The guy's eyes fluttered open a second, and the kid groaned. This close, he looked about seventeen, maybe eighteen at a stretch. His clothes had rips and tears in them, as if they had been bayoneted. Or shot.

Jack tried to focus on the voice talking to him, but it was difficult. His head was pounding. He coughed, then couldn't stop for a minute.

He opened his eyes again, to see a concerned face he didn't know, looking down at him. "Where's--?" There was a dog, too. Jack moved his right arm, trying to reach out, or prop himself up, but that was definitely not going to happen soon.