Guarding Dior

Chapter 1

Dior felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her shoulders as she stepped out of her tiny apartment, craving the freshness of the evening air. She tugged at her oversized gray T-shirt, the one embroidered with the words "Before I am a woman, I am a menace to society," and adjusted her high-waisted pajama shorts she had found in the men's section at the thrift store. The decision to leave her phone and wallet behind, taking only her pocketknife and keys, had been a calculated risk. The city felt hotter lately, the sun's relentless rays harsh against her olive skin.

Her feet carried her toward the edge of the neighborhood, where an abandoned ice cream shop stood like a forgotten relic. The parking lot was a mess of overgrown grass and cracked concrete. She was lost in thought, trying to recall if she had put on sunscreen that morning, when the sharp crack of gunshots shattered the quiet. Instinctively, Dior dropped to the ground, scraping her knees on the rough pavement. Her heart raced as she dared to look up.

A tall, bald man stood by a police car, gun aimed at an officer sprawled on the ground. Dior's breath caught in her throat as the man fired several more shots into the car's console, then stomped on the officer's radio after disconnecting it. He surveyed his handiwork for a brief moment before bolting in the opposite direction, oblivious to Dior's presence.

"Crap," Dior muttered, realizing her phone was miles away at home. She briefly considered fleeing, but something deep inside her rebelled. She wasn't a runner. Not now, not when someone's life was on the line.

Ensuring the bald man was truly gone, she sprinted toward the fallen officer. Blood pooled around him, and his dark eyes met hers with a flicker of hope. Dior's heart thumped with a mix of fear and determination as she assessed the situation. The officer had been shot four times: twice in the abdomen, once in the leg, and once in the shoulder.

"Hang in there," she whispered, yanking off her T-shirt and pressing it against his chest wounds. She was glad for the cropped tank underneath, which spared her some awkwardness. Desperately, she looked around for help but found only desolation.

"What's your name?" she asked, trying to keep him conscious. His eyes were unfocused, drifting skyward.

"Charles," he managed to whisper.

"Charles, stay with me, okay? Help is coming," she said, her voice trembling.

"Radio... call for help," he groaned.

Dior glanced at the shattered pieces of the radio, knowing it was useless. The car's screens were destroyed too. Panic threatened to overwhelm her, but she forced herself to think.

Then she heard footsteps. Her heart leapt into her throat as she turned, pocketknife ready. Relief washed over her as she saw Levi, a young man from the nearby vet clinic, running toward them.

"Are you okay?" he shouted, his voice filled with concern. "What happened?"

"He's been shot," Dior said, her voice breaking. "We need to get him to a hospital. Do you have your phone?"

Levi nodded, quickly dialing 911 and giving their location. His face grew tense as he relayed the dispatcher's message. "They say it'll take 15 minutes because of the protesters blocking the streets."

Charles' eyes, clouded with pain, found Dior's. "Won't make it..." he croaked.

Dior's mind raced. "Levi, look up the nearest hospital."

"Five minutes away," Levi replied, eyes wide with fear.

"Help me get him in the car," Dior commanded. Together, they lifted Charles into the back seat. Levi pressed his hands against the wounds, trying to stem the bleeding as Dior slid into the driver's seat.

"Hold on, Charles," she urged, glancing back at him. "We're getting you out of here."

The car roared to life, and Dior quickly located the button for the lights and sirens. She flicked it on and sped off, adrenaline pushing her beyond her limits. She maneuvered through the streets, her bloody hand gripping Levi's phone as it guided her. Her heart pounded in her chest, the urgency of the situation leaving no room for error. As she rounded a corner, her eyes widened at the sight of a huge block of cars stuck due to closed roads. She slammed on the brakes and cursed out loud.

"Wait, I know this street!" Levi shouted from the backseat, his voice strained but clear. "That alley to the right can get us out!"

Without hesitation, Dior threw the car into reverse, maneuvering expertly out of the blockage. She sped through the narrow alley, the car's rear end narrowly missing the walls. The alley ended in a thin wooden gate, which Dior plowed through, flipping the car back onto the next street. The GPS on Levi's phone cheerfully announced, "Recalculating."

"Where did you learn to do that?" Levi asked, awe evident in his voice.

"I... uh... I didn't," Dior admitted, speeding off again.

They made it to the hospital in less than five minutes. Dior honked the horn repeatedly as she drove onto the sidewalk in front of the ER, ignoring the ugly scrape of the curb against the car's undercarriage. "Oops, sorry," she muttered, "but I don't want to be in the way of the ambulances, and I am NOT parking this thing."

Medical staff rushed out, swiftly taking over as Dior and Levi stepped back, their hands stained with blood. Dior shouted over the chaos, "Charles! You stay alive, you hear? I was put in that parking lot for a reason, I know it."

Dior watched as they wheeled Charles away, the doors closing behind him. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Levi, his blue eyes filled with unspoken questions and concern. They stood there, bound by the gravity of what had just happened, hoping their desperate efforts had been enough to save a life.

Multiple sirens grew louder, inching closer to them. Dior's mind raced, the reality of the situation beginning to set in.