After all I’d been through over the last two hours, anyone would’ve understood if I chose to give up.
I slumped across the bench, the cold air biting through my body and snaking itself around me. It was dark, quiet in the park. The guns silenced, shooters lying in pools of their own blood. My partner gone. Staying here was suicide; more adversaries would be on their way. Pulling my hood over my head, I stood and began limping towards the trees.
A vehicle approached. The tyres screeched as it came to a halt; doors slammed. Footsteps thumped in arbitrary directions. At my estimate, six gunmen had climbed out of the car and were now hunting me down. I checked my supplies. One magazine on my belt. Twelve rounds in the clip loader.
Taking cover behind a tree, I checked my wound. Red oozed through a hole in my black pants. I peeled the fabric aside; my flesh was torn open, but, fortunately, he bullet had missed the artery. I felt at the back of my thigh for an exit wound and breathed relief when my finger found the warm, bloodied rupture in my skin. I pulled the bandana from my head and wove it around my thigh to stem the bleeding.
A voice boomed in the night. ‘We’ve got you surrounded. Surrender now and we won’t kill you.’
No way. No way they had me surrounded—I’d never heard any rustling behind me. And no way would they spare my life. Of course they’d kill me on sight.
With the makeshift bandage wrapped tightly around my leg, I held my Glock in my hand and quietly headed further into the park. I knew the place like the back of my hand and if I could continue in a southerly direction, I’d come to Mountain Boulevard. In the preliminary discussions, I insisted that a car be placed there in case the project went to shit.
Gunfire rained through the park. I shot back blindly. I could hear them whispering to each other through their comms devices. Just ahead of me were the yellow streetlights of Mountain Boulevard. I was close.
There was no cover between me and the street. Crouching low, I ran towards the car parked closest to the tram stop and unlocked it as I approached. Gun shots flew past me; one grazed my shoulder, knocking me to the ground. I crawled commando style along the ground; the smell of damp grass and possum shit filled my nose. A measly three metres separated me and victory, freedom.
I sank my face into the cold, wet ground. Blades of grass pricked my lips, and closed eyelids.
Don’t give up. You’re so close. Make a run for it.
On my hands and knees I made my way to the car. Using the door for cover, I shot at those coming for me, climbed into the drivers seat and sped away, letting the night swallow and protect me.