I begin moving, ignoring the chill that seeps into my bare feet. The gunfire has died down, which means that someone’s soldiers have been dealt with. I hope it’s theirs rather than ours, then cringe when I realize just how quickly I changed sides.

The silence that follows has my heart pounding. This isn’t a good situation, us being here in this stairwell with only a single guard to protect the king.

I descend the second flight of stairs. A narrow hallway branches off of it, leading to a door that exits to the back of the hospital. Through the narrow window a nondescript van stands out against the inky black night.

“Is that the getaway car?” I ask.

“It is,” Montes responds from behind me.

I turn to gaze at him. “I’m going out there first.”

“No, you’re not,” Montes responds.

I glance at the guard.

“I take my orders from the king,” he says.

I work my jaw but nod. I have to assume that everyone here can take care of themselves.

“Jose,” the king says to the guard, “you’ll go first, I’ll go second, the queen will go last.”

I open my mouth to protest, but Jose is already moving. I jog to keep up. Once Jose reaches the exit, my stomach clenches. If someone’s waiting for us, we’re either going to meet our maker or be in a whole lot of pain in the next few seconds.

Jose pushes open the door and sprints to the van. The king’s right behind him, and then I’m out the door moving, gun in hand, my skin prickling at the cold night air.

The shot takes us all by surprise. I see Jose and the king flinch in front of me at the same time my body jerks. I already know whose been hit before the pain sets in.

I stumble and fall forward, clutching my side. Dark liquid seeps under my hand, and then the fiery sting of the wound explodes across my skin. I grind my teeth together at the lacerating pain.

The king shouts, and Jose muscles him into the car. Above that I can hear the pound of footsteps coming closer.

“Go!” I scream at them. I want to say so much more, but I can’t seem to formulate my feelings into words. Not now when the pain is pushing every other thought to the wayside.

More shots blast my eardrums, and I jump at each one. Bullet holes dent the van frighteningly close to the wheels. Luckily the night makes the shooters’ aim less accurate.

I lift the gun in my hand and fire in the vague direction of our attackers, but it’s no use when I can’t see them.