My feet move quickly underneath me. My breath is shallow and my lungs burn like they've been set on fire. A pistol held in a holster bounces against my left hip and against my right hip is an array of bombs and technical equipment. A rifle is held in my hands, and bouncing against my back is a pack containing supplies that could keep me and two others going for three weeks.
Gunshots ring in the background and to me sound like they're getting closer with every footstep.
Dry leaves crunch under my thick, heavy, military issued combat boots. My bulky uniform slows me down a lot, but I keep running and turn my head only once to check behind me. I see the silhouette of a man kneeling in a shooter's stance and as he pulls his gun up to aim, I throw myself forward, hitting the ground hard. The bullet flies overhead, and I hear it whizzing past, just above my head.
I get up quickly and make a sharp right into the brush, tree branches and bushes scraping against me. I don't feel them though, my uniform protecting me from every thorn, every sharp prick that could slow me down... Any more than I've already been.
I come to a small fork in the path that I've been following, three different paths.i choose the one covered mostly with leaves to cover my tracks. Halfway down the path, I cross through the trees and jump onto the middle path.