Zak watched as Tom was thrown back against the wall again by the force of the barrage. His head was targeted. As the bullets ripped through his helmet, red and grey streaks coated the video sheet behind him.
Zak was transfixed. He had never seen that before. On TV, the bullets only punched little red holes in their victims. Here, his friend had been torn apart.
More soldiers burst through the doorway. Zak could not think. Instead of keeping cover, he leapt up in front of them, hugging his gun. He squeezed the trigger, and steered the gun from side to side. Bullets sprayed on the soldiers in front of him. They were all thrown back before they could react. Arms and legs flailed everywhere. As Zak waved the gun indiscriminately, the glass in the windows and doors shattered, desks and cabinets jolted and warped. The blood of the soldiers splattered all over what was left of the wall behind them.
He continued to fire, then realised there were no soldiers left standing. There was a movement from a prone soldier, and Zak steered his gun towards the floor. Just as he saw the soldier convulse from the impact, he felt a pop in his right side, followed by a burning pain. He noticed a gun slide out of the soldier’s hands. There was a moment of lost consciousness, and he found himself lying on his back, behind the desk he was using for cover.
There was quiet again. The wave of enemy soldiers had ended.
Zak was breathing heavily, almost hyper-ventilating. His hands were shaking, and he realised that for the first time ever, he had lost control. He pushed himself to sit up, but pain exploded in his right side. He saw a dark red patch spreading across his grubby white suit, and let himself slump back onto the floor.
He waited a minute, then tried again. Grabbing the top of the desk he hauled himself upright, his face contorting with the agony.
