Vultures

Nine

Our pursuers weren't being as careful as they could have been, despite their friend's untimely death. They searched the houses in pairs, but only one entered. The other patrolled the surroundings, watching for an escape attempt, effectively pinning us. We couldn't get out, not without drawing attention.

"You're crazy." Will said.

"You're hurt." I retorted from my post near the window. "Bad."

We were careful not to let our voices travel to give away our position. I'd told him at least the first half of my plan, quickly, the abridged version. Admittedly it didn't sound as good spoken as it did in my head. "They think we're scouts and that we have information. They won't be as trigger happy, they want at least one of us alive."

Will wasn't having any of it. "And you think that's enough to keep them from shooting you on sight?" He winced, currently doing his best to patch himself up.

The bleeding had finally stopped, but not before nearly making it through the piece of towel I had given him. He was careful to keep the wound away from my eyes, even as I helped him remove his vest to make reaching it easier. It was all the help he'd accept. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't keep me from seeing the sickly shade of green he'd turned upon looking at the injury himself.

Worry worked lines onto my face as I glanced to him, taking my attention away from the outside. He had become too quiet and his eyes grew a little distant as he took his attention away from his injury for just a second. We didn't have a whole lot of time and he was struggling.

I hoped and prayed that this wasn't shock. "You okay?"

Will took in a deep breath, "Yeah," he replied. His tone wasn't convincing. Quickly he attempted to change the subject, trying to distract his thoughts from pain. If he was trying to get his mind back on the plan, perhaps it was a good sign. Maybe it was only the pain and panic making him seem ill. "Look, I'm a good shot, but with that pistol it would be difficult for me to do what you're asking."

"You have to at least try." I argued.

He shook his head. "No, I could hit you and then what?"

The sound of footsteps on the fairly rotten front porch of the house killed our conversation. We both fell silent and exchanged nervous looks. This place was about to gain another occupant. This was it, we were out of time.

Will attempted to get to his feet but strangled back a curse at the sudden movement. I made an attempt to help him but he waved me away, pointing to the wall next to the door. A large dresser had been left to rot with the rest of the house, the whole thing leaned forward. The drawers, hanging half open, puked the remains of old clothes no one saw fit to even steal. He wanted me to hide again.

I bit back the urge to yell at him. I didn't want to hide. "What about you?" I said, mouthing it to him more than speaking.

He hastily finished tying his makeshift bandage around his waist, pulling his shirt down to cover it. "Just go!" He exclaimed almost too quiet to hear, "Trust me." He wouldn't leave me like last time, he couldn't.

Reluctantly I took my place in hiding. The silence in the room did nothing to calm my nerves, and focusing proved increasingly difficult as the seconds ticked by. Will didn't move from his position. As injured as he was, dragging him to hide would have made too much noise. It had taken me a moment, but I realized my part in this as he set the trap.

Will relaxed against the wall, his eyes closed, his skin a ghostly pale. His hand by his side held the still-wet cloth he'd used to stop the bleeding in his side. The bright red blood blooming across the bit of towel was difficult to miss among the sea weathered carpet and ruined interior paint in the room.