The sound of feet hitting the damp pavement echoed flatly off the buildings in the cool night air as he ran, and his heavy breath filled the spaces in between. He stepped on a small wall and grabbed the wrought iron fence behind it as he flung his legs over and into the bushes. His chest burned as he forced his breathing slow and quiet despite the blood pounding in his ears. More flat echoes arose, and he held his breath to watch shadows pass the leaves, trying not to panic as the harder footsteps came to a stop too short a way down the street.
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
“We can’t let him get away.”
“Whose fault would that be?”
“Just go back and make sure we didn’t miss him hiding someplace. You check around the block, and we’ll head for that clinic they like to run to. Go!”
The footsteps resumed as his lungs begged for air, most of them heading away, but one set passed his hiding place again, slowing and irregular, scuffing and tapping, wandering as a shadow passed over the leaves. Every muscle tightened, prepared to spring away, as his brain struggled to remain conscious without oxygen, but the shadow passed and the scuffling, searching footsteps faded back the way they came. Air returned to his lungs in a gasp and his mind welcomed it, but his stomach responded differently to the relief, and he lurched to throw up against the back of the wall.
