03.04.202X - Descending

DESCENDING

SAT 03.04.202X

BANG

Sayori found herself waking up with a start. Someone – or something -had made that noise, bringing to mind the first, panicked evening of the outbreak, bloody hand-prints on doors, Katie’s first aid kit clattering to the floor…
And so, she sprang out of bed, not fully cognizant but very much in fight-or-flight mode, and if it hadn’t been for the workout yesterday leaving her almost comically – and very, very painfully – stiff, she probably would have made it further towards the baseball bat in the corner than two meagre steps.

As it was, all she managed was an embarrassingly graceless face-plant with a loud thunk, luckily landing mostly on the soft round rug covering the floor, next to the bookshelf and record player. She’d managed to shield herself with her protesting arms just in time, turn her head a little, but thanks to that she was now tasting fresh blood from the barely-healed wound in her mouth. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry – or if it was safe to do either of those things – so she stayed quiet, face down on the rug, listening intently while carefully sucking on her lower lip, tasting blood and regret and terrible decisions, all in one.
As she did so, she heard the shower running, and let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

They were safe. Katie was safe.

Presumably.

Not that she had too much time to feel relieved about the situation, because her mind, sluggish as it still was despite the brief period of hyper-excitement prior, started remembering. And that was always the worst part about waking up.
Remembering.
She sighed, feeling more like crying than laughing now, and clumsily pushed herself up from the – admittedly warm – embrace of the fuzzy rug, carefully finding her footing on a pair of legs that didn’t quite feel like they belonged to her, and shivered.
Revulsion or cold?
She didn’t know.
Sayori took a few careful steps back towards the bed, fighting the urge to groan out loud every time her thigh muscles contracted, flushed and embarrassed. As she flopped down on the bed back first and crawled to her usual spot, she became acutely aware of an unpleasant, sour smell emanating from right next to her head. A careful swipe with her finger showed her why – she’d drooled all over the pillow in the dizzy, drugged-out half-coma she’d come to know as sleep.

She closed her eyes, ignored the smell, tried to forget, to return to the velvety embrace of complete oblivion, enjoy the floating, spinning feeling of a Xanax hangover, but she was wide awake now, wide awake and lonely and tense.
Still, she could always try.


Katie barged in not shortly after, just as Sayori was starting to forget the aches and pains and was slowly starting to drift off again, the door closing much more quietly this time.
”Hey… Sayori? You awake?” She managed a mumbled yes in response, blinking once, twice, before opening her eyes, the searing light filtering through the cracks in the curtains almost making her wish she hadn’t. Katie looked… strange. Breathless and nervous, almost bringing to mind a puppy that had just been told off for peeing on the rug. ”Sorry to… did I wake you up? You know, earlier?”
”M-maybe a little…” Sayori muttered, apologetic, simultaneously wondering why she was the one apologizing. Ah well. ”It wasn’t… too bad.”
Apart from the panic and falling face down onto the floor and-
”Good… good. Um, I was thinking, before I…” Katie shook her head. ”Before we head over to Rosewood to… get your… things, maybe we could… do the laundry?”

”It-, it shouldn’t take long, just an hour, and I bet you’re kind of… sore, and…” She sighed. ”Anyway, I’ve got a ball I usually massage the cramps out with. Figured you could, you know, give it a try.”

”You don’t need me to…” Katie shook her head.

”It-, it shouldn’t take long, just an hour, and I bet you’re kind of… sore, and…” She sighed. ”Anyway, I’ve got a ball I usually massage the cramps out with. Figured you could, you know, give it a try.”

”You don’t need me to…” Katie shook her head.

”Nah, ’s alright. I’ll just toss everything in the wash and… yeah. Hang it somewhere, I guess.”

”B-but, um, what about… you know, breakfast?” Katie still seemed a bit strange, and the air felt heavy. Sayori was feeling equally awkward, if not more, even if she had no idea why.

