Mercenary at heart - стр. 17
George: “Quick, I said! I'm not kidding!”
Michael turned back, staring out the windshield in front of him. He began to analyze, “How come the car's windshield was shattered and the driver killed if the attackers were only armed with metal sticks? The car could have easily knocked them down and by and large not gotten a single scratch, even at a speed of 40-50 km/h. So we missed something. Something we didn't see. Some danger!”
Another shot rang out, then a second and a third in succession. Michael turned around again. George had collapsed to the ground. Fresh blood oozed from his wounds. Michael's hands shook. He frantically rushed to the glove compartment to pull out the Logistician and check how far away the ambulance and police patrols George had called were. The map showed that the area was not served by any population centers and there was no signal. There was nowhere to go for help.
– What do we do? Think, think…” Michael asked himself, clenching his fingers into fists and wrapping them around his head. He was very frightened.
The line of three men parted, and a fourth man appeared. He was different from the others. It was obvious that he was their leader. His face was covered by a protective black mask with metal tubes in the middle, and he wore an old-style protective body armor over his bare body, as heavy as chain mail. On his legs were black knit pants and boots, and on his hands were leather gloves with spikes on the knuckles. The thug held two large-caliber pistols, which he pointed toward George.
– And you thought you and I were going to fight on sticks. You thought you were going to be a hero, and look where it got you,” the leader of the group leaned toward George, breathing heavily through his metal tubes. He grabbed the gun that had fallen out of Michael's father's hands and threw it toward his group. Some of the men picked it up.
The masked man continued: “You're not a mercenary and never have been. You don't know how such matters are handled. What was all that heroism for? You don't know how to analyze the critical situation around you. And look where it's gotten you: you've hurt yourself and put your… son… in danger… I guess. What did you expect? For the police to come? Ha! I'm gonna disappoint you. This is the suburbs, baby! And the cops don't come here. It's not their territory. So there's no one to help you.”
George didn't move. His eyes were still open, and he was breathing heavily, trying to stay conscious. The masked man walked slowly toward the car where Michael was sitting. The boy straightened up. He looked back and forth at the steering wheel, the gearbox, the glove compartment, the pedals and didn't know what to do. At the same time, his father's last words flashed through his mind. Finally, he turned the ignition key, started the car and shifted gears to get going. All that was left was to release the brake pedal. There was a knock on the passenger window. Michael turned his head.