Fighting Rough

9

Lying on his back in the snow, James took aim and squeezed the trigger. He got off two shots.

Another man fell.

But there was more shouting. More men. James didn’t know how many, but there were a lot.

James scrambled to his feet, sprinting off again.

He didn’t know in which direction he was headed in. All he knew was that he had to get out of there. He was outmanned and outgunned. Severely.

In the back of his mind, James knew he shouldn’t get too far away from the camp. In this snow, it was likely he’d freeze to death before he found his way back again.

But that was only his second priority. His first was not getting shot.

So he ran, heading in a straight line. The visibility was so bad that trying to zig-zag didn’t matter. He needed to put as much distance between himself and the enemy as possible.

It was hard to run in the snow, and he couldn’t see where he was doing.

But he ran and ran. He was already out of breath. His heart was pounding. He clutched his gun in his hand. It seemed it was the only thing standing between him and death.

Who were these people? Were they from the compound?

More shouting.

It seemed as if two people appeared in front of him suddenly. Of course, it was just because of the bad visibility.

They shouted at him.

James’s pulse was racing. Adrenaline coursed through him.

He raised his gun and pointed it at one of them.

How had they gotten in front of him? Had he accidentally run in a circle? Had he totally lost track of where he was?

The two figures in front of him had guns. But they didn’t raise them.

They looked familiar. Somehow.

James’s brain was a mess of chaos.

The two people were shouting at him. But he didn’t seem to register the words.

Something held him back from shooting, from pulling the trigger. A small part of his brain seemed to be telling him to hold off.

But why?

He’d die if he didn’t kill them first. He needed to shoot.

“James!” one of them was shouting.

The words of the two figures suddenly seemed to congeal. They suddenly started to make sense.

“James! It’s me, John. Max’s brother!”

“James! Come with us. What happened?”

James took a step closer, his gun still raised, his finger still on the trigger.

As he got closer, their faces came into better view.

Sure enough, it was John and Cynthia. The two newest members of the group.

There was no time to apologize for almost shooting them, though.

“Men with guns!” said James, not even able to catch his breath. He panted as he spoke the words.

“Where?”

“How many?”

“A lot. I shot one of them. No, two… Come on…”

“Camp’s this way,” said John, grabbing hold of James and pointing in a direction.

James peered in that direction, but he couldn’t see anything except snow.

“He’s badly shaken,” Cynthia was saying to John. Her voice sounded distant and strange to James.

“James, can you make it back with us?”

James managed to nod.

Snow must have gotten inside his clothes and shoes when he’d tripped and fallen. He was really freezing now, his body trying to warm itself up by shaking violently.

Cynthia grabbed James’s free hand, and started pulling him along.

“You two go first,” shouted John, above the noise of the wind. “I’ll follow.”

“I can make it on my own,” said James, pulling his hand away from Cynthia’s grasp. “You might need to use your gun.”

Cynthia nodded at him.

Cynthia led the way through the snow, her gun out and ready.

The three of them were weaving their way through the trees now. Mostly pines, completely covered in snow.

“You sure you know the way?” shouted James.

“John cut marks in the trees,” shouted Cynthia.

Sure enough, there were gashes in the trees, creating a path that led back to camp. The gashes were large and once James spotted one of them, he couldn’t stop seeing them.

“They’ll lead the enemies right back to camp!”

“They’re coming!” shouted John, from behind.

Cynthia and James spun around.

Sure enough, there was someone there. A tall figure, just his outline visible. Some sort of rifle in his hands. Just the outline of the rifle was visible.

James suspected it was a semi-automatic.

His mind seemed to be moving rapidly in a blur. Pure instinct took over.

James acted fast, before Cynthia did. He threw himself to the left, body-checking Cynthia with all his weight. They both fell to the ground.

John threw himself to the ground just in time.

The figure was firing. Bullets rained down around them, burying themselves into the snow.

John fired with his shotgun, from the ground.

The figure fell into the snow.

“Move!” shouted John, springing up from the ground.

Half of James’s mind wanted to go retrieve the gun. But there would be more of them.

James got up, and dragged Cynthia up along with him.

John was already there, urging them forward. “Move!” he shouted again.

The snow was still blowing in powerful gusts that almost knocked them down.

The three of them dashed forward, away from the corpse in the snow, sprinting towards camp.

But camp wasn’t going to be a safe haven. They’d been followed this far. There were more men out there. Heavily armed men. The slashes in the trees would lead them all right back to camp, right where James’s mother and sister were.

They’d have to fight. Like they never had before.