“That’s an up armoured vehicle,” said Nate, peering down his scope. “The man up top has a .22 bolt-action rifle – looks like a Ruger 77/22 - the two on the ground have an MP5 and a Mossberg 500, and what passes for their leader just has a .357 Magnum at his hip.”
And Nate’s specialist subject on Mastermind is?
Nerd.
“I don’t like the look of them,” I offered. “Why the hell are four guys with that kind of weaponry driving round in an armoured vehicle, and shooting the shit out of a pharmacy?”
“Well, obviously there’s someone in there,” answered Nate deadpan. “There’s a Range Rover parked right outside. It’s shot to shit now, mind.” He clicked his tongue. “I think you’re right though. These assholes are going for serious overkill, and they all seem to be wearing some kind of insignia on an armband. They don’t sit right with me.”
“So, what shall we do?”
“Well, for all we know, the person or people inside could have killed one of theirs, or stolen, it’s too hard to say. It looks like they’re waiting for them to surrender rather than assault.”
“We’re not going to walk away though, right?” I asked.
Nate shook his head. “No. We’ll have to take sides one way or the other, and if I was a betting man, I’d say the person or people in the pharmacy are less likely to be assholes than these toy soldiers acting like playground bullies.”
Clearly, Nate doesn’t like bullies, especially ones with guns. I guess he’s seen too many of them in the service. His tale of Kadie in Sierra Leone comes to mind again. Also, since I forced him into taking on Bancroft to liberate our little family, he’s a lot more receptive to interventions. I read a quote somewhere, I can’t remember where.
“When hope has no champion, evil rules all.”
Nate is definitely one of hope’s champions now. He’s all about standing on the side of right these days, and I like it.
“If we’re forced to act, we need to do so quickly,” he murmured. “I’m going to move for a clearer face-on shot on the guy with the rifle on the Humvee. Your first target should be the guy holding the MP5. The guy with the shotgun is less of a threat to us at this range, and the leader only has a holstered revolver. Let’s wait and see what happens, got it?”
“All over it like a hobo on a hotdog!” I nodded, lifting the rifle to my shoulder, and taking a bead on the bell end holding the machine gun.
He graced me with his raised eyebrow, gave a little snort and shake of his head, then glided gracefully away to a position about forty feet away. The four men were so focused on the pharmacy and each other, none of them were turned in our direction. Sloppy, considering how much noise they had just made. Undead could have appeared at any moment and they just weren’t being vigilant at all.
A little side note here as well. Why did no undead venture into this area after all that noise? There should have been a shitload milling about in this area, with the wall of undead blocking the main road from a few weeks back. Even if they were no longer bound by Captain Evil into that dense mass, the sheer number should have been milling and wandering for days. Surely some of them should have wandered up this way, and then drawn by the gunfire?
I mean, was there something at play here? Were we meant to find and rescue Dean, and given a little respite to do so without the undead getting their filthy claws involved? It’s weird and makes me wonder if Captain Evil is only one side of a celestial coin. I mean, there’s yin and yang, order and chaos, matter and anti-matter, and so forth. Every force has an equal and opposite force, right?
Well, if there is a celestial player for our team, they need to get their ass off the bench and get in the game, because at the moment it feels like we’re playing against a Premier League team, and we’re fielding the Dog and Partridge pub team on a Sunday morning after a night of tequila shots, and half our team are still pissed. This isn’t an even playing field, so if there is someone playing for little old humanity, they need to do more than just hold back some undead for ten minutes. I appreciate the gesture, but come on, get in the fucking game already.
Anyway, Nate got in position and I had my eyes on the bully boys, and eventually the leader hollered out that five minutes was up. Someone shouted from within the pharmacy that they were coming out, and I blinked rapidly in disbelief as I saw Deano himself – weapon held aloft in two hands – walk out of the pharmacy with all those guns trained on him.
I glanced over at Nate, and he was already looking at me. I looked back at the unfolding scene and looked back to Nate again. He raised an eyebrow, I nodded, my expression hard and jaw set, and God love him he seemed to understand. We were going to hit them. I was going to hit them no matter what, and he knew it. Without any argument, he just moved his eye back down his scope and waited. Fucking hero.
I wasn’t sure I could properly drop the guy with a single round, so I flicked the rifle to burst, aimed low knowing that muzzle would walk up, and waited. Dean was on his knees, his own rifle on the ground as his hand slowly reached to a pistol at his hip. Just as his hand was about to touch it, I pulled the trigger.
Sweet as a nut. The first round popped the guy high in the chest and the muzzle ride did the rest for the other two, finally
