Thanks reviewers. I really appreciate the effort and time you guys take to review; it makes my day much happier!

As to this story: I think I am about 2/3rds of the way through (and really enjoying it too!) I've written the majority of the remainder, so my posts should be slightly more frequent.

Please keep reading!

Charlie's stomach dropped, and he looked down at Don, who was wearing expression of horror that Charlie felt must mirror his own. He kept his eyes averted, as Steve approached him.

"I want you to drag him," he said, pointing at the dead manager "out onto the forecourt".

Charlie didn't move, paralysed by fear and indecision, as thoughts clamoured in his mind. What about Don what if I get shot I can't leave Don what about the phone Don might bleed to death why'd you pick me…

Steve poked him hard in the shoulder with the muzzle of the gun, and fear instantly turned to anger. Charlie shot Steve a look of pure fury, not moving.

"If you don't, or if you try anything" Steve smiled "I'll shoot him. And this time I won't miss."

He turned the gun on Don.

Charlie instantly began to scramble to his feet, but Don grabbed at him feebly. When Charlie looked down at him, he saw that Don was afraid, his eyes dark.

"When you get out," Don croaked softly, his voice raspy and hollow as though from the bottom of a well. He paused for breath.

"Run away".

"He'll shoot you!" Charlie whispered fiercely, brows furrowing in anger. Steve poked him again, with more force this time, and Charlie slowly climbed to his feet, easing his hands off the wound in Don's chest. He only hoped that the bleeding had slowed. As he stood looking down at Don, Don mouthed at him again, his face ashen, his eyes imploring.

Please… run…

Don lay on the cold floor, racked with pain, watching as Charlie dragged the heavy weight of the dead bank manager across. If he had had the energy, he would have begged Charlie to take the opportunity, to run away without a backward glance. But even those few words he had barely been able to speak, had completely drained him. All his focus now was on the increasingly arduous task of breathing. It was something he had to remember to do, every breath causing jabbing pains throughout his body.

Charlie was struggling with the dead weight. Don willed Charlie with all his might, to run. But he knew deep down that Charlie would never leave him, and this thought made him afraid. Charlie must survive. His dad would need someone, after…

And that jerk… Steve or whatever… had said he would shoot Don. If he could have, Don would have snorted. Save your ammunition, mate.

Don didn't think it would make much difference. A deep, pervasive cold had started invading him, beginning with his limbs. It had spread all the way down to the core of his body. He dimly thought, that's shock, but he was having trouble processing the thoughts. He felt, now, that it would not be long…

Which was why Charlie had to take this chance. To get away, now. A persistent little voice in Don's head, said Charlie, danger, get away! He gingerly turned his head. He could see Charlie, arms upraised, no doubt in the target of several snipers. He felt his throat close over.

Don Eppes was not a religious man, but at this moment he prayed.

Please… let him be safe

It was harder to breathe, now. Don focussed his whole energy on it, in and out, in and out. The pain was dissipating. As he concentrated on the flow of air into his lungs, he repeated it like a mantra in his mind.

Let him be safe let him be safe let him be safe let him be safe…