My lungs are burning, but I can’t stop running. I feel the soles of my shoes slap against the hard, gray concrete as I push myself further, harder, faster. I must find him. Leaving him here is not an option.
How he got here is a long story, and I don’t have time to think about that now. All I know is I have to rescue him.
I jerk to a stop, my chest rising and falling as I duck behind a corner. I can almost hear the distant, ghostly echoes of large crowds in the stands above my head, to my left, surrounding me. But those crowds are long gone now, have been for years. This defunct stadium in a bad part of town now operates as a black site for an agency with no name.
And they’ve taken him.
It’s not fair, really. They don’t really want him. They just need the person responsible for the attack yesterday.
Okay, it may have been him. But he’s not truly guilty – he was forced into it. And I’m here to make it right.
My breathing has started returning to normal. I peek around the edge of the concrete wall, next to a faded ICEE machine. No one in sight.
I venture a step past the wall. A bullet whistles by, just inches from my left temple, and a chunk of the corner goes flying. I jump back behind the wall, my heart racing again.
They found me.