“Van!” Billie heard herself shriek. As if being possessed by another being, she took hold of his good arm and pulled him away from the door just as more bullets flew past them. They landed in a snow bank with Van on top and Billie cushioning him. A moment of stunned amazement passed between them before they finally picked themselves up and made a run for it into the dense forest that surrounded the warehouse.

Although the pain from the gunshot wound radiated throughout his body with every step he took, Van kept running, his fear of being caught far more prevalent. There was another reason he kept going; he didn’t want to let Billie down. If that meant enduring a little pain, then so be it.

The opposite was on Billie’s mind. She was well beyond worried. This assignment had far exceeded any worst case nightmare scenario she could possibly think of, especially now that Van was hurt and maybe even bleeding to death. She blamed herself for not being able to protect him, and even more for not taking the bullet herself.

The pair continued to run through the thick underbrush as the sound of gunfire slowly receded in the background. But that was the least of their problems. They were lost, had no food or medical supplies, and darkness was quickly approaching. The sun had just begin to sink on the horizon, it’s orange-red rays becoming muddied in the thick white clouds that were fast approaching from the east.

Billie slowed her pace to a walk, taking a few deep breaths and allowing Van to catch up as she placed the gun into the waistband of her jeans. He had slowed down considerably since the gunfire began to fade, worrying her to the point where she didn’t know if she could take it anymore. It was time to find out how badly he was hurt. As he finally reached her, she immediately took stock of the pastiness of his face and the large red stain on his sky blue parka.

“Oh, God, Van!” Billie cried, shock permeating her voice. She stopped in her tracks and faced him.

“It’s just a scratch,” Van weakly replied as he leaned up against a tree and slowly began to slide down until he was sitting in the snow, exhausted and out of breath. He wasn’t about to let her see how much pain he was in. His shoulder felt as if it was on fire, and the cold wasn’t helping much as it blew past his face and into the hole in his sleeve.

Billie knelt down beside him and began to unzip his coat. “That’s a load of crap and you know it,” she retorted, slowly pulling down the sleeve to reveal more blood on his cream cable knit sweater. One look in his grey green eyes said it all. Van was in a lot more pain than he would ever let on. It ripped at Billie’s heart strings to ever see him hurting. She couldn’t help but blame herself for what happened. This was exactly why she preferred to work alone.

Slowly and gently, Billie pulled back Van’s sweater to reveal the bloody hole in his shoulder. It really wasn’t as bad as she thought it was going to be. The bullet had just grazed the top of his shoulder, skimming over muscle but managing to miss any major blood vessels. The entry wound wasn’t bleed much, but the exit wound was somewhat of a mess. But Billie still let out a sigh of relief. It could have been much worse if it had actually gone straight through his shoulder.

Van bit down on his lip to keep from screaming as Billie continued to examine his shoulder. Her thumbs gently pressed into the skin around the wound, sending even more intense pain shooting through his body. He groaned his discomfort without meaning to, making Billie’s head turn sharply so their eyes met. There was a sparkle to those deep blue orbs that Van couldn’t discern.

‘Damn it!’ Billie angrily thought. Her fears and worries increased with that one little sound. The only way she could think of distracting him was by saying, “Quit being such a baby. You said it yourself, it’s only a scratch.” A weak smile appeared on Van’s lips telling her she had succeeded in keeping him from realizing how worried she really was. Her attention now turned to dressing the wound before it got worse.

Pulling out her trusty switchblade from her back pocket, Billie cut away the sleeve of Van’s sweater to use it as a makeshift tourniquet. Her trembling hands wrapped it around his shoulder twice before she tightly tied if off. “You’re done,” she said, zipping up his jacket before he caught a chill as well.

A crackling in the bushes behind them startled the pair into silence. Both their heads turned in every direction trying vainly to determine where the sound came from and what caused it. Billie put a finger to her lips when Van tried to say something and pointed to her left. Reaching into the waistband of her jeans, she pulled the gun out and aimed it in that direction.

Van could only stare in apprehension as she tiptoed back into the woods. In seconds, she was out of his sight. Moments felt like hours as he waited for any sign of her safe return. Panic was beginning to wash over him as he sat there in the cold, the night slowly creeping up on him.