Not yet.
They grab my arm.
Hard enough to bruise.
I don’t react.
I catalog.
Direction.
Terrain.
Distance.
Anything I can use later.
Because there will be a later.
There has to be.
They push me toward another vehicle.
Different from ours.
Cleaner.
Waiting.
Prepared.
Definitely planned.
I glance back once.
Quick.
Subtle.
Count heads.
Count movement.
Look for—
Nothing.
No one’s getting out of this right now.
Not like this.
Fine.
Then we survive.
We wait.
We find the opening.
