CHAPTER FOUR

The sniper clutched his wounded arm, gritting his teeth against the searing pain that radiated from the bullet hole. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his fatigues a dark crimson. He stumbled, his vision blurring as he fought to maintain his balance on the uneven terrain.

"What have I done?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and filled with anguish. The weight of his actions pressed down on his chest, making each breath a struggle. Images of the life he had taken flashed through his mind, her face etched into his memory like a cruel tattoo.

He staggered forward, his feet sinking into the soft sand with each step. The desert stretched out before him, an endless expanse of barren land that offered no solace or redemption. The sun beat down mercilessly, its heat amplifying the throbbing pain in his arm.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, tears stinging his eyes. "I never meant for it to go this far." The words felt hollow, inadequate in the face of the devastation he had caused. He had crossed a line, one from which there was no return.

The sniper's head pounded, the blood loss taking its toll. He needed medical attention, but the thought of facing the consequences of his actions filled him with dread. How could he ever atone for what he had done?

He stumbled again, his knees buckling under the weight of his guilt.

But deep down, he knew there was no escape.

Behind him, he heard the sound of an approaching helicopter, the blades whoop-whoop-whooping on the desert air. He grimaced, glancing over his shoulder and stumbling forward. “Come on,” he urged himself. “You said,” he whispered under his breath. “You said!”

He looked up at the sky, his eyes narrowed in frustration. “You said!” he called even louder. And for a moment, he forgot the sounds behind him.

The man shifted uncomfortably, finding his chest tightening. An asthma attack. He stumbled forward, one hand fumbling for the inhaler in his pocket while the other remained clamped over his bleeding arm. The desert, once his haven, was now fighting him from all fronts.

Pressing the inhaler to his mouth, he took a deep breath, the medicine offering some relief as it flowed into his lungs. He coughed violently, drops of blood splattering onto the sand. His vision swam as pain threatened to submerge him once again.

Ears straining for the sound of pursuit, he turned back towards his ATV hidden behind a nearby dune, his steps unsteady and slow. His mind raced as he tried to calculate how much distance he had managed to put between himself and them. Not nearly enough.

He grimaced at the realization, fighting back a surge of hopelessness. His prayers, desperate pleas he had thrown into the void were answered with nothing but silence. The agony in his arm flared up again, a vindictive reminder of what he had done. He’d hoped to abandon the ATV—to set out on foot. But they were too fast. He needed more distance.

The ATV roared to life under his touch, its familiar hum grounding him. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself onto the vehicle. The sand beneath him shifted restlessly, ready to swallow him.

Behind him, the sound of pursuing vehicles grew louder, echoing across the vast expanse of desert. He clutched the handlebars tighter, his knuckles white from exertion as he pushed the accelerator and sped off into the relentless desert sun.

The roar of the ATV's engine shattered the eerie stillness of the vast desert. Gripping the handlebars with his uninjured hand, the sniper navigated the treacherous terrain, his desperation growing with each passing moment. The sun beat down mercilessly, the heat oppressive and unrelenting.

Even with the weight of guilt and remorse heavy in his heart, the primal instinct to survive spurred him on.

His eyes flitted between the path ahead and the mirror attached to his ATV. A cloud of dust billowing in the distance confirmed his biggest fear; they were gaining on him. The hard edge of panic gnawed at his mind as he accelerated, pushing the ATV beyond its limits.

"Please..." he whispered to himself, to God. His voice was a hoarse plea above the ATV's drone and the relentless howl of the wind, "Please... help me."

The desert around him blurred into a sea of beige and burnt orange as he sped through it, leaving a trail of churned-up sand behind. He briefly closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath filled with desert air and desperation.

The sniper's eyes scanned the horizon, searching for any sign of help, but the desert stretched out before him, an endless expanse of sand and rock. He knew these lands well, having traversed them countless times before, but now, in his weakened state, the familiar landmarks seemed foreign and threatening.

