Clear Shot:

Based off Ally Carter's young adult books, the Gallagher Girls series.

Chapter One: Shot in the Dark.

18:30 hours on the night of November 17th:

The noise surrounded me; it was everywhere. It was a sound of violence, blood, revenge. I could hear the screams of the men who had been hit, the shrieks of the civilian women as men carrying machine guns stormed their homes; the cries of young children who were ripped away from their families. It was brutal, but I suppose that's why I was doing this, right? I lay on my stomach on top of a hill above the village that was being terrorized. The masked men were hidden; I couldn't do anything but wait. Lay and wait until the perfect time came.

I could see men lying dead in the street, blood pooled around them. These men weren't soldiers; they were village men who were just trying to protect their families. A child, maybe six, walked over to a fallen man, kneeling down beside him. The boy picked up the gun that was still in this man's hand and put it on the ground. He then touched the man's face right next to where a bullet had pierced his forehead. The boy closed the man's eyes; he had died watching his attacker; face to face with the people who did this. There has always been something that has stayed with me about people who die with their eyes open. Probably has to do with the fact that that's how my father died; face up, eyes wide open. The only difference was the fact that his death hadn't been immediate.

Behind the boy a man stepped out of the building carrying a rifle. A mask sat on the top of the man's head, his face visible as if he wanted his victims to know exactly who he was. The man saw the boy, who was still turned away, and raised his gun. The cocking noise of the gun had the boy turning, neither of them hearing the same cocking noise in the distance. The boy stumbled back, just as the man drew nearer.

Bang.

The sound of a gun firing had become an everyday noise for me; I was used to the loud pop as the bullet left the barrel, the whizzing as it sailed through the air, straight into the target. The man went down, a bullet through his heart. The boy spun around as he looked up at me, I had just enough time to nod at him before a bullet whizzed right past me. I could feel the heat of it across my cheek. I turned to my right just as another bullet flew by.

Bang.

The man went down. This hit wasn't as straight, though; he stumbled for a second before falling to the ground dead.

It was just about dusk, smoke and shrieks still filled the air. Ten more men went down within the last two hours. It was calmer now, but not quiet. It was never quiet; not in a war zone. My job wasn't down there; it was up here, so that was where I stayed. One hour, two hours, three hours I had been there; waiting, watching.

"Cammie, do you copy?" A voice in my ear rang clear through the unit in my left ear.

"I copy, sir. What is it?"

"I need you to leave your post and go down to the village."

"You want me to leave my post, sir? For what, may I ask?"

"I need you on the bottom to treat the wounded."

"Yes sir, I'm on my way."

With that I slung my rifle over my shoulder, grabbed my bag, and headed down the hill to the village. When I got there I headed into the closest house and searched for any wounded. No one was there, but there had definitely been a struggle. I headed off to the next house; all dead.

When I got to the seventh house I found three wounded. The father lie dead on the floor, a masked man dead beside him, but the mom and the two sons were huddled in the corner. When they saw me they tensed, I put my hands up over my head and cautiously made my way over to them.

"I'm here to help, okay? I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to check your injuries. Okay?" I spoke in their language because I knew that they wouldn't speak English.

The woman nodded and I knelt down in front of her. I slid off my pack and placed my rifle on the floor, the neck strap spread out on the floor next to it. I opened my pack and pulled out my medical bag, unzipping it and laying it open on the concrete floor. The woman had a flesh wound in her side, painful but not life threatening at this point.

"This is going to hurt. I'm going to remove the bullet that's still lodged in your side and then I'm going to clean it. Ready?" The woman nodded again as I proceeded to pull on the medical gloves. "What's your name?" I asked in an attempt to distract her from the pain she was about to endure.

"Jolene," she hissed. "Jolene Emerson." I pulled the bullet from her right side and put it in a clear plastic baggy.

"That's a pretty name. I'm Cammie, Cammie Morgan. What are your guy's names?"

"I'm Dalton, and this is my younger brother Damian." I smiled.

"Well it's very nice to meet you Dalton and Damian.'

