Francina was already behind the trees, bobbing and weaving in an attempt to draw fire away from the plane. Connor spent too much time watching her work, remembering the good old days when they had first met and forged the deadliest infiltration team in the country.
Then Justin stepped around the fuselage and Connor was rolling and firing and swearing all at the same time.
He landed in a ditch. Fortunately, dry. Unfortunately, deep. As he gasped for breath, waiting for air to fill his stunned lungs once again, he waved his assault rifle at the stars above, hoping they wouldn’t take it personally.
The sound of gunshots filled the air above him. Connor took deep breaths and assessed the ditch.
Steep dirt walls either side of him. The darkness absolute other than the little white pin pricks in the sky above him. Narrow and long. It was definitely a ditch.
A small object fell beside him. He heard Justin’s voice. “Catch.”
“Shit.” Connor started running away from the grenade. The explosion blew him off his feet. He landed face first in the dirt. A shower of stones landed on top of him. He instinctively covered his head.
Ears ringing, he checked his body. Numb from the blast but almost intact. His hand was covered in blood when he checked his left calf. He tried to stand but found his legs failed him. He propped himself up on the rifle and used the wall of the ditch to support his weight.
He shook his head, trying to shake the dull hum from his ears. He looked back up at the stars, and instantly regretted it. They weren’t spinning before.
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Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.
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www.amazon.co.uk/John-West/e/B072833D7Q
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Cheers.
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