Free Sold Out (Nick Woods Book 1) by Stan R. Mitchell Page A

thought, there are a lot of people not training right now. If you plan to
own them and survive this, get back to work. Get in character.
    They’ll
soon wish that they had been training when they were hungry, too.
    So,
Nick began working on the ever important aspect of range in a fight. He
practiced his footwork. Circling, stepping back and even stepping forward to
jam an opponent. He then practiced his head movement and body movement to avoid
someone’s attacks.
    Though
he hadn’t watched his time, either when he began or as he trained, Nick spent
close to two hours working on his various techniques. By the time he’d
finished, his whole body felt shaky from its lack of food.
    But,
the time had kept Anne off his mind and helped hone his slightly rusty skills.
Now, she was once again occupying his mind.
    Her
smile. The feel of her bare skin. He remembered how exasperated she’d been when
he taught her to fire a pistol. Looking back, he realized she’d probably let
him teach her just so she could be with him, sharing in his one love besides
her: guns.
    Nick
swallowed. He knew he wouldn’t cry. That Nick, or Bobby Ferguson, was dead. He
realized he’d probably never cry again.
    He
had never cried while he was in the Corps. Even when he lost his spotter in
Afghanistan. They made you into a machine.
    He
realized he’d never really lost that spirit, but just tucked it away while he
was with Anne. He’d always been a machine since his first day at Parris Island
though really it began before then.
    From
his time as a boy (with a tough, stern Dad) to his time playing football, he
had always an affection for toughness. No, it was not toughness. It was pride.
It was saying what you thought, even if that meant taking a good ass whooping
instead of wisely backing down.
    And
with that thought, he retraced his steps from last night. He had some hunting
to do.
    The
deck was stacked against him big time. It was a long shot, but he’d made a few
long shots in his day.
    Someone,
or some group, had come after him with a plan, and now it was time to strike
back and remind them that two sides could bring the pain. That once you start a
fight, you lose full control of what will happen.
    Your
opponent can move and strike back, and that’s precisely what Nick Woods would do
now.

 
    Chapter
19
     
    It
was dark, and Nick was in the woods again.
    The
day had proved uneventful. He’d left his pack in the woods, bought some food at
the gas station after his two-hour morning practice session, and gone back into
the woods to eat. He’d stayed there until after five, confident at that point
that if there were roadblocks or patrols, they’d be giving up or at least lessening
their force.
    Everyone
has to sleep and eat at some point. And usually with manhunts, you went all out
in the beginning, pushing your folks until they could barely stand anymore,
then you started thinking about rest and long-term capabilities.
    At
five, he’d grabbed his pack and headed for the gas station again. Upon
arriving, he’d hid it in some bushes and stood outside the building, leaning on
it waiting for the right person. Nick had waited twenty minutes, counting six
cars filling with gas, and then that person had shown.
    Again,
it was an old man, and again the man drove a truck. Nick had approached the
senior and offered him sixty dollars to drive him to Oak Ridge, a nearby city
just a good hour away.
    The
man, who relied on Social Security, had quickly agreed. Nick grabbed his pack,
threw it in the back of the truck, and hopped in.
    This
second man had been a real talker, unlike the one from the night before. He’d
lost his wife to cancer, and his only son had moved to the big city (or
“seety,” as he called it) and rarely visited.
    The
big “seety” was just Knoxville, hardly a true big city, but Nick had listened
respectfully. Nick had answered some of the man's questions, making up stuff as
he went. But mainly, he kept the man talking about himself or