Joshua Gayou - Commune - The Complete Series - A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Box Set (Books 1-4)

“Leupold. Good taste!”

Despite the situation, Greg laughed and said, “What?”

“Nothing. Get back up there and start shooting.”

“Right on!” he shouted and did just that.

I ripped the scope from its packaging and confirmed, thank fuck, that it would mount to the rifle’s rail. Torquing down the mount’s thumb screws, I yelled, “How do they look, Davidson? They falling back?”

“Yeah, they’ve fallen way back! They’re still in range to shoot at us, though. Maybe a few hundred yards?”

“Bet your ass they fell back,” I grumbled under my breath. “Show ’em a little tooth and just watch their dicks shrivel up and fall off…”

I didn’t have the requisite Allen wrench to secure the Scope’s mount to the rifle rail, so I had to content myself with using the pliers on my multi-tool to twist the screws down, scuffing the shit out of everything and not giving one good goddamn. Dropping the scope into its mount, I pulled the Phillip’s head screwdriver out of the tool and tightened everything down.

I shouldered the rifle to see how I’d done and found the picture to be about the jankiest thing I’d ever slapped together. The crosshair was all lopsided, making any adjustments for windage or elevation absolutely pointless. I was just going to have to figure out where to hold on target and pray for the best.

Digging out a pair of binoculars, I turned and wrestled myself one-legged back into a standing position. I held them out to Greg and said, “I’m gonna need you to walk me on.”

“Say what?” he asked.

I pointed at the rifle. “I just slapped this piece of shit on here. It’s not zeroed or anything; I’d be surprised if it even gets close to where I’m aiming. I need you to sight where I hit and tell me how far off I am.”

“Oh, holy shit,” he groaned, grabbing the binoculars. He put them to his eyes and moaned, “Proceed…”

I took aim and, just before I could squeeze the trigger, a bullet impacted into the wood below my chin, shooting splinters up into the air and stinging the shit out of my face.

“Yeah, they’re still in range, I said,” an annoyed Davidson shouted.

“Well, why the fuck aren’t you suppressing, man! Turn up the heat on them! Jesus Christ!”

He grumbled a bunch of shit under his breath while swapping in a new magazine. He slapped his bolt release, pivoted, and had three-round bursts going down range almost before his muzzle was in place.

“Okay, where was I?” I whispered and took the first shot. “Where’d I hit, Greg?”

“I didn’t see it.”

“You didn’t… were you looking?”

“Oh, no, Gibs, you’re right. I was over here downloading porn to my iPhone and twiddling with my dick!”

“Well, put it away and peel your damned eyes, son! You’re looking for puffs of debris on the pavement, okay?”

“Got it,” Greg said. “Go again.”

I took another shot. “Anything?”

“Nothing. I didn’t see a damned thing.”

“Well, shit,” I said and pulled the mag out. “Start shooting back at them, Greg, while I get this hog reloaded.”

Davidson suddenly fell on his ass beside me and shouted, “God damn it !”

“What! What happened?”

He was alternating between slapping at his chest frantically and holding his hands up in front of his face.

“Davidson, what? Calm the fuck down! What is it!”

“Figure it the hell out soon, will yah?” Greg shouted.

“Tom!” I shouted, grabbing him by the front of his vest and giving him one hard shake. “What the hell, man?”

Relief poured over his face in a wave as he let his head drop back and he began to laugh. “Son of a bitch. I took a hit right to the chest. I thought I’d had it. Felt like a fucking truck!”

I laughed along with him, relieved that he was okay. Lightly slapping his plate carrier, I said, “Glad you’re not dead. Now quit skating and get back in this fight.”

“Yes please!” Greg yelled, dropping behind the wall to swap in a fresh magazine. With all three of us down, the return fire intensified considerably.

I finished reloading and groaned as I turned to stand up again, accepting Davidson’s offered hand. Settling the barrel down on a one-time shield wall that now looked a lot more like Swiss cheese, I glanced at Greg on my left and shouted, “Ready?”

He put the binoculars to his eyes and gave a thumbs-up.

“Alright. Red sedan in the center. See it?”

“Yeah, go!” Greg yelled.

“Davidson, try not to shake the shield, okay?”

He stopped firing long enough to say, “Roger. Sorry.”

“Okay,” I whispered quietly. “Let’s… see…” The rifle crashed, slamming back into my shoulder.

“Got it!” Greg shouted, slapping the barrier with his hand. “You were low and to the left!”

“How far?”

“About a couple of feet left and three down.”

“Jesus, that’s way off. Okay, how about now?” Another crash. I thought about how shitty my shoulder would feel the next day… assuming I lived that long.

“Nothing that time,” Greg said, binoculars glued to his face.

“Maybe too high…” Davidson suggested.

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” I said. “Okay, here we go. Red sedan…” I exhaled and squeezed.

Have you ever played basketball or maybe just been out on the court shooting hoops with some friends? Sometimes you take a shot, maybe from the three-point line, and you know… you just know that it’s going into that hoop. The shot feels so good that you know the ball is going home as soon as it slips off your fingers. Yeah. That’s how that shot felt.

“Boom, motherfucker!” yelled Greg. “Right through the hood!”

“That’s it. That’s where I hold.” I smiled and cycled the bolt. “Okay, shit bags. Let’s see how well you drive without engines.”

I blew out three more vehicles in rapid succession after that. Just… one after the other; bang, bang, bang—like that, before they figured out what was going on and fell back even further.

“Think that’s it,” Davidson said, pulling his rifle back. “I don’t think I can hit them anymore. You guys?”

“Not me,” said Greg.

“I’m out too,” I said. “This little baby could hit them if I had the scope set better, but I don’t know where to hold it on them anymore. I don’t want to waste any more rounds trying to find my mark again. Let ’em hang back there for now.”

I turned and sank down to my ass, groaning as I gingerly stretched my right leg out in front of me. The entry and exit both seemed fairly clean to me; it wasn’t even bleeding as bad as it could have. It hurt so bad I could barely stand on it but outside of that, I seemed to have gotten off easily. I opened up my blowout kit, dug out an Israeli Battle Dressing, and began irrigating the wounds with a bottle of water. “Davidson, get Wang on the radio and tell him to slow it down. Let’s not eat that fuel up if those assholes are hanging back. Oh, and let him know we’re gonna top off the fuel, so he doesn’t freak out when he sees a bunch of lights flash on his console.”

As Davidson relayed my message up front, I told Greg, “Hey, very carefully , head up to the front and top our tank off, will yah?”

“Uh… can we do that? While we’re driving, I mean?”

“Sure. Of course,” I said. “It ain’t like gasoline. Go for it, kid. Just feed that hose into the pipe and turn the reserve’s pump on.”

“Oh, okay. I’m on it,” he smiled and began to stumble his way across the trailer towards the tailgate.

We’d been coasting along at an easy speed while the asshole brigade continued to follow along at a safe distance; about a mile as far as I could estimate. They weren’t creeping up on us, but they certainly weren’t breaking the chase off either. I was fine with it. As long as they were back there, I didn’t have to worry about hot lead drilling up my ass.