A Firm Grip

Stiffness gives way. The textured weave beneath my back yields slightly as weight settles into my frame. My gloved fingers respond first, curling with deliberate pressure against the molded contours of the submachine gun across my chest. Beside me lies an unmoving figure in an orange patterned shirt, prone and quiet. I do not rush. I tighten my hold, adjust the angle of the weapon by an inch, and inspect the immediate perimeter. Order requires assessment before action.