Katie sighed. ”I… guess I could give it a shot-”

”No, no, I mean… um, I could just… reheat. From yesterday. Make something, if you’re gonna be busy.” The nurse finally seemed to lighten up a little, her shoulders losing some of the tension from earlier, even hazarding a smile.

”That would be… wonderful. Thanks. The microwave is… well, it’s a microwave. Not exactly rocket surgery.” Microwave? No thanks. Just makes everything soggy. Even then, Sayori nodded carefully. ”And, uh… good morning. Don’t forget to stretch, okay? A hot shower really helps, as well.”

With that, Katie turned around, the hem of her tank top fluttering slightly from the sudden movement, and after bending down to rummage in her cabinet for a moment, she tossed Sayori a worn tennis ball. ”Catch.”

She did, after a slight fumble, and carefully looked the tennis ball over, as if looking for some kind of unexplained special property the little ball would have. Apart from a worn ”K” written in black marker on the worn surface, there was nothing.

”I’ll start with the guest bedroom, give you some time. Remember, press hard and roll it back and forth.”

”Press hard…” Sayori hazarded a smile, which was returned in no time, and now Katie seemed to be back to her usual self. ”Got it. I’ll, uh, I guess I’ll hop in the shower when you get here?”

”Atta-girl. See you soon.” With a nod and a grin, Katie departed, as suddenly as she had appeared, and Sayori was left all alone again, unwanted thoughts creeping back into her head.

Stop thinking.

Start doing.

And so she did. Gingerly pressing the tennis ball into the top of her right thigh, now groaning audibly from the pain, and started rolling it back and forth across her poor, punished muscles.

Still no blood anywhere, but she could think about that later. It was non-essential, at this point. Rosewood. She tried not to think about it too much. But memories were hard to control, intrusive thoughts even more so, and while she slowly massaged the pain out of her right leg, she tried her best to ignore the memories of gunfire and gas mask-clad soldiers.

Maybe that was the good thing about panic. It blacked out most of what you didn’t want to remember.

Too bad it always came back in some form, no matter how much you tried to bottle it up.

Who would have thought that a tennis ball could be so useful?

Not Sayori, that was for sure. While her torso still hurt quite a bit, and bending over to wash her calves and feet proved painful and, well, nearly unmanageable, she had finally succeeded after sitting down on the warm tile floor, bending her knees to carefully scrub her legs – and the stubble that had started growing there – well enough. She had half a mind to shave, but… what would be the purpose of that?

Did she even have the time?

Over the sounds of drizzling water, she could hear Katie working in their her bedroom, unceremoniously pulling off the fitted duvet, most likely, and with that, Sayori stood up on wobbly legs, feeling light as a feather and light-headed, quickly turning off the tap and wrapping herself in yet another pleasantly large towel.

It had gone quite well, considering her state in the morning, although her stomach muscles had cramped up quite painfully at one point, and she’d had to struggle in order to lay flat on her back in the shower, staring up at the hair-thin cracks in the ceiling. Still, that had taken care of it, and although she had felt the familiar, foreboding contractions in her abs a few times after that, leaning backwards a little had taken care of that, as well.

As it was, she had already toweled herself off, surreptitiously checked for blood down there – still fucking nothing – and was already coiling up the cord for the blow-dryer after (mostly) drying her hair. Katie had knocked on the door earlier, told her that there was a fresh change of clothes for her outside the door, and that she was going to wash her old stuff soon.

She’d thanked her, of course – once she’d jolted herself awake again – but she wasn’t sure if Katie had lingered long enough to hear her, or if she’d spoken loudly enough to even be heard.

Ah well.

The clothes Katie had folded neatly and left outside the shower proved to be a welcome surprise. The shirt was over-sized, as usual, and featured text that wouldn’t have suited her back home at all – ”Death Before Dishonor?” Really? – but the sports underwear, still in an unopened package, fit quite snugly.

Likewise, the pair of worn hiking pants in black and reddish brown, reinforced along the knees and rear and with adjustable Velcro straps along the waist and the hems, while slightly loose around the thighs and calves, proved to at least ride quite well on her hips, and didn’t even need a belt to stay in place.

