Another gunshot, another. He is in the weeds now. He is near the drainage ditch. Down in the ditch he will be safe from the bullets.
He cannot run now. He hobbles. He sees the tall slide on the playground. The pain makes it hard to think. Where is he going? The den. How far? Not too far. Just keep going. Keep going.
The ground drops out from beneath him. He falls. There is water in the ditch, but it does not break his fall. He hits hard. Most of the breath is knocked out of him. But at least he has found the drainage ditch.
He gets up. He does not hear any more gunshots. The rain is in his eyes. He tries to see the entrance to the den. He falls again. This time he cannot get up. He crawls. Lions go on all fours, something in his head says. I am not a lion, something answers.
Darkness ahead of him. The mouth of the den?
He collapses. He cannot breathe. Water in his nostrils, his mouth. He turns his head and tries to take a breath. Darkness everywhere now. Is he inside the den? Where is Moe? He does not see her, does not smell her scent. Where is he then?
The voices in his head do not answer his questions. He cannot hear them now. So hard to think. He needs to rest, just rest.
He can no longer hear anything at all.
