Page 23 of Until You

He’s coming to finish us off.

He’s—

“Crew?”

“Here. I’m here.”

“I don’t want to die.”

Tears burn in my eyes at the blatant fear in my partner’s—my best friend’s—whisper. “You’re not. We’re going to get out of here, and when we do, I’ll let you take me to that shitty taco truck you swear by and—”

“I can’t feel . . .”

“What? You can’t feel what?” I beg him to keep talking to me.

To fight.

To live.

But silence falls again.

I squeeze my eyes shut. The girls fought this morning. I yelled at them. Told them they drove me crazy. I didn’t tell them I loved them. I didn’t say goodbye.

My chest aches from the thought. It hurts more from that than from whatever damage this goddamn bullet has done.

Another noise to my left. I shift to look and the motion sends a lightning rod of pain through my body. Shadows play over the closed blinds.

My vision blurs and my head dizzies again, but my hope soars.

They’re here.

They’re coming.

I brace myself for the battering ram. For the door to splinter.

Then . . .

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

* * *

I jolt awake. My breathing’s ragged. My bed’s soaked in sweat. My heart’s a fucking freight train in my chest. There’s an ache in my shoulder where the second bullet hit me.

Pressing my hands against the mattress on either side of me, I force myself to take in my surroundings. To acknowledge where I am.

Not in that apartment.

Not slumped against a wall.

Not slowly dying.

There are shadows here too. But these shadows are from the trees swaying outside in the breeze, not from SWAT about to breach the door.

I need to move. To work through the adrenaline coursing through my body. My throat is dry, but the last thing I think about is taking a drink.

One foot in front of the other, Crew. I watch my feet as I move. Count my steps. I get to twenty and then start again.

Repetition.