PG-13 for language (sort of) and violence. I am not a doctor, so let's just get that out of the way. Feel free to correct me on medical stuff for future reference!
Time of Death
Fox Callahan
When Carter signed up to tutor pre-med students at the local community college, this is not how he thought their first session would end.
Nobody noticed the gunman until they heard the first shot. Then everybody noticed him.
A tall, wiry man, a boy really, barely over 17, stood before them, a handgun in his shaking hand, and a semi-automatic slung over his shoulder. "Everybody on… on th- the ground!" The young man stuttered, clearly overwhelmed with the scope of what he had just done. There was no going back now.
After a moment of shocked silence, someone in the library screamed. "I said, get on the floor, NOW!" People dropped like flies. The sounds of gunfire peppered the air with the sick thud of bodies hitting the floor.
Carter glanced around him at the stunned faces of the students at his study table. It was up to him to keep them safe. The table was in a corner, slightly out of view of the gunman. "Alright, everyone" Carter whispered, "Crawl behind those shelves - very quietly." Trusting his authoritative tone, they immediately began following his orders. Carter crawled silently to the floor, lying flat on his stomach, he began to crawl toward the sound of gunfire, trying to get a better view of the gunman, and see if there was anything he could do for the victims.
He swore under his breath at what he saw. Several students along with teachers lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath them silently. Some were obviously dead, while other twitched gently, suffering from more superficial wounds.
Then he saw him. $#!t. Before he could even move the gunman was practically on top of him. "What do you think you're doing? Trying to escape?" Before Carter could respond he pulled the trigger.
He felt the impact before he heard the shot. Crying out he rolled over, writhing from the pain. "Shut up, shut up!" Another shot. Carter went still. The gunman aimed a savage kick at his torso. When the impact elicited no response, he jogged off, satisfied with his work.
Carter panted with the effort of holding in his screams of pain. The gunman had walked around the corner, and Carter could hear the terrified yells of students in the next room. Knowing he couldn't help them, he summoned the little strength he has left and dragged his unwilling body underneath a desk a few feet away, hoping it might provide some kind of protection if the gunman returned.
The short jouney felt like miles to Carter's weakened body. Once he was safely tucked underneath the desk, Carter's years of med school kicked in, and he assessed his injuries. The fact that he was no longer in pain was decidedly a bad sign. One bullet wound to the upper torso, one to the lower left flank. Judging from the trouble he was having breathing, his lung was punctured, and both wounds were oozing dark rich blood.
Dark spots danced at the corners of his eyes, and he knew he didn't have much longer before he lost consciousness. Knowing what he needed to do, Carter roughly held the edge of his once white shirt against the stomach wound, and then carefully pressed his finger into the wound in his chest, sucking in a breath as he did so.
Suddenly an absurdly loud bang shook him from his stupor. Flashbang. He thought absently, just before the darkness consumed him.