After exploring the coin laundry a little further, John decided it was a good place to hold up until they were certain they'd broken contact, or until they couldn't wait any longer. Staying the night in the city was not an option, especially with a wounded man.
After about an hour, John rallied those not on security into the back of the room. “We're leaving through the back alley, we'll move down to seventh street and then make our way toward the hill at Worth street. Once we're there, we'll get some overwatch on the motel and wait a while, see if we're being followed.”
Everyone nodded, and then Syri lifted her hand.
“Bobby's not doing that great. If he passes out, we're going to need to carry him. Just saying, if we make too much of a detour it'll slow us way down when we're carrying another man and all his gear.”
“I'm aware,” John said, “Worst case, we'll try to get a helo ride.”
“They're pretty much out of fuel for that old Huey,” Christopher said. “Not to mention it breaks down more often than it flies.”
John didn't like the talking, it wasn't going anywhere and certainly didn't help anything. “Time for talking is over. Get them off security, we're moving now.”
Syri moved over to Bobby and tapped his face a few times, “Hey, I know you feel like shit, but we've got to go.”
“Alright,” Bobby said, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head. “I'm up.” He began to stand, and fell into Syri's arms before using her as leverage to get to his feet.
“Hand off his stuff.”
Michael slung his rifle behind his back before picking up the light machine gun. It was considerably heavier than the rifle he had, which was already a weight he wasn't used to carrying. “Someone else get the bag?” he asked.
Christopher took of his bag and put it aside, he put his arms out in front of him and nodded to Michael, “Hand it here.”
Michael went to give him the bag.
“No no, I mean slide it on to my chest, spin it around as if you were putting it on my back.”
Michael got the idea, sliding the bag on to his arms.
“Now help me with my bag.”
He picked up Christopher's original back pack and slid it on to his back.
“Weapon.” Christopher snapped his fingers.
Feeling like a gopher, Michael picked up the rifle and handed it to him.
“Okay, good to go,” Christopher said, shifting the weight on his shoulders trying fruitlessly to find a comfortable position as the straps dug into his shoulders where they crossed over each other.
The others had already began filing into the back room and out into the alleyway. Michael and Christopher were the last two to leave the coin-laundry. Looking back, Michael scanned the street outside, hefting the light machine gun into as comfortable a position on his hip as he could figure. When he turned around, the group had lined up in the alleyway. John was walking toward the rear with Amanda in tow.
“Here, give it to her.”
“What?” Michael asked.
“The machine gun, pass it to Amanda.”
“I've got it.”
John sighed, slumping his shoulders as he looked at him with frustration. “I need it to be in the hands of someone who knows how to use it Michael. Did they teach you machine gun theory in flight school?” he asked, grabbing the handle and pulling the weapon from Michael's grasp with one strong arm.
Michael looked at John with a glare of disgust, barely hiding the reality of his embarrassment as Amanda hefted the weapon up, cocked it, opened the feed tray, checked the position of the rounds and slammed the feed tray shut.
“You weren't even cocked.” She said, smiling almost apologetically.
“Stick to her.” John said. “She needs ammo? You go to Christopher, get the box from Bobby's bag and get back. Got it?”
Michael nodded, but didn't speak a word.
“Good,” John said, “Let's go.”