Fighting Rough

22

Max had gotten beyond the bursts of gunfire. He didn’t know how he’d survived, but he didn’t stop to ponder his good luck. Not even for a moment.

He’d gotten to safety. The night was darker now. Clouds covered the moon. Max was lost in the dark shadows where the trees were dense. All he had to do now was sneak around from the side, attack the enemies from a direction they weren’t expecting.

But he had to move fast.

The gunfire continued. Max heard the clear sound of a hunting rifle discharging. Hopefully James had stayed in place, but it sounded like he was firing back when he could. Max knew that meant that James was taking a huge risk, sticking himself into visibility in order to fire back.

He had guts, that kid. Max hoped it didn’t get him killed.

It would help Max. It would serve as a distraction.

Max just didn’t know how long James could keep it up.

Two rifle sounds now. Definitely hunting rifles. Mandy had joined in.

Max was already on the move, and he picked up his pace. His boots crunched through the snow.

Blood trickled down from his forehead all the way to his mouth. He tasted it, and spit it into the snow. He’d knocked his forehead pretty hard. But it wasn’t enough to deter him. Not a lot was.

The fall had hurt his ribs. He doubted he’d broken one.

Max clutched his Glock in his right hand. As he moved, his cold hand fumbled inside his jacket for a spare magazine.

He was expecting to feel the magazine against his hand. But instead, there was nothing.

At first, he thought his hand had just gone numb with cold. Or from injury, when he’d fallen on it. After all, there were some small cuts on hands that he’d ignored. It was possible that he’d sliced through some nerves and not realize it.

But, no, Max switched hands, handing the Glock over to himself, and there was still nothing. He opened up his jacket, unzipping it completely.

Max found the problem. There was no longer a bottom to the jacket’s internal pocket. Instead there was just frayed fabric. Maybe it had torn during his fall. Or maybe it’d happened earlier. Whenever it had happened, the spare magazines had fallen right out of his jacket.

Max looked back in the direction he’d come.

No sign of the spare magazines.

If Max couldn’t see them from where he was, the magazines were either where he’d fallen, right in range of the enemy, or somewhere else entirely. It would take too long to find them. And be too dangerous.

Max had to continue.

Max remove the magazine from his Glock and checked it. Four rounds left.

Well, thought Max, that’d have to be enough.

Ignoring the pain in his legs, his forehead, and his ribs, Max ran forward as fast he could into the night.

He didn’t bother trying to be quiet. Not yet. Max ran through the woods in a large semi-circle. He calculated the path roughly in his head, visualizing the scene from a bird’s eye view. He had to manage risk and time. He had to get there fast. But if they spotted him in the process, the whole plan would be ruined.

If he was spotted, he’d be shot. But it wasn’t his life he was worried about. It was Mandy and James’s. Not to mention Georgia, his brother, and the others. Max didn’t know what was happening over there on the other side. But he knew that if he didn’t do what he had to do, the likelihood of the others surviving was slimmer.

Max pushed back his jacket sleeve to see his watch. The luminescent hands were just barely visible in the clouded moonlight. Russian watches had never been known for their lume.

It’d been ten minutes so far. Max was almost there. He could see the figures up ahead. He heard the gunfire still. But he hadn’t heard the hunting rifle. At least, he didn’t think so. It was hard to distinguish, after all, individual firearms through the cacophony of sound that ripped sporadically through the night.

He hoped Mandy and James were still alive. He hoped they weren’t lying behind their trees, bleeding out into the snow.

But whether or not they were didn’t change what he was going to do next.

Max was approaching from behind. He slowed his pace. He eased his boots onto the snow, trying to eliminate the crunching noise they made.

Max’s finger was on the trigger.

Three figures were in front of him. They were completely focused on Mandy and James. They didn’t turn around once. They didn’t even glance from side to side.

They were sloppy. That was their business. It was Max’s job to take advantage of whatever opportunity they left him.

Max took a deep breath. There was so much at stake. He couldn’t let his emotions run away from him. He needed to keep a calm, cool head and do what he needed to do. He needed to act swiftly.

By approaching the enemy from behind, Max knew he’d be putting himself directly in the path of Mandy and James’s rifles. It was a risk that he needed to take. Hopefully Mandy and James, despite the desperate situation, wouldn’t shoot too hastily. Hopefully they wouldn’t shoot Max.

But if they did, then Max was willing to live with that.

