The truck made a sharp (too sharp) turn and spun, sending the two men in hazmat suits in the back flying across the air as if they had been shot out of a cannon. It helped that the two idiots were too busy shooting at him to hold on to the vehicle. One of the men landed on the ground a split second before the truck came tumbling over and crushed him into the dirt as if he were an ant. The truck continued rolling until it finally smashed into a meter-deep ditch that cut across the farmland, depositing window fragments and pieces of sheared metal into the surrounding grass.
Will quickly searched out and found the other man who had been tossed from the truck. He lay twenty-five meters away and looked unconscious.
He didn’t have a lot of time to take in the wreckage before the air was filled with new gunfire and the land erupted with dirt and grass again.
The three men who had been chasing him from the hill were coming, but they were still a good fifty meters away. They were also running and shooting at the same time, which from experience Will knew wasn’t exactly the best way to hit a target — even one that was standing still the way he was.
He calmly ejected the spent magazine and slipped in a new one, then flicked the fire selector to semi-auto. He willed his breathing to slow down, pushing aside the adrenaline keeping him upright despite the flow of blood pouring out of him.
Lara could deal with that later.
He took a deep breath and shot the closest man in the chest. The man looked as if someone had tied a rope around his neck and had suddenly yanked on it. One second he was on his feet, running full-speed, and the next he was lying in the thick grass, unmoving.
Will swiveled, and as he took aim on another target, a bullet came dangerously close to scalping him. He flinched and shot the second man, aiming for the chest, but got him in the hip instead. The man stumbled and went into a crouch. Will blinked sweat out of his eyes, then shot the man again, this time getting him in the chest. The man toppled forward and into the tall blades of grass.
The third man had reached the overturned Bronco and he dived behind it for cover.
Will turned and resumed jogging back toward the barn, ignoring the scorching pain from his right side. He put a hand down there, hoping to slow the bleeding at least just a little bit. He shouldn’t have bothered, because his hand was soaked with gushing blood almost immediately. What didn’t cover up his hand poured out behind him. He was probably leaving a wet, bloody trail that even a blind man could follow.
The third guy found his courage and leaned out far enough to take a shot at him. A bullet buzzed past his head, but Will ignored it and kept jogging. The guy shot again, but the bullet landed well off target this time.
Someone needs target practice, he thought, chuckling to himself. Or did he?
Will slowed down until he was just walking now. Briskly. Maybe. It felt like a brisk walking pace, but he could have been just imagining that part. Just like he was probably making up the sudden reemergence of pain from that piece of glass he had pulled out of his leg two days ago.
Phantom pain. That’s all it is.
Yeah, that’s the ticket.
He couldn’t hear any more shooting behind him. Maybe the guy had given up? Or maybe he was waiting to get closer so he could put a bullet in the back of Will’s head. Either/or. Will just didn’t feel like running anymore. This brisk walking pace was good enough. Probably.
The burnt orange barn with the stashed Ford F-150 was visible in the distance, still about half a kilometer away. It looked like a tiny red dot under the clear, bright sky.
The sun was very high up today, raining heat mercilessly down on him. God, it was hot all of a sudden. Will blinked once, twice, and for a moment almost lost his bearing against sunspots forming and bursting repeatedly in his line of sight.
He reached into his pack and pulled out the first bottle his fingers groped. He didn’t bother reading the label. He twisted off the cap with some effort, swaying a bit, and shook two pills into his mouth.
He paused for a second, then gulped down two more.
Better safe than sorry, right?
He snapped the cap back on the bottle and shoved it into one of the empty pockets on his cargo pants. He had a feeling he’d need it again pretty soon anyway. Easier access and all that.
His vision started to blur, and he thought he could hear the sound of water dripping against the grass. Like rain on a rooftop. He wasn’t even moving that fast anymore, and he still kept expecting the third guy to finally catch up and shoot him in the back of the head from point blank range.
Any moment now, buddy. Any moment now…
How far had he walked, anyway? Ten meters? Twenty? Fifty? It felt like half a day.
Surely, he was almost at the barn?
Then why was the goddamn red dot still a tiny red dot in the distance?
Every other second he expected to hear gunshots. Or the familiar drone of a pursuing vehicle. Did they only have one truck in the entire town? Probably not. He remembered seeing those five-tons. What other vehicles were in the town? Maybe not that many. He remembered the empty streets, people walking around. Like that couple with those two kids…
Back to the Stone Age. The only thing missing are horses and carriages. Yee haw.
The red dot in the distance started jumping from left to right, then right to left. Or was that him? When did he stop moving in a straight line?
It wasn’t long before he heard voices. At first he thought he was muttering to himself. That was a bad sign. Talking to yourself was not good, especially after you’d been shot.
But then he noticed the sound was coming from behind him.
Finally caught up, huh, buddy? Good for you. Good for you…
But the voice sounded familiar and female, and he distinctively remembered the third guy being male. A big guy. Kind of fat. Definitely not female.
Lara?
What the hell was Lara doing all the way out here? She was supposed to be on Song Island, safe and sound. He did a lot to get her there, because he cared for her. Hell, he loved her. Had he told her that before he left the island? God, he hoped he had. It would suck if she didn’t know how he felt.
She probably hated his guts by now. He didn’t blame her. He should have called her days ago. He should have waited for Gaby to come back with the radio and called her. She would have understood.
Lara…
The voice was insistent and calling his name. And it was getting closer.
Lara, for God’s sake, what are you doing out here? It’s not safe.
He couldn’t put his thoughts into words, because when he opened his mouth, only haggard breathing came out.
And it was painful. And difficult.
And really, really painful.
So he stopped trying.
But the voice persisted, and soon Will felt something against his left arm. He tried to lift his rifle to fight back, but it was too hard, and he surrendered. Something warm and soft pushed against him, and Will looked over, but he couldn’t see much of anything through the sheets of sweat covering his eyes.
Or was that blood?
God, he hoped he wasn’t bleeding from the head. That would really suck.
“Jesus, you’re dying,” the familiar female voice (Not Lara) said.
Will grunted. He wasn’t certain if he had successfully formed words with his sounds, but he must have, because the familiar female voice chuckled next to him.