Chapter 4

Losing Everything

I stood at the end of my Mom's driveway and stared back up at the dark bungalow. What I now refer to in my head as "The Long Walk" was the last time I'd ever have a glimpse of, well not happiness, but contentment at least. That walk was as good as I could get, in the situation I found myself in. We'd walked the few miles to my Mom's down the backstreets, small cut throughs, cycle paths and dog walking routes I'd learnt as a kid. I'd led Jen the entire way holding her hand, it was a small touch of intimacy I think we both appreciated. The entire walk had been pretty much conversation-less. We'd both seem too much now, been through too much; for there to be anything to talk, or think about; other than quietly making our way to our goal.

The walk wasn't entirely without danger, we'd had to sneak past a group of youths who were going up the other side of the street throwing molotovs through single glass windows to their own hilarity. We'd avoided eye contact with a masked gunman who stood at the ready on a street corner; dressed in full military garb, but the type where you could tell he'd bought it from the surplus store. He'd made no attempt to apprehend, or fire upon us. I think he was genuinely just trying to keep the peace on his street. His fate is one of the things I think about now, it's funny isn't it where you mind goes. And now telling this story it's made me think of him again. Did he manage to protect his street? He did manage to save the lives of his neighbours? Or did he get overrun by the horde, or burnt alive by those kids throwing molotovs?

And the final hurdle had been the hardest to bare. Jen and I had a mission. We had somewhere to be. Someone to rescue. We had no vehicle. We had only the handgun and a guy (me) poorly trained to use it. We weren't in a position to make a difference to anyone other than maybe us. And that was a maybe. I say this first because I want you to understand that although the decision we made was made quickly; it wasn't easy. I just hope none of you ever have to make a similar decision; because making it can haunt you for a very long time. In my case I think it'll haunt me for the rest of my life.

It couldn't have been a block or so away from my Mom's. Literally the home stretch. We rounded the last street corner of the two storey, built right up to the road, used to be a store front kind of places, and we needed to cross the street. I would always round a corner first, to scope out what was going on.

The street itself was actually relatively quiet, save for a sedan; a dark coloured Nissan I think, stopped in the middle. There were two people. One was a man; perhaps 6ft4, maybe 6ft5, not a muscular physique; you know he wasn't defined or anything, but he was a big guy. The other was a young woman; heck a young girl; can't have been more than 18 or so; she was laid out on the car's hood. At first I thought the big guy was one of them, the insane, the infected, the carrion eaters, whatever you call them, but as I stared for longer I realised he was just fine… he was just… he was raping the young girl. She was squealing in pain, I think she'd given up crying out.

Dammit, could I have done something? Could I have also gotten me and Jen both killed? Fuck I don't know. I left her. I left the girl. I took Jen by the hand, squeezed it tight and told her not to look. We ran across the road. I kept looking at the scene, it was like rubber necking an auto wreck; you don't wanna look but you just did. The girl; she made eye contact with me. Her eyes pleaded for me to intervene, to do something, anything; to make it stop. I looked away, I kept moving. I think about her now as well. Did he rape her and leave her? Did he kill her afterward? Did she get to somewhere safe? Maybe someone else came along and saved her once we'd left?

"The place looks okay," I commented hopefully, it had been the first thing we'd said to each other in a while. It resonated out further and louder than I had intended. This part of town was quiet, sure the din was there; the sounds of fire, of sirens, of hoots and hollas, that was always there; but right here it was if there was just a power cut on a quiet late Summer evening.

"I'm sure she's fine," Jen said, she gave my hand a firm squeeze before letting go. She led the way up the drive, I lagged behind; I almost didn't want to know.

The driveway was at the far right of the property's boundary, with the bungalow stretching across to the left. The front door didn't face the street, instead it opened from a small porch on front out onto the driveway. There was a small step up to the wooden door. I'd taken the lead again now, putting my weight on the one leg I paused atop that step I knocked on the door.

I don't really know what I was expecting. Mom to come to the door, scold me for disobeying her, but otherwise be grateful I'd come, then maybe tell me everything was going to be alright? Was my determination to get here really fuelled by a need to protect my mother; or was it selfishly motivated that I need that parent to take responsibility for me? I didn't think that way then, but I do now. Now I question all of my life's choices, but in particular those since I got back from cleaning the Spencer Mansion.

There was no answer.

I knocked again, sustained for longer and harder.

