The Lone Wolf’s Last Chance

RAVEN. Blood scent comes in the air before I see him. What can I anticipate? Then the doors slam open. The entire bar becomes tense and creepy. That only happens when something or someone dangerous steps inside. I don't need to look. I already know. Bounty hunters. From behind the counter, my boss whispers, "Keep your head down," barely noticing me as I polish a glass. "This is not our job.". I grip the tray tightly. He's right. It's not. Outlaws and criminal groups enter the Midnight Den to slake their cash pockets, make deals on illicit activities. No one holds their neck out for anyone else. Why? That's why I work here. My gut experiences a twist when I gaze at the boy in the corner. He is strapped to the wall with a bloody hood, experiencing sudden chest movements and falls. Why? (Laughter) With a panic and desperation in his eyes, it's as if they could tell me he'd be seventeen. He is aware that there is no way to escape.’ One of the bounty hunters sneezed and responded with "I found you.". The boy scrambles, his hands twisted in unison. "Hey, I have no worries," the other man exclaims. Don't speak loudly, as we won' t hurt you. Bullshit. They'll hurt him. Badly. Look out, the boy looks. It's too far. He will be surrounded by the hunters before taking two steps. Damn it. I lower my tray and exhale.. I ring my manager, already in motion. "I'm taking my break.". My attitude is not one of waiting for a response. As I stand between the hunters and the boy, I grab his arm before he can flee. He has a burning sensation on his skin and sour breath. He screams with confusion, his eyes wide open. “Move,” I mutter. He hesitates. I squeeze his arm. Hard. “Now.”. He moves. The bounty hunters' response is second-class. “Hey—”. “Stop them!”. Too late. I push the kid back through the kitchen doors.’ Even when I smell grease and burnt meat, I can't help but feel the pain. As I drag him through the crowd of cooks and flaming pans, I direct him towards the alley. “Run,” I snap. The kid stumbles but follows. As soon as we stepped onto the alley, I forcefully closed it. Footsteps thunder after us. “They're gaining,” the boy gasps. “No shit.”. Crates and overflowing dumpsters litter the narrow alleyway. There's only one way out. Up. I urge him to ascend, pushing them towards the crates. He hesitates. “What—”. “Climb!”. He rises, letting blood run over him. I grab his hoodie and pull him forward when he slows down, then pull myself up in his way. Just as we reach the rooftop, the bounty hunters burst in through the door. “There!”. “Split up! Cut them off!”. I touch the boy's wrist. "Switch.". I pull him off the edge after he barely gets out of his protest. We make a deliberate landing on the adjacent rooftop.'". Roll. Scramble up. Keep moving. This night was a complete mess. Although the kid is moving quickly, he's bleeding heavily. His breath emits sharp, ragged gasps.'". His steps are uneven. He'll be taking a break soon.? And we can't afford that. “Faster,” I snap. “I,” He snorts. “Can’T I?!” What is the answer? I curse under my breath. Across the rooftops, the hunters are already closing in. What's next? We need to disappear—now. There. Ahead, a decomposing fire pit.' I place my hand on the child's arm and pull him towards it. “Down.”. After hesitation again, he hears the sound of a gun c*****g behind us. We tumble, metal squealing beneath us. Why? Halfway down, the boy slips. “s**t—!”. Before he falls, I grab the hoodie and push him onto the closest balcony. "Get moving!". A small, uncluttered apartment is revealed to us as we peer through its window. Cheap cigarettes and mildew fill the air. No time to think. The front door is where I lead the boy. The woman is seated on the couch with her eyes wide open, exclaiming "Whoa!" in response. "Shut up," I mutter. "We were never present.". She blinks. The person shrugs and returns to her television. I shove the door open. The hallway is empty. Good. “Come on.”. He stumbles beside me and takes in shallow breath. I screamed, "Just move forward," almost carrying him down the stairs. We hit the street. The night air is icy and sharp. I glance back. No sign of the hunters. Yet. Where is your safe house? I'm curious. A head shaking is observed by the child. "Don't have one," he says. Of course he doesn't. I exhale hard. “Fine. Then you're coming with me.”. With a blank stare, he approaches me and asks, "Why are you helping?". I don't answer. Because I don't know. My only realization is that I have made an incredibly bad decision. It's time to move on from here.