Take THAT, you filthy...
Ivan had only let loose a deap-lunged roar as he struck Clio down, eschewing a witty one-liner or an insult screamed in Russian for something a bit more primal. It had felt good; far better than hitting Etain, which was mostly out of irritation. Slugging Clio in the face was out of necessity, and the adrenaline he was now feeling was incredible.
Perfect for turning his ass to the wind and running like hell.
Almost before the girl had slammed down to the ground, Ivan pivoted, scooped up his umbrella with his now-tingling left hand, and dug his heels into the sand to take off. Getting out of there was his first priority, his complete necessity.
Come on, come on, come on...
"G... ghhh..." Ivan whimpered. Fear and the incredible rush of power had mixed into a deadly concoction in his veins. If the situation were anything other than life or death, Ivan's legs would have turned into mint jelly, his body would flop to the sand, and he'd have a fit right there on the loamy-sandy beach. But this WAS life or death. A kid from his own high school, one of his peers, had decided that he was better off dead, and other students were bound to think just the same way.
She was shooting at him! Ivan had sufficiently pissed Clio off to where she was attempting to cash in on her threats... she meant it when she said that she'd kill him. Or maybe she was shooting Etain. Ivan had pushed by him even when he felt like the beach itself was against him, offering little traction and giving under his heels. It wanted him to be caught by Clio. It, too, wanted him dead. Perhaps Etain was already dead, Ivan had no idea. Tabi was still in front of him in the distance, however. She was still quite alive.
Ivan felt the slice of heat and metal through the skin on his right arm. He wasn't sure just how deep he had been hit, but he had. His mother was not a hunter, nor his aunt, and he personally never knew nor cared if his father was (though he imagined that being a musician didn't leave a whole lot of time to murder Bambi), but this had enlightened him; he now knew what it was like to be a deer. To be a deer running from a hunter, armed with a gun, and he had been hit. Perhaps he'd escape, or perhaps he would bleed out and die. Only time would tell, but he was willing to take the route more likely to let him live, if for only a little while.
He kept running.
"Augh... AUGH!" Ivan's short, frantic yells timed with a few of his footsteps. There was no sharp pain besides the one still lingering in his arm. No new friends to join in the carnage of wounds. He was still afraid, though. Clio had alread shot him, and she most likely would not have any particular qualms about shooting him again.
Ivan had heard that one. Not just the eruption from the weapon, but the tell-tale whizzing of the small metal cap itself. This one had just barely missed him. He wasn't even sure how many shots it was at this point, just that he had to get out, had to get out, had to get out, to reach the trees, reach Tabi, reach the trees, get the fuck out of Stalingrad.
He had finally caught up to Tabi, and the pain spurred him to push on faster. Ivan felt no relief even when the ground under him firmed to dirt as opposed to the dry sand of the beach, only concerned with removing himself from the situation. Grabbing a hold of Tabi's left arm with his right, ignoring the pain and blood that must've been present at the time, he pulled her with him as his legs pushed on, working to keep them both alive.
He just wanted to be alone, but that wasn't going to happen any longer.
((Ivan Kuznetsov, continued in Haven't you got eyes in your head?