The muscles of Pietr’s back were pinched between his shoulder blades and a wall. His tongue filled up the roof of his mouth, and old spit had dried to his lips. He was injured but alive. His memory came back. He’d found their bar hideout, but… the floor had… that black woman… detonated some sort of explosive right under him. All he could do was shield himself from the direct impact. The force had driven him up into the ceiling… Through it? Maybe. His head was ringing. It hurt to move. Probably a concussion.
Where?
Pietr opened his eyes. It didn’t help. Pitch dark. He could feel that his legs were pushed up at the knees. His fingers ran over every part of his body that they could reach. No obvious bleeding or scabbing. A few tender spots; nothing broken. Buried in rubble? Explosive didn’t seem that big.
Head still ringing.