After a minute or so of careful stretching, she found herself quite grateful for the pants – they didn’t really restrict her movements the same way her jeans did, and seemed to be tough enough to survive what a standard pair of sweatpants wouldn’t.

So, after one last glance around the bathroom – she’d already taken care of that, too – Sayori pulled out a familiar, red bandanna that had been balled up in the front pocket of her pants and tied it around her head, patting her pockets to perhaps find another hair tie to keep her cooking extra hygienic, but came up short.

Whatever.

The bandanna would be more than enough, that she was sure of, and so, walking with confidence for the first time that day, she flicked off the lights, closed the door, and headed down the stairs through the living room and into the kitchen, a pair of fresh – albeit slightly floppy – wool socks muffling her tread.

No microwaves this time.

Or ever.

Her parents had had one, and she’d learned to hate the mushy mess of leftover she’d end up with after a two-minute session of humming and the characteristic ping of today’s slop being served.

Convenient? Sure. Tasty, presentable, comforting? No, no, for God’s sake, no.

So, fried noodles it was. Quick, effective, and requiring minimal preparation. Just fry a couple eggs, scramble them or slice them up, then cut the meat…

Almost on instinct, she turned on the stove, pushing in the dial to ignite the flame, and now she was cooking with gas.

Heh.

Sayori smiled, linked her fingers together, and cracked her knuckles.

Cooking with gas, indeed.

Probably the most frustrating thing about doing the laundry was airing out everything. Not that Kate disliked the slight chill in the air – that was just refreshing. The bigger problem was how her room happened to be constructed. She wasn’t short, that was for sure – some would even describe her as tall.

For a girl, that was.

Pretty strong, for a girl.

Pretty tough, for a girl.

Pretty handy, for a motherfucking girl.

Still, no matter what her hoodies would say on the back, there very much was such a thing as senseless violence – even if the constant use of backhanded compliments did make her want to rear triangle choke whoever she was talking with at the time.

And having to use a stepladder to reach the latches for her windows was an almost painful reminder of those moments, whether in school, in the gym, the couple years she’d spent doing BJJ before realizing that some people would never change, not without a show of force, and barely making it out of featherweight at the time didn’t help much in that regard.

At least it had given her a bit of instinct, a lot of confidence, and an acute knowledge of where her limits were, and how far she could push herself past them before collapsing.

Money couldn’t buy that. Only blood, sweat and tears could.

Perhaps there was even a bit of pride – or was it ego? – left over, although she’d calmed down quite a lot since she first started.

A blast of cold air entered the room, but the skies were mostly clear, and sunny to boot – the morning fog would likely already be gone by now.

She’d woken up early, far too early, just watching Sayori quietly drool on her pillow with a smile on her face, and back then she had still managed to convince herself that going to Rosewood wouldn’t be such a big deal, that it would be more than worth it…

Some of her confidence had already started evaporating, or rather... a lot of it, but the sunshine breaking through light, white clouds and the sound of chirping birds brought back a nice wave of it with a gravitas that almost surprised her.

What actually surprised her, however, was the scent and sound of something frying downstairs, and a brief sniff was all it took to bring back the feeling of hunger she’d been suppressing all morning. She couldn’t help smiling – sure, she’d told Sayori to just… nuke the stuff, but she sure as hell wasn’t complaining.

Isn’t that nice. You’re both playing house now.

Although her smile faltered, it only did so briefly, and she found herself leaning her head out of the window, squinting at the sunshine, admiring the forest beyond the yard. Sure, she was achy, and maybe their mission was doomed to fail, but…

In for a dime, in for a dollar.

She dug around in her pockets, feeling a slight jolt of excitement at seeing Sayori in her silly little ponytail once again, before taking a deep breath of cool morning air to calm herself down. Did Sayori even have any hair ties? She’d found plenty while cleaning up, but hair ties were kind of like lighters – both seemed to live in a completely different alternate dimension, and would appear and disappear at will.

