Page 13 of Tactical Lies

Even though his back was to them she knew Connor sensed their presence.

“Go,” he ordered as he spun in a fluid motion, bending down and coming up with a knife in his hand, which he threw at the two men. The blade of it buried itself in the neck of the closest man and he fell to the ground.

Connor had killed him.

By throwing a knife.

How did you even learn to do that?

And did she really want to know?

Actually part of her did. How empowering must it feel to be able to protect yourself like that? Of course, Connor wasn't infallible, there was every chance he could be shot and killed, or killed any number of other ways, but he could do things she could only dream about.

“Becca, go. Now,” Connor ordered as he dodged low, and charged toward the remaining man aiming his weapon right at them.

Part of her that wanted to argue, she couldn’t go running off and leave him to fend for himself. The other part knew staying was being a hindrance. If she stayed, Connor’s attention would be split between her, himself, and trying to save the village.

She had to go.

Only she couldn’t seem to go slow like Connor had told her to.

Becca took off in a mad run. Infinitely glad that she’d gone back to her hut the earlier this morning to swap out her crutches for her prosthetic.

She was making way too much noise.

Should slow down.

Should do as Connor instructed.

But she couldn’t.

Couldn’t stop running.

Now that she was moving away from the village any bravado she’d possessed seemed to disappear.

Leaving her just plain terrified.

A feeling she loathed.

It was only when two men appeared before her, weapons in their hands, slimy grins on their faces, that she slid to a stop.

Chapter

Four

August 17th

6:11 A.M.

A bloodbath.

That was all Connor could describe it as.

Over a dozen men dressed in black moved through the village. People screamed as they ran in the fields and along the one dirt road that ran the length of the village and then disappeared off into the jungle.

The assailants appeared to be striking at random. Passing by some farms and then hitting another. Shooting at random at the parents running through the fields with the children, seeming not to care who they hit.

This wasn't some targeted attack, and he wondered why this village had been chosen.

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