Scarlett opened her eyes. Blackness. The thumping continued, loud and hollow, from somewhere above her. She heard the hum of tires, felt the sense of speed. “Hello?” she said. “Scarlett?” “Sal?” Suddenly hands cradled her head, fingers brushing her hair back from her face. She smelled the spicy-rose scent of Sal’s cologne. She struggled into a sitting position and hugged her husband fiercely. “How?” she mumbled into his shoulder. “You’re all right,” he said. “That noise, the banging?” “It was me. I was kicking the damn door.” “Where are we?” “In a van. They took us.” She recalled the explosion, the dead Marines, the car crash. Scarlett’s gut knotted with reawakened fear. “Thunder?” she said. “Where’s Thunder?” She looked around but couldn’t see anything in the dark. “Big fellow? He’s here. They brought you in together.” She crawled blindly forward and discovered an inert body lying in the center of the van’s cargo body. Thunder.
