Campaign: Nowhere to Run

“Told you it was suicide.”

     I crawled to the wall under the bridge and sat up against it, listening to the sound of the rain on the city streets above. “Lies,” I grunted through barred teeth, pain shooting through my leg. “I'm still here.” I grinned.

     Patrick glowered at me. “Cut it out. You were this damn close.” He held up his thumb and forefinger a quarter inch apart. “You're lucky to be alive still. Those men out there are highly trained – they could have killed you.”

     “But they didn't.”

     Patrick slicked back his wet hair and growled, “I don't care! Look, this isn't a game, all right? In case you haven't noticed, we're fugitives, John. Fugitives. There isn't a doctor in a hundred miles who will get that bullet out without calling the cops. And you're in no condition to get that far.”

     “But we have to get out her somehow. We can't just wait!”

     Patrick looked out towards the flashing blue and red lights. “But we can't run, either.”

     “Then what are we gonna do?”

     “Yeah,” Patrick mumbled. “That's just it. … That's just it.”