Gone.
They got away.
The traffickers got away with the kids.
I failed.
"Stay with me, Gunnar." Hakon's face is swimming above me. "Stay awake. We're getting you out of here."
I try to focus.
Try to hold on.
But everything's slipping.
The pain fading to something distant and cold.
Ingrid.
I promised her.
I promised I'd come back.
"Move!" Fenrir's shouting. "Get him in the truck! Now!"
Hands lifting me.
Agony ripping through my side.
I scream—or try to.
It comes out as a groan.
"Hold on, brother." Ulf's voice. "Hold on."
I'm in the truck now.
Lying across the back seat.
Someone's pressing something against my side—shirt, jacket, I don't know.
Pressure.
Pain.
"Don't pull out the knife," Hakon's saying. "Leave it in. Keep pressure around it."
"I know." Fenrir's voice, tight with fear. "Just drive."
The truck lurches forward.
Every bump sends fresh waves of agony through my body.
I'm fading.
Losing the fight to stay conscious.
"Gunnar." Hakon's face again. "Gunnar, stay with me. Think about Ingrid. Think about going home to her."
