Zubair looked down to see that his arm was still bleeding.
For some reason, he wasn't healing nearly as fast as he had been when the fight first broke out.
While the bleeding had slowed down so that it was no longer life threatening, it was enough to be a problem. The fabric Elias had tied there was dark and heavy, and every time Zubair lifted his hand to throw his fire, the pull in his muscles reminded him that his body had not finished healing.
But no one was willing to cut him a break today. More engines rolled in again. It looked like the General hadn't given up… even in death.
However, this time, there seemed to be fewer engines. Not the General's big convoy.
These were faster vehicles, light trucks and bikes, coming in through the smoke with men already on foot. None of them wore badges. None of them showed colors. That didn't matter. They came from the same direction. That made them enemies.
