I didn’t know. It wasn’t a good situation. We were stuck on an incline from the road into the forest, towards Brumaire. The only cover we had was the engine block. We were being squeezed from the flank by the guy coming off the bridge. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Then I heard the tinkling of submachine gun fire from a suppressed barrel, followed by the sound of bullets peppering the Peugeot. The guy on the bridge was armed with the same gun as me. Which made a lot of sense, since we both had the same supplier.

I figured it was now or never. I’d go for the guy on the bridge. A dash of several seconds, firing on the run. Get to cover on the other side of the road. Then, I’d put down covering fire for Nazari to join me. I started to sprint towards the shooter. Number one thing to do when you’re ambushed, close them down, fast as possible.

Another monster .50 cal round ripped past me, took out a chunk of the road. The boom came a fraction of a second later. By then I had the MP5 up and was tracking through the sights as I ran. I saw the guy, who was huddled besides the concrete barrier on the bridge walkway. I put a burst towards him while on the run. Came close, but not close enough. The rounds kicked up dust from the concrete bridge paving.

Four rounds left. Make em count.

Then, from behind the guy, a neat white Volkswagen roared over the bridge. The little car was being pushed to its maximum acceleration, which wasn’t that fast, but fast enough. Miriam was behind the wheel. The shooter was focused on me, for good reason, I was a deadly threat with a gun. He looked over his shoulder eventually, but by then it was too late.

I caught a glimpse of Miriam’s face, a mask of grim determination. No emotion, just concentration, nostrils flaring, eyes wide and raging. Beside her was Father Bousquet. I could make out the distinctive bush of white hair.

That was like a frozen frame in a movie. Then, the movie kept playing and Father Bousquet’s Volks nailed the guy straight on at around fifty miles per hour. Miriam had the killer instinct. The white car’s bumper made contact at hip level. The guy’s hip moved weirdly, but his head and legs stayed. I heard the pop and crack of broken vertebrae and spine.

The impact flung the guy toward me, like a teddy bear thrown across the room by a raging child. The limbs were askew and loose, doing things that a living human being’s limbs would never do. Dead on arrival. The whiplash from impact must have broken his neck straight away.