ABIGAIL KNEW WHAT KNOCKING on death's door felt like. She was pretty sure she'd had one foot through the door for half her life.
The voices around her were foreign and unknown. The English registered, but not the words. She kept her eyes shut, testing one finger and then one toe at a time, taking stock of what hurt, what didn't, and gathering the shreds of her memory.
Amman. The Smiths. Luke and Ethan. The bomb. Running. More Luke. The Pit. Baron. Zach. Always Luke. The mercenaries.
She could account for almost all of it, except toward the end.
Her last memories were from the desert and being on the road with Luke.
It was the perfect way to go, in a sense. Except for the part where Luke would be left with her body. But that appeared to be anything but the case now.
A voice drew neare
