The second shot tore through the carnival sign above us, and Razor grabbed my shoulder before I could move, dragging me deeper behind the concrete ticket booth as another bullet struck the ground where my head had been.
“Stay down.” He said.
“I know how snipers work.” I said.
“Then stop trying to stand up.” He said.
I shoved his hand away, but another round cracked through the night, and concrete exploded beside us.
Razor looked toward the tree line, and his expression hardened.
“They’re moving.” He said.
“How many?” I asked.
“I can’t see them all.” He said.
That answer scared me more than if he had given me a number.
I crouched lower, and I pulled my pistol from beneath my jacket while Razor checked the other side of the booth.
“You really came alone.” I said.
“I told you I w
