Deckard ran.

The kid disappeared through the door to his house.

Deckard jetted down the road that was getting shelled by the Syrian Army.  Gunfire chased after him.  Voices yelled behind him.  His boots beat the street.  His heart was beating right out of his chest as he did the only thing he could do.

He ran.

Deckard swerved down a side street as another burst of AK fire skipped off the pavement behind him.  He was vaguely aware of the black bars closing in on either side of his vision as he sprinted for an open doorway.  He was getting tunnel vision, target fixation.  Flight was his only option.  Fight would be like a suicide mission but worse.

Deckard ran.

His legs powered him up the stairs.  He could hear footsteps beating up the steps after him.  On the second landing, he pivoted and fired off a ten round burst with his rifle into the shadows below him before charging back up the stairs.

Where was he going?