If I wasn't, then my sister was about twenty feet away, crouched on top of Shrapnel. Sandra was unconscious nearby, and Gretchen. Through the tiny slits that remained of my vision, I saw I was now behind some trees, their trunks taking the brunt of the exploding debris. The fire had reached the gas tank at last. Then a thunderous noise snapped my eyes open, an orange haze momentarily blinding me. That and the fresh deluge of pain chased away the ominous lethargy. My ribs felt like twigs someone snapped within me, but I managed a few ragged gulps of air. Then consciousness returned at the brutal sensation of being dragged. It felt like swimming in quicksand - the more I struggled, the deeper I sank. I tried to force my way past the darkness and the addictive bliss of diminishing pain. Had Shrapnel come back? I wondered, and then didn't care as a lovely numbness began to creep over me. Something shoved me roughly, blasting more pain into me. "Save Sandra," I tried to say, but all that came out was an unintelligible gurgle. The sudden thump of weight onto my shoulders was the most wonderful thing I'd ever felt. With the last bit of energy I had, I sent a bolt of electricity through it.
Then I dragged my right hand over my arm until it reached the spot. With my left hand, I fumbled until I found the lock for the seat belt.
My vision was now totally black and Gretchen's voice was fainter, but my mind still worked.
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