Chapter SevenROARK’S LEGS TWITCHED. He stared at the darkening sky, as if from a deep swirling well. His utilities shredded, blood streamed from cuts on his forehead. He felt the crunch of teeth in his mouth and was dully aware he still had a tongue. A large fragment of shrapnel was lodged in his arm, just below the shoulder, and his tibia protruded from his trouser leg.
He blinked, unable to move, a steel noose around his ribcage. He faintly felt the processes working, could faintly feel his pulse. Shock slowly oozed through him and dulled the stabbing pains burning through his body.
Roark’s sky grew darker from the blur of black figures crowded over him. His limbs felt cold, and he shivered. Grimm ripped into the medical kit he had snatched off Doc Carson. Latimere picked at the smalle
