26
My arms hurt, I thought, blinking awake. Why do my arms hurt? And my lip. Actually, everything hurt.
“Mars?” Brett called. “Sweet thing, you have to wake up.”
“I . . . where . . .”
“We’re in Fenwig’s basement,” he said. “Just remember to breathe. We’ll be okay.”
“How long . . .”
“Only a couple of minutes.”
“Are you . . .”
“I’m fine.”
“T?”
“He’s not as good. He’s tied on the bed and bleeding.”
“Bleeding? Fenwig? Bomb? Mac? Bob?” I blathered like an incoherent buffoon, which I was.
“We’re fine,” Mac said.
“Just uncomfortable,” Bob added.
“And Fenwig is on the chair in the corner,” Brett finished.
I scanned the room to see Bob lying on some sort of table with Mac tethered facedown on top of him.
“If we weren’t friends, this would be uncomfortable,” Mac said, trying to stret
