Binary code: Mystery number one - стр. 87
He could feel Death approaching, and it was already drawing its scythe over him. He wanted to live. To live, if not for himself, then for his children. It gave him strength and dulled the pain. He fired a couple shots back and grabbed the rifle's belt, pulling it toward him. The electronics were messed up. Clutching the rifle tightly in his left hand, he angled it and fired a burst where the thermal imager showed a spot. Ruthra realized from the noise that the bullets had hit not only concrete and brick, but something soft.
It became quiet. Ruthra waited for groans, but there were none. "I must have killed him," he thought. After waiting a few minutes, Ruthra stood up. At that moment, shots rang out in his direction. The bullets whizzed by with a noise. They were fired from a TKB-059, its sound could not be mistaken – it was not mass-produced and was only given to top-ranking special agents on special operations. "Where is he from, why are the bandits armed so well? The doppelganger is a bastard," Ruthra thought.
Holding his weapon at the ready, he waited for the attack. His head ached terribly, and he couldn't see very well, whether he'd been hit or hit in the helmet. Ruthra felt himself weakening. He had to go for the assault. He spotted a piece of concrete nearby, picked it up with his right hand and threw it, with maximum force, on the floor of the entrance, imitating the noise of an attack. Shots rang out in response. The woman fired indiscriminately. Finally she ran out of ammunition, but Rutra was running low on ammunition, too. He crawled to the entrance and prepared to make his move again. Lying down, he reached forward with his rifle and fired in the direction from which she had fired. This time she yelled and groaned. "So much for you!" – Ruthra thought.
She kept moaning, then she said something in a language she didn't understand; it sounded like a swear word, and she hissed like a snake. Ruthra waited. Suddenly the shots rang out again. Bullets flew into the walls and ceiling, splinters and pieces of concrete raining down on him. He pressed himself against the far wall. Theoretically-she could shoot through the wall; it was hard to gauge its strength. When the shots ended, Ruthra readied his gun. This was the last chance. "Or is it possible to escape?" – He asked himself and looked out toward the center entrance from where he had entered this firing range. It was closed.
There were no options – only an assault. The blood from his cheek poured down his helmet, his neck, his chest. Everything was sticky and sore. Suddenly he heard someone calling him. It was a muffled and pitiful female voice: