The rest he wrapped around the worst of his bite wounds—an open slash on his left calf. The remaining wounds were little more than nicks.
He hadn't given his attackers enough time to do more damage. Thank the gods Shirley hadn't been with him. Her kinetic power had its limits and protecting her might have been the downfall of them both.
He rubbed his eyes wearily, then pushed up from the ledge. Time to get moving. He splashed through the shadows, ignoring the ache in his side and the red-hot needles that thrust through his leg muscles every time he put weight on his left leg.
Up the hill and past the bloated pile of humanity. Past the corner where the fledglings had sprung from their hideaways.
The air became cleaner, fresher, and his footsteps began to echo. He glanced up. The tunnel was widening, the roof pitching upwards. He had to be approaching a cavern.
He slowed, casting his senses forward. There was no sound, no shimmer of life, and yet
