Page 133 of Viral Justice

He wasn’t a good enough shot to use the rifle he’d picked up with any hope of success. He’d either get shot himself if he broke cover, or get captured, if he didn’t hurt himself while attempting to rush Akbar.

How was he going to save Ali and the men of his team?

Maxthunkedhis head on the ground.Idiot. Hedidn’t have to do the saving. Ali and the three Special Forces soldiers were more than able to save themselves. Well, maybe not Warren who was falling over, but...all he had to do was provide them with the opportunity.

That was a job he could do.

So, what was the biggest distraction he could come up with? Something that would keep eight or nine enemy fighters busy...

He needed more than one, and he’d start with something easy.

Nolan had discovered that the bad guys were listening in on the radio. Turnabout was fair play, wasn’t it?

Max worked his way back until he was behind the house, near the back door, then using a gravelly voice, proceeded to inform the medical team—himself—via a radio he’d taken from one of the dead extremists that a supply drop of medical supplies and food was imminent. He repeated the radio call, then shut off his radio and slid into the house.

Not thirty seconds later three of the armed men ran past the house, heading for the valley. Thanks to all the fighting and subsequent fires, visibility outside the village wasn’t that great. They’d be gone for a while.

That left five goons and Akbar.

He’d need to do something dramatic, loud and noisy this time. Should he follow in Dr. Perry’s footsteps and blow something up?

No, there were too many civilians, plus his own people. He was going to have to think of something quickly, before Akbar killed the hostages he’d taken.

Ali’s words came back to him.

“Think of it like this: you’re not attacking anyone, you’re getting them out of the way, removing them from the possibility of coming to harm.”

If he didn’t remove the danger to Ali and his men, the armed men Akbar commanded were going to kill them.

He couldn’t allow that to happen.

He wouldn’t allow that to happen.

Swallowing hard, Max forced himself to sneak back into the fenced chicken coop. The rifle he’d picked up wasn’t a great weapon, but it was all he had.

Akbar was still ranting and pacing in front of his prisoners, but each kneeling soldier had one of Akbar’s men standing behind them with weapons trained on the back of their heads.

Hands shaking, Max sighted down the barrel of the rifle at the man standing behind Ali.

Fuck.If he didn’t control the shaking, he was going to shoot her instead.

He pulled in a deep breath and focused on her. She was splattered with blood, dirt and soot, her scarf and mask had been torn away, and he could see bruises on her face.

Bruises on her face.

Memory punched through his brain. His mother, bruises and blood on her face, yelling at him to run. But he hadn’t run. He’d tried to fight his father, tried to stop him from hurting his mother. His father punched him so many times he lost count. This was where his memory fragmented. The smell of iron and gunpowder. Disjointed flashes of pain, screaming, gunshots, and blood.

His father had shot every member of the family, then himself. Max had survived. The shot to his chest had gone wide enough that it cracked two of his ribs, but did little other damage.

Handling a gun or rifle had been impossible after that. Just the metallic smell of one made his hands shake.

He hadn’t been able to save his mother and sisters.

He was going to do everything necessary to give Ali and the rest of the team the opportunity to help themselves.

He’d gone through the worst kind of trauma a child could go through, but he wasn’t going to let it define him anymore, not even a little bit.

Ali’s voice echoed through his head.“Focus on your target, compensate for distance and wind, breathe in, then out and...shoot.”

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