8:26

He couldn’t believe they had shot him. He couldn’t believe how much it hurt. He couldn’t believe he was still moving, although he was pretty sure that state of affairs wasn’t going to keep up much longer. He couldn’t believe they had missed him lying there in the dark; he hadn’t really had any respect for them to start with, but that was beyond the pale. And mostly the beaver couldn’t believe that this might actually mean he was going to fail.

I never fail. Well, I might not actually accomplish what I set out to do sometimes, but goals are malleable and I always get something done. But dammit, I never fail. Jesus, it hurts. I really have to do something right now before I pass out or worse.

Damn. I didn’t want to involve him. It just seems so … so inappropriate. And if I ask him for help, I’m not gonna get away with ditching him before the last act. Christ, and the morons have brought guns into it; what the hell are they about, anyway, bloody idiots. No, the guns make it too dangerous to bring anyone else into it; I need to find someone … someone already at risk.

Gareth. Shit, I need to warn him. Or at least get him out of the now all-too-real line of fire. And he can help with this little problem I seem to have acquired courtesy of the gun-toting twits with the politeness problem. Find Gareth, fix me, get him moving away from the action and …

The beaver stopped in his tracks. He had just remembered where he’d been when he encountered the simpletons with the Smith and Wesson.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned. “Fuckity fucking fuck FUCK!”

He started moving again, swinging back toward the apartment he had so lately abandoned. I must be in shock. They know about Gareth. They’ve connected the dots. How could I have missed that simple little fact? I need to find him. I need to fix this. Damn them for fools, I need to stop them. It’s going too far.

Panting heavily and leaving a crimson smear in the grass behind him, the beaver moved painfully up the slope and angled toward the street.

If I can figure out where he was all day … He hadn’t come home, and it was already too late to expect he’d be coming home tonight. So where… the girl! He’d been hanging out with that girl. And that was new. No one else would know about that. The girl could keep him safe and out of it.

The beaver felt the panic start to ebb and a wave of exhaustion take its place. But at least his brain was processing again, and it was starting to formulate a plan, albeit short term.

I need to find the girl, find Gareth and find out what, if anything, they know about this before it explodes in their faces. And while I’m at it, I need to find the interfering varmint and make sure he doesn’t make this worse than it already is. Just my luck and he’ll end up roasted on a spit somewhere and they’ll blame me for it. Then I need to end this stupid farce as soon as possible, before anyone else, including me, gets shot by the handgun-packing halfwits that someone seems to have set loose.