Chapter 23

The wound in Ada's thigh felt like a hot poker, pumping blood down her leg which soaked the stiff black fabric of her fatigues. It wasn't a torrent; the bullet had to have missed her femoral artery. If it hadn't, she might have been unconscious already, then dead shortly after. But it hurt. Everything hurt. Her thigh was just the thing that hurt the most, even still with her cracked rib. The last shot that landed between her shoulder blades throbbed as if a pick axe had been brought down on her spine. A piece of shrapnel had lodged itself in her upper arm, spilling forth another trickle of precious blood. Everything else was scratched or sore.

When she hit the ground and dove for her handgun, Crow was already up on his feet, and by the time her hand closed around the handle, he was running. Sirens were going off in her head, red creeping into the fringes of her vision as her body begged her to just slowdown. But if she did, she would die.

The gun felt gritty and dirty in her hand, but it didn't matter how it looked or felt. It only mattered if it could kill. Through the red, the pain, and all the sights and sensations, she focused on his back and tried to bring the gun up.

Movement to the left caught her eye. Crow faded away, and a new clear spot appeared in her vision. A guard, bringing his gun up, only a few feet away. It was one of the ones in suits, his tie askew, jacket filthy and unkempt after the explosion. She turned the gun on him and fired twice, but neither sound registered in her ears. Everything was just one steady ring like a broken speaker. Instead, she just saw two muzzle flashes, then two red holes on his chest as he fell to the ground.

Back to Crow. His dark jacket was slipping through a doorway.

Get up.

She struggled to get a foot under her, but her leg crumpled when she put weight on it. Her mouth was open, but she couldn't hear own scream.

Get up now.

Her leg held, but the pain…more red crept into her vision as she planted both feet beneath her and rose shakily. The voice in her head giving the orders was her own. It didn't care.

Something hot zinged past her side, almost knocking her right back down. She spun on her good leg, careening wildly. He was down low, still laying on the ground with his gun haphazardly pointed at her. One shot to the head was all it took to put him down.

Now move. Kill him.

Ada stumbled forward, not sure if she was giving her body the commands, or if it was something else pulling her strings. She wasn't even sure how she was moving. Every step on her right leg was shaky and sent a lance of pain shooting up her spine. But nonetheless, she moved forward, step by shaky step, until it turned into a sloppy jog. Despite the fact part of the muscle in her leg was torn from the wound, that one standing guard fired at her from behind, she still moved forward. After Crow.

Her gun was tight in her hand, knuckles bone white as she kept it rigid in front of her, as if it were some kind of guide. She saw the guards in front of her, just not well enough to make out their features or faces. The rest of the hallway, or passage, or room, wherever she was was equally as vague. There were alcoves, maybe doorways, something in her way that could have been a table, or one of a dozen other things. What she could see perfectly was Crow's stumbling form at the end of it all.

She sighted them as fast as she could and pulled the trigger. The motions were all but a muscle memory for her, but if she focused hard enough, it would be that much longer that she wasn't focusing on the pain. She had to throw herself to the side sluggishly as faint gunshots fired back, ducking beneath or behind anything solid that was close enough. Her throat felt scratchy, and she thought she was screaming, but if she was, she couldn't hear it.

A figure stepped out in front of her as she charged forward, the unmistakable shape of a stubby submachine gun in his hand as the red haze cleared slightly. Her handgun clicked dry, and with nowhere left to shed her speed, she threw her shoulder into his stomach and grabbing his clothes. They were stiff and rigid, with hard plates beneath. He was wearing armor.

She didn't know if the guards ahead of her were that much more desperate, or if it was all just too confusing, but they continued to fire at her. Their rounds struck the guard she was holding in the back as she continued to push him forward with her. Another bullet whizzed by her shoulder, grazing it with a hot cut. She could actually feel the rounds reverberate as they hit his armor, some penetrating and entering his body. He grew heavy as she started to lose speed; either that, or the amount of lead in his body was weighing him down. With a brief moment of grace, she spun beneath his falling body, ripping the gun away from him and throwing it up with one hand and holding down the trigger. It kicked wildly in her hand, but she kept it in front of her as she swung it through like a whip.

