“The writing of a book part. Maybe after all this is over, I’ll write a book about what happened to the three of us.”
“Well Ali, you have the memory for it, but you may as well plan for it to be considered science fiction, fantasy.”
“Yeah, you’re right, Ev. No one would ever believe it really happened, anyway.”
“There are times even I don’t believe it,” Evan muttered mostly to himself.
Creed chuckled at the brothers, leaned back and closed his eyes. He was hoping to get a short nap before the dehydrated meals were served. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt hopeful about his future.
Moments later the brothers heard Creed snoring softly from his seat.
49 Target Practice
The wait was getting to her. Farrow, a soldier known for her ability to stalk a target for hours on end, was feeling very itchy. Three hours had passed since she last saw movement outside the house and for three hours she had waited for her chance to finish this assignment. So, for six and a half hours, Farrow had lain on her stomach in the dirt and grass with her eye glued to her scope.
It was hot and humid. She had to wipe her hands on a chalk bag periodically to help her maintain her grip on the rifle. A pool of sweat had formed in the small of her back, and the front of her uniform was drenched, but she didn’t know whether it was more from perspiration or the moisture in the dirt. Yeah, the wait was definitely getting to her, but not because of the aforementioned conditions.
She wasn’t getting tired. No, that wasn’t the problem. She was getting very angry. This woman and her metas felt like a personal threat to Farrow, and the longer she had to think about it, the more she determined that life as she knew it was hanging in the balance here. Farrow was resolute in her intention to remove that threat.
A droplet of sweat trickled down her cheek and fell to the already damp dirt below, and that’s when she saw it.
Movement.
The back door opened and out came the coyote again. At the doorway, a human’s head peeked out briefly before ducking back inside and closing the door. If she played this right, she could take out the human first, then the canine.
Oh, hell yeah, she thought to herself. One shot, one kill. One shot, one kill. She resumed chanting the sniper’s mantra in her mind.
After missing out on eliminating three targets three hours ago because of fear that she’d give away her element of surprise, she was not going to miss out this time. She didn’t care which human it was. It was dead meat next time the door opened.
She didn’t have long to wait. The coyote finished doing its business and began trotting back to the house. The person must have been watching for the animal because the door opened when it approached. She had half a second to respond to the figure standing only partly exposed.
Controlling her breathing to steady herself, she squeezed the trigger and watched happily as the figure spun around with the bullet’s impact and fell to the ground. It was half in, half out of the doorway with its legs still visible to Farrow.
The coyote immediately began barking; a piercing, panicked bark that carried over the distance to Farrow’s ears. She resisted the natural urge to stare at the motionless body that was her first target and instead quickly located the barking coyote in her scope. Again, she took aim.
She inhaled slowly, again controlling her breathing, and squeezed the trigger. The coyote’s yelp was instantaneous, but he didn’t fall to the ground like he should have.
“Damn it,” Farrow cursed herself for missing the kill.
She wasn’t given another chance. The coyote ran into the house, yelping and moments later, the body of the human was dragged back into the house. The door slammed shut, and all was still.
Weighing her options, Farrow decided it was getting late enough for her to prepare her next attack. She was pretty sure that human wasn’t Dr. Margo Winter because of the size of the frame. She believed it to have been a male; either Dr. Andrews or his son. It wasn’t a fat enough shape to have been Dr. St. Paul and Farrow knew of no other persons in the house.
She stayed on her belly as she packed her gear quickly and crawled back down the other side of the hill until she was sure she couldn’t be seen from the St. Paul house, even with high powered scopes. Because of how remote, dense and inaccessible her location had been, it took her a while to make it down to where she left her motorcycle hidden in the greenery. When she arrived, she replenished fluids and calories, changed clothing, gathered the gear she would need for this next attack and waited for nightfall.