Kind of like socks.

Kate closed her eyes, let the sunshine caress her face, and breathed in and out, calm, collected, despite the tiredness and physical exhaustion. Nothing a cup of coffee and some stretching couldn’t fix. She’d just need to plan their route as well as possible, but there was no reason that couldn’t wait until after breakfast.

She greedily inhaled one last time before getting off the stepladder, the fresh morning air mixing with the aroma of cooking meat and eggs and something else she couldn’t place but more than welcomed. Stretching out a spare hair tie between the tips of her fingers, Kate closed the door, dragging the laundry bag behind her, the sheets and pillows neatly folded and placed on the naked mattress.

No reason planning couldn’t wait.

A quick peek downstairs revealed Sayori to be in her element, once again, and Kate almost didn’t want to breathe too loudly, afraid of bringing attention to herself, afraid of breaking the spell that the spattering oil and violent shaking of the pan and the clack and clatter of knives and cookware had conjured up downstairs.

No silly little ponytail, however. The bandanna was there, the focus, sweat and concentration was there, but…

After a second or so of deliberation (or was it more?), Kate took a few tentative steps towards Sayori’s turned back, carefully lifting a small portion of her locks from behind and slowly, carefully, like a pickpocket, heart pounding, she slipped on the hair tie.

Sayori turned around with a gasp, the initial shock on her face turning into a blushing smile – the typical, blubbering, stammering excuse-me’s and didn’t-mean-to’s pouring forth until Kate just wanted to shut her up by grabbing her collar, pulling her so close neither could breathe properly, and finally pressing her lips onto Sayori’s, but…

Not your toy.

Never like that.

Lay off the fiction.

”Found you one.” Kate smiled, softly cutting off Sayori, her fingers idly brushing against the silly-but-cute little ponytail at the back of Sayori’s head, before letting her go completely. They were far closer than she had anticipated, and even past the scent of frying noodles and soy sauce and oil, she could feel Sayori’s familiar, mango-scented body wash tickle her nose.

Far from unpleasant.

Maybe she wasn’t really a strawberry girl – she seemed to be a fan of mango, more than anything. At least, that’s how it seemed. She’d just… assumed. But Kate had no intention of making an ass out of anyone, and so, she pulled away with a smile that was part coy, part encouraging and friendly, despite every fiber in her rapidly-beating heart telling her to stay as close to those pale, flushed cheeks and messy, strawberry-blonde hair as she could.

”Where’d… where'd you f-find that?” Sayori finally composed herself, her breath wasn’t tickling Kate’s cheek anymore, and soon enough, her focus seemed to drift away from the unexpected intrusion and back towards the stove. ”Oops!”

Sayori scrambled to quickly toss the noodles again, the faint vestige of a blush still lingering on her face, a slight tension evident in her shoulders.

Likely more than just DOMS.

Kate felt a brief pang of guilt – something that had become all too familiar to her during the last few days. So, she moved away, her smile faltering slightly.

”Found it in a parallel dimension. You know, where socks and lighters and hair pins go.” She smiled, laundry bag in hand, walking away from the girl, giving a theatrical sigh. ”Barely made it back…”

”W-well… thank God you made it back… f-for breakfast.” To her surprise, Sayori took her eyes off her work for a moment and met her gaze, cobalt blue and piercing. She smiled, speaking softly. ”Wouldn’t know what to… um.”

She seemed to mumble something to herself, or perhaps whisper, but her face was turned away again, staring a hole into the delicious mess of noodles, meat, vegetables and egg in front of her. Perhaps it was just the sunlight breaking through the clouds and curtains at that moment, but for a moment, she almost seemed to glow slightly, as specks of dust danced through the air.

Or maybe it was just her cheeks, again a wonderful, rosy red, that made that impression upon Kate.

Whatever the truth, her smile was back and alive as she started making her way to the boiler room and the old washing machine inside.

Never say never.

Sayori was sweating. Heat or nerves, she didn't know.

