He was going to make one mistake. It was inevitable.
BOOM.
The sound was less a noise and more a physical blow to the skull. The rotter's head vanished.
[ +1 XP ]
Van's vision swam. Behind him, he glimpsed Jane, braced against the dash, the Remington 700 to her shoulder.
CHICK-CLACK... BOOM.
Another head snapped back.
[ +1 XP ]
Her voice cut through the ringing in his ears like a distant horn. "Get down!"
He kicked a grasping hand away and dropped, his back pressed against her legs.
Looking up, he saw her cheek welded to the stock, one eye squinting down the scope. Her finger tightened.
BOOM.
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A third rotter, inches from Van's boot, collapsed. The smell of cordite filled the cab.
CHICK-CLACK-CLICK.
A hollow, dry sound. Empty.
Jane didn't flinch. She reversed her grip and drove the rifle's buttstock like a battering ram into the chest of the next creature, knocking it stumbling back.
Van surged up, kicked the dazed rotter out the door, and slammed it shut.
He jammed the key, the engine roared, and the Express tore away in a cloud of sand, three remaining Rotters fading in the rearview.
Jane slumped, the hot rifle clattering to the floor. She was breathing in sharp, ragged gasps.
Van's ears were a high-pitched whine. He saw her lips move, forming two words.
"Thank you."
A new hum resonated in his mind, different from the XP chime. Text shimmered into view, clear as day:
[ CAROLINE JANE REPUTATION: TRUSTED ]
The piercing ring in his ears faded, soothed by the system's notification.
"Thank you," he rasped back, the gratitude raw and real. She'd just saved them both. "You can shoot."
Jane picked up the rifle with reverence, ejecting the spent brass.
"Remington 700," she said, her voice thick. ".300 Win Mag. My father taught me." She ran a finger over the empty magazine well. "We're out."
Van looked at the carnage receding behind them. "Then we find more."
He drove back, a grim efficiency settling over him. Using the truck's tires as his weapon, he crushed the twitching, downed forms littering the highway.
Each sickening bump yielded a flicker of text.
[ +1 XP ] [ +1 XP ]
When they stopped by the original rifleman, Van tossed the keys to Jane. "You drive. If things get hot, run them over."
She caught them, a flicker of surprise then understanding in her eyes. She slid into the driver's seat without a word.
He returned to the body, rolling it over with the prybar. The stomach was a hollow, gory cavity. Jane looked away, pale. Nothing in the pockets.
A rusted pickup nearby yielded his prize: two boxes of .300 Win Mag ammo in the glove compartment. He tossed them to Jane.
Her hands moved with practiced ease, thumbing the fat rounds into the rifle's magazine.
Her eyes then lifted, pointing past him. "Van. Look."
A black Lincoln Navigator lay on its side in the sand, a beached steel whale. It screamed money, and in a place like Hurley, money meant secrets.
Jane climbed onto the truck's roof with the loaded rifle, covering him as he approached.
The front seats held only rot. The back was a revelation - plush, custom, stripped of its seats for lavish recliners. Rich. And empty, save for a few dark spatters on the cream carpet.
His eyes caught a small, incongruous shadow wedged in a seat track. A thumb drive.
Jet black, with a single, stark red 'M' etched into its side, next to 'C5'.
He pocketed it and returned.
Jane took it from his palm, her face going bloodless.
"That's... a Myer drive. Confidential. Level Five."
She looked from the little black rectangle to the overturned luxury SUV, then to Van.
"What was a top-secret company drive doing out here?"