scrunched myself up against his back as he climbed the wall like he'd done at the apartment, but for forty feet instead of ten. His strong hands punched holes into the soft bricks and we scurried up while the car parked at the bottom of the wall.
The gunmen got out, four in number, and shot at us. One or two grazed me, and I know Greg was hit in the hind legs and ass before we scrambled over the side of the roof. Greg picked up the pace and raced toward the adjoining building roof. He jumped the short wall between them and covered several more roofs the same way until we hit the end of the block. I saw the gap that meant a road, but Greg didn't slow down. "Um, road. Road. Road!"
He dove off the side of the building and twisted around so his claws dug into the wall. We slid down twenty feet with his hands creating two thick lines of ruin along the wall. Greg hit the sidewalk running, and we escaped into the alleyway on the opposite side before the men in the car rounded the corner. We ran hard and fast through a myriad of streets and over countless roofs. Greg didn't slow down until the buildings were replaced with orchards and fields, and he didn't stop until we hit an abandoned barn along one of the old highways that led out of the city. By that time he wheezed and coughed, and I was soaked in his blood. He tipped me onto the ground and opened the barn door enough to let me through, and I stepped back when his body changed. His fur sucked back into his body and his frame shrunk to his wimpy size. Bullets pushed out of the shrinking skin and onto the dirt, but the blood clung to his skin. When the transformation was done he wore only a pair of ragged boxers.
Greg collapsed against the door and I caught him before he slipped down into an old cow pie. His eyes closed and his breathing was labored. "Oh no you don't. Don't you dare die on me," I ordered him. I shook him for good measure. He winced and cracked open an eye.
"Mind not jostling me around so much? I'm kind of hurt here," he requested.
"Just as long as you stay awake until I've got a good look at you," I countered. I put my shoulder to the door and opened it wide enough to drag him through. The place smelled of musty hay and pigeon poop, but I found us a nice stall to the side that was dusty but clean. I gently lowered Greg onto a pile of hay and looked at his body. I couldn't see anything through all the blood.
"It's not as bad as it looks," he hoarsely spoke up.
"Good because if it was I'd be digging you a hole," I quipped.
He weakly nodded toward the door. "There's a hand pump out there that should still work. The water's clean enough to drink and wash in."
"I'll go out, but if I come back and find you dead I'll kill you," I warned him. He chuckled and winced when his bruised body told him to hold still or else.
Chapter 14
I stepped outside and found a hand pump a dozen yards from the barn, and an old wooden bucket close by. The handle was rusted, and when I tried to pull it down it didn't move an inch. I glared at it. "Listen, pump, I'm not going to put up with your bullshit. I'm tired, covered in blood, and you're going to give me water if it's the last thing you do." I grabbed the handle with both hands, and pulled with all my strength. It groaned and creaked, and under my stubbornness it gave way. I pumped a few more times before water came out, and got a bucketful before I hurried back to Greg.
I found him on the hay with his eyes open and watching the door. He looked relieved when I slipped inside and went over to kneel beside him. "Trouble with the pump?"
"Yeah, but it listened to reason," I replied. I looked around for rags, but didn't find any ones I'd use to clean wounds.
"That pump can be hard even for my strength," he mused. "If you were able to pull it then that means-" He paused when I pulled off my shirt and tore it into pieces. His eyes wandered up and down my pale, flabby stomach and full breasts.
"My face is up here," I
The gunmen got out, four in number, and shot at us. One or two grazed me, and I know Greg was hit in the hind legs and ass before we scrambled over the side of the roof. Greg picked up the pace and raced toward the adjoining building roof. He jumped the short wall between them and covered several more roofs the same way until we hit the end of the block. I saw the gap that meant a road, but Greg didn't slow down. "Um, road. Road. Road!"
He dove off the side of the building and twisted around so his claws dug into the wall. We slid down twenty feet with his hands creating two thick lines of ruin along the wall. Greg hit the sidewalk running, and we escaped into the alleyway on the opposite side before the men in the car rounded the corner. We ran hard and fast through a myriad of streets and over countless roofs. Greg didn't slow down until the buildings were replaced with orchards and fields, and he didn't stop until we hit an abandoned barn along one of the old highways that led out of the city. By that time he wheezed and coughed, and I was soaked in his blood. He tipped me onto the ground and opened the barn door enough to let me through, and I stepped back when his body changed. His fur sucked back into his body and his frame shrunk to his wimpy size. Bullets pushed out of the shrinking skin and onto the dirt, but the blood clung to his skin. When the transformation was done he wore only a pair of ragged boxers.
Greg collapsed against the door and I caught him before he slipped down into an old cow pie. His eyes closed and his breathing was labored. "Oh no you don't. Don't you dare die on me," I ordered him. I shook him for good measure. He winced and cracked open an eye.
"Mind not jostling me around so much? I'm kind of hurt here," he requested.
"Just as long as you stay awake until I've got a good look at you," I countered. I put my shoulder to the door and opened it wide enough to drag him through. The place smelled of musty hay and pigeon poop, but I found us a nice stall to the side that was dusty but clean. I gently lowered Greg onto a pile of hay and looked at his body. I couldn't see anything through all the blood.
"It's not as bad as it looks," he hoarsely spoke up.
"Good because if it was I'd be digging you a hole," I quipped.
He weakly nodded toward the door. "There's a hand pump out there that should still work. The water's clean enough to drink and wash in."
"I'll go out, but if I come back and find you dead I'll kill you," I warned him. He chuckled and winced when his bruised body told him to hold still or else.
Chapter 14
I stepped outside and found a hand pump a dozen yards from the barn, and an old wooden bucket close by. The handle was rusted, and when I tried to pull it down it didn't move an inch. I glared at it. "Listen, pump, I'm not going to put up with your bullshit. I'm tired, covered in blood, and you're going to give me water if it's the last thing you do." I grabbed the handle with both hands, and pulled with all my strength. It groaned and creaked, and under my stubbornness it gave way. I pumped a few more times before water came out, and got a bucketful before I hurried back to Greg.
I found him on the hay with his eyes open and watching the door. He looked relieved when I slipped inside and went over to kneel beside him. "Trouble with the pump?"
"Yeah, but it listened to reason," I replied. I looked around for rags, but didn't find any ones I'd use to clean wounds.
"That pump can be hard even for my strength," he mused. "If you were able to pull it then that means-" He paused when I pulled off my shirt and tore it into pieces. His eyes wandered up and down my pale, flabby stomach and full breasts.
"My face is up here," I
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