An hour into his escape, Spencer was beyond exhausted, having lost far too much blood, which left him woozy and unsteady on his feet. Yet even now, he could hear gang members all around him continuing their search, no doubt having followed the splatterings of blood he'd left in his wake. Still, despite the urgency of his situation, Spencer was forced to take a break against the side of the nearest building, unable to take even one more step without collapsing from sheer weariness. As he did so, and he could hear the mob getting steadily closer, a sense of hopelessness rose within him. He wondered, as he gasped urgently for breath, if he would ever be able to truly escape or if he was just putting off the inevitable, exhausting himself for no reason.
'God damn it, no! I will fucking escape and I will fucking rescue my daughter!' Spencer thought, gritting his teeth in determination as he forced away the dark thoughts clawing at his mind.
With newfound resolve, he looked around the desolate alleyway he found himself in, an almost carbon copy of the previous six alleys he had hidden and run through. Having gotten back at least a little of his energy, he laboured his way back to the opening of the alley, grimacing at the blinding pain that shot through his shoulder with every step that he took. As he reached the opening, he peeked his head out into the open once he was unable to hear the sound of any gang members nearby. The moment he did so, he was met with the sight of a barren street with no sign of life. Only a dull red truck parked twenty or so metres away showed the place wasn't completely abandoned.
Suddenly, just as he was about to turn back into the alleyway to come up with a plan, his eyes locked back onto the red truck as they flashed with recognition. He remembered that truck. Not only that, upon closer look, he realised the entire street looked vaguely familiar. It was then that a surge of excitement coursed through Spencer as it hit him; he'd been down this street before, when he first arrived and made his way to the meeting place.
Immediately, Spencer forced himself to calm down, as he closed his eyes and began trying to retrace his route and recall where he had left his car. As he did so, he blocked out both the excruciating agony which wracked his body as well as the voices of gang members continuing their hunt. Even as their voices drew closer, he remained still, with his face scrunched up in concentration. Only when the nearest voices echoed from the neighbouring alley did he finally react and open his eyes.
However, upon doing so, despite how close the gang members now were, there was no fear on Spencer's face, only relief. He remembered. He remembered the path to his car and, in turn, acquired the key for his escape. For the first time since he had accidentally fired his pistol–the result of which he didn't want to think about–he felt hope. And it was with such hope, knowing he was running out of time, that he gave one last to his surroundings before sprinting out of the alley.
As he made his way down the familiar street, any trace of stealth he previously possessed was gone, exchanged for pure speed. Spencer did so because he knew he didn't have the luxury to take his time, not in his current condition. Despite having gotten lucky with the location of his wound–a thought that made Spencer chuckle–he had still been bleeding heavily for almost an hour. At this point, it was taking everything he had just to stay awake. If it wasn't for the adrenaline pumping through his system, Spencer had no doubt he would have passed out long ago. So he raced down street after street with everything he had, towards his car, only a short distance away, his only hope of escape, knowing every second counted.
Thankfully, it seemed like his luck was finally turning for the better, as he didn't encounter a single gang member throughout his entire run. Still, it wasn't without challenges. Multiple times, he nearly fell as his vision blurred and he kept tripping over his own two feet. Yet despite his failing body, he didn't slow. He powered through until finally, a few minutes later, he turned one last corner, and the welcome sight of his Honda Civic, parked on the side of the road, exactly where he had left it, came into view.
The moment he reached his car, crossing the final few metres in a feeble stagger, Spencer was almost brought to tears. It was finally almost over. The thought sent relief flooding through his system as he quickly pulled out his keys from his pocket, ready to leave and never come back. But of course, as was becoming routine, nothing could ever be easy. Just as he struggled to unlock the car door, slowed by his weakened condition, a sudden, guttural shout tore through the night from only a short distance away.
"I've found him!"
Startled, Spencer spun to his left, locking eyes with the lone gang member standing at the street corner, less than fifty metres away. A frustrated curse escaped his lips upon seeing that he'd been spotted, blaming his fatigue for the lapse in awareness. Still, he didn't panic, at least not fully, turning his full focus back towards trying to open the car door. A task made all the harder when he caught, from the corner of his eye, the nearby thug beginning to raise his weapon in his direction.
"Die, you bastard!"
Realising the danger he was in, Spencer contemplated reaching for his pistol, which he had tucked back in his waistband during his escape. Yet before the thought could even fully form, he discarded it. Even if he could hit anything in his condition–something he highly doubted–he still wasn't sure he had the courage to actually fire it. So instead, with shaking hands, he desperately continued trying to unlock the door until, just as the gang member had finally turned his weapon upon him, he heard an almost silent click.
