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He hurt all over, but after making tiny movements of his arms and legs, he knew that none of it was life-threatening. All the limbs were still there at least. He could hear himself breathing - the rasp of injury or sickness obvious and - to his ears at least - loud. Loud enough to give away a position or make himself a liability. Ribs? Lung? He just knew it hurt when he tried to move or sit up. The rest - bruising, swelling, cuts and gashes... that would heal in time. [color=598527]You sh...should leave me. Can't fight like this. You know they'll just come back with more, sooner or later...[/color] He managed to open his left eye beyond a squint, and took in the woman who knelt over him. He pushed up, using every ounce of strength he could muster, on his good arm (the right one felt all disconnected and awkward) and managed to sit up against something hard behind him. He took the small bottle of water she held out, took a swig through cracked and split lips. The words came easier after that. [color=598527]They'll know we didn't get too far. I killed two of 'em, at least. They won't let that go. You don't owe me nothin'. Don't go laying your life on the line for mine. You go on... get out while you can.[/color] He felt for his pistol in its holster, found it missing. The long gun was gone too. Maybe out in the street, or worse, in the vehicle or taken.