Tobias

Tris lies, covered in blood, in the middle of the road. The truck swerved to the side and screeched to a halt, but it still hit her really hard.

I crouch next to her and take her in. Her bloody head, her closed eyes, her arm at an impossible angle.

"Oh, my God." Will runs up to Tris and crouches on the other side of her. Christina is screaming and clutching her head frantically, staring at Tris. Uriah just stands behind me, speechless.

"Uriah, call 911," says Will. I lift her head gently and look at her, my eyes wet with tears and my heart racing. This can't be happening. Not again. She has to be okay.

I rock back on my heels and cover my head with my hands, crying and trying to block out Christina's wails. I feel Will's firm hand on my back.

"She'll be okay, Four. The ambulance is on it's way."

I hear a door slam and look up. The truck driver, a short Candor man, is standing in front of us, running his hand through his hair.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking."

None of us answer, and we all look back to Tris.

All the color is drained from Tris's face. I grab her hand and squeeze it over and over again.

Maybe five minutes later, or maybe an hour later, the ambulance finally arrives. The Erudite push past us and lift Tris into a stretcher. I run to stay by her side, but they put her into the back of the ambulance and climb in with her.

One of the guys gives me a sympathetic look and pats my shoulder before climbing in.

The ambulance drives away, and I'm left staring after it.

Will is comforting a bawling Christina with one arm and has his other hand on my shoulder. He looks at me, his usually cheerful eyes fraught with worry.

"Let's go. I'll drive."

I nod and follow them into the car. Uriah gets in his car and drives himself.

I don't want anything else. I just want Tris to be okay.