There was no answer.

I knock a third time, desperately hammering the door as hard as I can; although I resist the urge to cry 'MOM!'

"She's probably held up in one of the rooms, not answering the door because she doesn't know who it could be," Jen offered, putting her hand to my shoulder to make me stop crashing on the door.

I retreated down the driveway a little and lifted the third plant pot. With the house's spare key in hand I returned to the door and unlocked it. I pushed it and it swung open slowly, like a loading sequence from an old game, I was stuck in the doorway unable; or at very least unwilling, to take another step.

When I felt Jen's hand on my shoulder again I felt a strength come over me and I crossed the threshold. The air inside the bungalow was calm and peaceful. The usual comforting smells were there. Jen followed inside after me and closed the door, creating a silent cocoon. I feel more confident to call out now, pretty sure my voice wouldn't carry beyond the home's interior.

"MOM!" I gave it a second for a response. "MOM!" I cried out again when no answer came. "Mom where are you?!"

I look over at Jen, she'd proven an effective stabilizer; but this time she just wore a concerning frown.

I reached into my pants and retrieved the revolver, checking the safety was off and it was loaded.

"Wait here," I say, the usual machismo you'd feel when holding a firearm wasn't completely lost on me, even then.

I cautiously crept from the lounge/diner area that the porch opened onto and into the connected kitchen; separated from the rest of the open plan living space by a peninsula of low slung kitchen cabinets. Nothing looked disturbed, the notion of an intruder I'd need to defend against slipped further from my mind.

I set off down the corridor that ran the length of the bungalow from the open plan living space down to the two bedrooms and bathroom.

"Mom?" If I were a child you'd have said I was now using my "indoor voice". I opened the first door, the spare bedroom. Cautiously I entered, gun aimed down; but still drawn. I found another room left completely undisturbed. Mom usually used this room to dry her laundry, there were still neatly folded towels piled on the end of the guest bed. The jeans and t-shirt I'd gotten mucky doing some yard work for her a few weeks ago had been washed and ironed and was folded neatly on the chair in the corner.

Back into the corridor, next up was the bathroom. The door to this room was left slightly ajar, so I peered through the crack first before entering. My peer and then my subsequent 'proper' look yielded nothing apart from the medicine cabinet being open; but there were so many pills in there (Some left over from Dad) that I couldn't tell if anything was missing.

I then stood for a second in front of the final door, that that led into my Mom's bedroom. I gave it a single knock, half trained behaviour, half inbred politeness. "Mom?" I asked one last time, as if it would make a difference. I entered silently, weapon pointed down; part of me knew, I think, what to expect.

I crossed over to the bed and sat beside her.

My Mom was gone. Leaving behind a bottle of pills emblazoned with the Umbrella logo, she'd had time to put them back on the bedside cabinet; next to the glass of water that was still half empty, and a note which lie in the bed next to her.

Some say when you lose a parent you never know which face to remember. Is it the one you knew from childhood? Your earliest memories… or is it the one when you graduated high school, or college? Or was it the last one, the one where they're older, the latest version. I didn't get to make that choice, everytime I've thought of my Mom since I only see her that way. I only see her at peace, laying flat on her back, she'd even gotten under the covers; maybe in her last moments she felt a chill, or maybe it made her calmer, or safer, or gave her whatever comfort she needed in those last moments. This was worse than when Dad died. When Dad had died I had Mom to fall back on. She'd been my strength, she'd picked me up when I was down, helped me… made me carry on. Now she was gone too. Who would help me now?

I sat there in silence for what seemed like an eternity, starring off into the distance. Only when Jen came to the door did I snap out of it. I looked at her, tears in my eyes, and cried.

I don't know how long we sat there, how long Jen held me, or when I finally worked up the courage to read the note Mom had left.

Part of me was worried to read it, would it be a proper note? Would it mention me? Would it have some last wisdom? Or would it simply be a note to whom it may concern; whoever would find the body, whether it be her son, a neighbour or a looter. And part of me didn't want to read it because it was the last original, new thing, that my Mom would ever produce. She would never sing me another silly song, never scold me for treading dirt onto the carpet, never cook me another meal, never laugh at one of my retelling of the bad jokes Dad had taught me, never tell me I looked like him. This was her last output for this world.

'To my finder' it began 'Please know you have my blessings to take whatever you may from the house, food, utensils, cash (It's in my sock drawer), I have no use for it now, but please do not disturb my resting place and leave this note so my son may receive it some day'

I turned the note over.

