The Constable eased over the parapet. It was not so much a parapet, of course, but the rubble from the KFC that had been on the corner before the invasion. From his position opposite, Harvey Kilby, flipped the safety off his M24, and brought the crosshairs to center on the helmet, adjusted one click for windage and a half up and over for the Coriolis effect, inhaled deeply, exhaled, breathed in a half breath, waited for the eternity between heartbeats and fired. His victim lurched into the air in a death agony before falling back onto the parapet, life-blood streaming over the crumbled concrete in great gouts of muddy green. Harvey waited to see if more the slimeballs came to investigate, was disappointed, eventually stood, covered the optics of his weapon, grabbed up the tattered blanket on which he had lain, and sc...

Please subscribe to keep reading.