Pain sparked down her arm.
“Move.”
Definitely not a suggestion.
Hannah stepped down from the van carefully, boots crunching against shattered glass and dirt.
Heat rolled off the disabled vehicles ahead.
Smoke curled upward into the bright afternoon sky while one of the drivers lay slumped over a steering wheel several yards away.
Too still.
She forced herself not to stare.
Focus.
Survivors were being separated into groups nearby at gunpoint.
Two volunteers on their knees.
One medic bleeding from the head.
Children crying quietly against each other.
Every instinct inside her screamed to help them.
Instead, she counted exits.
Weapons.
Vehicles.
Terrain.
Survive first.
Help later.
“Doctor.”
One of the armed men stepped toward her.
Tall.
Dark eyes.
Accent thick beneath the hard tone.
“You come.”
Not a request.
Two men grabbed her arms before she could respond.
Hard enough to bruise.
Hannah didn’t fight them.
