Amica ran in the right direction. Or was it the left direction? She didn’t know. It didn’t matter. What mattered was she ran as fast as her legs could carry her, winding along the road.

“Stop, little girl!” an officer shouted behind her. “I won’t hurt you.”

Amica drew her eyebrows together. Did he just say… little girl? She was already eighteen. A year older than Milan. And she was taller than Eli. No one was calling them little girls. Was it her face? Her overalls? Or her wispy bangs?

Amica swung her arms and curled her hands. Her throat burned as she gasped for air. If only she had her car.

Oh, wait. Amica’s stare intensified at the road ahead of her. The more she neared, the more she recognized it. The way it twisted, how the stems and bushes weaved upward, gracing the roadway on each side. How the ground felt under her feet. She was horrible at finding her way. But she couldn’t possibly miss the avenue she had lived in for the past two years. She couldn’t believe she lived one block away from Milan.

Her legs would barely move as she dragged herself through the sloping roadway. The sound of a bullet echoed through the area from nearby, and Amica felt the hairs on her body rise. All sorts of thoughts crammed inside her head, about how Milan was bleeding out, how they were going to get the bullet out and if he would even make it. Gloom overcame her body, and if she wasn’t in this situation, she would sit down and bawl her eyes out. Not Milan. Not her only friend.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“Stop, missy!” the officer called after her, as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

Amica turned her head. He was close — ten feet behind her. She reached her hand out as if it would make her run faster. She pushed her legs, pouncing the last of her strength into them. She wouldn’t make it. She wouldn’t make it. She wouldn’t make it.

There it was. Her run-down car parked by the sidewalk, no mistake. The green color was fading, replaced with rust, and dents bulged out of its metal frame.

Amica loved it. It worked perfectly.

She pushed herself forward, before the sound of a second bullet struck. Closer, this time. It felt as if someone had punched her in her stomach or thrust a knife in her chest. First Milan and now…

Amica steeled her resolve. She was not going to give up on them.

She stopped dead in her tracks. Something gave out a bang against her car’s front door, as she opened it.

It was the policeman. His body sprawled on the roadway, knocked out cold.

This car did come in handy.

“I’m sorry,” Amica said. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

She’d check on him if time would’ve allowed her. But she was busy.

Eli and Milan were first priority.