Turning away, I spotted the key lying amongst the debris, but covered in dust I couldn’t tell if it was still intact. There was only one way to find out. All I had to do to get us to safety was to get through the back door again, being more careful with the glass.
I stepped up on the planter box, gripping tight to the door frame as I held my feet firm, my foot staying in place despite the blood. Perhaps it was a good sign, the wound clotting. I raised a brow as an illustration of a wound from my biology textbook flashed before my eyes.
Shaking away the image and holding my injured hand to my chest, I straddled the frame again. With surprise, I found the chair still on the other side, albeit distorted and covered in plaster fragments.
Stepping to its fabric surface, I scanned the floor for glass, but the spread of debris made it almost impossible to see.
With a light touch at first, I pressed my uninjured foot to the floor. Sweeping it to the side to clear a space, I stepped down the rest of the way.
The chemical smell was so much heavier inside, along with the same smell from my brother this morning.
Tommy screwed up his face as he vaulted through the missing window with ease, glass crunching under his feet as he moved to my side and stared through the doorway to the car just beyond.
“Be careful,” I whispered, but it would have been too late to make a difference.
I took a step forward, expecting any moment for the light coming through the front door to disappear as soldiers stepped out, pointing their guns and taking the two shots to finish our chances. But as we stood for what seemed like a long moment, nothing happened.
I looked to Tommy, his face seeming to shine with hope. I took a step forward, sweeping the debris aside.
With a few more steps, we were nearing the key and halfway to the front door.
Tommy sped forward, kneeling down, plucking it from the rubble, beaming back with the fob raised in his hand and a proud smile.
Five or six steps and we’d be outside. So much closer to safety.
Walking forward, my heart sank, turning to the right to the sound of the toilet flushing under the stairs.
12
I had no chance to decide what to do. I had no choice to turn and run and grab Tommy by the arm to rush back into the kitchen and dive out through the window and back to the cold ground. I had no chance to do any of those things before a red-faced man in camouflage clothes and helmet gawked back with his mouth hanging wide as both his hands fastened a thick green belt.
Seeing the rifle resting against the sink, with one step it would be in reach. I could grab it and shoot him before he could do what I knew he would to both of us. But no, there was no chance and he let go of his belt, his hands reaching to the pistol holstered at his thigh.
I wanted to turn to Tommy. I wanted to reassure him everything would be okay. The end would be quick. But Tommy was already in view, surging forward with a fierce, scrunched up expression as he charged the soldier. I followed his lead without thought and pushed out my hands, aiming for his chest, ignoring the false weight of the wound. It was that or lie down and die.
Tommy made contact first, forcing the soldier’s hands away before he reached the pistol.
My hands connected, pain blooming from my palm.
The soldier stumbled back, his foot catching on the toilet, and he fell between the bowl and the wall. Wedging in the space, with one hand he tried to push Tommy away whilst fumbling for his pistol with the other.
Tommy bit down on the soldier’s fingers as they lurched out. As Tommy released, the soldier pulled both his hands back, his right coming away from the clip holding the pistol tight in the holster.
Taking the chance, I had the gun in my hands, the soldier cursing, spit coming from his mouth as he shouted for the weapon back.
Grabbing Tommy by the shoulder, I pulled him backwards, my hands shaking as I pointed the pistol to the soldier’s face. I watched the colour drain from his skin. His eyes were wide as I guessed he tried to figure out if I had the balls to pull the trigger.
Colour came back to his face, his anger growing as his expression hardened. He jolted forward, reaching out for the gun.
I pulled the trigger. The bang was so loud as the soldier flew back to the wall with a hole in his shoulder. I couldn’t stop staring as he slipped down the wall with his mouth hanging wide in disbelief. His hand went to the wound as Tommy stepped from view.
Bright red blood seeped through the soldier's fingers as the colour once again drained from his face.
“Shit,” I said under my breath, looking at Tommy who just nodded as if he’d agreed with what I’d just done, not caring that I’d shot a man.
“We have to go,” his small voice said. And he was right. We had to go because of the sound I’d just made. We had to go because if they found us, we would die. I had to leave this man here alone for his friends to find him so they could bandage him up and stop him from dying. They’d soon expect him back and come in search.
We had to go. We had to go straight away.
I turned, looking to the car,