'To my Son' I was crying again. Even if I'd wanted to I couldn't stop the flood of tears. Everything I'd gone through, everything I had seen, had led me here. My drive had been to rescue my Mom, to get her to safety; to go a little way in repaying the irreparable debt I owed her. 'Mickey, I'm so sorry. I wanted a great deal more from this life for you than this. I'm scared, but soon I'll be at rest and maybe even see your father again. I have missed him so. I tried to leave, but I couldn't. This was my home and this was my time. I will never stop loving you. – Mom'

I set the note aside like it was a holy text, freeing both my hands to work the water away from my eyes.

I don't know how long we both sat there. But it was the most comforting silence of my entire life. Jen and I just sat. She started off by holding me, then holding my hand. She never said a word; maybe she didn't know what the right to say was, but she was statesman-like about it and she came across as benevolent more than anything else.

Even long after my tears had dried, my grief drove on. I mean, it's still with my today; ever present. Sometimes, like now, it's front and center in my mind. Others, usually when I'm battling for my life, it can take a backseat; but it's never kicked to the curb, or even banished to the trunk.

I don't remember doing so but we'd moved to the guest bedroom and had fallen asleep in each other's arms. We woke to full daylight, although overcast and dreary like many September days in the Ozarks were. The Arklays kept the clouds on our side, it was one of the reasons the forest was so lush and the tree so healthy and numerous.

"Hi," I said after I'd opened my eyes to find Jen's staring into mine. "Hi," she returned. I don't think either of us knew what to say, or what to do, or where to go.

"Don't go into the back yard," Jen said. In my semi-sleepy state it took me a moment to process the seemingly off-topic pronouncement.

"Okay…" I let that drift in the air between us for a minute, my tone questioning.

"Just don't Mike," she said matter-of-factly.

You know that question I'd posed myself a few moments ago? Who was my saviour? Jen had answered the question. Of course the first thing I'd done when we'd gone back through into the Kitchen was take a quick peek out of the yard facing window over the sink. Two of those things were lurching around aimlessly out there. How they'd gotten in I wasn't sure, but they certainly couldn't get out. Mom valued her privacy and the hedges were high. I wondered whether their appearance was the reason Mom had made the decision she had.

I was still numb, and their appearance; whether it had led to Mom's demise or not, didn't really phase me. I stared at them for a moment longer, but broke away before Jen caught me looking. I don't know why, but it was important to me then and there that she thought she had done some good and spared me that.

"We can't stay here," she said as she took possession of the gun from the bedside cabinet where'd I'd obviously left it in my sleep-walk-like state earlier. It seemed to be a potent symbol of who was in charge, who was I to question it?

They say you always picked a spouse like your Mom / Dad, and honestly… I hadn't ever agreed with that before. When people brought it up, and by they I mean Mom, I used to say no Jen was into science, and her work and travelling. Mom was into needle craft, DIY and… whatever else Mom's like. Now though, I realised they were similar in the important ways; they were both strong, so much stronger than me. I needed that and clearly sought it out.

"What do we do with my Mom?" it was a silly question really. What was I expecting Jen to say, 'Sure let's time out, decapitate the dudes in the backyard, spend all day digging a grave in the clay-like soil, before rolling Mom up in a carpet and dropping her in'.

"She…" I think she wanted to say 'isn't going anywhere', but she refrained; "She'd want us to get somewhere safe. We'll come back for her once it's safe."

Jen was right. She knew she was right. She was already standing near the front door, talking in body-language that it was time to go. I looked back down the hallway, picturing Mom again. I felt for the note in my pocket, found it and felt a little at peace.

I crossed over to the fire place. On the mantle was a small old wooden clock, Mom and Dad had brought it back from their honeymoon they'd told me. They'd honeymooned in Banff, north of the border, and there's a lot of Swiss there apparently; and I guess the Swiss really do make good clocks. Alongside this clock were a series of pictures; one black and white one of Nanna and Grandad, and my Dad's Mom and Dad; whom I'd never met, my Grandad had died in the war and my Grandma had lived in a retirement village in Phoenix; but she'd died in the big heatwave of 1988; her A/C had broken and she never reported it to be fixed. There were several photos of me; one from my first day of Kindergarten, one from my High School Senior Year, one of me sitting on the bonnet of my first car…. Then there was my favourite one. It was Dad, Mom and me, at a water park in Texas when I was a kid. I carefully pulled the back off the front and removed the picture. I returned the frame to the exact location, on the exact angle where I found it and put the picture in my pocket.

