Franklin ducked behind his metal barricade as gunshots sounded from below. Not just below. Hell, with the count shrinking by the minute, it seemed like gunfire came from every direction.
So no one had taken his bait yet, but this was almost as good. Every time that number decreased, it meant he was one more away from being the victor.
He crawled toward the south-facing metal barrier and used it as cover while he stuck the barrel of his gun out and zeroed in on the train car. Someone had fired from within, and at an unlikely location in the distance. Franklin panned the gun around as he tried to pick out who the railroad car shooter had been gunning for.
Franklin aimed at the target, but he wanted to stick to his plan. He could open fire and maybe take out a player, but that would leave him exposed.
A couple more gunshots, and the area Franklin had in his sights moved. Not a person, but a shape, like a large bush. The figure came into view. He was a big guy, but Franklin could make out no other details.
He put his finger on the trigger and exhaled. Franklin was sick and tired of waiting. The next time gunfire sounded from the direction of the railcar, he would use it as cover and blow the big guy away. Then the other shooter would come out to investigate, and Franklin would kill that player too.
Something struck his side, and he accidentally squeezed the trigger in surprise. The gun bucked against his shoulder. He tried to curse, but his mouth wouldn’t form a word. Franklin reached for his side, but he couldn’t feel anything, not even his fingertips.
Then he realized that he was falling.
The gunshot arrived a split-second later, but it was too late for Franklin, who, seconds later, splattered on his carefully arranged supplies below.
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“Goddamn son of a bitch!” Miljan groaned as he fought down waves of pain. The round must have found some muscle tissue, because every time he moved, it was like someone dug a dull knife into his shoulder.
At least he had partial arm movement. He could still shoot, and that meant he could still fight.
Miljan had backed himself into the crook of the pair of rocks. A pair of gun blasts had sounded, and a round had ricocheted next to his ear.
He dropped to his stomach and pushed the assault rifle ahead as he crawled out from his hiding spot, because he knew better than to sit here for much longer. Staying in one location when the bullets started to fly meant a quick death. You had to find cover, scoot, and shoot as you laid down suppressing fire.
Miljan rounded his camouflaged location and then poked his head around to look at the tower. He guessed that the shot had come from that direction, and when he got a clean look he found that the guy up there had disappeared. He followed the line of the tower to the ground and found the man.
So, who had shot the bastard?
Dirt kicked up in front of his face.
He ducked back to avoid fire from the guy in the railway car.
Miljan pulled the sole grenade from inside of his vest, yanked the pin out, and then while holding down the lever, prepared for the throw. The frag grenade would stand little chance of killing the guy in the rail car, but it would rattle him, and provide a distraction so Miljan could close and finish the man off. It was going to hurt, a lot, but he had no choice. The wound in his shoulder would prevent him from throwing with his full range.
A beat-up old car spun off the road and headed straight for Miljan’s location.
He squinted his eyes, uttered a curse, and sent the grenade sailing over the rocks directly at the vehicle.
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Eli set his eyes on the open field and skirted the location with the Buick until the warnings increased. The watch thumped rhythmically as he closed in on what he presumed was the final zone.
The display showed there were five left. Just four more kills, and he would be the winner!
He had it made now. The car was a tank, and next to him lay a submachine gun, a half dozen magazines filled with shiny copper, an assortment of handguns, the makings of a Molotov cocktail, and boxes of ammunition.
The real prize lay across the front seat, and he hoped to God he had a chance to use it. Of course, if it came down to it, he would rely on the weapons, but what a great kill it would be if he could skewer someone with the long spear he had found.
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He kept the M1911 handgun in his left hand while he steered with his right. The Buick was heavy, and it might stop smaller caliber bullets, but anyone with some kind of assault rifle could potentially turn it into Swiss cheese.
His plan was simple. All he had to do was drive around and shoot whoever popped up, and with any luck, he would be able to impale at least one. Like he was a knight and this beat to hell Buick was his not-so-shining steed.
Eli took the spear and stuck the end out of the window, then wedged the end under his shoulder and against the seat cushion.
“That’s right, boys and girls. Old Eli is here to joust at the end of the game.”
Eli’s eyes followed a device that sailed out from behind a boulder. His eyes widened just before the car took the brunt of an explosion and the windows blew completely out.
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Smitty scanned the area with his scope, but any sign of Dale was long gone. He had pulled the motorcycle off the side of the road right next to the corpse of a poor bastard who had been shot in the face. His lifeless eyes stared at the sky.
“Sucks to be you, bro.” Smitty shrugged.
