The kid was right, too. Spike pushed up to his feet, flinching as the movement caused pain to flare again in his side, and staggered backwards to lean against the wall again. From there he looked anxiously up and down the alley. A few doors he could try, on this side, a few on the other, in the sun. Failing that, it was going to be a case of pulling his coat over his head and making a run for it, hoping he found somewhere before he went up in flames.
"'M not eating rats," he said, automatically. "'M not bloody Angelus."