Jen had already packed a bag with a few basic foodstuffs, so I picked this up and declared; "Okay, read to go."

Jen nodded, she hugged me again; best she could with a gun in one hand and a weighty bag in mine.

"Where are we gonna go?" I asked. "Mom doesn't have a car."

"We're gonna get out of the City, like she wanted us to do. Get somewhere safe until this is over, then we'll come back for her when it is."

I nodded my agreement and tried to impose an ere of fortitude.

What happened next, happened so quickly. One minute she was reaching for the door handle, looking back at me with a reassuring and hopeful smile; the next minute the mouth she used to smile was gone. Ripped from her face. The quiet of the daytime; the insulated and mothballed feeling we'd been enjoying had nulled our senses. We hadn't heard the feverish scratching at the front door. We hadn't heard the lustful moans from outside. We hadn't, that was, until Jen had opened the door.

Two, three, four of them fell into the house. A fifth stumbled over the top of them, it was this one who reached out and grabbed at Jen; pulled her close and in an instant his teeth had dug into Jen's flesh.

I stood stunned, I don't know if I was screaming or not, whether I'd gone mute or I'd gone deaf. I watched in horrified stupor as Jen's last few moments of life playing out in front of me. The fifth one, a middle-aged white guy; pale, heavy set, blue jeans, a bloodied navy shirt, had dealt the first blow. I don't know if Jen had died instantly or the shock and the pain had forced her mind into a sort of refuge. In her death throw, or terror, she flung the gun back toward me. She fell to the ground and all five of those… people, those things, those unholy creatures, set upon her body. Hungrily feasting upon her body. The blood splattered as they hit arteries, coating everything in blood.

I stared on in disbelief; twenty minutes ago we'd been holding each other in one of the most tender embraces of my life; twenty hours ago my Mom had been okay. Now, both of them were gone; victims of the same blight.

I don't even think I was looking at the gore. I stared right through it. I only finally came to my senses, when a sixth creature entered. It was an old woman, I recognised her as Mrs. Gartree from a few doors down; think she played bridge, or canasta, or some senior card game with my Mom every fortnight. I'd met her a few times, dull as dishwater but nice enough. Now, though, she was hungry. She cried out and started shuffling towards me.

The bag of food stuffs was in my hand. I instinctively swung out with it, catching her in the head and sending her down to the ground. The bag was a casualty though, and the groceries spread out everywhere. The gun, Jen's last present to me, had landed on the chair nearby. I grabbed for it, before making a break down the corridor. I went into Mom's room, closing the door behind me. I didn't know how much time I had.

I could hear the feast continuing outside the door. I sat with my heads in my hands. No tears came this time, it was despair I felt; not sadness. My mind flittered between the agony of losing the two people that I loved the most; and the horror of what awaited me outside. The shade was pulled shut on the window to my Mom's room; but I could hear something thudding against it from the outside. How those things in the garden knew I was in here through a closed blind I couldn't tell you – It's as if they've some kind of extra sensory perception or something.

"What do I do Mom?" I asked the deceased body of my mother. I was hoping asking out loud would trigger some sort of memory of my Mom giving me advice before; you know like it always did in the movies. Only this wasn't the movies; and corpses can't talk. Maybe they can shuffle around though right?

I don't really know how much time passed. I'd wedged a chair under the door handle to stave off the crazies in the house and had heaved (how many clothes did Mom have?!) the wardrobe across the window. This did a good job at blocking out most of the light as well; which did a good job in making me fall asleep. The adrenaline had worn off; the creatures inside the house can quietened and none had got as far as trying my door. The knocking on the window outside has ceased as well. All was quiet, I was on a massive come down and the room was dark and warm.

When I woke it was dark, what little light that had been seeping in past the wardrobe had disappeared and only a very dull moonlight replaced it. Mom kept a torch by her bedside, I'd used it a few months back when she'd had me put a few things in the attic for her; the access was in her bedroom, not the hallway for some reason, and she'd produced the torch for me as the attic had no light.

I felt around the back of the dresser, where I'd seen Mom retrieve it from, and flicked the switch once I'd found it. The beam was strong, as if the batteries were fairly new, which was a relief as the beam had been so weak it'd been nearly useless when I'd used it before.