She'd noticed it before, but never really paid attention to it. Katie's nails. Her left hand – the one she'd held on for dear life just days ago – was neatly clipped and featured flaking black paint on the nails. Her right, however, was so short that a nail clipper wouldn't have been sufficient – it must have taken over half an hour of filing away to get them that short. Unless, Sayori thought, Katie really likes pain.

Unadorned they were, as well, short and plain, almost... masculine? Bringing to mind, well, not that she had that many examples. Yuri used to bite her nails, and so did she, but Katie's nail beds showed no signs of damage, and while the nurse had more than her share of slight, nervous tics, she'd never bitten her nails.

As far as Sayori knew, anyway.

So... why, then? It just seemed like extra work.

It's not like shaving her legs would make the cannibals leave her alone, and she very much doubted the ability of makeup to deter them, as well.

Maybe it was just Katie's way of... staying sane? It wasn't like brushing their teeth would save anyone's life, but they both kept doing it, regardless. That was like a ritual, a brief visit to a comfort zone long gone, a reminder of the normalcy that had been taken from them.

But it was so much more, at the same time.

Maybe... just a bit of eyeliner? If... if they had time, that was.

Katie was huffing and shoving and clanging in the boiler room, and Sayori hazarded a guilty glance into the sink.

A vegetable cleaver, large, heavy, with a dark, wooden handle and a blade meant for chopping. If she wore the same jacket she'd worn yesterday, she could just about fit the entire... thing into the kangaroo pocket.

The propane flame petered out with a pop, and Sayori took silent, guilty steps past the boiler room door, towards the coat racks, the cleaver in her hand heavy with betrayal and muscle pain, light from the excitement, from the reassuring weight that she had to stop from slapping against her upper thigh with every step.

Sayori didn't know anymore.

She pulled open the zipper, slowly, quietly, glancing over her shoulder at the old wooden door, then slid the cleaver into the front pocket of the parka, handle and all.

“Anything but a victim.”

“Just... nothing indiscriminate, alright?”

“God, anything but that.”

“For those that... left someone behind.”

Katie was still busy. She still had time. More than enough. Now, just smile, and get back in the kitchen.

«Dobroy' utra, Чо.» The titular Cho found himself shaken awake, suppressing the urge to curse. Yesterday had done a fucking number on him, all right – his legs were cramping up as he tried to straighten them out, the sudden pain growing and growing. ”Opaa. No worries.”

Dima grabbed him by the ankles and pulled, immediate relief following the action.

”Jesus fuck...” Cho let out a deep breath, now totally alert and awake. Like always. Dima was holding something out to him – a tablet? The fuck is that stuff? – which was gingerly accepted, but not yet eaten.

”Salt tablets. For... shto eta...” Cho didn't care to hear any more. He popped the tablet in his mouth, sucking on it like a Jolly Rancher, reaching for the tube of the hydration pouch in his pack and washing it down with plastic-y, lukewarm water. ”...mineral balance.”

”Anything to report?” Cho stood up, leaned against the wall as the dizziness subsided, and made a mental note to piss and spit out whatever remained of the tobacco in his lip as soon as possible.

”Nothing special.” Dima shrugged. ”Fog earlier, good visibility now. No transmissions on emergency channel.”

”Tired?” The Russian nodded, and Cho quickly made for the bathroom. ”Get some rest. I'll take watch. Back in half a mike.”

The only reply he received was the sound of Dima untying his boots, curled up in the corner Cho had just left. Of course he'd dreamed about Julie, again, and brief flashes, part memory, part imagination, came to him as he stood in the bathroom, quietly muttering to himself.

”...fucking morning wood...”

But no matter what he tried, it was always Julie, Julie, Julie, and he had half a mind to initiate a quick combat jack , if he didn't already feel embarrassingly outclassed by his battle buddy.