Without wasting a second, Spencer threw open the now-unlocked car door and dove inside headfirst, just as the sound of gunfire resounded in the air. Excruciating pain once more flared throughout his entire body as he awkwardly crashed into the car's interior. Even so, he did his best to ignore it, keeping his head low as he shuffled behind the wheel and worked to start the engine. All the while, the flurry of gunfire his way never ceased, obliterating the windows and sending bursts of glass raining down above him.
By the time he was able to bring his car to life, the once barren streets were now teeming with movement. From every direction, more and more gang members converged on his location, alerted by the myriad of shouts and gunfire all around him. Seeing this, realising if he didn't leave, he would soon be surrounded, Spencer didn't hesitate. With his head below the wheel, barely able to see, he slammed his foot onto the throttle and kicked the car into action.
Panicked screams and shouts soon rang out from directly in front as the car surged forward. Spencer didn't care, barely reacting as he kept his foot on the accelerator and continued onward, regardless of what lay ahead. Only when the curses from in front finally fell silent did he dare to peek his head above the dashboard. It was then that he came face to face with a wide-open road with not a soul in sight.
Even so, Spencer kept his head low, still able to hear the fire of pistols and rifles and feel each impact as they slammed into his car. For what felt like hours, but couldn't have been more than a handful of seconds, he flinched in dread with every shot that connected. Each time, he braced for the searing agony of being shot again. Yet it never came. Instead, the gunfire began to fade, and eventually, after a few more seconds, it disappeared completely. Only then did Spencer find the courage to lift himself from his crouched position below the steering wheel.
No sooner had he done so than a large, triumphant smile burst across his face. Not because of what he saw, but at what he didn't. There was nothing–not a gang member or weapon in sight. There was only him. Yet even so, despite the jubilation he felt at such a realisation, Spencer didn't immediately celebrate. Instead, he schooled his expression and tempered his excitement, focusing on his surroundings as he spent the next ten minutes taking every twist and turn he could. Then, and only then, once he was sure there was no way the Ferrymen could possibly find him, did he finally allow himself to celebrate and relax.
"Yes! You fucking bastards, I did it! I fucking did it!" He screamed in pure ecstasy from his mangled car, uncaring about the alarmed looks he received from the few people present on the sidewalk he passed.
Unfortunately, such celebrations were put to a grinding halt as a wave of weakness suddenly washed over him. No longer fueled by fear and adrenaline, the exhaustion he had been holding back came crashing down, heavy and unforgiving. It took everything he had to simply keep his bleary eyes open, even resorting to digging his nails into his torn and bleeding hands. Every bone in his body screamed at him to take a break, but Spencer didn't yield, knowing he couldn't afford to do so. Not when he was still so close and in the same bullet-riddled car he had just fled in. And so, using every last ounce of willpower he still possessed, Spencer continued to drive.
However, just as he was beginning to near his apartment, thirty minutes and three near car crashes later, he suddenly realised he'd overlooked a serious issue. Already, he was certain the Ferrymen were scouring the city in a rabid frenzy in search of both him and his vehicle, or at least what was left of it. If he were to bring his car back to his apartment complex, he would basically be leading them directly towards him. Because of this, moments before he was about to reach his apartment, he veered into a nearby desolate alley, hidden from prying eyes. There, he abandoned the smouldering ruins of his car before proceeding to limp his way back home for the final leg of the journey, despite how woozy and drained he felt.
By the time he managed to stagger back to his apartment complex, he was barely able to think. His body was crashing. The blood loss was so severe that with every faltering step he made as he climbed the stairs to his apartment, he felt on the verge of passing out. So much so that upon finally making it to his front door, he was forced to brace against it just to stay upright. Yet even so, a small, tired smile could be seen on his lips. He had done it. He had made it back home. That thought alone gave Spencer the strength needed to dig out his keys and unlock his front door.
The moment he did so, he stumbled his way inside, barely having the wherewithal to shut the door behind him. No sooner had he entered than, at the sight of his empty and dreary apartment, Spencer felt the last of his tension drain away. Finally, he was safe. And with that, the mountain of exhaustion he had barely been able to keep at bay came crashing down upon him.
Immediately, his legs became like jelly, with only enough strength to hobble towards his couch before they gave out completely. With a soft thud, he collapsed onto the couch, the cold, familiar leather coaxing a sigh of relief from his lips as his muscles, for the first time in hours, loosened and relaxed. It was an almost euphoric feeling, one that led to his eyelids beginning to droop as the fatigue he'd been feeling suddenly intensified.
He tried to resist, knowing he still needed to tend to his shoulder, which, though no longer bleeding heavily, was still in urgent need of care. But alas, no matter how hard he struggled to retain his consciousness, he couldn't fight against the encroaching darkness. And soon, within seconds, sleep overtook him.