"Ms. Cammie, can I ask you a question?" Damian asked, shyly.

"Yes you may." It was so cute, this four year old being so polite. There aren't that many four year olds out there like that.

"What are you going to do with that bullet?"

"Well, I was probably just going to throw it away, but if you want it as a souvenir for what you guys lived through that would be okay." Damian nodded and I handed the little bag to him. He muttered a quiet 'thank you' as I turned back to his mother. "This is going to hurt a lot also, but I have to sterilize the wound." I poured some rubbing alcohol onto a cotton ball and gently dabbed it over the wound. She hissed again and I started talking to distract her. "What's your husband's name?"

"His name is Ian, he was an amazing man. He meant everything to the boys, to me."

"He was a hero. He died protecting you. Losing someone you love is never easy, but remember he died as a hero. His death was not in vain."

"Thank you for that. That means everything to me." She smiled in appreciation and patted my hands.

"You're the person from the hill aren't you? You're the one who saved me."

"Yeah, that was me," I said, looking over at Dalton.

"You killed that man."

"I did, but for a good reason. He was a bad man and he was going to kill you. I couldn't let that happen."

"Why?"

"Because you're young, you haven't lived your life yet. You should get a chance to see the world and to do something. You're special, that's why." He smiled.

"You have so much courage, no fear. I would have been scared."

"I never said I wasn't scared. Being in a war zone is always scary. Bullets flying everywhere, but you have to stay calm and just keep going. There's a quote I like that states: 'courage is not the absence of fear, it's the conquest of fear.' It's normal to be afraid, but sometimes you just have to push through and keep going."

Before anyone could say anything there was a noise behind me, the cocking of a gun. I didn't think I just acted. I spun around, picking up my gun as I turned, and shot.

Bang.

He was dead before he hit the ground. When I turned back around they were all staring wide-eyed. Damian moved a little further back into the corner, but Dalton, although in shock, seemed to know that I wouldn't hurt them. He placed a hand on his brother's knee to help calm him.

"I'm going to clean your wound, Dalton, okay?" He had a slash mark on his face, like from a knife. He nodded his head.

"Will it scar?"

"Probably, but some girls like scars; besides it makes you look tough."

"Okay," was his only answer.

Damian still looked cautious towards me, but he leaned forward to watch me clean his brother's wound.

A few minutes later, after I'd cleaned the knife wound I looked back over my shoulder to where her husband still lay.

"May I?" I asked as I turned back to the mother. She nodded.

I got up and walked over to the far side of the room and knelt beside her husband. He wore a metal necklace with his name on a tag at the end. I undid the clasp from his neck and brought it back over to Jolene.

"This was your husband's necklace, it was a part of him, so it's a part of you. Grief is never easy, but when you have something to hold onto it can be easier. If you're ever overwhelmed with grief just look at this and remember that Ian died a hero. He will forever be in your heart."

She smiled up at me as I gently slid it into her open palm. Her fingers closed around the cool metal and she held it to her chest.

"Thank you. You seem like you know what this grief is like."

"Yeah, something like that. I should probably be going now, but I have something I want to give to your sons if that's okay."

"That would be fine, but really, you don't have to do anything else. You've already done enough."

"Oh it's no problem." I opened the smallest pocket in my back pack and pulled out two metal dog tags on the end of a metal chain. There was an engraving of an army base symbol and the words: Platoon #242 Special Forces Sniper. "My boss had me clean out an old storage closet to make room for more beds and I found these old dog tags. We have the same ones, but they're the newer ones, we don't use these anymore. He said I could keep them and do whatever I wanted, and I thought that they might want them." I held them out and the two boys were hesitant at first, but then grabbed a hold of them. They placed them around their necks and smiled up at me. I smiled back.

"It was nice meeting you Cammie Morgan. It's been a pleasure. Please, stay safe."

"Thank you. It was nice to meet you guys, too. Stay safe as well."

