As I stumble down the street, all I can focus on is my pounding heart. Icy fear has grasped me in its unrelenting hold.

There's another gunshot and I duck down. The harsh concrete grates against my bare palms as I crouch, trying to stay low to the ground. Two more sharp cracks follow, and loud yells echo down the empty street. I continue to run. My boots are a dull, rushed thud against the ground—in time with my beating heart.

I don't know where I'm going. As I turn the next corner, my fear is replaced by an acute sense of panic.

My only potential ally in this city has sold me out and there's a good chance that even the police have been compromised. Not to mention there's currently two gun wielding gorillas on my tail.

"There she is!"

I jerk at the shout and glance behind my shoulder, only to whip my head back around and increase my speed. The dim lights coming from the street lamps around me turn into an indistinguishable blur.

The two men are only about fifteen yards away now. In the short glance back I could tell that their guns are still pointed in my direction.

Damn it, how are they gaining on me? And did no one teach them that it's rude to point guns at people?

Making a split second decision, I throw myself into the next open alleyway. I sprint about halfway in before crouching hastily behind a few overflowing trashcans. In seconds, the shadows conceal most of me in dark. My nose wrinkles at the stench of alcohol and rotting food as I try to quiet down my rapid breathing.

I hear footsteps growing closer. Peering through a small crack between two rusty trash cans, I see the two men pass by the mouth of the alley. They continue to walk, guns still held tightly in their grips as they disappear from view. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Shifting back onto my heels, my right hand knocks against an empty beer bottle. I stiffen. The sound of smashing glass that follows is deafening. I stare at the broken, jagged shards of the bottle, and my fingernails dig into my palms. The heavy footsteps return to the mouth of the alley.

"Did you hear that?"

Shit.

I shrink backwards—careful not to knock over anything else—as the two men begin to argue.

"No, you idiot! There wasn't no noise. I've told ya to go get your head checked, Randall. Now the girls probably halfway across the city by now if she has any brains on her."

Well then I'm obviously lacking an essential organ.

Gulping, I look through the crack again.

The man—Randall—seems to ignore his partner's jab at his mental soundness. Instead he steps further into the alley. He scans the shadows with scrutinizing eyes, and his hand tightens around his large pistol. He runs his free hand across his beard and continues to walk closer.

With only about ten feet now between me and Randall, my breathing stutters. A small noise comes from the group of trash cans a few paces away from me. A gunshot rings out, and I barely contain my shriek.

Turning to my left, I stare in horror at the rat which is now lying dead beside a crushed cardboard box. A bullet is lodged in its body and bright red blood seeps into the ground, dyeing it a sickening crimson.

"It was just a damn rat." The disappointment and anger is evident in Randall's voice. His footsteps recede once more as he goes back to the other man.

I continue to stare at the dead creature only a few feet from me.

That could have been me.

I'm jerked from my morbid revelation as the men begin to talk again.

"Now she's definitely too far gone for us to even think about catching her." The first man grumbles, and he slides his gun into the inside of his dark jacket before directing a glare at Randall.

Randall simply grunts in return before speaking. "We probably wouldn't have caught up with her anyways, in case you haven't noticed the bitch is smarter than we thought. But we can't come back empty handed now, Scott."

Scott pales at this thought and clears his throat. "Maybe if we bring back a body—"

"And how the hell are we supposed to bring back a goddamn body!" Randall cuts in, and I gulp at the mention of a body. My hands begin to shake and I tuck them close to me.

Scott clenches his teeth before gesturing angrily. "You didn't let me finish, you dolt! What I was saying is that we could bring back a body not her  body. All we gotta do is find some chick who looks close enough to the bitch. Then we just screw up the other chicks face enough so as the boss won't even know the difference."

Randall pauses for a second and then he grins, which looks more like he's baring his teeth. "Why Scott, I think that's one of the only smart things that's come out of your mouth lately."

Bile rises in my throat, and I can barely contain my horrified gasp as I shudder.

They're actually going to kill an innocent girl...

And it will be all my fault. If I don't move I'm practically placing the value of my life higher than another girls.

Maybe if I jump them I'll have a chance. The element of surprise.

Making up my mind, I quickly search for a piece of cloth. After a few seconds, I find a torn shirt next to a nearby trash can. It has so many holes that it barely resembles clothing anymore. I pick it up as quietly as possible.

Next, I lean over and search through the broken fragments of the beer bottle which I'd carelessly knocked over. Finding the longest shard I can, I wrap the bottom with the ripped shirt so that it won't cut my hand.

The piece of glass is only about six or seven inches long, but right now it's the closest thing I have to a weapon.

All I know is that I can't let an innocent girl die because of me.

Randall and Scott both have their backs to me, and I see my opening. I rise slowly from my crouched position. As I begin to move closer to the two men, I try to stay as close to the wall and shadows as I can. Taking care of where I'm stepping, I inch forward.

I jerk as they both let out loud laughs and start to move away. They disappear from view and a few seconds pass before I continue on.

Walking faster now, I freeze abruptly as two distinct male screams reach my ears from only a few yards away. The guttural sounds are enough to turn my blood to ice, and there's no mistaking who the two screams belong to.

What the hell?

A heavy silence falls, and for a moment I wonder if I imagined the two tortured cries. Then I hear it.

Footsteps.

Except this time it's only one set and they sound much heaver than the other two men's. My eyes widen as I realize that the steps seem to be coming closer. Suddenly, it's like a bucket of ice water is thrown on me and I stumble back. My hand finds the rough outline of the bricks on the alley wall and I try to ground myself.

This is not the time to succumb to panic, Reagan.

I turn on my heel heading back towards my hiding place. My breaths turn slowly into ragged pants.

I've only taken three steps when pain explodes in the back of my head. The concrete rushes up to meet my face and darkness swallows me whole.