Olive Juice

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            I scream. Wyatt groans, clutching the stick that protrudes out of his shoulder, right above his chest.

"They shot me," he moans. "Ow, it hurts. Olive, it hurts so bad."

Shot him? My brain fumbles, trying to understand what Wyatt could mean. If the person in the Lodging shot him, that means they have a gun. Service members don't even carry guns. Nothing I've learned has taught me how to treat someone that's been shot. Violence is supposed to be nonexistent.

I hold Rava closer to me and lean over Wyatt. "What should I do? Shouldn't you remove the um... the what's it called... the bullet?"

"It's not a bullet," he whispers. His face, usually radiating with health, is pasty and strained. His eyes languidly wander from me to the trees around us to the Lodging. "We need to leave. Right now."

"Where should we go?"

Wyatt tries to stand and falls to his knees. "It hurts, Olive. I can't walk. It hurts so bad." He timidly pats the wound and winces. Blood turns the sleeve of his navy suit even darker. It looks horrible. I can't even imagine how it must feel.

The Lodging door opens. Wyatt reaches for me. "We have to go! Drag me, Olive! Now, now! Let's go!"

I can't hold Rava, drag Wyatt, and run for our lives all at once. At the moment, shock reigns over my body and it has forbidden fleeing.

I watch as people, men and women, exit the Lodging and approach us with wooden devices in their hands.

"Olive, please. Drag me. They'll kill us," he whimpers, reaching for my hand. His blood stained fingers eventually grasp mine, but I don't move. It's too late to escape. It's too late for everything.

They surround us, at least ten of them, in a seemingly perfect circle. A man steps forward and points the wooden contraption at my head. "Why did you bring him here?"

"What?"

He nods towards Wyatt. "Why'd you bring him here? You against us?"

"No? I don't know. H-he brought me here. I don't know." I trip over my words; they rush out so quickly.

"He brought you here?" The man turns to the others. "We're compromised. There's probably dozens of Service Members and Security headed here now."

"No, not true. No one is coming," Wyatt whispers. His head flops about, as if he's drifting in and out of consciousness. "No one is coming."