The sedan held the lead, headlights cutting a narrow tunnel through the dark. Behind it, the truck followed close, steady and heavy, towing the damaged pickup that rattled and groaned with every bump in the road.
Iyisha's shaking worsened again, sharp enough that it pulled a soft sound from her throat. Malcolm felt it immediately and leaned forward from the back seat of the sedan.
"She needs medical," he said to the driver. "Now."
The driver glanced at him in the mirror, jaw tight. "I know. But I can't speed up."
"We don't have time," Malcolm said.
The driver shook his head. "If I pull ahead, I'm alone. That's how hijacks happen out here. We stay with the truck."
Malcolm's jaw flexed as he looked back down at Iyisha, frustration burning beneath his control.
She felt it through the haze. With effort, she lifted her hand and touched his arm, fingers trembling, barely strong enough to keep contact.
"Don't," she whispered. "Stay together."