He veered left, following a narrow path that snaked between towering sand dunes. The path was barely visible, but he knew it was there, a hidden trail that he had discovered years ago during one of his clandestine prayer walks. The knowledge of the desert's secrets had served him well in the past, but now, it felt like a heavy burden, a reminder of the life he had taken.

He’d had to do it. It was the kindest option. Wasn’t it?

Another voice whispered at him, but he ignored it… for now.

When he lay to bed, though, that voice grew louder still.

The sniper's vision blurred, the edges of his sight darkening as the blood loss took its toll. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't give up, not now, not after everything he had done.

But the desert had other plans. The ATV hit a deep rut, hidden beneath the shifting sands, and the sniper felt the machine lurch beneath him. He tried to regain control, but it was too late. The ATV flipped, sending him flying through the air.

He landed hard, the impact driving the air from his lungs. Pain exploded through his body, his wounded arm screaming in agony. He lay there, gasping for breath, his eyes staring up at the merciless sky.

The helicopter's searchlight stabbed through the gathering darkness, sweeping across the dunes like a vengeful eye. No time to recover. Only time to survive. The sniper ducked, his heart pounding, his mind racing. He had to find cover, had to disappear before they found him.

But he’d come this direction for a reason. The bunker. The old, abandoned military installation he had stumbled across years ago, buried deep in the heart of the desert. It was his only chance.

He veered off course, his feet pounding against the sand as he raced towards his destination. The helicopter's roar grew louder, the searchlight drawing closer with every passing second. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes, but he didn't dare slow down.

The bunker's entrance appeared before him, a gaping maw in the side of a dune. He dove inside, his body slamming against the concrete floor. The darkness enveloped him, the cool air a blessed relief against his fevered skin.

He lay there, panting, his heart hammering in his chest. The helicopter's blades beat a furious rhythm overhead, the searchlight probing the desert like a relentless hunter. But he was safe, hidden from view, his sanctuary holding fast against the onslaught.

Minutes ticked by, each one an eternity. The sniper's mind raced, thoughts of escape, of survival, of the sins that had brought him to this moment.

"Please," he whispered, his voice hoarse and raw. "Please, just let me live. I… will keep doing it. I will! I’m sorry for saying I wouldn’t. I’ll be the instrument. Please… just let me live !”

The words spilled from his lips, a desperate litany of prayers and pleas.

His head bowed, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"Forgive me," he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, forgive me."

The steady thrum of the helicopter blades grew louder, the sound reverberating through his chest. Sand swirled around the ATV, stinging his eyes, filling his nostrils. He held his breath, his heart pounding against his ribs. The searchlight swept across the dunes, a blinding beam that threatened to expose him.

Blood seeped through the makeshift bandage, warm and sticky against his skin. He gritted his teeth, fighting back a cry of agony. He couldn't afford to make a sound, couldn't risk drawing attention to himself.

The helicopter hovered overhead, the downdraft from its blades whipping the sand into a frenzy. He squinted against the onslaught, his eyes watering. The searchlight passed over his position once, twice, and he tensed, waiting for the shout of discovery, the burst of gunfire. But the shadows of the sand dunes were deceptive. They shielded him from view.

The helicopter veered away, the sound of its blades fading into the distance. He exhaled slowly, his body sagging with relief.

And yet, even as the danger passed, he felt a heaviness in his heart, a weight that threatened to crush him. He had escaped, but at what cost? How many more lives would he have to take, how much more blood would he have to shed, before this twisted mission of his was finally over?

His eyes snapped open. Jaw clenched tight. The pain in his arm throbbed. He glanced down at the blood-soaked fabric, the jagged gash beneath.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. His prayer had been answered, but not without a price. The helicopter had passed, but the weight of his actions remained. The faces of the dead haunted him, their accusing eyes boring into his soul.

He pushed himself to his feet. No time for self-pity. No room for regret. He had a job to do.

The bunker waited, a sanctuary from the world he longed to escape. But there was no escape, not really. Only the next target, the next life, to be taken in this endless cycle of death.

He scowled now.

The wages of sin was death.

But the mercy he brought was made of the same substance.

He was nothing if not merciful.