I went across the window and peered out through the crack. I couldn't see shit except my own reflection so I killed the light and took another look. From that angle, my head squished up against the wardrobe; you could only see that the couple of feet between the window and the hedge were clear. The rest of the garden remained a mystery, it sure sounded quiet though.

Then there was a groaning. It wasn't from outside, it couldn't have been from the hallway I remember thinking… it was too loud. Then silence. Then another groan coming at me in the dark. I switched the light back on, I shone it around the room. First at the door, then the desk nearby where I'd robbed the chair from, then feebly out of the window. By the time the groan sounded again I have eliminated all other possibilities; I shone the light at the bed; at my Mom's final resting place.

Guess it wasn't so final.

My Mom had risen from the bed. For a moment; for one beautiful confused moment my brain went: "She's alive, maybe she wasn't dead from the pills… just in a coma or something. And now she's awake". I said it before; I've thought about a lot of things sitting here, telling this story, but damn; that was one of the nice ones… for a few moments, even just a heartbeat's length, I thought my Mom was alive. That she was well enough to be walking, that she was coming to give me a hug and tell me everything was going to be alright.

Then I shone the light at her directly. Her skin, always on the paler side (Her side of the family was of Scandinavian decent; Norwegian I think, settled in the Dakotas originally if my memory serves) was now a light grey. Her eyes were white and misty, her pupils didn't even dilate when I shone the light at her. She let out another guttural groan and lurched around the corner of her double bed.

"Mom?" I asked, still her expecting her to snap out of it. "Mom?" I repeated shining the light away slightly, not wanting to blind her.

She didn't respond, she let out a louder thirstier groan as she closed in on me. I was pinned to the spot. "MOM?!" I cried in vain, dodging her as she lunged toward me. She stumbled and she face planted the wardrobe, which helped her stay upright. I was beside the bed now. She made another attempt to grab me, and I darted across bed; almost losing my footing in the duvet as I went. With the bed between us when she reached out again her legs had nowhere to go and she fell onto the bed.

To use the gun hadn't even occurred to me. I think I've would've let her eat me before I'd raise a gun to her. I mean; how could I know what was wrong with her? Maybe she was just sick, and there'd be a vaccine in a few days; an apology check from Umbrella to every survivor and we'd somehow carry on. If I'd put a bullet in her and that came to pass I couldn't have lived with myself.

I was quick witted enough, heck I'd had plenty of sleep, and used the opportunity whilst she was stuck amongst the sheets to make my escape. I threw the chair aside and opened the bedroom door. I took a look out with as much caution as time would allow to find only an empty corridor greeting me.

"I love you Mom," I said taking one last look back at the creature that used to be the woman who gave birth to me, writhing and flaying atop the bed where she'd committed suicide. I closed the door behind me; heck she's probably still there… pounding weakly, groaning intently.

Thankfully, the house was empty. The beasts had clearly devoured what they'd wanted of Jen and had moved on. I didn't stop, I cupped my hands over my eyes like a child told not to look at a scary part of the movie; and moved quickly past what remained of Jen, and out onto the driveway.

At first I was walking. Just walking. I didn't know where I was going, what I was going to do. I'd hoped the light of day would've cleared my head; but it didn't.

Then later I was running. Nothing was even chasing me, those things… those people, those dead people; they aren't fast enough to give much of a chase. I was just running. Faster and faster I went, it seemed as if my energy was limitless.

Then, it was so much. I lent against the side wall of a house on the corner of… corner of… heck I can't even remember what street, just to catch my breath. It was quiet all about. I shouldn't have stopped; all of a sudden my leg muscles delivered a salvo of pain from where I'd over-exerted them. I let myself down to the ground; clutching my knees to my chest with my hand gripping my aching thighs searching for some relief from the cramps and stabbing pains.

There was a little relief after a moment so I released them. I glanced down at my watch; it was an older piece, not exactly timeless, but it was real silver and, I thought quite tasteful. Two in the afternoon. There was a small window where it told you the date too; 30 it announced. I hadn't clocked myself when I'd left Mom's, but it was possible I'd been on the move for quite some time. I was completely lost; it was a part of town I wasn't too familiar with. It was mostly rolling suburbia; white picket fences that kind of thing. It was a part of town that had sprung up in the last few years to house the influx of Umbrella employees working in the laboratories. The streets were all named after Umbrella founders or prominent Umbrella figures; there was a Spencer Street, like the Mansion, an Ashford Boulevard, a… well you get the point. No numbers to aid navigation whatsoever.

