Wraith

Chapter 34 - Mud and Blood

Chapter 34 - Mud and Blood

Chancer ejected the spent magazine from her rifle, reaching to her side and pulling one of the final clips from her vest. She knelt in a shallow trench, ankle-deep in cold mud, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in her leg. The hastily stitched bullet wound was holding for now. Across the lumber yard, she heard the echoing crack of three gunshots, too far away to be Jackson.

Was it Jason? Had he shot Charlotte? Had he been shot? She did her best to push the questions out of her mind, focusing on the fight right in front of her. Jackson was darting between piles of wood in the gloom, forcing her step by step out of the dense tangle of machinery that she'd entrenched herself in, trading each position he took for one slightly more advantageous.

She was running low on ammo, he probably was too, but from everything she'd seen about the things he could do that wouldn't matter all that much. Doing the math in her head, with her injury, in a battle of attrition the Wraith would win every time. She was pretty much fucked if things kept up this way. The wash of bright light that swung out of the treeline illuminated their firefight at the edge of the lumber yard momentarily, both taking a half-second to assess the newcomers to the fray. She could see the flashing of red and blue lights, the screech of tires, she could hear the doors opening and men shouting.

Peeking momentarily out from behind their respective positions, she shared a momentary glance with the blank visor of the Wraith's mask, and an almost imperceptible nod. The worry was plain on Chancer's face, and judging from his own body language she could tell that he was tense. This was unexpected. The Wraith put a finger to his ear, tapping his comms, and muttering something that Chancer couldn't hear. In a second, he stood to his full height from behind the cover and turned his full attention onto the new arrivals. Through that bright wash of lights, the gloom and the rain, she could see the long silhouette of two figures limping deeper into the yard as fast as they could, one supporting the other under the shoulder.

She immediately broke cover, following a half dozen steps behind Jackson as she realised what had happened. Hamish's backup had arrived, and his father had brought a small army. Fuck. Chancer breathed deep, heavy footfalls drummed into the more compacted earth that formed the centre of the roads. As she stared at the back of the serial killer running in front of her, she briefly considered how easy it would be to end this all now. Just one well-placed bullet and it would all be over. He'd undoubtedly had similar thoughts about ending her, it wouldn't be hard if he put his mind to it.

Before she could put too much thought into it, they both reached the retreating figures that came into clarity out of hazed silhouettes. What little she could see of Charlotte's face looked pale, even paler than usual, blood coated the front of her vest. Redcliffe was drenched in blood, but not much of it appeared to be his.

"He got a lucky shot in," Redcliffe called as the two pairs met each other in the open, "We need to move. She's not going to last long, she needs a hospital."

"Fuck that, I can shoot," Charlotte gasped, taking quick and shallow breaths. Redcliffe could hear a gurgling rasp in her voice and tried not to think of the cause.

Jackson nodded, reaching to his side and pulling out the compact grenade launcher he'd used earlier, holding the submachinegun loosely in his other hand as he passed the chunky pseudo-pistol to Charlotte.

Chancer's eyes went wide looking at the weapon, she'd forgotten about it entirely. Why hadn't he used it before? She wouldn't have been able to do anything, pinned in cover like she was, one good shot and she would have been torn to pieces with little effort. Had he really been just toying with her, delaying her while Charlotte dealt with her business? She didn't have time to voice any of these concerns as the small group ducked off the thin dirt road, taking cover behind a heavily rusted shipping container. Jackson pulled two projectile grenades from a small bandolier attached to his waist, the only two he had left, and passed them over to Charlotte.