“Stay hidden you morons! Are you trying to get yourselves killed?” Isaac whispered aggressively as he attempted to hold his friends against the concrete wall they were using for cover.

Another loud crack disrupted the tense silence of the windy afternoon, immediately followed by a loud moan of agony. Someone behind one of the many car carcasses scattered around the parking lot had been hit by the gunshot.

“What do we do?” worried Jacob, his voice trembling and his breath short.

Noah hesitated. They were caught in a crossfire between two unknown parties. One of them was close, ducking behind a bunch of tires and steel debris. The other, about twenty meters away, was taking cover in a sewer canal and benefitted from extra concealment thanks to the brushes.

Peeking around the corner of the wall, Noah saw a man on the ground. The poor guy was wounded and exposed, a few meters away from his own group. He wouldn’t last long, being such an exposed target - assuming he didn’t bleed out first.

“I want to help him,” Noah said.

“Are you out of your freaking mind?” Isaac screamed.

Noah searched through his backpack and grabbed the first aid kit they had picked up an hour earlier while scavenging the area. It was old and damp, but maybe he could at least stop the bleeding. However, doing so would mean he would have to drag the man out of the kill zone - doing otherwise would be tantamount to suicide.

“Don’t do it!” Isaac protested. “Look, we need to think about this rationally. We don’t have any weapons to defend ourselves with. We don’t even know these people! This isn’t a game, you don’t get to respawn if you die.”

“You’re right, but neither does he.” Noah concluded with resolve.

His heart was racing. The combat was most certainly lethal, he thought, and he was aware there was a good chance he’d lose his own life if he moved. But there was something within that compelled him to try. An instinct, an involuntary impulse reacting to the scene.

“I can’t let my cowardice make victims. Not again.”

He looked at Isaac straight in the eye and breathed in confidently. His muscles tensed, ready to move. His friend’s disapproving eyes showed he didn’t share the same convictions. Noah normally would normally have enjoyed engaging in a battle of wits over a good debate, but there was no time to argue. He would have to settle for a regular battle, in the form of a hook to the jaw, if there was any more protesting from his friend. But Isaac sensed it, making him release his grip, letting out a curse in the process.

Noah wasted no time. Waiting for a break in the gunshots, he rushed to the injured man. A woman yelled at him to stop, her pistol drawn and pointed in his direction. He threw his hands in the air. “Don’t shoot! I just want to help him!” he said, waving his medical kit around.

Another gunshot from the opposing camp bounced on the concrete nearby, missing Noah by a hair. His heart skipped a beat and his throat went dry, but it wasn’t enough to deter him from his mission and abandon the injured man to his fate. The woman nodded at Noah, then shot back at the enemy to provide covering fire.

Noah’s pulse was out of control. He felt a rush of adrenaline as he dragged the man on the asphalt across the parking area to get the both of them out of harm’s way as the fight raged on.

Pulling the man took a lot of effort. He was heavy and tall, probably over two hundred pounds. Unexpectedly, Isaac came out of his hiding spot to give a hand. “Thanks,” Noah said with sincerity once they were relatively out of danger.

The stranger was bleeding profusely and was gasping for air. Noah and Isaac leaned on their patient, searching for the wound. They immediately found it: the gaping hole in the victim’s throat wasn’t exactly subtle. Noah sighed as he put pressure on it and applied gauzes on the fatal injury, but he knew their heroics were ultimately vain. Another death, another failure, he thought. His redemption wasn’t any closer.

The gunfight lasted for a little longer. Three more shots, then an eerie silence for several minutes.

They then heard footsteps coming in their direction. “Come out with your hands up, please,” demanded a female voice in a non-threatening but firm tone. Noah, Isaac and Jacob obeyed. The woman was tall, with dark skin and braided black hair. She held a pistol in her right hand but pointed it at the ground.

“Where’s Brett?” Her stance showed that she was ready to react to any sign of aggression, but she was apparently willing to give them a chance to talk.

“He’s right there, behind the garage. Please, we don’t want any trouble.” Noah said.

“We’re unarmed,” Jacob chimed in, which brought disapproving looks from his companions. He had just admitted they couldn’t defend themselves and were easy targets.

“Karim, go check on him”, she said.

The man she just gave an order to was medium height, slim, with brown skin. As he passed by the trio, Noah handed him the damaged medical kit, but he refused it, shaking his head. He had his own, he showed them.

“I take it you weren’t with the guy from Sandy Hook,” the woman said.

“I assume we would be having a very different conversation if we were?” Noah asked, uncertain.

“You assume wrong. As of today, we wouldn’t be having a conversation at all.”