I hadn't seen another living soul since leaving Mom's. Literally nothing living. A few of those; what the shit am I supposed to call them? Zee's? the Undead Army? Were loitering around here and there; but like I said they were easy enough to dodge if you were quick enough. I'd not take anything remotely offensive when I'd fled; not the gun, not a kitchen knife nothing. All of a sudden I felt extremely vulnerable. I'd seen a movie once; can't remember exactly what the plot was but this one line always stuck with me. It was about a plague you see, like a virus that infected and was killing people and this doc turns to this army guy and says: "It's not the disease that you've got to worry about it's the Humans running scared of it." Man that was ringing in my mind now. The shufflers didn't frighten me all that much; like I said you can dodge 'em, but meeting another person. Maybe that guy who'd been raping that girl. I don't really know what I'd do.

I walked another few uneventful blocks; passing more streets… Birkin Drive, Wesker Plaza… I didn't really know what I was hunting for; maybe a car, sitting there with a full tank of gas, the keys in the ignition and the door open. Maybe a chauffeur waiting for me? I was just contemplating trying a few front doors, especially those with a car sat on the drive; I could probably find the keys and get away?

I stopped a minute, stupidly in the open; hey hindsight eh? We're all fucking experts when we've got hindsight. I looked around; don't really know what for and don't really know why I chose that spot to stop. I guess my legs were tired, guess I just need a drink, guess I just… I don't know; maybe I subconsciously sensed something was up.

I heard gun shots seconds after I stopped. A few lighter rounds, a revolver of sorts maybe. Then yelling, I couldn't quite tell what was being said.

I dropped to a crouch at the sound, clutching my head instinctively, and scuttled to behind a parked car. This was a quiet street, fairly suburban but you could see Downtown from here. Pre-end of the world, or whatever this was, you'd never had heard anything remotely gun sounding – save for a few back fires from one guy on the block that always seemed to own an old Buick. I was in a sea of white picket fences, single storey red brick homes. The sort with old glory hanging outside and a rocker on the porch.

When the yelling finished, there was a brief silence; then automatic weapons firing. More yelling, more automatic weapons fire; multiple weapons; multiple shooters. I kept crouched, wanting more information before making a move. But then there's more weapons fire; this time it's closer. This time it's not muffled by building in the way; this time it's happening on the street I'm on.

When the noise quietened down I stuck my head out. I saw 5 or 6 guys; dressed in dark grey, black and a bit of dark green. Beret hats, thick black boots. Some wore small packs, all had automatic weapons; drawn and raised to shoulder height.

All had their backs to me, they were close enough for me to hear; but I can't remember what they were saying as I was too shit scared. I don't know why but I couldn't pull my head back into cover; their trajectory was gonna take them right past me… I had nowhere to go, hiding was my only option and it seemed a bad one.

Then one of them turned to me; he was white, older, I'd say grey hair but you couldn't see much; it was cut short and hidden under the hat. He was of a muscular build, big broad shoulders and chest. Then I noticed; emblazoned on his vest tunic, and again on the beret; the Umbrella logo. These guys were vigilantes; they weren't US army, they were god damned company employees. Where the fuck was my Kevlar and weapon?

"There's one!" he cried, spotting me. We actually made eye contact. My entire body leapt away as he rang off a shot.

"Move up," I could hear one ordering in a foreign accent, Eastern European if I had to wager a guess; but I was shite with foreign accents; I could tell you a Mexican, or a Canadian (eh) but that was about it.

They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die. It didn't then, despite what must've been imminent death approaching me. Maybe the fates new it wasn't my time just then? As I could hear footsteps approaching the vehicle I rose to my feet and bolted. Luck or god were the only things that could've saved me then and I must've had a little of both. Two streams of bullets chased me, some flew past me exploding the pavement in front of me, other I could feel spraying up tarmac behind me.

"It's not a BOW," I heard a man say; that one sounded a little Mexican. "Why are you firing?"

I was round the corner when the Eastern European man spoke again; I couldn't hear what he was saying. I guess he didn't agree that they needed to stop firing as I could hear running steps behind me. I was running up the driveway to the first house on this next block when the bullet ripped through my arm.