she was. The adrenaline in her system had started to die down slightly, allowing her to feel her exhaustion. She’d been through more than she’d ever been through before.

  Suddenly, she heard something to her right.

  Rose turned just in time to see something darting out from behind a tree.

  Rose stood her ground. She wasn’t going to back down. She’d fight if she had to.

  She couldn’t yet quite see what it was. The trees were in the way. It was just sound now.

  Rose stood with her legs wide and raised the gun with her one good arm. She tried to hold it as steady as she could.

  But it wasn’t a person. It wasn’t an enemy.

  It was a dog. Nothing more than a dog. Big and furry, with pointed ears. Probably a German Shepard. The dog had seen better days. It was skinny, to the point of looking underfed. Its fur was matted in places, not to mention filthy. But despite the dog’s bedraggled appearance, there wasn’t a trace of malice in its features or movements.

  Rose slowly lowered her gun, and stared in wonder at the dog, who looked back at her, cautiously approaching.

  19

  Max

  There wasn’t much time.

  Max was taking up the rear, running behind Mandy and James. All three ran in all-out sprints. Max’s leg was killing him, but he was doing everything he could to not let it slow him down.

  Max had chosen the positions carefully. If everything worked out, they’d be slightly behind and off to the side of the enemy.

  If there was one thing Max had learned, it was that things rarely went the way they were supposed to. He’d have to be on his toes, on the top of his game. But expecting the unexpected was easier said than done.

  Up ahead, Max saw Mandy dart behind a tree. She moved swiftly, getting onto one knee, getting her rifle into position.

  There was some noise off in the direction the enemy was expected to come. Max couldn’t see them yet. But there wasn’t much time.

  James was next. He ducked behind his tree.

  Max took the last tree, the one closest to the camp, and closest to where the enemy would probably be. He was about twenty feet from James. It was another twenty feet or so to Mandy.

  Max glanced at James, who glanced back, and gave a stiff nod. There was nothing but grim determination on James’s face.

  Max hoped that’d be enough.

  Not that there was time to hope. Only time to act.

  Max wasn’t sure how much ammo he had left in his Glock. Some of it was spent. He knew that much. He was about to throw a spare magazine into the Glock, but that was right when he saw them.

  They were walking through the snow slowly, keeping low to the ground. They wore large white parkas. Max remembered that he’d seen those very same parkas in the compound in one of the gear rooms.

  The men carried semi-automatics, and by the way they held them, it seemed like they knew what they were doing with them.

  James and Mandy were glancing over at Max, waiting for the signal. They should have been keeping their eyes more on the men.

  The plan had sounded good. It had sounded like it would work.

  But now that Max was in it, he realized once again that while he may have been practically minded, he was really nothing more than an office worker. Sure, he was turning into something much more. The situations were forcing him to adapt. But he hadn’t been in the military. He didn’t have years of experience in tactical situations.

  He felt like a fool, and his heart sank. There was no reason that the men would continue firing at the campsite once Max and the others opened fire on them. No, the enemy would direct their fire to the trees where Max hid.

  But…

  All they really needed was that early advantage, that element of surprise, those precious seconds in which they could get off the initial shots.

  Max didn’t let hopelessness get to him. He didn’t let himself worry that his plan might have put all his friends in danger. He didn’t let himself dwell on the fact that he might have killed them all. Or that they might have been better off running into the woods, like someone had suggested.

  There was only one way to make this work.

  And that was to act.

  The gunfire popped through the night. The enemy was in position, all of them crouching, firing at the van and the tent.

  Max gave the signal, throwing his right hand down.

  Mandy and James saw it.

  The idea was to open fire at the same time. But real synchronization was hard.

  Max’s rifle pressed against him, providing an almost comforting feeling.

  James or Mandy’s gun rang out.

  One of the enemy fell, his body tumbling down into the snow. The shot had been good.

  Max had one of them in his crosshairs. He took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger.

  The man fell. A good hit.

  The enemies were shouting, trying to make sense of the situation. They were scattering, trying to fall back into the shelter of the trees.

  Max couldn’t tell how many of them there were. There? Four?

  Another shot rang out, probably from James.

  It missed.

  The enemies had retreated into the shadows of the trees, where the moonlight wasn’t as bright. Max couldn’t see them well, except for vague shadows that danced across the snow.

