Fucking finally.
I double-check my position against the new arrivals. From the direction they’re coming in, I know they’ll fan out, but they won’t be able to circle around me. So I don’t have to worry about defending my back. Not just yet anyway.
I see movement and I keep my gun cocked. It’s obvious from the clumsy, careless movements that they’re not expecting me to be lying in wait.
Amateurs.
The moment their figures approach, I assess the situation. I can see four of them but I know there are more at their backs.
All the men I can see are armed, which means the rest will be as well. None of them are yet aware that I’m here, watching them.
Two of the poor souls wander within range of my bullets. The other two in the lead party are still weaving between trees, making a clean shot difficult.
I decide to hedge my bets and wait a little longer. This will all be over soon enough. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.
Snippets of their hushed conversation carries over to where I’m hidden.
“… we need to be fucking careful…”
“… are you fucking serious? He’s one man. There’s nine of us.”
Well, thank you for that morsel of information.
“He’s not just one fucking man. He killed three of ours today.”
“From a distance, under cover. That’s not a fucking accomplishment. That’s the coward’s way out.”
I laugh silently. I’d give the braggart a brave man’s fight if that’s what he’s after, but it will end exactly the same way.
This is much cleaner and easier for the both of us.
I peer around the corner and catch a glimpse of the fucker who just spoke. He looks young, but definitely older than twenty. He should fucking know better.
He was not meant to be my first target, but he’s just changed my mind.
I take aim with the rifle.
Don’t blink. Don’t hesitate.
This is just more target practice.
Without a silencer, the gunshot blasts through the air, careening through the silence like an avalanche.
Before the first bullet has even met its target, I’ve shot a second time. Two bodies drop to the forest floor.
The remaining men scatter in a frenzy of panicked limbs.
Two down. Seven to go.
I back away quickly, moving towards the cabin and making more noise than necessary. I want them to hear me—they need to follow me in order for my plan to work.
“He’s trying to run!” someone shouts.
Assuming they’ve gotten me on the defensive, they rush out at me with their guns raised. The trees provide plenty of protection and all the bullets bury themselves harmlessly in the thick trunks.
They charge forward in search of a better line of fire.
And then a blood-curdling scream penetrates the air.