Life and Death… freestyle write, part 2

Continued from part 1…

There was a thud as someone behind him hit the ground… probably the recipient of the bullet.  His chest hurt, everything from his neck down was on fire. Michael tried to get up, and gave up. He slumped face first into the shallow water, taking a mouthful of sand in the process.
So this is how I was meant to go? Was his last thought before everything went dark.
The commotion brought him back, the smell of battle and violence, blood and guns, arrows flew past… rifles went off. He decided to stay down for a moment, until he could maneuver how he was going to get up without being hit. Tilting his head, he looked back up the beach, they were more than he remembered… and seemed to be spilling in from the dense forest. And then he turned and saw his comrades. Five brave souls, an arrow whizzed past his head and struck! Four brave souls. Mark fell off the canoe and splashed into the water.
Hamisi and Lewis were yelling at him to get into the boat, he tried to get up but his arms failed him. The arrow had done more than enough damage, He was bleeding out fast. The pain was excruciating, but he needed to get into that boat… or he was definitely going to die on that beach… with these savages. No can do. Michael made one last determined effort and pushed himself off the ground, his broken ribs grazed against one another under his chest… the arrow wasn’t helping. But he was on his feet and dragging himself to the boat.
Lying on the floor and peeking out the front of the boat, Juma and Modi, the two coast guard officers were shooting down bow and arrow wielding savages  one after another. Michael got to the boat and managed to catch a glimpse of a head hunter as a bullet struck him clean on the forehead. A head shot! He caught the irony. The ragged fellow in a filthy and tattered brown shirt and blue jeans that were equally as tattered, was jerked of the ground, legs in the air… arms flailing and then landed hard on his back. His right leg flinched once, and then he didn’t move. Juma took a moment to admire his marksmanship with a slight smile. Then he was firing again.
‘They’re too many! We need to go now!’ Hamisi was shouting as he grabbed one of the oars and began to row wildly, Lewis lunged at the other one and followed suit.  An arrow struck the floor of the canoe between them. They rowed harder.
As they pulled away from the shoreline Modi and Juma began to laugh, slowly at first, then it got more intense, the other two joined in and in a few seconds all four were in hysterics in that little boat. It was more of a nervous celebratory laugh than anything else. Michael attempted to join in but his ribs shot waves of pain throughout his nervous system.
He blacked out again…

The saga continues…

Life and death… a freestyle write I just did for kicks(What say you? Should I continue?)

He couldn’t run any further, his legs had given out. Breathing was proving to be a task, he gasped for air but couldn’t fill his lungs with it fast enough. It was over.
Michael’s brother followed behind him, also exhausted.  They had been running for the most part of the night, people were not designed to have this much endurance. It was finished.
‘Michael…’ Lawrence called out from behind him, ‘Michael… we have to rest.’ He sounded as beat as he looked. This was quite an unpleasant crux they had gotten themselves into, and his brother was not going to like what he was going to say next.
‘Lawrence, we cannot afford to. They are still on our tail, we have to keep moving.’ He said.
‘But I can’t…’
‘You have to. Now let’s go!’ He cut his brother off firmly and struggled on. Lawrence had no choice but to keep up. A stumble, a limp and he regained his stamina, or what was left of it, to keep jogging.
They could hear the primitive cries of the head hunters in the distance. Not close enough to be seen, but definitely close enough to be heard. This gave the two renewed strength, they quickened their pace. They were almost there. Just a few more paces and…
Lawrence fell. Michael turned to see his brother writhing on the ground, blood spurting out of the spot where an arrow had lodged itself at the back of his neck. His eyes were wide open as he choked on his own blood, Michael felt a chill run down his spine despite the fact that there was a humidity in the air that made the shirt he had on stick to his sweaty back. He looked up, the beach seemed deserted, there was no one in sight. Yet someone had to have shot that arrow. They had gone quiet now, wherever they were, and he got the feeling he was being stalked like prey. He was.
He took one last look at his brother and swallowed, or attempted to. The lump in his throat was too painful to swallow, he had been unable to voice anything… his shock, his anger, his pain. All his mind could comprehend was the sight of his sibling’s lifeless body on the sand before him. He shot off in a sprint.
They were on his scent. He felt them behind him, still out of sight he was sure, though he didn’t dare turn around. But they were definitely there. His bare feet disturbing the flat sandy surface as he got closer to the water… he was almost there.
He felt his rib cage crack and then give way as the arrow broke through it from behind and punctured his left lung, shattering its way through the front and just peeking out of his chest. He felt himself collapse and hit the water. He could taste its saltiness, and then he could taste his own blood. The pounding footsteps got closer. This was it. It was finished.
Then, just as he was about to give up he heard the first gunshot. Hope…