Hot metal.
Too organized.
Too precise.
This wasn’t random fire.
This was an ambush.
The van jerked violently sideways.
A volunteer cried out as crates crashed loose from the rear storage racks.
Another burst of gunfire tore through the side panel.
Metal screamed.
The driver cursed—
Then silence.
The engine died instantly.
Bad.
Very bad.
“Out!” someone shouted outside.
Not one of theirs.
Boots pounded against dirt outside the vehicle. Fast. Coordinated. Controlled.
Hannah pushed herself up just enough to assess the damage.
A young volunteer across from her pressed trembling hands against her upper arm while blood slipped steadily between her fingers.
Through-and-through wound.
Bright arterial spray would’ve meant worse.
Still survivable.
Hannah lunged for the medical bag beside the bench seat and ripped it open.
“Pressure here,” she ordered, guiding the girl’s shaking hand tighter over the wound. “Harder.”
The girl looked barely twenty.
Terrified.
“I—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” Hannah grabbed her wrist firmly. “Look at me.”
The girl’s eyes snapped up.
“You keep pressure there and you breathe. That’s your job right now. Understand?”