One of them went down in front of her with several red blossoms soaking his jacket. The others ducked away from the spray of bullets as the gun went empty. The guard's sidearm had fallen in front of her, and despite the pain in her leg, she threw herself into a forward roll. The motion re-ignited every signal of pain that had gone silent, but her hand closed around the frame. She came out of the roll, switching the gun around so she could get its grip and started pulling the trigger.

The rest of the guards dropped under her fire, and she continued to stumble forward, around the corner where she had seen Crow flee. It led to a stairwell, and being on the ground floor, all she had to do was point herself upward. It was torture to go up each one; but she did, panting, grunting, and sweating the entire way while leaving a trail of blood behind her.

Keep going. Don't you dare stop now.

She wasn't the only one bleeding. Doors branched off on each landing, and there was no way of knowing if Crow had slipped through any of them – except for what she saw on the floor. There were faint scuff marks from dress shoes, sprinkled with dust and bits of grime, and sometimes a few sparse drips of crimson blood. More of it was smeared on the hand rail, always going up. He was injured, though not much. Just enough for her to stay on his tail, and enough to add to her motive to finish him off.

The trail of blood droplets continued up, past the various floors of the hotel, until she heard a faint buzzing over the ringing in her ears. She couldn't even imagine what it was until the stairs ended, the roof access door wide open. The buzzing had turned into a low roar, and with a sinking feeling, she recognized it.

No…no, no!

There was a helicopter on the roof, its blades already fully spinning as it began to slowly lift and turn away. She ran forward, leg quaking in agony as it almost refused to move as the memories of Irving slipping away flashed through her mind.

The helicopter veered a few feet above the rooftop, then listed to the side and began to swing out from over the roof. Ada squinted through sensitive eyes at the bright sunlight, bringing her gun up and pulling the trigger as fast as she could. The rounds registered on the side of the hull, imprinting holes and divots, but after the sixth shot, the gun ran dry with a click. The helicopter tipped its nose, as if mocking her, and then flew off.

"No!" she cried, wanting to sprint after it, but her body had decided she'd had her chance. Her leg froze and she went down in mid-stride onto her hands and knees, gritty white gravel and dust stinging her palms and cuts.

She watched the helicopter for as long as she could, but through her blurred vision it quickly faded. Crow had gotten away alive. She had failed. The last chance she had to redeem herself for helping him for so long was gone, and she screwed up because of her own carelessness and recklessness. Like a rookie. She wanted to scream, but the best she could manage was a strangled moan that sounded like an animal to her ringing ears. She slammed her palm onto the rooftop, but the gravel was hard and unyielding.

If everything she had worked for in her life had amounted to this moment, then it had all come undone. She had undone it all by being stupid and brash, and now she was shot up, injured, and had accomplished nothing. The frustration and self pity was almost enough to start the tears.

Then she realized she wasn't alone.

Over the incessant ringing, now that the helicopter's engine had faded, she heard the sound of footfalls coming up the stairs behind her…no, they were already crunching on gravel!

She reached to her belt, where on grenade still hung, her last weapon. She had her finger in the pin when a boot suddenly kicked out against her knuckles and knocked it from her hand, unarmed. When she made a dive for it, something that felt like the toe of another boot struck her in the ribs, stirring up a familiar blossom of pain from her ribs. She coughed, all of her air gone, and slumped to the ground. Hands grabbed her vest and shirt, turning her over, but she fought back. Despite her clawing, her arms were twisted behind her, and plastic zip-ties fastened around her wrists.

The hands pulled her on her back, and the last thing she saw was the butt of a rifle slamming into her skull, then blackness overtook her.

Author's Note: Hey all! Just wanted to let you know that this story is about two chapters away from being finished. Thank you so much for sticking with it so far!