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He looks terrible, his skin pasty, his breaths short and ragged.

He's muttering too, in Russian.

For them, it's been weeks, but for him? He only got shot a few hours ago.

Long enough for infection to set in? If Kendra or Emmie were here, they'd know, but Bina thinks maybe.

Bina isn't entirely sure how to handle this situation.

Beside her, Piotyr whimpers, and dances from foot to foot in the thin mud, torn, apparently, between a desire to run out there, and a desire to hide.

"We don't have time for this," says Amie.

"Quiet!" says Gregor again. "Need to… listen."