He knew he was up against impossible odds. If he came out of this alive, he’d be surprised.

Three men, even if they were facing the wrong direction, were too much for him to tackle on his own. Especially when all he had was his Glock with four bullets, a knife, and his own cunning. He had a busted leg, and his ribs and head hurt. The enemy was heavily armed. All they had to do was spin around and pump Max full of bullets.

But Max had to try.

His body was rebelling against the thought of death. No matter how determined someone was, or how brave, there was a desperate drive inside them, telling them that they had to live, that they had to do whatever it took to stay alive.

There were few things in the world that could override that instinct.

And one of them was saving others.

Max wasn’t doing this for himself. He was doing it was Mandy, Georgia, her kids, his brother, and Cynthia. He was doing it for them.

He didn’t have a fatalistic attitude. That simply wouldn’t have helped him. If he was completely convinced that he was doing to die, then he probably would.

Instead, the thing to do, he knew, was to trick himself. He had to convince himself it would come off fine. The plan would go off without a hitch.

If James and Mandy had a break from the constant gunfire that was keeping them pinned in place, they might just be able to get off some clean shots of their own.

The only way to know was to find out. There wasn’t any way to communicate with them. The radios back at camp weren’t portable. They weren’t made for this kind of situation.

Max slunk forward, walking as slowly and silently as he could. One noise and he’d be out of time. He needed to shoot first. That was the only way this could work.

The gunfire still punctuated the night. Mandy and James weren’t firing. Max hoped, once again, that they were still alive. Even if they weren’t, Max still had to do this. He still had to think of Georgia, John, and the others.

A thick tree was close by, off to Max’s right. He was ready to dive behind it. But there might not be time.

It was now or never. Max was close. One of the enemy was fishing for a spare clip.

Max took careful aim, right at the back one of their heads.

Max squeezed the trigger. The Glock recoiled. It was a good feeling. Harsh, but comforting.

The man fell. The shot had been perfect, his body crumpling into the snow. But that was the last of Max’s worries.

The two others spun around. Everything seemed, once again, to be happening in slow motion. Max had to make a split second decision. Did he train his Glock on the second man? Or did he dash behind the tree?

He opted for the second.

He threw himself behind the tree.

Just in time.

Gunfire erupted. Loud bursts. Bullets cut into the bark behind him, and the snow by his feet.

Come on, thought Max. This is your time, James and Mandy.

Max had done this for them.

But there was no crack of the hunting rifles.

Max feared the worst.

A surge of energy suddenly filled him. Emotions flooded his body. Thoughts of revenge swelled through him.

His normal calm-under-pressure pattern had failed him.

These men had killed James and Mandy.

Max threw himself out from behind the tree.

He saw the two men facing him. He squeezed the trigger of his Glock. Three times. In rapid succession.

The first man fell. The bullets had struck him in the throat and the chest.

The other man still stood. Max had missed.

Max squeezed the trigger again.

Btu he was out of ammo.

Long ago, before the EMP, Max had read the Tueller Drill studies, first published in SWAT magazine in 1983. They described what happened when a man with a knife charged a man with a gun. Surprisingly, the man with the knife had a chance. If he could run fast enough, he could attack before the gun-wielding man could get off a shot.

Not a very good chance, though.

With Max’s leg the way it was, the odds were distinctly not in his favor.

To make it worse, there wasn’t time to get his knife out from his pocket and unfold it. No matter how fast he was at deploying it, it didn’t matter.

All this information had been engrained in Max’s mind for a long, long time.

He knew it wouldn’t work.

But he was so filled with rage he didn’t care.

Max charged forward. He still held the Glock in his hand. It was heavy enough to use as a weapon. It wasn’t a knife, but it was something.

The man in front of him already had his gun raised. An expression of surprise came over his face.

Max wasn’t going to make it.

He was sprinting right towards his certain death.

Before the enemy could get off a shot, a crack rang out.

A hunting rifle.

The man fell.

There was hope now. Mandy or James was alive. Or maybe both of them were. Was that too much to hope for?

Max bent down, taking the gun from the man. He wasn’t dead. His grip was still strong enough to try to resist.

Max yanked on the gun and got it free. He didn’t waste any time. The weight of the gun felt good in his hands. At point blank range, Max pulled the trigger, sending a single round through the man’s heart.

Max couldn’t believe it. He was alive. The enemies were dead.

