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

shooter.
    The rifle shots came closer together than Matt’s shots, and the constant booms helped Connor track his progress.  By the time he estimated he was directly above the shooters, Connor had gained about eighty feet of elevation and was probably two hundred yards away from them.  His circular path started him back downhill as he began flanking the attacking party.  He had to continually force himself to slow, conscious of the sound he knew he was making.  The constant ring in his ears overshadowed most of the noise he made and he was sure the shooters suffered from the same problem.  Connor still worked to move as silently as possible. 
    The brush thinned and then disappeared and the shed came into view. Matt’s ricochets zinged away into the night, motivating Connor to keep low.  He approached the shed from forty-five degrees to the left, hoping it would keep him out of Matt’s field of fire.  At fifty or sixty yards, Connor saw the prone form of the first gunman come into view in the dim moonlit night.  He was oblivious to Connor’s approach.  As he slowly inched closer, Connor realized the second shooter had moved.  Connor was now close enough to see the entire area, and there was only one person there.  The second must have left to flank Matt’s position.  It was possible Connor had passed him in the brush and had not even realized it.  Connor raised his pistol to fire and then hesitated.  If the other shooter was still close by, Connor would give away his position and draw his fire. 
    Not knowing where the second shooter was, Connor paused, deciding how to best approach the situation.  He realized that Matt hadn’t fired for quite a while.  The shooter in front of Connor noticed, too, and raised himself up higher.  At first Connor feared Matt may have been hit, but then Matt yelled a string of insults at the shooter, daring him to show himself.  It dawned on Connor that Matt was out of bullets.  The shooter came to the same conclusion and rose up further, taking a solid rest on a boulder.  Realizing the gunman had no clue Conner was there, Connor placed his pistol back in the holster.  He pulled his knife out of his pocket and slowly opened the four-inch blade. 
    Hoping he was right in his assessment that Matt’s ammo supply was depleted, Connor moved directly behind the shooter and into Matt’s line of fire.  Connor closed to three feet behind the man before he sensed Connor’s presence.  The shooter began to turn his head to the left.  Connor lunged to his right side, grasping the gunman’s chin in his left hand and pulling it all the way around to his left shoulder.  He plunged the point of the knife into the now exposed right side of the shooter’s neck and made two quick sawing motions.  Hot sticky fluid gushed from the wound.  The blade momentarily slowed as it passed through the tough cartilage of his windpipe and then freely cut again until it grated to a stop against his spine.  His last breaths gurgled from his severed throat and then his body went limp, his chin slipping from Connor’s grasp. 
    Connor briefly froze, looking in horror at the savagery he had wrought.  Deserved or not, such a barbaric attack bucked and kicked at his conscience.  He pushed the guilt from his mind and reached for the ambusher’s rifle.  As Connor lifted the AR style rifle, he saw several magazines on the ground.  He picked one up and, realizing it was empty, dropped it back to the bare dirt.
    Pulling the charging handle back halfway opened the action of the rifle enough for him to place a finger in and feel that there was at least one round left in the gun.  Unsure of where the second shooter had gone, Connor was hesitant to remain where he was.  He vainly searched the dim moonlit terrain, looking for the other assailant.  The only place that made sense for him to go was up the hill following the reciprocal path that Connor had taken.  How they had missed each other was a