Blood was still soaking through the hole in my side when I took my first step. Hot. Sticky. Like fire crawling under my skin. But I didn’t stop.
I wasn’t done.
They thought a bullet was going to stop me? They must’ve sent some intern with a fancy sniper toy. Cute. Stupid. And now, probably regretting the hell out of his life choices, if he had half a brain.
I sniffed the air.
Gunpowder. Metal. A trace of sweat and fear. Human fear. It’s bitter and sharp, like rotting citrus. My vision blurred for a second from the blood loss, but I wiped it off with the back of my hand and kept going, feet crunching twigs, step by step into the tree line.
The bastard was smart, I’ll give him that. He stayed far from the scene, probably watched from the shadows while his buddies died like rats in my ja
