Bullets rang in the distance. The shooter flinched. Frederich used the distraction to rush forward and bring the rock down on the man’s head with a loud thud. He lifted his arms and crashed the rock down again, hearing the skull break from the force. The shooter slumped down onto the boulder and stopped moving. Guns continued to fire in the distance, the cracking noise shattering the stillness of the wild. Frederich turned his head toward the other shooter, who was still focussed on the trees. He picked up the dead sniper’s rifle from the ground, aimed at the other shooter’s head and fired. The man collapsed and his gun fell out of his hand.
The urgency propelled Frederich forward. He held the rifle against his chest and sprinted across the plain. Upon entering the forest, he aimed the gun forward, holding it out in front of his chest. Ahead of him were eight shooters with automatic rifles, evenly spread out behind trees and firing in the direction of the facility. Scheffler’s guards were using the watchtowers for cover and firing back from the low ground. The recruits were scattered in all directions, some of them scrambling back toward the facility and others heading to either side of the forest to find a tree for cover. Frederich steadied his breathing and aimed at the head of the shooter on the far left. Adrenaline forced its way through his veins, and his arms were on the verge of shaking out of control. He sensed the void and took one, long, deep breath, and fired.
A gush of blood sprayed out of the shooter’s head and he fell to the ground. Frederich moved his scope to the next shooter, aimed and fired. He stepped across to get a clear sight through the trees and brought the third and fourth shooters to ground then moved forward a couple of steps and fired again. As the fifth man fell, the others finally took notice. They turned around and spotted Frederich standing behind them. While the sixth shooter took aim, Frederich fired a bullet into his skull. He moved his scope to the seventh man and saw a gun pointed directly at him. The bullets whizzed by while he let go of his rifle and leapt sidewards. He scrambled across the snow on all fours and reclaimed his gun then rolled around and took shelter behind a tree. Some seconds later there was a pause in the hail of bullets. He slowly reached his head out from behind the tree. They were gone. He looked left and saw one of them running through the forest, then right, where the other shooter was sprinting away toward the other side. He lifted his rifle and pointed it left, but was unable to find a direct shot through the trees. He hesitated for a second then gave chase.
He reached the edge of the trees and looked out over the plain while gasping for air. Nothing. Empty. Where is he? There was a flicker to his side. A surge of panic willed him to turn around, where he saw the man emerging from behind a tree twenty feet away with his rifle pointed directly at him. He had been out-manoeuvred. He dropped his shoulders and waited for the bullets. There was only a loud thump, and the weapon fell out of the shooter’s hands before he collapsed to his knees. He appeared dazed. A rock the size of a golf ball tumbled in front of him onto the snowy ground and rolled forward. Frederich looked to his left and saw Piotr standing thirty feet away on the plain, his arm held out in full extension. Frederich turned back to the shooter, who was conscious but still in a daze. Then he went numb, and everything turned silent. Dead silent. When it came, he recognised it but was powerless to do anything. No, please no. It came raging out of the void like a shattered dam; pure, unadulterated fury. White turned to black. Green to red. The image of Piotr struggling with someone briefly flashed by. Piotr fell backwards. There was blood. Piotr got back up. Fell backwards again. There was screaming, deranged and unhinged. The terrifying yell of a madman. And finally, black.
When he came to, he felt a heavy weight pressing his body into the snow. Murmurings came from nearby. He tried to get up but lacked the power. The pressure on him was too strong.
“He’s conscious,” said someone.
He heard a series of approaching footsteps.
“What the…”
“Jesus…”
They were reacting to something. Frederich tried to shuffle his body around so he could see. The pressure on him eased slightly to allow him to rotate. When he turned around he saw Scheffler’s face. He had never seen it that way. Was he dreaming? Scheffler looked frightened. Frederich looked down on Scheffler’s hands. They were covered in blood. So were his. Lots of it. His knuckles were throbbing with pain. He looked around. The recruits were standing around him with equally dazed looks.
“Why are you all looking at him like that!?” yelled Piotr, facing out at the other recruits.
Piotr bent down and tried to push Scheffler off.
“Get off him!” Piotr screamed.
Scheffler barely budged from Piotr’s effort, but he lifted his arms and knee and let Frederich go.
Piotr bent down again and placed his hands beneath Frederich’s arms to help him up. Frederich felt weak and lightheaded, and allowed himself to lean on Piotr’s body.
“Come on, brother,” said Piotr. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”
Together they walked through the trees in the direction of the facility. Frederich turned around and caught another glance of the stunned faces of Scheffler and the recruits. The shooter lay motionless behind them on the ground. His torso and legs were visible from behind a tree. The snow around him was stained all over with blood.
“Come,” whispered Piotr, looking forward with total concentration.
Together they made it through the trees,
