"We'll take you home," John said again, and Sarah worked a hand free of the blanket to place against his chest and stop him in the light from a nearby storefront.
"We'll stop at the clinic first," she ordered, feeling like herself for the first time since she'd been kidnapped. John kept blinking at her, and she could see his Adam's apple bobbing as he fought back nausea. Concussion at the very least. She reached up to the cut on his temple and he flinched away once before settling himself back and waiting, soldier-taut, for her touch. "You need stitches."