..............Sands..............

The gunshots rang out everywhere around him, but Sands lay still in the orange dust. Funny how he said it was orange, colors didn't mean much to him any more.

A few bullets hit the dirt where he lay. He panted and lay still as blood seeped out of the bullet wound in his left calf. From what he heard of the bullets it seemed only stray ones where aimed at him. He couldn't tell where exactly the cartel where aiming over the chaos. His sensitive hearing was only confused by this ruckus. He was more used to listening for the slightest sound as an enemy tried to sneak up on him and slit his throat. Now, as hell broke loose around him, he lay on his back and acted as dead as he could manage. One wrong move and one of those cartel fuckers would put a bullet in him. One bullet was all it'd take. So he remained as still as a corpse and concentrated on breathing and listening.

He had ended up here by chance. There he was walking across this square, minding his own business when shots rang out and a bullet embedded itself in his leg. Being quick on the action he had dropped, army crawled a way, then stopped at the realization that the bullets weren't aimed at him.

There was return fire but it was slow, as if from a handgun. One shot, silence. One shot, more silence. While machine guns and Uzi's shot a hundred bullets a second.

There was no way the opposition would win. Of that he was sure.

It was only a matter of time.

The battle went on. Bullets ripping everything to shreds and the occasional one shot. And to the fallen CIA officers surprise he realized there were not as many bullets attacking the lone fighter.

It was not possible... or was it? Could the little handgun really be winning? For a second there was silence, then there was an alarmed shout and the sound of many feet jumping low walls and running towards him. The cartels feet made soft thumps and Sands could almost envision the puffs of dust they were creating. But more importantly they were heading right towards him and he had no gun. Once they were over him they would see he was still breathing and put a bullet in his skull. And just as this thought entered his head the world tore apart.

There was a deafening roar and the screams of perishing men. Something landed close to the former agent, and it sizzled where it lay. Then Sands was coated in debris. Dust choked him and bits of plaster and clay brick rained down upon him, so he had to cough and wheeze to get air. Hoping that the cloud would hide his signs of life Sands spluttered around the dust.

Gasping for breath and fumbling around in the dirt for any kind of gun. Surely if that explosion killed a few, a gun could've flown in his direction... his hand clasped the thing that had fallen near him before. He lifted it easily and felt it squish a little. Probing down it he felt fingers and grinned before throwing it away. He didn't need an extra hand. A few extra eyes would be good though.

There were a few random shouts and coughs as the surviving cartel slowly stood. Sands hadn't found a gun and the dust was no longer falling on his skin; which meant that it was clearing....

Not good news.

And then there were pounding footsteps coming straight for him. He cringed half expecting those footsteps to be the hooves of Deaths mare, come to seize him and throw him into hell. But at the last second, they swerved to the left of him and he found a gun thrown into his lap.

"MOVE!" shouted the cartels enemy as he flashed past him. His feet making next to no noise in the loose dust. Sands was on his feet the moment he had shouted, and clasping the gun to himself he sped after the stranger. Ignoring the pain that licked up his leg from the bullet in his calf as he bunched his muscles.

He hardly noticed it for a full minute. He didn't know where he was, he was disorientated, so he followed the sounds of the man. It seemed he was the only one who was not trying to kill him. He was level with him before he knew it, and he kept only slightly back.

"Right" he bellowed over the noise of the bullets nipping at their heels. With that he turned to the right and Sands followed after.

Sands nearly ran into him when he pulled up suddenly and reached into his pocket. There was a jangling sound as he fumbled for his car keys and then the click of a door opening.

Completely ignoring Sands he opened the door and hopped in. Sands felt for the second door, found the handle and tumbled in just as the engine started. He heard the approach of many feet, followed by bullets chinking into the car. He went to pull the door shut just as the driver slammed his foot onto the accelerator. The door swung closed viciously. Hitting Sands square in the face. He fell back onto the seat clutching his nose.

"Fuck!" he swore loudly, letting him know how he felt. "Where'd you learn to fucking drive? Amish paradise?" he snapped.

"Shut the fuck up or get the fuck out" the driver snapped back as acidly, then turned a sharp left causing Sands to slide. He sat up, then immediately ducked when a bullet plowed into the back windscreen showering glass all over him.

"Fuck!" he swore again, but this time it was directed at his attacker. He rested his gun on top of the seat and fired a stream of random shots back.

A bullet answered, only one. But just by hearing that one, Sands knew it was going to hit something vital. And it did. The car swerved dangerously and the driver swore harshly and in panic as the vehicle smashed into another one in front. Sands was hurtled forwards, his nose smashing into the back of the front passenger seat. Then he felt consciousness flitter away with the sound of a dying engine and he remembered no more...

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