When You're the Line

I jerked back around the corner and slammed myself against the wall, my breath catching in my throat. Directly in front of me was a closed dumpster. It stank. I need a mask. I looked to my left. It was a dead end. I wished that I knew the streets better and made a mental note to study the inner-city maps if I ever made it back to HQ.

I looked down at my pistol. The slide was locked back. "Oh, shoot; it's empty," I muttered. The accidental pun buried itself deep in my subconscious for later use. I felt in my holster for my back-up magazine and pulled it out, releasing the used magazine with my thumb and shoving the replacement into the handle of my gun. My shoulder-length hair fell over my face, and I jerked my head back so I could see. My hairband must've snapped at some point.

Carefully controlling my heavy breathing, I slowly peered around the corner of the wall to see how close they were. The answer? Very close. As in, I could see their eyes close.

I looked around with growing desperation. My backup was a full four minutes away, and even then, they'd have to be careful as they approached my location. The gang surrounding me were professionals and weren't going to be caught with their rear exposed.

I crept closer to the edge of the wall and slowly presented my muzzle around the corner. Two bullets tore past my hand, and I heard one bury itself in the brick structure on which I was leaning. I observed the height and angle at which they had flown past me, pulled the trigger once, changed the trajectory of my aim, and then pulled it again. I heard a man half scream into his jacket and smiled with a sense of dry satisfaction. No-one can tell this former Algebra teacher that parabolas aren't useful in real life.

I glanced down the alleyway and considered my next course of action. Either I try to scale the dead-end's brick wall by using the many crumbling handholds likely cut into it by a local gang, or I run across the alleyway, straight into view of my pursuers, and hoist myself up on top of the dumpster that was likely the cause of my sinuses' distress. For no good reason, I might add, as the only thing above the dumpster is a closed window covered over with card-

Wait.

Covered over with cardboard? The window must've been shattered. That means... I didn't wait to fully appreciate what it meant, shoving my pistol into my holster before launching myself across the alley and up onto the dumpster. Shots rang out and hit the dumpster and wall below me as I jumped up and propelled myself through the cardboard. For one sickening moment, I thought that perhaps I was wrong and the cardboard was only there for privacy (I imagined NYC's lead detective knocking herself out on a window for the bad guys to capture) when my head and shoulders suddenly broke through into the room beyond. As my legs followed, my foot clipped the edge of the windowsill, and a dull pain shot up my leg as though someone had hit the bottom of my foot with a rock.

I crashed into a lamp and scattered a pile of worn schoolbooks as I tumbled over the small desk and onto the floor. I rolled up onto one knee and heard a startled cry from the bed across the room. I looked up and was consternated to see a young child of six or seven peering over her pillow with terrified eyes. I stood up and stepped towards her, her curly black hair falling over her face as she tumbled backwards to escape me. "It's alright," I said quickly, "I won't hurt you."

"G-go away," she said, her voice trembling.

"Where's your Mom?" I asked gently.

"She's taking a bath," she replied automatically. I raised an eyebrow. That was doubtful.

"We need to get you out of here," I said. I glanced over my shoulder, keenly aware that in only moments my pursuers--and their guns--would follow me through the window. "Bad guys are coming, and they might hurt us." No, they would unquestionably hurt us, but there's no way I was going to tell her that.

Without waiting for an answer I leaned over and scooped her up in my arms. Thankfully she seemed to be frozen with fright and shock and didn't struggle as I shoved the cracked bedroom door open with my arm. I slammed it shut with my strangely numb foot to slow my pursuers the extra moment it would take to open it and rushed down the short hallway towards the front door.

I heard a crash followed by curses as the men pursuing me broke into the house just as I got the front door open. The bedroom door flew open and a bullet flew past my head, so without pausing to shut the front door I rushed onto the apartment's second-floor landing and ran down the stairs into the street.

I began to cross the street to take temporary cover behind a car on the side of the road when suddenly my leg lost all feeling and I toppled onto the ground. I lunged with my good leg as I fell so that I landed on my back so as to protect the little girl and hit the ground with a painful scraping sound. I looked down at my leg and was shocked to see a trail of blood that led up the stairs to the feet of my pursuers as they exited the front door.

I turned the girl over in my arms and looked into her eyes. My heart pounded, but I felt the urge to comfort her as I drew my gun for potentially the last time. "We're gonna be alright," I assured her.

I hope.