CHAPTER 3: THE MAN WHO REFUSED TO DIE
639 Words
John stayed silent for a few seconds.
He did not rush into making a decision.
In a situation like this, he knew that one mistake could be the end of him.
He slowly opened his hand.
The cloth he had wrapped around the wound was soaked with blood.
It had slowed the bleeding, but it had not stopped it completely.
One drop fell onto the dust.
Then another.
His eyes followed the trail.
"This could become a problem..."
"If I keep leaving a trail, they’ll follow me."
He tore off a small piece of his shirt and tightened it around the wound.
Pain shot through him so intensely that he closed his eyes.
But he made no sound.
He placed his hand against the wall and slowly stood up.
His legs felt heavy.
His body was exhausted.
But his mind was still working.
He studied his surroundings.
To the left was an open path.
Dangerous.
Straight ahead were shacks made of metal sheets.
Many places to hide.
But also many places where an enemy could set a trap.
Then his eyes landed on a small drainage channel beside him.
Dirty water flowed through it toward the other side of the dump.
John thought for a second.
"They’re looking for someone running..."
"Not someone hiding."
He began moving toward the drain.
His steps were slow.
Every step brought pain.
But he did not stop.
Just as he was about to reach it...
A voice came from behind him.
"Stop."
John’s body froze.
He turned slightly.
Standing before him was Shorty.
A pistol was in his hand.
His face was still hidden, but his eyes showed confidence.
"You chose the wrong place to run to."
John did not answer.
He simply stared at him.
Analyzing.
The distance.
The stance.
The possible escape routes.
Shorty took one step forward.
"You know what surprises me?"
"You’re injured."
"You came out of the trash."
"But you’re still thinking like a man who has every opportunity in the world."
John remained silent.
Shorty smiled slightly.
"So the information they gave us was correct."
John’s heart pounded.
Information?
Before he could ask...
Long’s voice echoed from a distance.
"Shorty."
"Don’t play with him."
"Finish the job."
Shorty raised the pistol.
John knew.
There was no time to wait.
His eyes fell to the ground.
Near Shorty’s feet was a broken pipe spraying out water.
One second.
That was all he had.
John stomped on the pipe with all his strength.
Dirty water burst upward.
Shorty flinched and closed his eyes.
John did not waste the opportunity.
He lunged forward.
He slammed into him with his shoulder.
Both of them fell to the ground.
The pistol slid away.
John tried to reach for it.
But his injured hand stopped him.
A sharp wave of pain cut through him.
The bleeding started again, heavily.
He knew he had no time.
He struggled to his feet.
Behind him, footsteps began approaching.
Long was coming.
"Shorty!"
For the first time, his voice sounded angry.
John did not look back.
He ran.
Not with strength.
With determination.
He crossed the end of the path and reached the road.
Cars were passing.
People were walking.
But for him...
Everything began to spin.
The blood was draining from his body.
His hearing started fading.
He grabbed onto a nearby wall.
"I have to get home..."
he whispered.
"My wife..."
"My son..."
Those names were the only things keeping him from collapsing.
He moved forward while people stared at him.
No one saw him as a billionaire.
No one saw him as the man who had appeared in newspapers.
To them...
He was just a broken man trying to survive.
But John did not know one thing.
While he was fighting to return to his old life...
Someone else had already taken his place.
- Writer