Getting caught doing that would have been the same as admitting on paper (in triplicate, naturally) that he was little more than a lucky amateur, in comparison. Not even a suppressor to use – some of the ad-hoc team at the checkpoint had left theirs on, but they hadn't expected a combat mission. If they had, then maybe they wouldn't have put a fucking corporal in charge of it.

Or maybe they would have. Europe, from the Vistula to the Moskva, was littered with the bodies of former ROTC cadets and fresh-outta-OSUT NCOs. He let out a deep exhale as the pressure subsided, his dreams of hazy California nights washed aside by the river of bullshit he had gotten himself into.

Over in the bedroom the incessant static of his radio, (set to squelch) stopped, barely for a second.

He was out of the bathroom in the next.

”Unknown station, unknown station, signal very weak, intermittent, unreadable. Repeat all, over.” He carefully pulled the radio out of the pouch and let the end of the antenna poke out of the window. Almost on instinct, he pulled the notepad and pencil closer, glancing at his watch before writing down:

0907|RF98.60|UNKNOWN, BLANK|V WEAK|INTERMITTENT/UNREADABLE

”...the doo... ...won't... ...elp us, plea...” Cho frowned, a cold sweat breaking out on his back. He looked out through the window, blue sky and white clouds and a small town almost completely devoid of life, so empty it would have been fucking uncanny even without the distorted, panicked voice calling for help to anyone that might hear.

”Unknown station, you're breaking up. Signal weak and intermittent. What is your current position, over?” Cho wasn't even sure that they could hear him – he wasn't dealing with a trained radio operator here, and there was no guarantee they weren't hogging the frequency, button held down, wondering why nobody was answering them. ”Unknown station, repeat all until ”Help us”, over.”

0908|RF98.60|2ND TX → UNKNOWN|REC MSG: ”DOOR, WON'T/DON'T, HELP US” PLEASE” |WEAK/INTERMITTENT/DISTORTED|RFA UNKNOWN POS

Cho would keep trying to establish comms for just over 30 minutes, before sighing and turning down the incessant static, quickly giving their immediate environs a once-over before squinting through the binoculars, due northeast, where Bravo's HMMWVs, Ma Deuces pointed towards the sky like antennas and Charlie's old M113 APC blocked the road better than the hedgehogs, half-finished Hesco, barrels, sandbags and concertina wire they had brought with them.

0935|RF98.60|NO JOY

Cho gave a grim smile.

He'd likely misremembered the casualty counts thanks to combat stress, and thank God for that. Almost everyone had been CASEVAC'd, it seemed like – who fucking cares how little that mattered after just two hours?

And, he didn't have a Blackwater-level massacre on his – or his soldier's – hands, either. Even if that would have been an arguably better outcome.

Minsk, Tula, Kaliningrad... he wasn't about to bring that onto U.S. soil. Europe had seen enough of that. Was he a hypocrite? Yes, and he'd be a hypocrite a thousand times before he'd become a mass murderer – at least he still remembered who and what he'd sworn his oath for, all those years ago.

There was an uniformed body there, stock still, bent backwards over the concertina wire. The neck was chewed all the way through, the spinal column left visible, ashen gray fingers still clenched around a carbine – whether from rigor mortis, that so-very-human doomed determination or just overwhelming fear, he couldn't tell.

What Cho could tell was that it was suppressed and had a magnified optic on it – likely an ACOG. It wouldn't make him anything near as quiet as Dima, but they were in 5.56 NATO country. Maybe Cho needed the scope more, maybe Dima would end up with it, the details didn't matter.

Absentmindedly munching on a dry cracker from the Russian ration pouch, he sketched a crude map of what he could see, marking down the locations and vectors of all infected movements in red, contemplating the safest route to the roadblock and back, occasionally getting off the bed to check downstairs and stretch his legs. Or gaze through the window at the end of the hallway.

Once, he'd just parted the curtains on the front door, then quickly let them fall back into place.

He'd seen a humanoid figure across the street, slowly lurching down the road, perhaps drawn to the shade of the two-story brown tile buildings that apparently made up the shopping district in that shitty little town.

