None of the alcohol gets in my eyes, but it gets close enough for the fumes to get me squeezing them shut.
“Hey, could you hand me a towel or something?” I ask. “I can’t see.”
There’s a loud crash and a lot of shouting, and I can feel the vibration of people trying to get out of here.
“What’s going on?” I ask, hoping Tom hasn’t just left me here to the mercy of whatever everyone else is trying to run away from.
“Police, freeze!” someone shouts in the distance, and I’m on my feet.
I have to squint, but I manage to get my eyes open enough to see where I’m going as I try to make my way inconspicuously to the back door.
Someone grabs my hand, and I turn, ready to get pepper sprayed or tackled, but definitely handcuffed. I turn to find one of the guys from the crowd turned halfway away from me, and he’s tugging on my hand as if he’s my dad and we’re about to cross the street.
“Where are you going?” the guy asks.
“Let go,” I tell him.
“Take me with you,” he says. “I can’t go back to jail.”
“Let go of my hand,” I tell him.
He’s panicking and not hearing a word out of my mouth.
“I can’t go back to jail,” he repeats. “Come on.”
The problem is that he’s not moving. He’s just standing there with those eyes all big and white, and I try to pull my wrist away again, but he’s got me in a death grip.
“You’ve got three seconds to let me go,” I tell him.
“Come on, man,” he says. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do.”
“I’m not your mom,” I tell him. “And time’s up. Let go now.”
He doesn’t let go.
My free hand stings as I pull it away from his face. I think my first intention was to punch him, but it’s bad form to knock someone else out when police are raiding a place, so I opened my hand at the last moment.
He’s still standing there, but he’s let go of my wrist.
There must not be that many cops here, because they still haven’t made their way through the rest of the crowd, and I make my way toward the back of the building.
There’s no rear entrance, but there are a couple of windows, though they’re small and I have no idea whether or not they actually open. I’d hate to have to break something, but time is a factor here.
I duck down before I get to the first window, just in case I was wrong and there are police waiting out back for someone to try what I’m about to try. I test the window.
It opens, but not easily, and it makes a piercing squeak as I lift it, drawing the attention of at least one officer, because someone behind me is shouting, “Step away from that window!”
I don’t think I will.
I climb out the window and, as soon as my feet hit the pavement, I’m running. There’s no telling how many cops are out front, so for now, I’m just staying behind the buildings.
“Hey!” a voice shouts a little ways behind me, but I’m not stopping for anything.
I’ve gone about three blocks before the exertion of the fight kicks in and I watch the last bit of useful energy draining from my body. I duck behind a dumpster and peek my head out to look at the path behind me.
If someone was chasing me at first, they’re not anymore.
I stand up again, slowly.