Recoil

6

Half the guys behind us probably didn’t even know what they were firing at. They’d heard shots and loosed off blindly with some of their own. Good. The more confusion the better. And if we could get over the high ground we’d be out of their line of fire.

I caught up with the others and ran on ahead. I had to set the pace. I carried my weapon in my left hand, and held the other out behind me to grab hers. Yin and Yang could fend for themselves.

I could no longer hear rounds or screams, or anything but my own breathing. My legs were no longer heavy; I was moving like an Olympic runner.

The euphoria didn’t last long. There was a piercing scream immediately behind me.

Man down.

I turned to see Yin in the mud, his back arched, gulping for air. His legs flailed like he was trying to kick away an imaginary attack dog.

Yang stooped over him, trembling. Tears streamed down his fat little face as he screamed at his mate in Chinese. I hadn’t a clue what he was saying: I couldn’t tell whether he was telling him to get the fuck up and start running, or whether he was rattling off an order for takeaway.

Yin had taken two rounds, one in the shoulder, one in the back. There was a big exit wound in his chest. He was fighting it, his arms and head twitching, but his feet kicked less and less.

By the time I got to him, he was gulping his last few breaths.

I pulled at Yang’s arm. ‘We’ve got to go!’

I could see shapes beyond him, people bobbing up and down, confused, shouting, firing.

Rounds ripped through the foliage and stitched the ground near us. I had to kick him to get him moving. ‘Let’s go! Let’s go!’ I pulled him along as I started running, then let go and grabbed Silky again. He was a big boy: he could look after himself. She was a different story.