He pulled a rumpled pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and bit one out, realizing too late that he didn’t have a lighter anymore.
He willed his sore limbs into motion and pushed himself up off the floor, and looking down at his seat Luke realized he was bleeding.
With a trembling hand, he reached up under his torn shirt and felt around until his fingers brushed the edge of the wound he hadn’t known he had.
Pain that had just been waiting for acknowledgment washed over him in a tidal wave, bathing him in agony.
He fell to his knees and clenched his teeth as sweat started to pour from his body.
Through the haze, he started to hear noises coming from outside and, listening closer, realized that they were footsteps.
He checked the bullets in his revolver. Only three left.
He forced himself over to the far wall and leaned up against the plaster to the left of the room’s only entrance and waited.