Cho had stood practically still, kept his eyes fixed on the hazy figure visible through the thin white cloth, his right hand slowly creeping towards his belt and the M9 bayonet hanging there, popping open the button and drawing the blade with barely a sound, his palms sweating into his Mechanix.

Back at the bedroom window, he watched the sun glint off the cross adorning the peak of the local church, bored as shit, glancing at his watch again and again.

He was so occupied with it that he almost ignored another glint at the edge of his vision.

Almost.

A white car, old – he brought the binoculars up, holding his breath. The sunlight didn't help much, but the boxy-yet-sporty design language immediately brought the early 90's to mind. Something else was about to come to mind, but he didn't have time right now – he shook Dima awake, checked his watch, then wrote in shaky chicken scratches:

1110|VISUAL|POV/SSV|CIV|AA N-NW/VCP|DIMA AWAKE

1112|VISUAL|POV/SSV|LIMA|2 CIVS|PIM: 50M NW/VCP → S-SE/BLDG

”Dima? You got a shot?” Cho did his best to estimate the range between their spot and the two strangely-familiar... women? Dima gave him a strange look. ”Not at the girls. In case anything sees them. Okay?”

”Range.” It was a question, but sounded more like a demand. Maybe that's what it was. ”Girls?”

”Estimate 300 yards-” No, fuck's sake, no, not... ”Sorry, meters. Yeah, girls.”

”Too much spread with my old stuff.” Dima had already set himself up in a rock-steady cross-legged position, cursing quietly to himself , before he rested the barrel on the windowpane, grabbing and shoving his pack between his body and the mattress, straining his elbows to get enough elevation. ”I have sniper bullets, but not many... iron sights suck and my dot is at least a meter across at 300. Pretty?”

”See the back door there? Can we breach and support from the second floor?” Dima shook his head. ”And sorry, think they're both lesbians.”

”Not alone. You – you have iron sights? Good ones?” Dima seemed to mumble something further to himself – about what, Cho didn't know, but given what the prevailing attitude seemed to be towards same-sex couples in Russia and the ex-Soviet world... ”...shto liberasty, slyu-”

”Yes, they're fucking good, but if I pull the trigger even once the entire town is gonna-”

”Listen, if we see one or two moving, I shoot.” Dima took a deep breath, blinking repeatedly to get rid of the tunnel vision. ”If they are in big group, then you shoot. Ring dinnerbell, tak-tak?”

”And then?”

Cho did not like it. If they could somehow make their way onto the second floor of the block in front of them, they'd both be in a position to give supporting fire without exposing their primary hiding area, but... maybe there was something Dima was seeing that he wasn't.

If nothing else, his mind was off lesbians and on work now.

Now, you might not believe it, but under fire?

”We run like hell.” Dima's voice was quiet, calculated, professional. ”Pack your shit. Can you hit reliably at 300? Moving targets?”

”I don't fucking know. We'll find out.” Cho sighed, throat strained from whispering constantly. ”At least we'll create a distraction for them, right?”

Animal Mother is one of the finest human beings in the world.

Dima merely nodded as Cho tossed on his armor, the monocular they'd used throughout the night clipping onto his helmet mount, the helmet left unworn for now. With shaky but quick movements, Cho detached the EXPS3 mount from his carbine and gently flipped both the rear and front sights up, quickly adjusting the rear aperture from 150 to 300. The holographic sight found a new home next to the ballpoint pens, chem-lights, candy and face paints in Cho's small utility pouch.

Carefully kneeling on the bed, a pillow tucked between his calf muscles and his ass for stability, Cho practically pushed the hand-guard into the corner of the windowpane with his left hand, finger off the trigger, squinting against the sun and the goddamn front post he had to keep central, silently praying that only his EoTech's zero had wandered. He had half a mind to turn on the visible-light laser on his AN/PEQ-15, but he had no idea if the red glow would attract the bastards, so he didn't.

All he needs is somebody to throw hand grenades at him for the rest of his life.

Not yet.