Looking For You

Chapter 72 - Conceal

Chapter 72 - Conceal

The hot flames singe the hairs on my arm, literally burning off the tiny specks of hairs. I can see flames everywhere; crawling up buildings, engulfing abandoned cars and spreading with people running everywhere. I just don’t know where to look.

Christian grasps my arm, pulling me out of my stare, nearly falling over. I stumble over my feet, gripping the gun tighter in my hand and placing my finger on the trigger, just in case someone jumps out at me at the last second. We run past Christian’s beaten up car, the bonnet open with smoke rising and one of the tyres is flat, a perfectly round hole right through the rubber. A bullet must’ve caused this. Skid marks line the road leading up to the car’s crash. I still feel dizzy from the minor spin of the car, and thankfully I have no broken bones. My heart feels heavy as we leave the car, creating so many memories in that tiny space.

We run through another street, keeping close to the wall. Christian never lets go of me, even when he shoots passing soldiers. I try not to use my gun but soldiers keep running past us. Many times we’ve had to duck, steer sideways or drop to the ground to avoid a shot. Christian’s reflexes are better than I’ve ever known.

My breath is hitching higher and becoming louder as we run. My legs feel like jelly and there’s no way I can stop right this moment; we’ve just got to keep moving. My stamina levels aren’t very great either, and I regret not running those endless laps in high school. Everything you learn in school leads up to something you’ll need later on in life, and running is the main thing in wars like this. Just keeping running.

The rumble of nearby explosions cause both of us to fall to the ground, losing each others’ hands while tumbling and rolling across the concrete sidewalk. My hands press down to the ground, protecting my head from hitting the hard concrete. I lose my gun in the roll, lying unconscious for a second before crawling on my knees to find the gun next to me. The weight of my body is pushing me down, and it makes it difficult for me to get back up.

“Christian!” I scream through the choir of yelps around us. I see him struggling to get up too, holding onto the wall to rise to his feet. His temples are bleeding, his knuckles are brown from dry stained blood. I check my hand that was painted with blood before — it’s dried up along my skin, making it form cracks as I bring my fists into balls. I feel so rebellious.

Crawling over to him, we help one other up, the weight of our bodies leaning against each other’s. Our hands join once again, our guns clinking together. But as Christian stands up to his normal height again, he is shot back down, this time, on his back. I scream.

“Oh shit! Christian, no!” I fall to my knees, my shaky and weak body relieve itself to the ground. Christian’s chest heaves slower, his head rolling around the ground. I cup his face in my hands, trying to make him keep his eyes open. This was one of the worst case scenarios I had imagined would happen.

My eyes travel down to the wounded spot, his right leg shot through the calf. The blood stains his jeans, seeping through the material and making it red with blood. Whipping my head back to his face, I see that he is pinching his eyes closed, struggling through the pain the bullet put through him. Now this will slow us down.

“Christian, everything will be alright, just stay alive and don’t stop breathing!” I call out, making sure my voice is loud and clear. It comes out shaky with tears etched into it. I can feel a lump rising in my throat, the weight of it pushing me right down to my bottom, where I examine Christian’s leg, wondering how in the world am I going to help this. Excessive blood loss means death, and if I don’t take him to a safe spot in time, I would have to pay the price.