Some rather spectacular bruising is already showing up on Sunshine's right shoulder and arm, the one curled protectively to her chest. Her left hand is busy white-knuckling its grip on the trashcan to keep her upright as she is sick. Afterwards, as she coughs and spits to get the taste out of her mouth, her throat is still too tight with lingering terror to let her speak.

Forgive her if she doesn't respond right away, Nikola. Her thoughts are nowhere near coherent at the moment.