The trucks sped down the main road of the village, stopping in the center of town. Christopher Talbert, the village elder, emerged from the wooden town center building and strolled to the trucks. He raised his hands in the customary village greeting. Armed men sprang from the truck, firing automatic weapons into the air.
“Slavers!” Moses shouted. He clambered down the tree, dropping the last few feet and landing on his booted feet. He sprinted to his bike.
“Back up is on the way,” the voice said.
“Won’t get here in time,” Moses said. He jumped on his bike then kick started the engine to life.
“I got this,” he said.
Moses sped down the narrow trail then merged onto the main highway. In minutes he was at the town’s outskirts, streaking by villagers fleeing the intruders. With his left hand he pulled out his magnum from the hostler nestled under his right arm, blasting two slavers chasing the villagers. He downed two more slavers on his way to the town center. Fiver slavers lay dead by the time he jumped from the bike. The bike crashed into the rear of the truck then both vehicles caught fire. Moses scrambled to his feet then ran for cover. Minutes later the truck exploded, killing those slavers too foolish to seek cover.
“Moses?” the voice said. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
Moses weaved through the remaining trucks as bullets whizzed by his head.
“I’m in town center,” he said as he ducked behind a burning truck. “Five slavers are down, about ten wounded. I figure ten, maybe fifteen still standing but not for long.”
“Moses, disengage!” the voice commanded. “Our team is almost there!”
A slaver jumped around the truck facing Moses, an automatic pressed into his gut. Moses sidestepped as the man fired then shot him in the chest, blowing him from behind the truck.
“Moses! Get out of there now!”
“Shut the fuck up!” Moses said. He shut off his head set.
He was taking fire from all sides, pinned between two trucks.
“Divide and conquer, homeboy,” he whispered. He took out his second magnum.
“Let’s do this!”
Moses sprinted to his right, guns in both hands. Three slavers stepped out to cut him off and Moses shot them down, one shot for each man. Before the other slavers could pursue he disappeared behind the nearest building. He holstered his magnums then took his rifle from his back.
“Time to go hunting,” he said. He worked his way between the buildings and vehicles, hunting down the slavers with methodical precision. One shot, one man. The last slaver cowered behind a small jeep, his head exposed. Moses raised his rifle then took aim. The man seemed to sense his predicament; he stood, his shaking hands raised over his head.
“I give up! I give up!”
Moses’s finger tightened on his trigger.
“It’s a little late for that,” he said.