The drive was silent. Everyone in the van was shaking including Lisa. The silence was only interrupted by Lisa mild coughs
Kalisa kept glancing at her mother through the cracked side mirror of the van they had stolen. Lisa's hands gripped the wheel with the unflinching steadiness of someone who had driven through gunfire before, who had threaded dark alleyways chased by men with knives. Blood still streaked her sleeve, drying into stiff patches, but her eyes were clear, her movements sharp. There was no hesitation in her, not since the first shot had been fired at their home.
Kalisa's cousin Steve sat hunched in the backseat, one arm pressed against the fresh bandage Kalisa had wrapped around his side. He tried not to groan, but every bump in the road dragged a hiss from his teeth. He hated the silence, but he hated feeling weak even more.
"Where are we going?" Steve finally asked, his voice rough.
