Lachlan’s hand fell back to his side when Fiona did not accept his offer of help. Far from being annoyed at her refusal, he actually felt faintly glad of it. He was able to stand on his own two feet, but helping someone up onto theirs too might have been asking a bit more of him than he was currently capable of providing.
Every moment counted when it came to putting distance between them and the twisted remnants of the train tracks. There wasn’t a doubt in Lachlan’s mind that the town marshall had heard the explosion, and would be bearing down on the scene of the crime even as they spoke. Lachlan did not waste his breath and opted to nod to Fiona as he grabbed his bicycle, mounting it with a ginger care he had never displayed before, even as a child when learning to ride for the first time. Despite that care, pain still lanced through Lachlan’s back, but it was nothing to the pain he knew would come his way if they were caught.
They fled into the night, disappearing back into the shadows far more quickly than they would have managed on foot. And when the path was smooth, Lachlan barely suffered for his injuries. Fiona had done a good job of repairing the worst of the damage, but it hadn’t been healed entirely. That much was proven every time the bicycle wheels ran over a small rock or dip in the road, and the minor sensations jolted through him like lightning.
After a time that felt like an age but had really hadn’t been long at all, they reached Nagaraja’s house. Lachlan was gratefull that the man had no close neighbours, so he and Fiona did not need to sneak around to the back to avoid being scene.
Lachlan cast his bicycle unceremoniously aside, letting it clatter to the floor as he walked up to the front door and thumped his closed fist against it. It was very late, but it was possible the man might be awake. From Lachlan’s vantage point, the blast had been deafening, but even this distance away it would have been loud enough to shatter the peace of the night.