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Adam rolled over to his knees, vomiting on the forest floor. His skull split like two earthen plates were colliding to form a mountain in the center of his forehead.
Somewhere, Luther’s voice said, “Guess I was right about the puking.”
Adam couldn’t see. He fell forward, palms out, and one landed in warm, stinking chunks. His head was so full, bursting with what he’d witnessed. And experienced. He retched again, certain that this time his eyeballs would pop. Oh, God.
“Adam?” Luther said. “Are you done? s**t. Virgil, get his other side.”
A pair of hands gripped Adam’s right arm, and then a few seconds later, his left. Adam’s legs trailed behind, scraping dark tracks in the moist soil as the two men dragged him. His left side suddenly dropped, his thigh striking something solid when
