Infected (Book 2): The Flight Read Free Page A

initial response was to move for the cover of the tree behind them.  Matt’s first response was to rip his pistol from its holster and put lead downrange.  He moved for cover as his gun spat its own short flames toward the ambushers. 
    Connor and Matt hunkered behind the same tree their families had used for cover a short time before.  An occasional thud reverberated through the tree as it absorbed the energy of a bullet that had buried itself deep in the trunk. 
    The initial flurry of gunfire died to sporadic pops as both sides settled down and began looking for the outline of a target illuminated by the moon overhead. 
    “I’m getting sick and tired of people shooting at me,” Matt hissed from two feet away in a moment of stillness. “Why is my rifle in the car every time I need it?  It would come in pretty handy right now.”
    Connor agreed.  The two shooters were at least a hundred yards away.  Under the best of circumstances, it was a really long shot for a pistol. In the poorly illuminated night, it was virtually impossible to hit somebody at that distance.
    “We’re going to have to get closer to win this,” Connor said softly.  “Do you want to stay here and lay down cover fire or do you want to try to get behind them?”
    “You’re always telling me how fast you are.  Why don’t you put some of that greased lightning speed to use?” Matt quietly uttered.  “I like it right here behind this tree.”
    “Okay,” Connor said, pulling two spare magazines out of his pocket.  “Take these.  You won’t be able to cover me very well if you run out of bullets.  I’m going to crawl back a ways and try to slip out of here unnoticed,” he whispered.  Matt gave a nearly imperceptible nod as he slid to the right, peered around the tree, and fired into the darkness to the right of the shed.  The two gunmen immediately lit up the area in front of them with several brief muzzle flashes.  Bullets hit close to Matt, peppering his face with wood chips from the tree and dirt and gravel from the ground.  He quickly squirmed back behind cover.
    “I’m going to try to work my way up the hill to get behind them.  Remember where I am when you fire,” Connor admonished as he slid backwards and turned around, trying to burrow into the dirt as he scurried away on his belly.
    Twenty yards from the tree, Connor started down a slight hill.  When he had moved down the hill far enough to be out of sight, he transitioned to his hands and knees, quadrupling his speed.  A short distance later, the crest of the hill provided enough cover that he rose to his feet, hunkered over as far as he could, and began to run. 
    As Connor moved away from the house, the undergrowth increased, providing additional concealment as he began a wide circle that would take him up the hill and bring him back down and behind whoever was shooting at Matt.  He just hoped that the two shooters hadn’t seen him leave and would stay where they were until he could get into position behind them.
    His heart was racing, both from adrenaline and exertion.  He consciously forced himself to slow his pace, hoping to quiet his approach as well as decrease his galloping heart rate enough to let him hit his target when he got into position.
    Connor’s estimation of time was distorted by the stress his body was being subjected to.  He looked briefly at his watch which glowed green when he squeezed the top right button.  The reading meant nothing because he had failed to look at it when he started.  He estimated he had been moving for a minute or two, but it could have been more. He didn’t know for sure.  Matt kept up his cover fire, sending a round out every five or six seconds.  With the ammo load Connor knew Matt had, he figured Matt could keep that rate of fire up for five or six minutes before he ran out of bullets.  The deeper booming of the two rifles assured him that Matt had been unsuccessful in his attempts to hit either