18
Artem
The walk to the car and the drive home that follows both go quickly. I can move much faster under cover of night.
The moment I park outside the lodge, I jump into action, setting traps in the surrounding area and getting all my guns in order.
I pick the spot I’m planning on luring them to and start setting up traps around the perimeter. I work quickly and quietly with a flashlight clenched between my teeth to illuminate my hands.
With some old car parts filched from the junkyard on the outer rim of town, I fashion jagged-toothed traps that will snap shut on anyone who wanders too close. I pity the poor fucker who gets caught here.
When I hear the crunch of leaves in the underbrush, I get up fast and snatch the gun resting at my side.
They’re here sooner than I expected…
Or not.
It’s just the mutt from before.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter. I set the rifle down and return to finishing my traps.
The dog pads over to me. Instinctively, I put my hand out and push him away from the sharpened sticks.
“Unless you want to lose a leg,” I tell him, “I would clear away from this general area.”
The dog cocks his head to the side as though he’s really listening to me. I finish setting up and make sure each trap has been expertly hidden by leaves.
Once that’s done, I head back to the cabin to check on a few things. I probably don’t have very long. They could arrive in a matter of minutes, but I’m counting on my traps to tip me off.
The dog follows behind me. I realize that the annoyance I usually feel has lessened somewhat.
When we get back to the cabin, I put some water down in a bowl for him.
Motherfucker has the audacity to look surprised.
“Don’t get too excited,” I growl at him. “This is a one-time thing.”
He laps up the water, finishing it in seconds. I fill it up for a second time and then go back to cleaning my guns.
When I start towards the door, the dog follows behind me.
I put my foot in the way. The dog does that curious head-tilt shit he loves doing.
“Just for today,” I grumble, “you can hang out in the cabin. Don’t make yourself too comfortable. And stay off my goddamn bed.”
Then I shut the door on him, trapping him inside. I hear whimpering on the other side and pawing at the door, but I ignore it and keep walking.
It’s for your own good. You don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.
I head back to the location I’ve marked in the woods, settle down amongst the leaves, and lie in wait.
I should probably feel like a man who’s been backed into a tight corner.
But I feel more like a hunter stalking his prey.
It takes them longer than I’d anticipate to get here. Long enough, anyway, to make me second guess whether they’ll come at all.
But then I hear the crunch of boots on gravel and a smile stretches across my face. I have a fight on my hands.
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.
Two more follow on its heels. I smirk with satisfaction, knowing that the steel traps have done their work.
Rapid-fire Spanish wails out into the night. I don’t have to speak the language to know
