A Bit About Me

“Run, Kolby! Run!”

            “I am running! You are the one who should get a move on, old chap. Those Daschund legs of yours combined with that obscene belly you tote around—”

            “Can we discuss my weight at a later time? I’m a little preoccupied with running for my life right now.” Oliver Dartworth ducked as a bullet whined over his head. His breath came in short gasps, ruffling through his thick moustache and sounding much like a train laboring up a hill.

            Henry Kolby leapt over a wooden crate, one of the many that littered the floor of the Royal Observatory and cursed. As the corner of the crate disintegrated from the impact of a bullet, Henry cursed again. “Running for your life? Murphy’s men are the worst shots I have ever seen in my life. We could be standing still and they wouldn’t hit us.”

            As if to punctuate his words, Henry cried out as a bullet struck him in the meaty part of his upper arm, spinning him around. His cry echoed and reverberated off the walls and up into the domed ceiling of the observatory.

            “Kolby!” Oliver skidded to a stop.

            “Go on without me, Dartworth. I’ll be right behind you.” Henry crouched down, his body hunched protectively over his wounded arm.

            “Damned if I will. How bad is it?” The words barely left Oliver’s mouth when he felt his left leg convulse as if it had been yanked backwards by an unseen hand. He fell, his single leg unable to hold his weight. 

            Henry waddled a few steps toward Oliver, keeping his head ducked low against the deadly projectiles whizzing by.

            “Look what you’ve done now, Dartworth. I told you to—”

            “How many times do I have to remind you that you are not my superior and therefore cannot order me about?” Oliver grimaced as a fresh wave of pain coursed through his injured leg. “I wish I was in the bookshop right now.”

            “You’d bleed all over my painstakingly procured books, Dartworth.” Henry reached out with his good hand and pressed it to Oliver’s wound. Warm blood pulsed gently against Henry’s palm. “It seems as though the bullet may have pierced an artery.” 

When he heard the sound of running footsteps, Henry knew Murphy’s men were closing in and he glanced around half-heartedly. The only obstruction was the huge telescope that dominated the center of the observatory, and he couldn’t hide behind that. The seats of the observatory had been gathered and pushed to one side of the immense brick building and the crates that dotted the tiled floor like sheep on a field were too low to provide cover. There was nowhere to hide.