The bolt isn't going to be enough, Rhade knows. There's a trash bin in the alley, and the lid from that will have to suffice as a shield. He grabs it in time to hear the two men coming (still at a distance, and is that a third? Is someone following them? Did something get a whiff of his injuries? Dog keen ears do not always help one's paranoia). Good thing? They won't want to come into one of the more well lit areas. Bad thing? The lighting pretty much shows the drips of blood, no matter what his efforts to keep from leaving a trail had been.

But there are only the two darkly dressed men chasing him, and Mr. Crossbow is out of bolts. He and his friend exchange glances, before the one with a knife starts down the alley as the other does a double check for ammunition, standing outside the alley with his back facing the way that Cindy would be coming.

He doesn't find any while there's sounds of scuffling, but his attention snaps up sharply. There's a metal clang and the fellow that braved the alley first is thrown out onto the street, moaning and holding his face with both hands. There is a ninety percent chance of a badly broken nose there.