kid.”
“F-Finn? I think I’ve been… shot.”
“Yeah, no shit. Just... stay calm. I’m gonna take care of it.” He patted Minty down, looking for the source of blood. It seemed to come from high up, and the bloodstain on his t-shirt was darkest over his shoulder. Finn grabbed the collar and yanked it, tearing the thin cotton apart.
A wound glistened over Minty’s collarbone.
“Wait a minute,” said Finn. “I… yes, I think the bullet hit your collarbone and deflected. The bullet never entered your body.”
There were tears in Minty’s eyes. “Then w-why does it hurt so much?”
“Because you took a bullet to the collarbone, you eejit.” He prodded the area with his finger, making the kid cry out. The wound was horrid, and the bone felt chipped, but there was definitely no bullet hole.
Minty's eyes rolled in their sockets. “It hurts.”
“You gotta move, kid. We have to get out of here.”
“I… I can’t…”
Finn looked around—didn't see anyone. The police station was in an empty part of town. There was only the retail park they had left behind them and the industrial section up ahead where Latif's was. “Jesus wept! You're a pain in the arse, Minty. Do you know that?”
“Sorry.”
Finn clambered over to the fallen officer and grabbed his gun, adding it to his bloody Ka-Bar. He placed the knife in Minty's trembling hands while keeping the gun for himself. “Hold this.”
Minty moaned as Finn grabbed him around the waist and started dragging him towards the police station. They needed to get into cover before the next sicko appeared and had a go at them. Minty was half-conscious and in no state to move or go anywhere.
How the fuck did I end up having to play hero to this kid?
I’m supposed to be a killer.
Not a hero.
“I guess Dominic will have to wait,” Finn muttered.
Minty didn’t reply because he had passed out. He still clutched the knife Finn had asked him to hold.
7
Ruins
T he police station was cool due to its lack of carpeting and soft furnishings—a welcome relief from the dust and mugginess of outside. It was also dark. Many of the interior corridors lacked windows. A sense of echoing laced the building, and scenes of drunken arrests and interviewing suspects played out in every room.
Finn dumped Minty down on a swivel chair behind a desk in the waiting room. The kid was out cold, the proud owner of a nasty flesh wound, but his bleeding had slowed to a trickle. Finn remembered his own first flesh wound. He’d been drinking at a pub on the southern bank when a bunch of British Paras came in. Finn's buddies took offence to the squaddies, and a fight broke out at last orders. At twenty years old, Finn was no match for a British Paratrooper. Before he even managed to land a punch, he’d found himself lying on the ground with a broken bottle lodged in his thigh. Today, the scar ran an inch long, thick and ugly. It served as a reminder of that day and taught the lesson not to get into fights he couldn't win. It also stoked his ongoing hatred for the British Army.
But the British Army was gone now. It had been weeks since Finn saw a man in fatigues. It didn’t bring him much closure though. In fact, seeing no presence of the Army during a time of such insurmountable crisis was disconcerting.
“Everything will be okay,” Finn said as he wheeled Minty down the corridor. The kid couldn't hear him, but Finn felt a need to keep talking. It was unlike him, but he felt rattled. The kid had taken a bullet because of him.
Wonder Mutt ran on ahead but didn't go more than a few metres without stopping and looking back. Finn assumed the police station would have a medical bay somewhere, or at least a supply closet. They had to be first-aid-ready, right? No telling when a drug addict would seize and start choking on their own tongues.
Minty mumbled and went silent again.
Finn continued wheeling the kid along the corridors, shoving doors on either side until he found what
“F-Finn? I think I’ve been… shot.”
“Yeah, no shit. Just... stay calm. I’m gonna take care of it.” He patted Minty down, looking for the source of blood. It seemed to come from high up, and the bloodstain on his t-shirt was darkest over his shoulder. Finn grabbed the collar and yanked it, tearing the thin cotton apart.
A wound glistened over Minty’s collarbone.
“Wait a minute,” said Finn. “I… yes, I think the bullet hit your collarbone and deflected. The bullet never entered your body.”
There were tears in Minty’s eyes. “Then w-why does it hurt so much?”
“Because you took a bullet to the collarbone, you eejit.” He prodded the area with his finger, making the kid cry out. The wound was horrid, and the bone felt chipped, but there was definitely no bullet hole.
Minty's eyes rolled in their sockets. “It hurts.”
“You gotta move, kid. We have to get out of here.”
“I… I can’t…”
Finn looked around—didn't see anyone. The police station was in an empty part of town. There was only the retail park they had left behind them and the industrial section up ahead where Latif's was. “Jesus wept! You're a pain in the arse, Minty. Do you know that?”
“Sorry.”
Finn clambered over to the fallen officer and grabbed his gun, adding it to his bloody Ka-Bar. He placed the knife in Minty's trembling hands while keeping the gun for himself. “Hold this.”
Minty moaned as Finn grabbed him around the waist and started dragging him towards the police station. They needed to get into cover before the next sicko appeared and had a go at them. Minty was half-conscious and in no state to move or go anywhere.
How the fuck did I end up having to play hero to this kid?
I’m supposed to be a killer.
Not a hero.
“I guess Dominic will have to wait,” Finn muttered.
Minty didn’t reply because he had passed out. He still clutched the knife Finn had asked him to hold.
7
Ruins
T he police station was cool due to its lack of carpeting and soft furnishings—a welcome relief from the dust and mugginess of outside. It was also dark. Many of the interior corridors lacked windows. A sense of echoing laced the building, and scenes of drunken arrests and interviewing suspects played out in every room.
Finn dumped Minty down on a swivel chair behind a desk in the waiting room. The kid was out cold, the proud owner of a nasty flesh wound, but his bleeding had slowed to a trickle. Finn remembered his own first flesh wound. He’d been drinking at a pub on the southern bank when a bunch of British Paras came in. Finn's buddies took offence to the squaddies, and a fight broke out at last orders. At twenty years old, Finn was no match for a British Paratrooper. Before he even managed to land a punch, he’d found himself lying on the ground with a broken bottle lodged in his thigh. Today, the scar ran an inch long, thick and ugly. It served as a reminder of that day and taught the lesson not to get into fights he couldn't win. It also stoked his ongoing hatred for the British Army.
But the British Army was gone now. It had been weeks since Finn saw a man in fatigues. It didn’t bring him much closure though. In fact, seeing no presence of the Army during a time of such insurmountable crisis was disconcerting.
“Everything will be okay,” Finn said as he wheeled Minty down the corridor. The kid couldn't hear him, but Finn felt a need to keep talking. It was unlike him, but he felt rattled. The kid had taken a bullet because of him.
Wonder Mutt ran on ahead but didn't go more than a few metres without stopping and looking back. Finn assumed the police station would have a medical bay somewhere, or at least a supply closet. They had to be first-aid-ready, right? No telling when a drug addict would seize and start choking on their own tongues.
Minty mumbled and went silent again.
Finn continued wheeling the kid along the corridors, shoving doors on either side until he found what
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