Carl helped me into the back seat of the car. My body throbbed with pain—every bruise and scrape announcing itself now that the adrenaline was ebbing. My arms trembled. My chest burned from too many shallow breaths. I collapsed onto the seat beside Grace, who was still unconscious, her head lolling against my shoulder.
Vera was already in the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles had gone white. Her face was tight with focus, eyes darting between the road ahead and the rearview mirror.
Red let out a raw, pained groan. His leg was drenched in blood, the makeshift bandage I'd tied from his torn uniform barely holding up under the pressure.
"Damn it," he hissed, clutching his thigh. "It's burning like hell."
"Stay with us, Red," Carl said quickly, slamming the door and sliding in beside me. "We're getting out of here."
He glanced behind us through the shattered back window. "Go!"
