Shea crawled from the wreckage, blood dripping from her scalp. The remains of the driver were scattered nearby, his blood covered the cool tarmac.
She had laid there after the crash, listening to the screams as the driver had been pulled from the wreckage and then torn apart by the pack they had driven into.
How he had not seen the group in broad daylight she did not know, not that it mattered, Shea knew that dwelling on the past only brought trouble.
She grabbed the tire iron from the car’s trunk and set off along the road.