Getting the door open before had been difficult, but with his legs still trembling from the shock of the bomb it was almost impossible. Blood was weeping down his front into his pants.
Travis decided to try a new tactic, rearing back and slamming the door with all his might. The door opened enough for him to scrape himself past.
He still couldn’t recognise the girl. The lighting, the angle. He turned his head this way and that.
Familiar. Like someone he knew.
Upstairs was better lit. He bent down and started to pick her up.
Every movement was agony.
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Travis Redgrave is not having a good morning.
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