Brandon heard the roar of the engine, and the yelling of a woman, another survivor! What a bitch. Move my ass?! He would have, if he hadn't had a three inch piece of shrapnel lodged in his side. Brandon tried to lift himself up, but still had trouble, even with the support of the ledge. "I can't! I'm injured." He called back down. Brandon still had the bank building in view. A slight movement caught his eye. The door opened, and one of his fellow comrades from before came out. He waved, hoping to catch his attention. He tried to make way for the stairs, but without the ledge he had no support. He stumbled down the stairs, causing the shrapnel to move, deeper into his side. "Shit!" He got up, slowly, and painfully, using the walls as support. When the shrapnel drove deeper, it moved, exposing an exit, his blood slowly began to seep from his wound. If he didn't get medical attention, he would bleed out. Hurry up. God damnit!