Minho and Newt were taking well-deserved naps on a couple of ugly couches, blankets covering their bodies and tucked in under their chins. He lay on a low cot inside a large cargo hold that currently held nothing but a bunch of mismatched furniture. Thomas shifted to lean on his elbow and winced at the sharp pain in his leg where he’d been grazed by the bullet. He had no idea how those Launcher grenades worked, but he was happy he’d only been hit once. As if her wounds reminded him, he suddenly felt the sting of his own across his whole body. Her skin was pale and marked with streaks of dried blood, and there was black soot on her forehead and a bruise forming on her cheek. Thomas woke to see Brenda’s face staring down at him.
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