Hell, the lot of them were almost skipping, a real contrast to their horrible visage. She thought back to an old recording of Michael Jackson’s Thri...ler, which her father had shown her once.She enjoyed herself, despite recent events—perhaps a part of it—focusing on the joy of simple things made enduring the fears of her uncertain future easier. Smiling, she decided to risk a little more. Remembering her early experiment with communications, she sang the words of the old Disney movie. His breathing was laboured. His arms and legs still bound.Cautiously she moved to his side. She could see his hair plastered to his forehead and into his eyes by sweat. His face was wet with it, as were his arms and torso. Well, the bits that weren't already covered in blood. Tentatively she reached forward and gently brushed the hair from his eyes.He moaned, twitching at her touch, his skin burning beneath her fingers. "He'll need looking after" blistered through her mind.Frantically scanning. More

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