Charlie quickened her pace and glanced back at the three raiders. The last thing she needed was more scumbags following her. And who was that who stopped their car on the overpass? It wasn’t a Raider vehicle – didn’t have the distinct paint and spikes – but it couldn’t possibly be civilian, not after the last attacks. That narrowed the possibility to either some local militia group or a Royalist scouting party. With her Barrett M82 rifle slung over her shoulder she broke into a sprint. Sure enough, the Raiders cried out and followed. “Where’re you going, sweetheart?”
The alley to the left was a good start. Charlie ducked in and out of corners, vaulted fences and passed through buildings until she reached a dead end in a fenced off car park. Shit… The Raiders stood in a line behind her, a little puffed, their faces grimy and distorted; one carried a knife, another had a pistol tucked into the front of his pants, and the third was unarmed. Charlie frowned and made a gesture saying, ‘You caught me’. The nearest Raider circled her and peeled off her grey hood and goggles. They marvelled at her fair skin and crystal-blue eyes, and her blonde hair as it fell around her shoulders. “Yer pretty,” the raider said. He brandished a knife.
As the Raider brought the knife to her cheek she caught his hand and pulled it aside, striking the joint of his elbow until she felt it snap. She slung the Barret from her shoulder and bashed the raider in the jaw with the stock. Another set of gritty hands grabbed both ends of the weapon and Charlie felt the body of the other raider pressed against her from behind, pulling the Barret M82 against her chest, dragging her backwards.
The Raider with the pistol stood in front of her. “Damnit, hold her steady!” He shoved a groping hand at her breast and tore at her clothes.
Charlie drove her boot into his knee, it buckled and as he went down she kicked him in the chest, using the momentum to force her captive into the fence behind them; as he thudded against it she threw her head back and busted his nose, then smashed her elbow into his ribs. He released her. She spun around, gripped the rifle, and fired a point-blank round into his stomach – the shot echoed through the silent town – and in an explosion of blood and guts the Raider collapsed.
The Raider Charlie had kicked scrambled to his feet and drew his pistol but she disarmed him in an instant, took a step back, and fired two shots at his chest. The final raider had fled. Charlie tucked the pistol into the back of her pants as she watched him grow smaller and smaller down the long alleyway to the main road. She raised her Barrett M82 like it was an extension of her own body. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and squeezed the trigger. The fleeing target jolted as the 50. Calibre round tore through his chest in a spurt of red mist.
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