Райан Уэстфилд - Finding Shelter

More cracks of guns.

Georgia ducked her head down.

The earth around her jumped up as bullets struck it.

So far, she wasn’t hit. She didn’t know how.

Apparently John wasn’t either. Unless he hadn’t made a sound.

Georgia was about to go up for another shot when she was hit.

It was her leg.

She felt the pain. A burst of intense pain that didn’t dissipate.

She knew the feeling well. After all, she’d been shot before.

She didn’t yelp in pain. She didn’t cry out. It was easier to do since she knew the whole routine from before. She’d been through it all before. She remembered the sensation of pain well.

Georgia didn’t want the enemy to know that she’d been shot. It would only embolden them. It would only make them fear her less.

She knew that she needed to be an impossible enemy. An all-powerful, skilled enemy. Even if these men didn’t admit it to themselves, they feared her. And that meant she was more likely to survive.

But really, how good were her chances?

By her count, there were three men left.

She didn’t see them out there. Where had they disappeared to?

What would happen? Would a single bullet suddenly strike her, piercing her skull, shutting her consciousness off instantly?

That wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

Statistically, though, it wasn’t likely.

What was more likely was that she’d keep receiving bullets. Her body would shut down system by system.

She’d get struck, for instance, in her arm. Then she’d lose its function. And she’d become more likely to get hit again.

Right now, though, no one was shooting.

No one seemed to be out there.

Had they retreated?

“John?” said Georgia. “You still with me?”

“I’m here,” said John.

“You see anyone?”

“Nope.”

“You holding up?”

“More or less. You?”

“I got shot. The leg.”

“Is it bad?”

“Not too bad. Not too good.”

They weren’t speaking loudly. They didn’t want to cover up any noises of an approaching enemy.

It was easy to hear the intense pain in John’s voice. And it was obvious that he was trying to not let it show.

Georgia could hear the pain in her own voice. And she knew that John could too.

It was a strange conversation.

There was that feeling that this might be their last conversation. But it didn’t feel like it did in the movies, when the slow-motion effects came on, and intense music gave the scene a timeless feeling.

No, there wasn’t any special feeling. Just regular old pain. Just regular old fear. Just slightly fumbling hands, shaking from the adrenaline. Just the thoughts of how to survive.

“What are they going to try?” said John.

“You don’t think they’ve retreated?”

“No,” said John. “They may be acting weird. As if their under orders. But they don’t seem like they’re going to retreat.”

“I think you’re right,” said Georgia, pausing to make sure she didn’t miss any sounds around them. Like the sounds of footsteps.

“So how will they come at us?”

“I think they’ll send one guy to get close to us,” said Georgia. “And keep two in the back, distracting us.”

“I’m keeping my eyes…”

A gunshot interrupted John’s thoughts.

The gunshot was loud. A loud crack.

Georgia felt the bullet. It felt like it scraped across her thigh. Or maybe it buried itself inside it. Hard to tell without looking.

Georgia had the scope to her face.

She had the man in her sights.

Same deal as before. She pulled the trigger.

It was a good shot. She hit him.

Right in the neck.

A spot of blood appeared there as he fell to the ground, his arms spasming, his weapon dropping away from him.

There was no time to celebrate. John let out a scream.

A loud scream.

The crack of a gunshot. Right beside her. Very close.

No time to worry about who’d shot who.

Georgia flipped herself around as quickly as she could. She didn’t think her leg would support her weight. But she needed to at least face the attackers.

She saw them.

Two of them. Standing there. Guns in hand.

John was there. Still breathing.

Whoever had shot had missed.

Georgia’s mind was racing. The moment seemed stuck in time, as if time was moving in slow motion.

But it still wasn’t like the movies.

Everything had an empty, hollow sort of quality to it. Her movements felt fast. Her body felt light.

Georgia had been right and wrong about the enemy’s plan. They’d tried to distract them, while also going in for an up-close attack. But they’d left one man behind in the distance.

They’d left that man there as a suicide sniper. A man who wasn’t going to make it.

The two who’d come in up close thought that they were the ones who were going to make it.

Not if Georgia could help it.

Time still seemed to be moving slowly.

John was bringing his rifle around. Lying on his back, he swung it down from over his head. He got it leveled at one of the men. Not bothering to really aim it, he shot it like he was a cop in the 1950s, shooting a revolver from the hip.

The man’s chest exploded. Inwards and outwards at the same time. A splatter of gore. Blood, bone, and heart tissue.

His body seemed to remain standing in the deafening noise of John’s gun.

One man left.

Georgia was about to do the same with her rifle. She was bringing it around.

But before she could, the man threw himself on top of her.

He did it as if he were a track and field athlete, making a crazy jump forward across the finish line, trying desperately to win the race, to break the record, to attain glory for himself despite the imminent threat of physical harm.

Georgia grunted as he fell on top of her.

He was heavy. The sharp parts of his body dug into her flesh. Sharp pain.

The impact of his heavy body knocked the breath right out of her.

She dropped her own gun. Simply let it go. It wasn’t going to do her any good. It was too long.

Georgia didn’t know where his gun had gone. Had he dropped it as he’d jumped on her?

His hands and arms were moving around. He was trying to get them into position.

Georgia’s hands were pinned down underneath him, against her belly.

Her leg was still throbbing and shooting pain. It made her feel weaker.

But even if she’d had her own strength, she didn’t know if it would have been enough.

Georgia tried bringing her knee up, to hit him in the crotch, but he blocked it, tightening his legs together.

With a flourish, he suddenly brought his hands up and out.

The next thing he did was wrap them around her neck.

They were strong hands. Wiry. Long fingers.

He had a good grip.

She used the only weapon she had left. Her teeth.

She lunged forward, chomping down on his neck as hard as she could.

He yelled in pain. A high-pitched wail.

But he didn’t release her.

“John!” screamed Georgia. “Do something!”

She could barely get the words out. And when they came out, they sounded garbled. She didn’t feel like she had much time left.

There wasn’t much air in her lungs.

She was already out of breath. Already feeling like she was suffocating.

The hands weren’t tightening around her neck, because they were already as tight as they could get.

She tried to speak more. She tried to shout. She tried to cry for help.

But no sound came out.

Where was John?

She could hear something. Some kind of scuffle. Some muffled shouts. She couldn’t see what was happening.

As so often had happened in Georgia’s life for one reason or another, it was up to her again.