“Son of a bitch,” Chuck said as he dove for cover next to a broken-down truck.

Judging by the gunshot, Chuck thought it was a small caliber handgun. People liked to say that a .22 or 9mm was shit because it didn’t have the impact of a .40 or larger caliber. He knew from experience that a .22 could kill just as quickly as a Dirty Harry .44 Automag. It might take a few more shots, but hit someone in an extremity and it’s hard to think, let alone walk. He knew from experience because he’d once been shot in the left calf.

Another round smacked into the dump truck, so he did the only thing he could and shimmied underneath. Chuck rolled under the big transport, harness pressed against his back as he plowed through the reek of brackish water.

Chuck came out from under the other side and rolled toward a sidewalk. The building before him bore signs of dilapidation. The door hung from the frame by a prayer, appropriate considering it was a church. The roof sagged inward on the left side and the wall was cracked on the right. Moss grew along the archway and the entryway was in disrepair, cross crooked and hanging by a single nail.

He ran for the entryway and sought shelter within as another round struck the wall next to his head.

Pews stood in long rows, yet some had been tossed over. Blood covered the second from the rear, but it was the object on the pedestal at the center of the room that caught his eye.

“Jesus saves after all,” Chuck gasped.

He snapped up the AKM and quickly spun it around, lifted it so he could aim, and then moved to the side. As he walked he slid the bolt carrier back to verify the gun had a 7.62 copper jacket round in the breach. He unsnapped the AK’s magazine and lowered it. From the weight he knew it was full. He snapped it back into place, lifted his right elbow until it was parallel with his shoulder, and then crouched behind the altar.

A figure appeared in the doorway, and Chuck didn’t stand on formalities. He fired three rounds, and all three found the man’s body. The guy was trim and young, but the look on his face as the third bullet found his forehead bore nothing but utter shock. He dropped without a sound, and Chuck rushed to inspect his kill.

“Got him,” Chuck said as he rotated his body cam around. “And it wasn’t so hard.”

He would have the man’s weapon, and any gear he had accumulated in the few minutes he had been on the ground. How had he found a weapon so quickly, and hunted down Chuck?

He grinned as he leaned over to look for the guy’s pistol. Then he sat back in a crouch with the AKM across his knees.

“Huh,” he muttered.

Had the son of a bitch dropped his gun? If he had, the piece wasn’t in the church.

The guy had wire frame glasses and his blonde hair was cut in a flat top. His eyes looked like they had gone cross eyed when the third round found his forehead. Blood oozed out of a hole in his throat. The third bullet had been a dandy, just to the left of center mass, and would have been enough to end this guy alone. Chuck put his hand to the guy’s throat and verified he was indeed dead.

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He peered into the guy’s camera and then offered a bloody thumbs-up to the audience.

How had this guy found a gun and fired at Chuck? He must have dove out a minute or more before Chuck and then run straight into a cache. Not that Chuck had any room to complain. He had been damn lucky to find the AKM in the church. That reminded him, he needed to get his ass in gear, look the place over for any more weapons, ammo, or goods, and then high tail it to a tall building. He wouldn’t be able to accurately snipe with the AKM, but if he got lucky he would find some optics.

The man’s body lay in the entryway to the church so Chuck grabbed his feet and dragged the corpse inside, maneuvered it around, and deposited it next to a wall, so it was out of sight.

Chuck wiped blood onto the guy’s shirt then sat back on his haunches. Less than five minutes on the ground and he already had a kill.

It wasn’t like he got off on the act of taking a life, even though he had done so in service to his country. Then there had been some work for a Mexican drug cartel that really brought up the body count. Most of the killing had been done for money, but once he had bashed in a dude’s head simply because the son of a bitch had shorted him five Gs. He and his partner, Vince, had been forced to come up with the difference out of their own pockets.

Sometimes you simply had to set an example.

But that was in the past, and this was the new world. All he had to do was survive the next three and a half hours and become a very rich man.

Something metallic hit the front of the church. Chuck ducked again, and backed up toward the stage. It provided the perfect location to cover the front. The raised floor, preacher’s booth, and a couple of scattered chairs would take the focus off him. Shadows played over the area and if someone didn’t know precisely where he was located, he would be a ghost.

Chuck press checked the AKM, and then put the stock to his shoulder and exhaled as he readied himself to fire.

After a few minutes of remaining completely motionless, he decided that maybe he hadn’t heard anything dangerous. Perhaps just a bird, or a bug. Maybe something falling off of one of these shitty buildings.

Chuck didn’t let down his guard, but he rose to his feet and decided to move out again.

As he stepped off the stage, a creak of wood made him made him turn in surprise. He would have fired, but something popped, and suddenly a fist smashed into his chest. Another pop and he spun around in a half-circle.

“Covered the front, but you didn’t cover the rear. That’s okay, rookie mistake,” the voice of an older man said.

Chuck tried to gurgle up an excuse. How could he have been so fucking stupid? The back of the room had lain in near-darkness, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a rear entrance.

“Didn’t think I’d get the drop on you. I spent a good sixty seconds just turning the doorknob.”

Chuck’s body drew cold. He focused on his right arm and commanded it to lift the AKM and kill this guy. Another pop, and his bicep gave out.

A thin man came into view. He carried a little revolver in one hand. .38 snub nose, if Chuck wasn’t mistaken.

Chuck tried to beg, but it came out as bloody bubbles.

“It’s okay. I feel for you, kid. Old Eli got the drop on you. Big guy, good training, nice moves. I chased that other fella in here, and you did the work for me. Good diversion, that,” Eli said as he removed a thin blade from a scabbard at his belt. “Isn’t this some luck? I found a gun, holster, belt, and this beauty.”

Eli held the blade up and turned it over and over.

Gurgle.

“I’ll make it quick. No hard feelings or anything.”

Eli leaned over and peered into Chuck’s camera. “Oh, hello there.”

Eli ripped Chuck’s shirt open. Chuck tried to bat the man’s hand aside but he didn’t have much left.

Then Eli put the blade over Chuck’s chest, between a pair of metal straps that carried the electric current, and dragged the blade left like a surgeon. Pain flared as the sharp blade sliced his chest open, but Eli simply cocked his head to the side as Chuck’s blood blossomed. Then Eli put his other hand on top of the pommel and drove it straight into Chuck’s chest with a sickening crunch. It ripped through bone and found his heart.

Chuck’s eyes widened as exquisite pain erupted, and then it all went black as his life ended.