Michael Langlois - Bad Radio

The man’s feet were bound and he was pushed to the ground where he was, and the next captive was brought up next to him. This went on for several minutes as the captives by the bus were sorted.

We slowly sank back behind the crest of the hill and put our heads close together so that we could talk.

I spoke as quietly as I could. “It’s not going to get any better than this. He’s just standing there out in the open. The longer we wait, the more captives are going to be in the way, and the less time we’ll have before he’s finished and we lose him.”

Chuck nodded. “What’s the plan?”

“It’s pretty simple. I’m going to run down there and snap Piotr’s neck for him.”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Anne. “I don’t care how tough you think you are, you can’t take on six regular bags by yourself and survive, much less six giant ones in body armor and helmets. And after you drop, they’ll be up this hill and all over the two of us in seconds.”

I put my hand on hers, but she pulled away. “I know. That’s why you and Chuck are going back to the car and getting out of here.”

“Not a chance. We’re all going back to the truck together. We’ll do this a different way, one that doesn’t involve suicide.”

“What way is that? When is Piotr ever going to be just standing out in the open like this again? For that matter, what if I can’t find him again, or if I do, what if I can’t get to him? This is my shot. This is why I came here.”

Chuck spoke up and earned himself a dark look. “He’s right. It has to be now.” Good old Chuck. “And I’m going to help him.”

“Goddammit, what did I just say? You two are getting out.”

“And if he gets away when you’re buried under a pile of bags? This is too important to screw up. Two people have a better chance of killing one old man before his goons tear us apart than just one. If nothing else, one of us can distract the bulk of the bad guys while the other goes for Peter.”

“And then both of us are dead. Killing Piotr won’t stop his goons from tearing us apart afterwards.”

He glared at me. “It’s not your call. This is my town. My dead friends. I signed up for this long before you came here and every time we went on a rescue, I put my ass on the line. But I still went. Every time. I’m in it to the end.”

“You are one stubborn son of a bitch.”

“Hell, yeah.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the keys to the Rover carefully so they wouldn’t jingle and then handed them to Anne. She took them from me and put them in her pocket. “Be as quick as you can getting back to the car, and don’t worry about noise once you clear the fence.”

She raised her eyebrows at me. “I’m not going back to the car.”

“But you took the keys.”

“I did. Thanks.”

I had to take a deep breath and will my jaw to unclench in order to speak, and when I did, I did so slowly. “You. Need. To go.”

“If you’re staying, I’m staying. The only way I’m leaving is if I’m following you to the car. If you’re determined to do this, then I’m determined to stay here and keep you from getting killed.”

“Why are you so stubborn?”

“Because I don’t want you to die, jackass. What do you think? Also, since you don’t seem to know much about women, I should point out that you haven’t even started to see stubborn yet.”

I looked into her fierce, angry eyes and saw Patrick staring back at me. Ever since Anne had joined me in my search for Piotr, I had been fooling myself into thinking that I could get her out of harm’s way when we found him. That I could save her. But the truth was that she didn’t need saving any more than the rest of us did.

This was her fight as much as it was mine, and her right to die doing what she believed in. Her innocence had been taken the day that Patrick was murdered in front of her, and I grieved for what she lost. I never wanted her to become one of us. But I was proud to fight beside her.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. We’ll do this together. All of us.”

Her expression softened. I think she understood what it cost me to say those words. “Thanks. What’s the three person version of your plan?”

“I don’t know. I wish we had Mazie’s rifle. I’m a pretty good shot, but at this range the odds of me hitting Piotr are slim.”

“I’m a better shot than you,” said Anne, “and Dominic said that the ammo in this shotgun alternates between steel shot and slugs. I figure we’re about thirty yards away and a slug is good for at least fifty. I bet I could put some pretty good sized holes in him at this distance.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure I can do a better job of it than you, yes.”

“Alright, take the drum off and let’s get rid of the shot.”

Very gingerly she detached the drum, being careful to keep the noise to a minimum. She extracted all of the shells, sorted them by type, and then began to reload with only the slugs. Her fingers were slender and quick, and as she worked she spoke quietly. Her manner changed as she worked, calm and confident.

She began speaking quietly, as though reciting a lesson. I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or even if she realized she was speaking out loud. “A.410 shotgun slug travels about 1700 feet per second and delivers almost 700 foot-pounds of kinetic energy. That’s a little more than a.357 magnum handgun round.” Shells quietly clicked into the drum’s receiver. Click. Click. Click. “The slug is lighter and more fragile than a.357 round, making it more likely to fragment, so the penetration isn’t as good. Of course, by “not as good,” I mean a person behind the target is less likely to be injured. The target will have an entry wound as big around as a golf ball and an exit wound the size of a baseball.” Click. Click.

I wondered at her childhood. How far had Patrick pushed to help her survive the future he saw for her? Most of the time she was just an unsure young woman full of wit and stubborn pride. But now for the first time, I was seeing something that Patrick had spent most of Anne’s life forging. Her skill and knowledge were her sword and shield against the world, but more than that, Patrick had managed to instill a sense detachment in her when she was in this place in her head. I imagine that he worked with her intensively on the competition circuit, knowing full well that that kind of conditioning would carry over to more real-world applications.

I remembered the night Patrick was killed. Most people would have been in shock to see their grandfather murdered in front of them, but I recalled how Anne dove for my gun like it was a raft at sea. And how in a split-second she had come up and fired with no hesitation and absolute precision.

It also occurred to me that she didn’t fall apart until after I took the gun from her.

Anne locked the drum into place with a quiet snap. We eased back up to the top, and after we were settled in, she began slowly inching the long barrel up over the lip.

I don’t know why people sense intense stares and gun barrels at a distance, I just know that they do. Anne moved slowly and smoothly, ensuring that if anyone did look up, there would be no abrupt motion to catch their eye.

It took forever for her to get the shotgun pointed at Piotr and the stock against her shoulder. She squinted through the iron sights and put a little tension on the trigger. “Ready.”

“When you shoot, all hell is going to break loose.”

“Shh.” She became very still. Her fingertip whitened as she slowly squeezed the trigger, never taking her eyes off of her sight picture. When the gun finally boomed, it was a surprise to all three of us.

Piotr was standing in the open, waiting for the next captive to be hauled up in front of him, when the round took him dead center in the chest.