Max had let rage and thoughts of revenge overtake him, and yet he hadn’t died, even though he should.

Max wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. He desperately wanted to check on Mandy and James. If they needed help, he needed to be there for them.

But Max knew that he couldn’t count on the battle being over.

He couldn’t be careless. He wasn’t going to let his emotions take over again.

For the first time since this had all started, Max felt the cold. It was even colder now than when it had been snowing. The temperature must have been approaching the single digits. A gust of wind blew in, causing Max to shiver.

The dead men in front of him would provide a wealth of equipment. Not just guns, but parkas, hats, socks, and boots. Sure, the parkas might be stained with blood. That was fine with Max, though.

He’d have to wait.

The night was silent once again. Silent and cold.

Crouched there on the ground, the dead man’s gun in his hands, Max looked through the darkness.

The clouds had come along in full force, covering the moon. It was darker than before.

Max was determined to be cautious. After all, there could be more men out there.

But Max saw no one.

Nothing moved. There was no sound.

Everything was quiet.

Max heard his own boots crunching on the snow as he stood up. He’d come back to the bodies later.

He started moving across the silent, dark woods, heading towards Max and Mandy. He kept his eyes scanning the surroundings as he walked.

He was ready.

But it wasn’t enough.

Movement behind him. He heard it too late. Someone was rushing out from behind a tree.

Something hard hit Max in the head. His field of vision swam, and pain seared through his skull.

Btu he didn’t lose consciousness.

Holding the gun with both hands, Max jammed it backwards, hoping to hit his attacker with the butt of the gun.

Max missed.

Something hard hit Max in the back. He reeled in pain, about to fall forward, but he caught himself, putting his left leg out first.

Max barely held onto his balance. But he managed to spin around.

His attacker was a man about his age with a severe face. He wore the same clothing as the others. He lunged forward at Max, swinging his right fist in a wide arc.

Max’s head was spinning. His balance wasn’t good. Instead of trying to duck the blow, he lunged forward, throwing himself at the man’s legs.

It worked. Max’s shoulder slammed into the man’s legs, and Max threw his arms around them, pulling back with all his strength until the man fell, flat on his back.

Max was on top of him in a flash, straddling him, pushing down with all his weight. His vision still swam. But he could see well enough to fight.

The man threw a punch. It caught Max in the cheek, pain flashing through him.

Max’s face was right against his enemies. The face was familiar. It was someone from the compound.

Max was dizzy. He was losing ground. Quickly. Their hands became a messy tangle as each fought for control. The enemy was gaining. Max’s vision swam. He could barely keep it all straight. It seemed to be happening too quickly.

Hands gripped Max’s neck, squeezing hard, tightening.

“I wanted to get my hands on you myself,” said the man. He spoke with a strange accent. Harsh sounding. The anger poured out of his voice. He could barely contain it. “I could have shot you in the back. Just like you shot my men. You’ve ruined everything. And now you’re going to pay.”

The enemy’s hands occupied, Max found his own hands free. He let his right hand fall to the side. If only he hadn’t lost those spare magazines. His Glock was useless now. He had a knife, but he didn’t have the physical strength to use it.

The guy must have had a gun on him. All Max had to do was find it. His hands went searching, looking for a holster, patting and pawing at the enemy’s parka, trying to find where it ended. He couldn’t see what he was doing. All he could do was reach and search, his hand flailing blindly.

The hands gripped him even tighter. Max was moments away from losing consciousness. Moments away from death.

He had to act. Now. But he was weak. The strength was leaving his body.

“I could have shot you,” growled the man. “But this is much, much better.”

Max’s hand hit up against something. Something smooth. Leather. He fumbled for the gun that he knew must have been there inside the holster.

The enemy didn’t seem to notice. He was intent on strangling Max to death. His face was pressed up against Max’s, his neck craning, his pupils small and contracted, his expression beyond intense.

Max’s vision was going. But he still couldn’t find the gun.

Suddenly, sounds rang out through the woods. Max barely registered them. They sounded like shouts. Max wasn’t sure. He was concentrating on his hand, on finding that gun. If he could just get it, he could end this. He could put a bullet through the man’s torso. He just needed that gun.

But there was nothing in the holster. His hand felt nothing but smooth leather.

A shot rang out. Loud and close. Max’s ear’s rang with the sound.

The hands loosened, falling away from his throat. Blood dribbled out of the enemy’s mouth.