PRIMAL Unleashed (2) Read Online Free Page A

the man’s sweat.
    “I’ll shoot you myself if you try to stop me. Now give me the cash,” Bishop snarled. The Colonel looked stunned. Hand shaking, he pulled a thick yellow envelope from his pocket and passed it to the Australian.
    Bishop caught the eye of Mirza cautiously walking up the muddy track. He gave the Indian a sly hand signal and turned to face the crazed gunmen. They were laughing with each other, excited at the prospect of some action.
    Bishop’s confidence drained away as he assessed the situation. Deep in his gut he knew it was too risky to try to negotiate with the RUF ‘General’; the mix of drugs and alcohol in the youth’s bloodstream would make him irrational and impulsive. Clammy with sweat, he wiped his right hand on his pants. His chest tightened, constricting his breathing.
    Swallowing nervously, he forced himself to address the young gunman. “Please, General Terminator, what is happening? Who is firing?” Bishop meekly moved closer to the teenager, his left hand waving the wad of US currency to draw his attention. “Can we pay you to get through to the camp?”
    “I told you to fuck off, Yankee. Take your fucking money and go home before I cut off your hands as well!” Terminator cackled like a jackal, turning back to grin at his two comrades. “Short sleeves or long sleeves?” He laughed at the joke, enjoying the attention of being the big man.
    Bishop realized in a panic the seriousness of the situation. With only a pistol he was faced off against three RUF fighters with automatic weapons.
    Terminator’s expression abruptly became serious and he swung his rifle towards Bishop. Cocking it, his voice took on a savage tone. “Go home, Yankee pig, or General Terminator will blow your head off and fuck you right up!”
    Bishop tensed as Terminator’s weapon pointed directly at him. In his mind he could see the bullet leaving the barrel and burying itself in his stomach. The youth looked back towards his companions, and Bishop snapped. He leapt forward pushing the barrel of the rifle away from his body and in one smooth action drew his pistol from its holster. The Browning barked twice in quick succession, the 9mm rounds smashing into Terminator’s sternum, ripping through his heart, blowing its remains out through the back of his rib cage. The teenager toppled backwards into the mud, a look of shock on his face. A choking sound came from his throat as his shattered lungs filled with blood.
    Bishop had never shot anyone before, but the severity of the act didn’t even have time to register. Without thinking he adopted a two handed grip and adjusted his aim to target the second youth who was bringing his rifle up. The fore-sight and rear-sight aligned on the gunman’s head. Bishop fired rapidly. Two rounds went wide but the third penetrated the teen’s skull spraying his brain across the side of the battered Toyota pickup, streaks of blood and grey-matter blending with the rust.
    The blast of Mirza’s AK-47 snapped Bishop out of his instinctive shooting as the third gunman was blown over the tailgate of the Toyota; the red lifejacket shredded by the heavy bullets. The Indian moved forward deliberately, his AK-47 tight in against his shoulder, alert to the possibility of additional fighters.
    “Are they all dead Sir?” Mirza asked as he pushed past the pickup to scan the jungle ahead.
    “Yeah, you did well Corporal,” Bishop replied, trying to sound confident. “There were only three of them.”
    He holstered his pistol and knelt next to the corpse of Terminator, hands shaking as he stripped ammunition and equipment from the body. Bishop avoided looking at the lifeless face of the teenager. This kid looks like he should be in high school, he thought. What the fuck was he doing out here? What was he doing with a gang of animals like the West Side? Did I have to shoot him?  He shook his head and shoved the thoughts from his mind; now was not the time for questions. He was now