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He dropped the magazine out of his gun and rolled onto his side so that he could get a new one out of his pocket without having to stand or kneel and end up catching a bullet in the process. Once he got the fresh magazine into his pistol, he gave Becca a concerned look.
“Last mag,” he said.
“What do we do?” she said.
He shook his head grimly. “We’ll have to wait for them to get close. Let them come into the cabin.”
“Won’t they shoot us as they come in?” she said.
“They might. Unless I can shoot them first.”
“But if there’s a lot of them and they have machine-guns…”
“I know,” he said. “But it’s all we’ve got.”
Griz took advantage of a brief pause in the gunfire to reach up onto the counter and retrieve a large butcher knife. Pressing down flat next to Becca once again, he offered it to her handle-first.
“Here,” he said. “Take this.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?” she said, taking it reluctantly.
“Stab them if they get close.”
“I can’t stab someone!”
“You can if it’s life or death,” he said. “And this is.”
“But how can I even use it if they have guns?” she said. “They’ll shoot me before I get close.”
“I’ll try to get them to shoot at me. Give you a chance.”
She couldn’t believe that this was the choice she was faced with. Griz was saying that he was going to draw their fire in a suicide mission, get shot to pieces by AK-47s at point blank range, all just to give her the unlikely chance that she might get to stab one of the bad guys and live.
Becca looked at the knife in her hands. Could she even do this? She was so scared, she felt like she might pop. She’d barely been able to stab a worm onto a hook, how could she ever even think that she was going to charge an armed man and stab him with a knife?
You can if it’s life or death, Griz had said.And this is.
She tried her best to fire herself up, get ready for a desperate fight.I can do this, she told herself.I can do it.I can’t just give up and die. I won’t. I’ll fight. I’ll fight.
And then, like a sudden thunderstorm in summer, it was over as quickly as it started.
There was a lull in the firing for a second, followed by a handful of smaller, single gunshots, none of which hit the cabin. After that, nothing. Quiet.
It felt strange. Foreign. She’d gotten so used to crawling on the floor under a hail of gunfire, that it now seemed almost bizarre that there was no more gunfire, no more lethal chunks of lead tearing apart the cabin and everything in it.
Becca almost didn’t trust her senses. Surely this wasn’t over. They were right on the verge of a desperate, doomed last stand, and now, there was nothing but the silence.
“What happened?” she said to Griz, whispering for some reason. “Why did they stop?”
“Not sure,” he said.
“Is it over?”
“Maybe,” he said. “Keep down.”
“Don’t worry about that.”
“Griz?” a voice called out to them from the trees. “Griz?”
