Page 77 of Uncharted

I brought the knife up; the metal glinting in the sunlight as I opened the side of his shirt and drew a red line across his skin. He didn’t hesitate, backing away and holding the gun up again. I weaved as a shot rang out and while I’d swear I felt the wind from that one; I didn’t hesitate as I went high with the knife. He reacted, bringing the gun down, and I twisted around, slicing along his arm and heard him cry out briefly as blood flew into the air.

“Fucking…” he grunted, and when I closed the distance again, he backpedaled, tossing the gun far into the distance away from us. He weaved under my next slice and twisted to get to my side. It was my turn to step back as I saw something flash in his hand, and a knife not all that different from the one I’d taken from the third man slashed through the air, narrowly missing my face.

Buzz Cut was aggressive, and as I was forced to block his swing at the elbow, I had no choice but to duck away when his fist came for me. Damn, he was no slouch at hand-to-hand combat, which was something I had been banking on considering how persistent he’d been about using my stolen handgun. Which put me at another disadvantage with my one good arm.

He kept up with me, driving me back and pivoting quickly whenever a feint or parry on my part put him on the back foot. He wasn’t as strong as me, but the only real use of my strength this close was my arms, and there was no way I was willingly dropping the knife while he still had his. He wasn’t weak, and time spent living in the forest doing his job had made him pretty tough, and there was a fierceness to his attacks that kept surprising me.

“Shit,” I hissed when a line of fire opened on my face.

“Ugh,” he grunted when my knife sliced through his chest and sent thick rivulets of blood into his shirt, soaking it.

A cut here, a slice there. We were whittling each other down. Too driven to do anything but keep going at each other, but I felt myself tiring. My ribs were better, but the pain was coming back from all the exertion, and I couldn’t breathe as well. That weakness caught up to me when his fist lashed out and caught me on the chin.

I was spared unconsciousness, but my vision swam as I tried to stay focused on him coming at me again. Dumbly, I brought my cast up and instead of the knife; he grabbed it with his bare hand, and I cried out as he yanked it back and spun me around. With a hiss, I knew what was coming next, and I had to drop my knife to bring my good hand up as my injured arm screamed in agony.

Catching the next blow that was supposed to be a blade in my back by reaching behind me, succeeding through skill and dumb luck. I slammed my head back into his face, forcing him to let me go, and I stumbled forward. When I turned around, he was already coming at me again, and I grunted when the pommel of the blade slammed into my skull and sent me to my knees.

I coughed harshly when a booted foot slammed into my chest and knocked me onto my back. Buzz Cut stood over me, tucking his knife back into his holster and bringing the rifle around from behind his back. He popped open the chamber and checked it before sliding it back into place.

“I’m going to be honest with you,” he said, sounding almost sad. “If you hadn’t already been fucked up, I’d have had no chance of winning. Good luck for me, isn’t it?”

My hand found the knife. “Wanna see if I can leave you something else to remember me by?”

“You’ll try,” he said, leveling the rifle at my chest. “But from this distance? You’re not making it. For what it’s worth, you have my respect.”

“I respect you less than the deer shit I have to scrape off my boots every night,” I told him.

“Fair enough,” he said, and I watched in slow motion as his finger closed around the trigger, and I stared back at him. There was nothing left to do but close my eyes and think of Reno, praying he somehow managed to get away.

I’m so sorry, Reno.

The blast was loud, but not as loud as it should have been. Warmth splattered my face, and my eyes flew open. I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing at first. Buzz Cut’s hold on the rifle was loose, and it drooped, the front of him bathed in blood. Except it wasn’t Buzz Cut, not completely. Half of his head resembled freshly ground meat, white chunks dribbling from the massive gaps in his skull. His remaining eye darted around erratically before settling on my face, and then he dropped with a thick sound to the ground.

My vision sharpened, and there stood Reno, blood soaking his side still, but otherwise, there wasn’t the slightest trace of any other wounds on him. The shotgun, Ponytail’s I realized, drooped toward the ground as Reno stared at Buzz Cut with wide eyes.

“That was…easy,” he said in a distant voice, and I scrambled to get to him but was too late. I stumbled to the ground, my vision spinning, and turning red from the wound on my head as it poured blood down my face. Reno collapsed to his knees, his body heaving as he cried out, bringing one hand to his side and collapsing.

“Reno,” I ground out roughly, scrambling along the ground to get to him as I heard him puking.

I crawled, my head pounding, darkness poking at the edge of my vision as I kneeled beside him. I let him puke before rolling him away from the stinking puddle and pressed my good hand against his side. I brought my left hand up too, cupping his face before realizing what I had just done and staring at my arm in disbelief.

It felt as if it were filled with glass rather than blood and bone. The cast was cracked in several places and had torn apart in others, allowing me to move. Apparently Buzz Cut had absolutely ruined the cast when he’d attacked. It hurt like hell, but at least I was able to touch Reno freely as I tried to pull him into my lap.

“I-I thought I could…distract him,” Reno said, and the distant quality in his voice was coming back.

“Ya did good,” I told him, groping at his waist.

“Not really a good time for that,” he said with a weak chuckle.

“I’m lookin’ for the walkie,” I told him gruffly.

“D-dropped it when I went for the shotgun,” he said distantly. “Called for help already. Idiots forgot I had it, I guess.”

“They are idiots,” I assured him. “You’re not, though. Stupid, but no idiot.”

“You’re one to talk,” he whispered, and panic clawed at my chest. “I think…I think they know where they are. Cait said…Mav⁠—”

“Mav knows,” I finished for him through a tight throat. “Mav knows, then that means we’re good. We’re gonna be okay. Ya just have to stick with me a little longer, okay?”