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My bullets rocketed across the meadow and smacked the tree by the scumbag’s face.

The unmistakable sound of an AK-47 clattered.

I'm not sure where they got the weapons, but they seemed to have a good amount of ammo by the way they were putting it down range.

I took off running south as more bullets whizzed in my direction.

At another tree, I fired off a quick volley, then moved again.

I dropped the mag, jammed another one in, hit the bolt catch, then took cover behind another tree.

Brock had been circling toward me, and I toward him.

We were close now.

Too close.

Maybe 20 yards away.

Brock angled his rifle around a tree and opened fire.

DAK!

DAK!

DAK!

Bark exploded, and bullets cracked by.

I angled my rifle around and fired. The rifle hammered my shoulder.

Copper screamed toward the scumbag.

Then I got a stovepipe.

The spent casing jammed perpendicular in the ejection port.

I tapped the magazine and cycled the charge handle a few times, trying to clear it.

Brock charged at me like he’d seen too many war movies. His finger squeezed the trigger, bullets flying.

I hunkered behind the tree, trying to make myself slim as bark exploded, splintering in all directions.

Brock screamed with a war face as he closed in.

I tossed my rifle aside and drew my pistol as the flurry of bullets continued to pepper the tree.

I angled my pistol around and squeezed off a few rounds without aiming. I wasn’t about to stick my head out and give him a target.

Then my luck really went south.

The slide locked with another stovepipe.

Talk about a bad day.

I kept these weapons in tiptop shape. They were clean and well-maintained.

Maybe I got a batch of bad ammo.