Malcolm carried her through the street while the dead moved around them, not touching, not turning, not even looking. Iyisha's head rested against his chest, her hair stuck to her cheek, blood still wet under her nose.
Aljun led them back through the building. When they reached the fire stairwell, Iyisha stirred in Malcolm's arms and pushed weakly at his chest.
"I can climb."
"No."
"I said I can climb."
Her voice had no strength in it, but she still tried to twist out of his hold. Malcolm looked down at her, then at the narrow fire stairs ahead. She stared back, stubborn even with blood under her nose and her skin too pale.
He set her down slowly.
Her knees almost gave on the first step.
Malcolm caught her waist before she could fall. Iyisha grabbed the rail and breathed through her teeth, refusing to look at him as she forced herself up the fire stairs one step at a time.
No one spoke behind them.
