“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with knives?” said Connor, turning his grim smile toward the Sniper.
“Leave ’im be, Dave,” said the Sniper. “Let’s just go.” The sniper failed to hide a faint grin, but despite his amusement, he was noticeably more alert.
“Fuck you, Marty! I ain’t leaving him. This bastard’s mine!” Dave touched his neck, incensed at the blood on his hands. Furious, he snatched up the knife, prepared to launch his next assault. There was an uproar from the crew.
“C’mon, Dave, he’ll fuckin’ kill you!”
Dave was blind to that possibility. “Fuck you!”
“You gotta know that, Davey,” taunted Connor.
“Piss off!”
“I haven’t seen somebody move that fast in a long time,” said the Sniper, admiringly.
“Yeah, so what! I’m gonna kill this little bastard.”
“Dave. Dave. Just how ’bout you save some face, huh? Admit you’re outmatched. C’mon, let’s move on. We don’t need this.”
“You don’t know shit, Marty.”
“Dammit! Just let ’im go. It’s not worth it.”
“Fuck you, Marty! I run this crew.”
Connor tracked the exchange with interest. Like watching a tennis match, turning his head to catch each volley.
“Davey, c’mon, this guy’s probably a damn staff sergeant in this shit, aren’t ya, Airborne? Huh?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Recon. Or, if I may, Marty.”
“Let’s just leave ’im,” suggested Marty.
“He’s mine!” said Dave.
“Have Gizzy shoot ’im, then. That’ll solve it.”
Enraged, Dave attacked using a nicely deceptive right leg feint coming up and into Connor’s neck with a vicious, stabbing stroke. Connor shifted, accommodating the knife and body motion. He slammed an open right cross to the nose. Blood burst onto Dave’s face and he staggered. Dazed, he snorted, clearing blood pooling in the back of his throat. Dave appraised the situation, in no hurry to launch another assault.
“C’mon, Davey, listen up! Stop before Airborne gets pissed and kills you.”
Grudgingly, Marty nodded in Connor’s direction, a small sign of respect.
“Sounds like a plan,” said Connor.
Connor wore a tight smile, knowing a more deadly assault was coming. Fuming, Dave launched with clear intent to use his fifty-pound weight advantage. Connor took the impressive energy of the charge and transferred Dave into a nearby oak tree. Dave slammed horizontally against the tree, crumpling to the ground. The sound of snapped ribs and a grunt of escaping air told a clear story. Dave lay gasping, quite done for the moment.
“I noticed you haven’t killed him yet,” said Marty.
“Ah, I’d rather not have to fight the rest of the crew, including you, if I don’t have to. Killing Dave would kinda force the issue, wouldn’t it?”
“I see your point.”
Connor scanned the dirty and disheveled crew. “Listen, you guys, let me be on my way, okay? If we meet again and you guys need anything serious on the up and up, just ask. Name’s Connor Mac. Hear that? I’ll help you out, no questions asked.” He adjusted his backpack for comfort, preparing to leave.
Marty interrupted. “Sorry, Airborne. Sorry, Connor Mac. Can’t let you leave. Unless you leave that pack.” Marty leveled the rifle toward center mass and moved his finger tighter on the trigger.
“You’ll be dead if that finger goes any further, Marty.” Connor’s voice held calm conviction. Marty hesitated.
“How you figure that?”
“You’re good. But you’re not Snuff.”
“Snuff?”
“My traveling partner. I imagine that crazy fuck’s just about had it with my games. And, itching to do some shootin’ that’s for sure.”
“What the fuck you talking about? You don’t have squat out there.”
“Huh, are you willing to chance that?”
“I been scouting you damn near six hours. Circled you twice the last two. Area’s secure. Clean as a whistle.”
“Your call, blue eyes,” said Connor. Leisurely, he wiped his nose, twice.
“Let’s just waste ’im,” said Gizmo.
Taking the initiative, Gizmo approached Connor, shifting the M4 into his hands to fire.
“Watch it, Gizzy,” said Connor, pointing and holding the pose, “You’ll be first when it goes down you keep at it.”
“Fuck you, Connor Mac,” said Gizmo, continuing his progress, “I told Dave to let me handle—”
Gizmo crumpled to the ground with a 30.06 caliber hole between his eyes and the back of his head missing. Everyone but Connor stared at the fallen figure, stunned. A single loud reverberation bounded through the woods and Marty dropped to the ground and rolled. He swung his rifle toward the direction of the sound and immediately swung it back toward Connor.
“Save the ammo, Marty,” yelled Connor, palms up and out, “if you actually have any!”
“I have one for you!”
The crew ducked, seeking safe cover during the exchange. Connor smiled.
“C’mon, Marty! The best firepower’s first to go. You know that, you fuckin’ Jarhead! Why’d I let you live? Huh?” yelled Connor.
“You tell me,” yelled Marty. He sensed things were not as they seemed.
“Because I pointed to Gizzy, that’s why! Shoulda been you, you know that! Damn, Snuff’s probably pissed, but now has sights on you and only you.”
“Huh?”
“Listen. You hafta know I’m giving you a break.”
“That right?”
“Call it military courtesy.”
“Really? This Snuff can’t have line of sight! Besides, you’ll go down with me.”
“You don’t know Snuff.” Connor’s relaxed smile was incredibly bright. Some of the crew edged closer to the treeline. Connor noticed.
“Ah, I wouldn’t move around too much just now, guys. It might be misconstrued as an attack. You know… towards me personally.” His easy confidence stopped most movement.
“Just drop your weapons and packs, guys. Take a step or two back from ’em for me, would you?”
Grumbling and swearing, each resisted. Into the pissed off chatter, a furious scream announced that Dave had made it to a standing position, covered in his own blood. With a sigh, Connor simply pointed and Dave dropped to the ground with a small grunt. The last rays of sun began to fade, but were enough to highlight the bullet hole above his left eye, as he lay twitching. Once again, the air reverberated with the sound of a single bullet fired at medium range. Soon, night would come. Marty lowered his weapon, grinning. Connor nodded at Marty and moved toward the rest of the crew. Irritable but silent, the men dropped what they carried, except Marty.
“Like I said, gentlemen, I’ll just be on my way. But thanks for the entertainment. I must admit, I kinda needed it. There’s so little real action nowadays, since the Sickness. Oh, and sorry about Gizmo—he was probably an alright guy.”
Connor scooped up each man’s pack, testing weight. He kept several heavier ones, discarding the light ones as having limited value. “Back up, you fuck,” said Connor to a man attempting to guard his pack possessively.
The pure threat in his tone caused the man to jump. The men who’d lost packs were none too happy, but did nothing other than glare. Taking his time, Connor inspected the available guns, particularly the M4 in Gizmo’s hands.
“As I thought. No ammo. What is it with the bad planning?”
Connor checked the knives lying on the ground. He chose the nine-inch stainless Gerber for his own pack and tossed the remaining weapons deep into the woods. He found no guns of any intrinsic value except the one Marty carried. He knew he wouldn’t get that one without a fight. Besides, military sniper bore would be impossible to find nowadays, making the weapon worthless unless used as a club.