Chapter Text
One…Two…
“Three.”
The sound of gunfire explodes behind them, and Kurt instinctively whirls. He turns just in time to see Ram falling forward in a bloody heap. There’s a growing puddle of blood underneath him, one that’s only getting bigger with every second.
“Holy crap!” The panic is building in his chest, winding around his throat unbearably tight. Adrenaline pounds its way through his chest, and when he looks down, he realizes that he’d broken into a sprint at some point. He can’t even feel his legs.
“Kurt! KURT!” A voice booms from over his shoulder. He doesn’t even need to look to know that it’s JD, probably saving a bullet just for him.
“You killed my best friend!” he screams. He knows it’s stupid to give away his position, but he can’t help it. All too badly he wants this to be some stupid prank, for JD to laugh and say no and then Ram could stand back up—
Something whizzes past his ear. Kurt sprints in the opposite direction, clearing rocks and twigs. Duck and weave. Just like football practice. Easy. His heart is pounding against his ribcage, and he’s pretty sure one of his feet is bleeding, but most of the feeling in his body has melted away. Instead there’s this constant mantra of run, run, run, thundering through his veins, pounding against his shoulders, and propelling his feet forward.
It’s not long before he loses the sense of where he is or where he’s going, but when a fence comes into sight, he races for it. JD’s a wimpy punkass, and the time it’ll take for him to haul his scrawny ass over the fence is time Kurt can use to get away. Something pierces his foot the second he puts the weight of it against the fence, but he keeps climbing regardless.
By now, he’s so out of breath that things are going blurry. From what breath he can muster, he’s pleading for mercy, but it’s so slight that Kurt can’t even hear himself speak. He’s having a hard time remembering just what it is he’s doing and where he is. From behind him, he can hear JD’s muttering something under his breath, some nonsense about killing dinosaurs, and that gives him a slight pause.
The bullet tears through him.
Pain blossoms in his chest, spreading up to his neck and over to his lungs and heart. It’s throbbing, unending, and all he can really keep track of is the torpidly nearing ground. Time isn’t really a factor anymore. His last few seconds could feel like hours.
He hits the ground, unable to feel anything except the dirt, cold and packed against his bare cheek. Things begin to get a little hazy, the world around him blurring. He can vaguely hear someone—a girl, probably Veronica—yelling, but he can’t quite make out what she’s saying. It’s like she’s speaking in French—and there’s a reason he isn’t taking French this semester.
Now they’re both yelling.
There’s some vague fighting.
A struggle.
Another gunshot.
Sirens.
And then nothing.