The ambulance doors slammed shut with a metallic clang. Inside, the vehicle burst forward into the night, sirens screaming through the dark streets. Paramedics worked frantically over the two stretchers secured inside.On one stretcher lay Raymond. His body was pale, his uniform soaked with blood where the bullet had entered his back. Oxygen tubes were pressed against his face while a paramedic checked the monitors repeatedly.“Pulse is weak,” one of them said urgently.“Keep pressure on the wound.”Another paramedic adjusted the IV line running into Raymond’s arm.“Stay with us,” he muttered quietly. “Come on, stay with us.”Across from him, on the other stretcher, lay Tricia. Her breathing was shallow but steady. Blood stained the bandage wrapped tightly around her chest where the bullet had struck.One of the paramedics checked her pulse again. “She’s stable for now.”“But she’s lost a lot of blood,” another replied.The ambulance swerved through traffic, rushing toward the nearest
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