Ryan Westfield - Defending Camp

Max might have killed the driver, his foot still pressing the accelerator. There was no way to know.

To be certain, he needed to get off another shot.

He squeezed the trigger again.

The SUV was even closer than before.

There wasn’t any point in worrying about the consequences or trying to calculate the odds. He’d already made his decision.

Another bullet hole appeared in the window, only a few inches from the last one.

Max dove out of the way at the last minute. He hit the pavement hard. His rifle fell from his hands.

The SUV sped past him.

Was the driver dead?

The SUV was off course, speeding towards the side of the road at an angle. It careened off the road. It didn’t flip like Max’s truck had. Instead, it dipped, nose down, right into the little gully. The back tires spun wildly, lifting up in the air.

Max glanced back at the other SUV. It was already turned around, heading in the opposite direction, away from Max and Mandy and everything.

The car doors of the crashed SUV opened rapidly.

Three men jumped out.

They had overgrown beards. They were dressed as civilians. One wore a track suit. Another wore a flannel shirt, and another was dressed like an urban hipster, with tight jeans and an ironic t-shirt.

They were armed. Semi-automatic rifles. They jumped down from the backseat, landing roughly on the ground.

Max needed to get to cover.

He only had a moment while the men recovered from their jump.

Max’s body was pumped full of adrenaline. His hands and feet were cold and his heart was thumping.

Where was Mandy?

A shot rang out, sounding like it was coming from the trees.

One of the men fell. The one with the flannel shirt. He hadn’t even made it up from the ground.

Max was dashing behind the flipped-over pickup. There wasn’t time for him to get to the cover of the trees. This would have to do.

Mandy had taken one of them out for him.

But the men were returning fire now, shooting into the trees where the shot had come from. Mandy had enough sense not to fire without having good cover, considering the numbers.

Taking fire, she wouldn’t be able to get off another shot unless Max distracted them.

Max got around to the other side of the pickup. Hopefully it’d give him the advantage of a slight surprise.

Max exposed himself, stepping out from behind the pickup. He had his rifle raised, his eye to the scope.

The hipster was in his sights. He saw Max before Max could fire the shot.

Max pulled the trigger.

No shot went off.

The rifle was jammed.

Max stepped back behind the cover of the pickup just in time. Gunshots in quick succession rang out.

It must have missed him by mere inches.

No point in thinking about it. Wouldn’t do any good.

Max checked the rifle.

It was useless to him now.

There were other rifles but they were in the pickup, inaccessible now that it was flipped.

Max tossed it to the ground and drew his Glock from its holster.

He wasn’t out of the Glock’s range. But his accuracy wouldn’t be as good.

He had to return fire soon.

The two men were shouting unintelligible things to each other.

A strong breeze blew through, ruffling Max’s hair. A cloud that had been covering the sun moved out of the way, and the sun shone brightly down on Max.

The sound of another rifle shot rang out. Mandy’s, probably.

Max didn’t know if she’d hit one of them or not. No cries or screams came.

Either way, it was time to move.

Max popped his head around the other side of the truck, his Glock pointed and ready, his finger on the trigger.

The hipster was running towards the truck at full tilt, leaning into his sprint, his gun held at his side in one hand. A bad move.

Max stepped out fully from behind the truck to get as clean of a shot as he could. The Glock was lowered and Max took careful aim. For the moment, he had to ignore the presence of the second man and the danger involved in exposing himself further. Sometimes to get something done, you had to put your head down and ignore everything but that one task.

Max squeezed the trigger. Twice. In quick succession.

One of the shots missed. The other hit the hipster right in the chest, destroying his shirt. He went down, his gun clattering to the pavement as he fell heavily.

Max didn’t know where the other man was. He ducked back behind the truck, holding his Glock pointed towards the sky.

There was a sound on the other side of the truck. Footsteps. A stick or twig breaking.

Max saw the man before he had time to lower his Glock.

He was close. Five feet away. He held his gun pointed to the ground, loosely.

Their eyes locked for a moment.

They were both raising their guns at the same time. Time seemed slow.

A crack rang out. Gunfire. A rifle.

The man dropped his gun, clutching his arm. He’d been shot in the upper arm.

So Mandy was still alive.

Max had gotten his Glock raised. He didn’t wait. He didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger.

The bullet struck the man in the forehead. A clean shot.

Max stood still, only moving to lower his Glock. His heart was pounding in his chest.

Was it really over?

He still needed to check the crashed SUV.

Navigating the area around the flipped pickup and the corpse, Max walked to where the SUV was tilted in the ditch. The engine was still whirring and the back wheels were still spinning. The SUV was four wheel drive, and the front tires were digging slowly into the ground, pulling the SUV slowly inch by inch.

Inside, there was no one but the driver. There’d only been the four men.

The driver was dead, slumped over the wheel, a bullet wound in his chest, which was stained with blood. His foot was still pressing against the gas pedal.

“Mandy!” called out Max. “It’s clear.”

Mandy was already exiting the cover of the trees, leading with her gun.

“You injured?” shouted Max.

She was still some distance away.

“No,” she called out, shaking her head. “You?”

Max shook his head. “Come on. We’ve got to get our gear.”

There wasn’t any hope in tipping the pickup back over.

Mandy was jogging over, as Max made his way back to the pickup, reaching into the bed trying to grab his pack, which was lodged in a corner.

“What are we going to do?” said Mandy. Her forehead was sweaty. She was pushing her hair back behind her ear. “Are we going to carry all this?”

“There’s a reason we brought packs,” said Max. “We’re not going to be able to get the SUV unstuck. We’re walking from here on out.”

“Shit,” muttered Mandy.

Max had gotten a hold of the strap of his pack and was about to pull it towards himself when he heard something.

“What’s that?” whispered Mandy. Her voice sounded full of worry.

Max turned around.

Down the road, coming from the way they’d driven, was the SUV that had driven away not long ago.

“Looks like round two,” said Mandy.

The SUV was driving fast. It swerved now into the empty oncoming lane, hugging the shoulder, kicking up dirt and plastic bags as if sped along.

Behind the SUV, Max could now see another car. It was an older model American made car, riding low to the ground. Which meant it was packed full of people.

There was no way they could fight them all off. They’d gotten lucky once. They weren’t going to get lucky again.

“We’ve got to go,” said Max.

“But our gear!”

“Now!” shouted Max.

He grabbed Mandy’s wrist and started pulling her away from the pickup.

He let go only as they both broke into a sprint. They were headed for the trees.