With that I slung my rifle and pack over my shoulder and headed out the door to go see if others needed help. Some people weren't wounded, but others weren't so lucky. There were so many instances where they were all slaughtered, or that most of the family was killed. It was late when I finally got out of the village. In the distance I could hear gun fire coming from another town over. To the south, over the hill, there was an orange glow from a fire, and a slight smell of smoke, but it wasn't close enough to worry about. I climbed back up onto the hill I had been on and resumed my position: stomach to the ground, gun out in front of me, ears and eyes trained in every direction, waiting.

22:30 hours on the night of November 17th:

The canvas of trees was my cover, I could see the town clearly, lights shown from the lampposts and stores still had their lights on. It was pitch black up here in the trees, just the rustle of leaves and the noises of the night. I could hear my breath against the silent night, and then the snapping of a twig just a short ways away. I held my breath and listened, waiting to see if the person was coming towards me or if they'd noticed me. I could see enough of the person against the darkness to know it was male. He was wearing an army green shirt and pants, which hinted that he was on my side, but not from the same platoon. The moon was high against the vast space of sky before it disappeared behind a cloud.

I heard a few clicks like something was locking into place; sniper. It was quiet, something that was different to me. I was always so used to the constant noise of gunfire and screams. Mystery Guy was crouched against the outline of the trees. I wouldn't have known he was there if I hadn't seen him earlier.

Bang.

A shot rang out through the town, it echoed in the silence, and a moment later I saw Mystery Guy fall. The moon had started to peak out from behind the cloud and it was right in the place where Mystery Guy once crouched. I saw a flicker from the roof across the street and aimed.

Bang.

The sniper from the building fell, I could see that much, but I didn't wait around. I quickly packed up my rifle, disengaging it in record speed, and grabbed my bag before I ran to the guy on the hill.

He lay on his back with his hand on his shoulder, his head off the ground. He was struggling with consciousness and it seemed with breath, too. His eyes kept closing, and each time he opened them it seemed that it was harder for him to do so. I kneeled in front of him and put pressure to the wound in his shoulder. Blood soaked through his shirt and onto my fingers as I applied pressure.

"Stay with me, stay with me." That's about all I said. I didn't have a name to go with the face, which I finally got a good look at - symmetrical face, square jaw, strong features. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and was incredibly muscular; his muscles were taut under his shirt. "Keep your eyes open, look at me. Stay with me."

His eyes closed, fluttered, and then fell again. His muscles relaxed and his head went back to the ground. Damn it he was unconscious.

I quickly pulled out my medical kit, put pressure on his wound, and tried to wrap it as best I could in the situation. The moon was gone again, so there wasn't much light to work by, but I managed. I knew I had to get him out of there; he'd already lost enough blood, and without medical attention there was a chance that he would die. I quickly opened his bag and saw that there was a medical kit as well, and that's where I decided to leave my stuff behind and just carry his. He was quite bigger than me and very muscular, and I knew that every ounce of my training would be put into use to carry him to the nearest hospital, which was a few miles south, away from the village. I hid my stuff in the under foliage by the nearest tree and put his bag over my shoulder, and his gun strap around my neck. The good thing was that the bleeding had almost stopped with what I'd done, but I knew that it wouldn't last forever. I tried my ear piece, but there was nothing; it must have been turned off, or the signal was just lost. With that I picked him up and lifted him onto my shoulder. He was heavy, but I started walking anyways just as the sound of more gunfire lit up the sky. It would be a long trek across unstable land with the fallen soldier over my shoulder, but that thought was what kept me going into the night.

Author's Note: Today's my birthday and the one year anniversary that I got my FanFiction account, posted on my profile page, and posted my first story, so I thought today was a great day to post the first chapter of a new story I'm doing. In fact it's my first story on FanFiction, all my other stories have been One-Shots.

Today is also the seven month anniversary of the day I relapsed with Chronic Fatigue Immune Deficiency Syndrome, so if anybody out there has a chronic illness, or is just having a hard time just know that you can do anything you put your mind to and never lose hope because it will get better. I hope you guys liked this first chapter.

Quote: "Strength of character isn't always about how much you can handle before you break, it's also about how much you can handle after you've broken." - Unknown.

-GymGirl904.