  It was a good position for the enemy. They were close enough to keep up an attack, but well hidde
n enough to make it difficult to hit with a single shot. After all, Max and the others had no night vision, no flashlights, nothing to help them see through the twisting shadows.

  Max quickly ducked his head back behind his tree.

  Bullets slammed into the thick tree trunk behind which Max hid. Chips of wood and icy snow flew into the air. The noise was defending.

  Max stayed as still as he could until the gunfire abated.

  Max’s position was known. But he hadn’t been hit. He glanced over at James and Mandy. They hadn’t been hit either.

  Max had been right to worry. The plan had worked, but only partially. Now they were behind the trees, pinned by gunfire. The enemy knew they weren’t at the camp. They knew where they were, and how to get them.

  Max had to act. He couldn’t let his own plan kill his friends.

  Another burst of gunfire hit the tree trunk.

  Max stayed completely behind the tree, glancing again over at James and Mandy. They were looking at him, obviously wondering what to do. Simply popping out from behind the tree with their rifles would almost certainly mean death.

  Max wished he knew how many there were.

  What he did know was there were enough to keep Max, Mandy and James pinned there behind the trees, while also sending someone over to finish hem off. And for all Max knew, the enemy could simply slowly approach, closing the gap, while keeping up the gunfire.

  Hunting rifles were no match for the enemies’ firepower.

  Max’s pulse was racing.

  He knew what he had to do.

  He knew where the enemy was.

  It was now or never.

  Right after the next burst of gunfire, he’d make his move.

  Max held up his hand, signaling to James and Mandy to stay put.

  The seconds seemed to drag on. The night was, for those brief moments, silent.

  Max’s heart was pounding.

  He heard the gunfire. Plenty of it was poorly aimed, slamming into the snow. Chips of icy snow rained against Max’s pant leg. Only mildly uncomfortable.

  The burst ended.

  Max didn’t wait.

  He sprang forward, pushing himself off the tree and the ground. He ran forward, sprinting as fast as he could. He ignored the stabbing pain in his leg that was only getting worse the more the night wore on.

  He heard the gunfire. It only pushed him harder. He didn’t look back.

  There was a tree five feet in front of him.

  He was almost there. The world around him seemed to have shrunk down, leaving nothing but tunnel vision created by the adrenaline that flooded him.

  Max’s feet were slamming through the thin icy layer on top of the snow, hitting the ground heavily.

  Something happened. His boot hit something. A root? He didn’t know, and there wasn’t time to wonder.

  Max tripped, his body falling forward.

  Instinctively, Max reached out with both hands to brace his fall. His rifle, which he had been holding in one hand as he ran, fell into the snow.

  Max hit the ground hard. One of his hands slipped, and his forehead made harsh contact with something. A rock or a root.

  In the movies, the heroes often lay still, hoping they wouldn’t be seen in the darkness.

  Max didn’t have that luxury. He knew he had to move. This wasn’t the movies. And movies didn’t even exist anymore in any practical sense.

  Max was up in a flash, just as he heard the gunfire.

  He didn’t know if he’d make it.

  But he was going to try.

  Time moved in slow motion. Max had never run harder in his life.

  He reached the tree just in time, throwing himself behind it. Bullets rained down around him, and he pulled his arms and legs close to his torso, for fear they’d be struck.

  He stayed perfectly still.

  But his mind turned away from himself and his predicament. It turned towards Mandy and James.

  If Max didn’t take out the enemy in time, Mandy and James wouldn’t last. Not where they were.

  And there was something else to worry about as well.

  James, taking his cue from Max, seemed to want to always be the hero. He wanted to risk himself to save the day. He was impulsive, and too young to fully understand the consequences of his actions.

  If James decided to make a run for it, the whole plan would be lost.

  Max didn’t want to shout a command at James. It would only give the enemy more information than Max wanted them to have.

  Max would have to hope that James would stay put. And keep fighting. When the opportunity came up, that was. There wasn’t much James or Mandy could do now except stay under cover.

  They’d have to wait for Max to sneak up around the enemy from the side and take them out. That would give them a chance to act.

  Hopefully.

  Once again, it seemed like everything fell on Max’s shoulders.

  It was all up to him.

  Max gritted his teeth as he looked beyond, towards the next tree on his path. Just one more tree to go, and he’d be out of range.

