A soft crunch echoed in the air, breaking the temporary peace you were in. It slipped between your fingers and evaporated under the blazing sun. In a time like this, a short while of respite was already enough of a grace from God — a heavenly gift.

You straightened your back and leveled your rifle to the figure. Scope on. Eyes on the target. A finger on the trigger. Breathe. You could make it hit. You could make it not. But, it also depended on your will to continue playing bets with death.