I don't know for how long but my head was a mess from all the adrenaline. I pelted up the road faster than I'd ever cycled before, guided by orange streetlights and the headlights of vehicles strewn all over the street. I could vaguely hear shouts, screams and shots, but I was only really conscious of the path I had to take, through the crescent, bypass the clogged high street by cutting through the car park, where I had to skid around a four by four to avoid a silhouette which was staggering along wheezing.
It was hard to scan the car park for danger with only one streetlight far up ahead. I kept hitting curbs and skidding on something slippery, which I hoped wasn't blood, I couldn't see any bodies anyway. I halted before the gate, threw my bike over and followed it, looking about in case anything was following me, but it looked like I hadn't attracted any attention from whatever was going on on the high street.
I passed a few warehouses and the fire station, where the light streamed out of the garage. The truck was out, and I had I been religious I'd have prayed or something for the poor blokes. I wheeled through the massive doorway and looked about me. I had thought 'fire axe' right away, but there were only tools and grease. The door to the station itself was locked, and I could hear or see anyone through the glass. I pedalled away up the road, away from what was left of my hometown.
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