The Hunters by Tom Young

Author:Tom Young
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-06-16T16:00:00+00:00

21.

God willing, perhaps Hussein had killed some of the infidels who inflicted such pain upon him. He had fired wildly in their direction. As someone who took pride in marksmanship, he almost never sprayed rounds like that. Better to aim and kill with one shot than to miss with many. But maybe Allah had directed his unaimed bullets to their target.

Hussein wanted to find out. If he’d missed, he wanted to keep hunting his enemies despite his injury. He had managed to get to his feet, and he continued hobbling toward where he had last seen the infidels.

They were either gone or dead; that much Hussein knew already. Now that he stood in plain view, they’d have shot him down if they could have. He moved his right foot forward and took another step.

The throbbing agony turned his vision gray and fuzzy. Hussein took a deep breath, and the signal from his eyes to his brain cleared.

As his vision refocused, he made out a dip in the terrain in front of him. A creek bed or a swale. So, that’s where those infidels had hidden.

God willing, Hussein thought, I will find them. And I will find glory.

He took another step. Ground his teeth and looked skyward to fight the pain. The angel shape that had drifted above him earlier was gone now, replaced by mere rags of clouds torn by the wind. The heavens themselves seemed to reflect his suffering.

Allah, Hussein prayed, please help your poor soldier.

He checked the fire selector on his AK-47, set for single shots. No more wasted bullets. He would find his skill and strength again. And as he took more steps, he found he could think through the misery, master his pain the way he’d mastered his fear.

A short, halting walk brought him to the edge of the creek bed. In the dry channel, he saw boot prints and expended brass, but no bodies. Perhaps Shaytan had guided those gaalos to use the earth itself as cover from his bullets.

Hussein placed the stock of his rifle to the ground and lowered himself to a sitting position. With legs dangling over the dry creek bank, he wiped sweat from his eyebrows and glanced at his right foot. It still bled, but not too badly. Four red drops fell from his makeshift bandage and spattered into the parched soil.

He saw no blood in that dirt other than his own. Not a single stain. Apparently he had failed to wound even one infidel. How could he have missed with every round? Maybe Allah would forgive his poor shooting if he kept up the pursuit.

“I will get them,” Hussein whispered to himself. “God willing, I will get them.”

He slid down the bank to the center of the creek bed. As he moved, he kept his wounded right foot off the ground and used his left as a brake. Digging his good heel into the soil, he controlled his descent down the embankment until he reached the bottom. Hussein sat leaning on his rifle, panting.

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