Page 56 of Savage Warrior

?tefan grimaces. “Sure, but tell Magda to put her foot down.”

The other man chuckles. “See you soon, bro.”

The line goes dead, but I cling to the phone like a lifeline. “Who was that? Will they get here in time?”

“Let’s hope so.” He slants a glance my way. “Arina, there’s a gun under your seat. You need to get it.”

I don’t hesitate. I dive into the footwell and scrabble about on the floor until my fingers curl around the handle of the gun I stole from his holdall a few days ago. “Got it.”

“Safety catch is under the trigger. Take the catch off and aim through the rear windscreen. Fire as soon as you get a decent shot.”

I can only nod. My vocal cords are fit for nothing but screaming. I scramble onto my knees to watch what’s happening behind us. My heart sinks when I realise that our pursuers have halved the gap.

“Fire if you have a shot. Aim for the tyres or the windscreen.”

I tighten my two-handed grip, aim the muzzle towards the ground in front of the black van, and I squeeze the trigger. There’s an almighty punch of din, and I’m hurled back into the footwell.

“Nice try,” ?tefan yells. “That was the recoil. Now you know how it feels, compensate and try again.”

“Try again? I cannot. I—”

“Get the fuck back up here and try again,” he snarls. “And don’t point that thing at me.”

I’m in a daze, working on autopilot, but I do as I’m told. I clamber back onto the seat and position myself again.

“Look straight down the barrel. Imagine hitting whatever it is you’re aiming at. Play it in your head, then do it.”

“The windscreen,” I mutter.

“Good choice.”

I stiffen in anticipation this time and pull the trigger again. The force of the shot sends me flying backwards, but I manage to remain on the seat. My bullet bounces off the bonnet of the van.

“Nice shooting,” ?tefan grinds out. “Keep it up.”

I’m developing a taste for this. Fear of imminent, violent death is a wonderfully effective form of encouragement. I empty the gun, firing at the van as it inches closer to us. When I’m crunching the trigger and hearing nothing but harmless clicks, I turn to ?tefan. “It’s empty.”

“There’s ammunition under the seat.”

“But I do not know how…”

“Figure it out.”

I dive back down into the footwell and grab three clips of bullets. “Where do they go?” I shout, waving the empty gun in front of ?tefan.

He points to the butt. “The magazine goes in there.”

It makes sense. I ram a fresh magazine into the slot at the base. It clicks in place, and I’m ready to go again.

And go I do. I empty all three magazines, hitting the van maybe half the time at this range. It swerves violently under the onslaught, veering from left to right and narrowly avoiding the trees on either side of the road.

But still, they gain on us.

“Reload and get ready to jump,” ?tefan barks, braking hard.

I grab two more magazines from under the seat, just as the Land Rover lurches off the road and crashes through the undergrowth to come to a rest lodged between two pines.

“This way.” ?tefan flings his door open, at the same time as he reaches for me and drags me across the gear lever and into his seat. We tumble from the vehicle together to land in a heap.

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