The shots came from the hillside above. We were lucky we weren’t targeted by a proficient marksman. A volley of bullets chewed the dirt near our feet. I grabbed Luna and pulled her toward a tree by the side of the road as the gunman corrected his flawed aim.
He must have been using an automatic rifle because as we ran he switched from fairly targeted semi-automatic fire to strafing. The rapid staccato of shots echoed around the wide valley.
I pushed Luna behind the trunk of an ancient stone pine, rooted at the very edge of the hillside, and she grabbed a branch to stop herself from tumbling over the steep drop. I joined her as bullets shredded the thick bark of the tree in front of us, and we crouched and moved along a narrow ledge to take cover behind a collapsed stone sheepfold directly beside the tree. A hail of bullets chipped the large boulders that protected us and filled the air with dust.
Luna cursed in Italian. “He must have followed you.”
“Or you,” I countered. “Who the heck is it?”
The gunfire stopped. There was a moment of stillness disturbed only by the ringing in my ears. I took the opportunity to glance over the stones and saw movement on a ridge about 150 feet above us. The rough hillside was covered in tufty grass dried to an earth brown and pocked with patches of gray stone. There was a rocky outcrop on the ridge edged by some bushes, which concealed the shooter. The slope to either side of the ridge was steep but looked scalable. I ducked back as the gunman snapped a magazine in place and open fire again.
As a hail of bullets struck the stones, I leant close to Luna and said, “When he runs out of ammo, let him see you.”
She looked dismayed but nodded agreement. I crouched and swung my legs over the side of the cliff, starting to climb down the root system that stuck out of the hillside.
Earth and stones fell away as I clung to the gnarled roots. Above me the crack and snap of bullets continued. I was soon low enough to be concealed by the lip of the road, starting to traverse a tiny ledge, a vein of rock that stuck out of the hillside. I held on to roots, rock, and, where there was nothing else, earth, as I edged around the bend, inch by inch. There was a lull in the gunfire as our assailant reloaded, but it soon resumed.
I started sweating in the sweltering heat. My clothes grew damp and dirty as I hauled myself along the hillside. My breathing became labored; my arms and fingers ached from the effort of keeping my balance. When I finally thought I’d be shielded from view by the curve of the road, I clambered up the steep slope to the edge. There was an old metal barrier here. I used it to pull myself up and over. I could see Luna behind the boulders, which were being peppered by bullets, but the shooter was hidden from my sight by the curving terrain, which meant he couldn’t see me either.
I ran across the road and scrambled up the steep slope on the far side. I covered the 150-foot incline in a minute or so and was gasping and sore by the time I was about level with the gunman.
I picked up a large stone and crept along the hillside until I saw the man lying prone behind the scrub that concealed him from the road. The sound of gunfire meant he didn’t hear me approach, but when I was a few feet from him, he ran out of ammunition and paused to reload. I froze, but wasn’t quick enough. He must have caught my movement because he turned and his eyes widened when he saw me.
He reached for a pistol on the ground beside him, but I leapt forward and swung the stone down onto his skull, knocking him away from the handgun. We grappled and rolled around the outcrop. I was punching him in the ribs while he groaned and tried to defend himself.
He got lucky and dazed me with an elbow to my nose. I rolled clear. We both stood and faced each other. The pistol was behind me. I saw him eye it greedily, but I was closer.
I ran for the gun, grabbed it and raised it at him as I swung back.
To my shock, he didn’t freeze. Instead, he ran across the outcrop, pushed through the vegetation, and hurled himself off.