CHAPTER FOURTEEN

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A gunshot whizzes past my head, shattering the glass in a storefront ahead of me.

I duck my head in reflex and aim my Makarov behind me. I know I'm not going to be able to hit anything while running and aiming over my shoulder behind me at such a distance, but there's a slim chance I can make them duck back into cover, giving us more time to run.

I fire off two shots, not bothering to see where they hit, I face back forward.

Where did all the alleys go?

There were so many of them every five meters just a few streets behind us. Now there isn't even an intersection to turn to another street for as far as the flashlight beam lights up the street.

I look around for Boris, spotting him just in time to see him jump behind a car that had spun out and smashed into a lightpost before coming to a stop.

I join him behind the engine of the car, placing my hand on his back to let him know I'm there.

I lightly push his head down before raising my pistol over the hood of the car, "Boris! Укройтесь!"

I fire three more shots down the street, aiming for the shine of the swinging flashlight as our blinding assailant runs down the road. The shots start to bring the familiar light ringing sound back into my ears.

I take a moment to track the path of the enemy, trying to guess where their body is going to be in relation to the flashlight.

I send a volley of four shots, slower this time, at my best guess of the target.

I hear a thud and a scream. A man, seemingly in his older years from the gravel and hoarseness of the screaming. Either that or I'd shot his neck and he was going to die a painful suffocating death.

With the flashlight now gone, I duck behind the car. Now we can only wait for him to either rush out of cover, run away, or die.

A bullet crashes through the windshield above my head, along with some french words that I don't understand, "Va te faire foutre! Vous tous, les Russes, vous êtes des salauds!"

I swing my Makarov over the hood, keeping my head well covered by the engine, and fire off two shots to keep the frenchman behind cover.

He yells back, "Tu penses pouvoir me garder à couvert avec deux tirs? Vous allez mourir pour ce que vous avez fait! Rien ne va m'arrêter!"

He's getting close enough now that I can hear his clothes dragging on the ground and his cold fingers furiously working the metal bolt-action on his rifle.

He goes quiet, his clothes and metal stop rattling. I can still hear the snow under him moving so I know he's alive, but he's trying to be sneaky somehow.

Suddenly a shower of sparks fly from underneath the car and a loud dull cracking sound explodes from the lower car door as a bullet charges through it. That bastard is trying to shoot at us from under the car.

I swing back up above the engine hood, listening to the metal rattling as he works the bolt.

Where did he go?

The flashlight's been turned off. He's prone somewhere on the ground with a rifle trained at us underneath the car.

I try to squint into the darkness, trying to make out the shape of a desperate human with nothing left to lose.

I've spent too long out of cover.

The muted gunshot sound washes over my body, making me jump slightly.

Something tugs lightly on the back of my head.

The flash is just enough time to see where he is.

There's a spreading warm wetness on the back of my head.

I swing my Makarov over to where the flash was brightest.

I'm starting to feel dazed and tired. After this fight, I'm going to lay down and rest for a bit.

I pull the trigger, three shots.

He screams something up from the pile in the snow that he's in, "Arrêt! Arrêt! Je recharge! S'il te plaît!"

I can barely hear his sobs echoing off the desolate dark invisible buildings lining the street.

I pull the trigger again.

Click.

Quickly I eject the magazine into my left hand and drop my Makarov into my pocket.

I stuff my hands into my pants pocket, grabbing a handful of cartridges.

Panic rising fast in my veins, I use my trembling fingers to load five rounds in.

I drop the rest of the cartridges into the snow, grabbing my Makarov and slamming the magazine in.

The window fully shatters as another bullet goes crashing through it, spraying glass all over my head.

I slowly crawl to the other side of the car, hoping for a better angle that he won't have his gun trained on.

I peek my head out, with my Makarov pointing downrange.

He fires again, into the engine of the car this time.

The flash gives away his position.

I move the sights over a little bit and fire once.

I hear him sharply inhale in pain.

I fire off another three rounds.

He stands up a starts running towards me, screaming manically, "Tue-moi déj-"

I cut short whatever he was saying, with a final shot to the chest.

The threat's been stopped now.

I'm going to lay my head down and take a rest.

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