[Georgia 03] Fallen

magazine jutting out from his rifle to pose the question. Was she out of bullets? Her revolver held five rounds. Unless she’d gotten her speed loader out of her purse, there was not much she could do.
    Even from this distance, he saw her annoyed expression. Of course she had gotten her speed loader out of her purse. She had probably stopped to put on some lipstick and make some phone calls, too. He checked the Mercedes again, scanning the sights along the contour of the big sedan. When he looked back at Amanda, she had already spun open the S&W, dropped the empty shells on the ground, and reloaded. She waved her hand at him to get on with it.
    “Sir!” Will yelled. “I am giving you one more warning to surrender.”
    “Fuck you!” The man shot at Will again, hitting the side door panel of the SUV.
    Amanda did a crouched walk to the edge of the concrete stairs, then bent her head to the ground to try to see where the man was hiding. She sat back up. She didn’t look at Will. She didn’t pause to line up the shot. She simply rested her hand on the third step from the bottom and squeezed the trigger.
    Television had done a great disservice to bad guys. They didn’t show that bullets could go through Sheetrock walls and metal car doors. They also didn’t explain that a ricochet was nothing like a rubber ball. Bullets came out at a very high velocity, and they wanted to go forward. Shooting a bullet into the ground does not mean it will pop back up in the air. Shooting one into the ground underneath a car means it skips across the pavement, pierces the tire, and, if you are sitting the right way, lodges into your groin.
    Which is exactly what happened.
    “Jesus Christ!” the man screamed.
    Will ordered, “Show me your hands!”
    Two hands shot up. “I give! I give!”
    This time, Amanda kept her gun trained on the man as she walked over to the car. She kicked away the Glock, then jammed her knee into the man’s back, all the while keeping her eye on the office door.
    She was watching the wrong door. One of the cargo bays flew open. A black van screeched out, sailing through the air. Sparks flew as it skipped across the asphalt. Rubber burned. The wheels slid in place before they got purchase. Will saw two young men in the cab. They were wearing black warm-up jackets and matching black baseball caps. The van momentarily blocked his view of Amanda. Will raised the rifle, but he couldn’t shoot—not without risking the bullet cutting through the van and hitting Amanda. Two more quick pops sounded. Gunfire. The van screeched away.
    Will ran into the parking lot to line up a shot. He stopped. Amanda was on the ground.
    “Amanda?” He felt his chest tighten. His throat didn’t want to work. “Amanda? Are you—”
    “Dammit!” she screamed, rolling over so that she could sit up. Her face and chest were covered in blood. “God damn it.”
    Will dropped to one knee. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you shot?”
    “I’m fine, you idiot.” She slapped away his hand. “This one’s dead. They tapped him twice in the head while they were driving off.”
    Will could see as much. The man’s face was gone.
    “That’s a damn good shot out of a moving car.” She glared at him as he helped her up. “Much better than yours. When was the last time you were on the range? This is unacceptable. Absolutely unacceptable.”
    Will knew better than to argue with her, but if he was the arguing type, he might’ve mentioned what a bad idea it’d been to leave their guns on the counter, or how stupid it was to go into this place without backup.
    “I swear to God, Will, when this is over—” She didn’t finish her sentence. She paced off, stepping on the plastic compact from her purse. “Goddamn it!”
    Will knelt down in front of the dead man. Out of habit, he checked for a pulse. There was a hole in the black warm-up jacket, about two inches from his heart. It was big enough for Will’s finger to poke through. He tugged down the zip, revealing the top of a military-grade tactical assault vest. The bullet’s full metal jacket had expanded on impact, smashing into the shock plate, flattening out like a dog trying to crawl underneath a couch.
    K-5, right in the center of the chest.
    Amanda was back. She stared down at the dead man without saying a word. She must have been standing downblast when he was shot. Bits of gray matter stuck to her face. There was a piece of bone in the collar of her