Legendary // H.S

70.

'Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive'

*

I'm cautious in my steps, slow in my movements. My body remains crouched behind the railing, Harry keeping an eye on the stairs and the landing surrounding them, his weapon raised in case someone jumps out. My own firearm is poised in my hands, ready to make a shot.

I've never used the gun as much as I have in this short amount of time. My ear drums are ringing, head aching, and skin sore from the grip I've maintained on the weapon. If I look close enough, I can even see small fragments of gunshot residue on my skin, peppering my olive complexion with black particles. The air is rich with smoke and explosives, the gunpowder sitting on every body that it's made its way into with each bullet. I wonder if any of us will sleep after this. I imagine it will be hard to shake the sound of this chaos.

There are few moments in life when time speeds up so much that you fail to keep up. While everything moves faster, you become slower as your brain struggles with the acceleration of the events around you. Only in moments of severe trauma, moments of life and death, does this phenomenon occur. And when it does, it almost clouds your mind entirely. Your psyche is in such shock, that it cannot register the surroundings. In many ways, it can feel like an out-of-body experience, because you're physically there, but not mentally.

Right now, as I crawl along the cold floors of the warehouse to find one of our own, I can feel this sensation. In the back of my mind, I can see my body moving through the paths, can hear the breaths I take and feel the way my eyes dart around. I can see it all, looking from above, and also in front. It's an odd experience, one that almost distracts me, but I know better than to stop paying attention. I know that my brain is simply trying to make sense of the scenario. It doesn't mean to sabotage me. Only I can be responsible for that.

I continue on my path, nearing the stairs. I cannot hear the way the metal creaks under one's feet when they make their way up them, and Harry has yet to tell me someone is near. Instead, I keep moving. One knee shuffling, the other following. If I get past this small gap in protection, I can stand and make my way down the hall. Just a couple of metres. That's all.

My hand moves forward, leg moving with it. Then I hear Harry's voice. Someone is there, waiting for me. The bullets from Harry's gun fly over my head towards the culprit, but he yells that he missed, having to reload his gun once more. I could wait here, expecting Harry to shoot the enemy so I can move along. Or I could do it myself. For all we know, they could be making their way further up the staircase already, taking advantage of Harry's current position.

Now is not the time to dwell on such things.

With a tighter grip and straighter back, I roll to the gap in the railings. I place pressure on the trigger before I even notice the figure pointing their own weapon at me, but I'm faster than they are. I watch as the bullet goes into their chest, their hand immediately flying up to grab the wound and stop the bleeding. They lift the gun, intending the shoot me, but in a final attempt, another bullet flies from my gun and lands higher on their chest. The metal beneath them bangs and creaks with every tumble their body takes down the stairs, finally stalling at the bottom. Mangled limbs spread out, and blood pools around them. They're dead.

I waste no time in moving to the other side of the stairs, shielding myself from everyone below. Only for a brief moment do I allow my gaze to meet Harry's, his eyes wide with concern and caution, but he gives me a nod to continue.

Before he can turn away from me completely, perhaps for the last time, I whisper the three words that were only spoken minutes ago.

I love you.