He lifted the rifle to his shoulder and scanned the area for Dale once again. He sat a quarter mile from the last zone and the other players lined his HUD as they moved toward each other. The closest player was just to the east of his location.
“Did Pickford fall asleep?”
“She just got a kill,” Trevor informed him. “There was a man up on that tower you were worried about, but she took him out with one shot. Pretty damn impressive, if you ask me.”
“She’s got a fucking sniper rifle and I’m out here in the blind?”
“You’re good, man. You’ll be the first to know if she becomes alerted to your location.”
“Christ, that’s the same thing I’m packing.”
“Technically, you’re rocking an M24 SWS. It’s cooler looking than hers,” Trevor said.
“That’s true,” Smitty said. “I’m going to get a little closer. You’re sure Dale’s still in that building?”
“He hasn’t moved. His signal went out for a few, but he’s back. We think he’s on the second floor. He’ll have to show himself before much longer if he hopes to get back in the game.”
“Fine. I’m moving in,” Smitty said.
“Check the big yellow X on your HUD. I’d suggest using that as your sniper nest.”
Smitty turned his gaze to follow the road. If he proceeded that way, he would be in full view of the field for a few seconds. For a split second, the HUD went fuzzy, and the position of the players glitched. He smacked the side of the helmet and when the screen self-corrected he found that some of the players had changed positions.
“I’m seeing some strange stuff on my display. Is this thing working correctly?”
“Sorry, Smitty. We’re getting some interference from the drones. We’re working to clean up the signal,” Trevor said.
The display flashed bright yellow, then red, then finally it went back to normal. Smitty shook his head and wished like hell he could rub his eyes.
“Man. I hope this thing is working,” Smitty said.
“Only the best technology, Smitty. We got your back,” Trevor reassured him.
“I hope so. You don’t want to lose the host of the show to a random player, right?” Smitty said. “I’m going to gun it so I don’t get caught out in the open.”
He switched his feed over to the live stream. “Hey folks. My job might not need doing since we’re down to the last half dozen players. But I’m going to get into position and try to take out Dale before he has a chance to kill another player. Wish me luck and stay tuned to this feed for an exciting next few minutes.”
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Mathew backed into the rear of the railroad car but kept his gun pointed at the entrance as the sound of a car reached his location. He may have hit the guy hiding behind the rocks, or it might have been the player who had discharged a large caliber rifle from somewhere.
His stomach did a flip-flop as the car engine grew closer. He couldn’t help himself, though, and crawled toward the opening.
A big, old American car, done up in shades of rust, tan, and yellow, barreled straight for him. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The guy inside of the car was in shadow, but the thing he extended from the car wasn’t.
“The fuck?” Mathew asked just before something exploded.
The car front end lifted off the ground, and then slammed back down with a fierce pop as the tire exploded, and shards peppered the railroad car.
Something struck his face and sliced open his forehead. His cheeks also took the brunt of the blast.
“Aw, fuck!” Mathew exclaimed as he pulled himself back.
The car came to a sliding halt on a front flat tire, and the driver fell out of the door as he batted at his shirt.
Mathew would have been happy to put a hole in the man, who he now recognized as the talking asshole he’d been seated next to on the plane, Eli. Just as he brought the gun around, a tremendous eruption of noise caught his attention. The front of the car disintegrated, and rounds splattered the area.
Mathew dove back into the railcar and sought another exit because bullets punched holes through his hiding spot like it was made of paper.
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Since the beginning of the game, Dale had had the upper hand thanks to Albert and his high-tech devices. Albert had provided Dale with the whereabouts of the other players, and he had hacked into a satellite feed to provide even more detailed information about the terrain and which locations were safe.
But none of that had prepared him for the lucky find in the basement of this building.
He had pulled the top of the long wooden box off to find a huge machine-gun wrapped in a cloth. The smell of oil was strong. When he lifted the weapon, he found a tripod, and a huge canister of belt-fed 7.62 rounds.
The gun weighed over twenty pounds, but after hoofing it up the stairs; he found a south-facing window, lowered the legs of the tripod, and slowly opened the window.
It wasn’t hard to figure out how to load the gun. After raising the latch cover, he placed the first round into the feed tray and then snapped it closed. He yanked back the operating lever and then pushed the gun close to the window opening.
His luck kept up as an old car roared across the field, and then an explosion rattled the vehicle. The boom arrived a split second later, as the driver pulled himself out of the wreck. A bald guy popped up from behind a boulder with a gun in hand.
Dale didn’t wait any longer and opened fire on the location.