  Max’s rifle lay mere feet away, but Max didn’t dare go for it. He’d have to make due with just his Glock.

  That was fine. It’d gotten him through plenty of tense situations. Dangerous ones.

  But worse than this?

  Max didn’t know. And he didn’t care. He didn’t see the point at looking at things like that. The only thing to do was get to that next tree.

  20

  Georgia

  Georgia hated being dragged along like that. It was a blow to her psychology to not be able to run under her own steam. What really bothered her was that it put the others in danger. More danger than they needed right now. Things were bad enough.

  And they were about to get worse.

  “Let’s hope Max knows what he’s doing,” said Cynthia.

  Georgia hadn’t yet gotten used to Cynthia’s temperament. It was a strange one, that was for sure, always making comments at the worst possible times.

  They’d thrown themselves down behind the trees. Turning her head, Georgia could see figures approaching. The figures kept in the shadows, their silhouettes only appearing occasionally.

  Georgia gave Cynthia the sign to shut up. Hopefully she’d listen.

  Georgia may not have been able to walk. She may not have been able to run. But she could shoot. She’d regained most of her strength. It was only a matter of time before she’d was running again.

  For now, she could shoot. That was all she needed to do.

  She may have just had a hunting rifle. But she knew how to use it.

  Georgia understood why Max had split up the groups like this. It was the most practical thing to do. But still, Georgia was stuck with people who were definitely not experts. In some sense, they barely knew what they were doing. In comparison, at least, to someone who had spent their whole life with guns.

  Any minute now, it’d be time. They’d have to take out a lot of them right away. They couldn’t let themselves get stuck in a firefight. Otherwise there’d be no way out.

  Georgia counted the shadows, trying to make sense of how many men there were.

  Georgia glanced back at Sadie. She was worried about her. Her daughter couldn’t get shot. She just couldn’t. In a way, it was better that James was with Max. Georgia still worried about him, but it was a little less direct this way.

  If both her kids were here, Georgia would have been able to fight less effectively. She would have been too worried. She’d denied it to herself for a long time, telling herself that her kids only made her fight harder, that it only made her tougher. But it wasn’t the truth. She realized that now, as she looked as Sadie’s small form there in the semi-darkness. Sadie was just a child. She didn’t deserve this.

  “Sadie,” hissed Georgia. “Get back farther.”

  “This is a good position, Mom,” hissed Sadie back, staying where she was.

  “Shh,” hissed Cynthia. “You two wa
nt to get us all killed?”

  John remained silent, his gaze aimed at the men slinking through the shadows.

  “They’re almost into position,” whispered Georgia.

  “Shouldn’t we open fire now?” hissed Cynthia.

  “No. We wait until they get into position.”

  “But why, wouldn’t it be better…”

  “Just do it,” said Georgia. She had little patience now for questions. She was in charge, and they were going to follow her plan, whether or not they liked it.

  Georgia was watching the men carefully. There were three of them.

  Three…

  Something seemed strange about that.

  Georgia could have sworn she’d counted four shadows earlier.

  Maybe it was a trick of the light. Maybe it was a trick of memory.

  Or maybe one had snuck off somewhere.

  The three men were close to the camp, kneeling down, getting ready. They were waiting for something, something that didn’t seem to be coming.

  Suddenly, gunfire rang out in the distance. It was Max, hopefully doing well. Thoughts of James flashed through Georgia’s mind. Better to ignore it.

  “OK!” hissed Georgia. “Now!”

  Georgia already had her target in her sights. She squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked. The recoil always felt good to her, comforting rather than harsh.

  A perfect shot to the head.

  The rifles rang out around her.

  The other two men fell. They hadn’t even had the chance to return fire.

  “Keep an eye on our surroundings,” hissed Georgia.

  She had the fallen men in her scope. One was dead. One wasn’t.

  Georgia didn’t know if it was an act of kindness, putting him out of his misery, or whether it was a purely practical measure.

  She didn’t bother figuring it out. She pulled the trigger.

  “We got them all!” whispered Cynthia, sounding excited. But thankfully not excited and triumphant enough to speak at full volume.

  Georgia was more cautious in her approach. “Keep your eyes peeled,” said Georgia. “There could be more…”

  “Why? There were three, right?”

  “I think so…” said Georgia. Maybe that fourth shadow had just been her imagination. A trick of her mind and nothing more.