TUELLER: “How long have I been?”
MILLICENT: “Maybe a minute. I think your concussion has a concussion though, so if you try to stand up too fast I’ll burp at you and you’ll go back down.”
TUELLER: “Others?” Tueller looks around wildly to see who is around, and leans over to throw up again.
STORY: Tueller, you’re shaken up and a little cloudy – a four story drop will do that to you – but the damper did its job. Once you shake the cobwebs out you’ll be a little creaky and otherwise ready for action.
MILLICENT: “They’re chasing Miguel, who, and I’m sure you’re just learning this now, is bad?”
TUELLER: “No concussion. Just got punched in the gut by the ground.”
TUELLER: “I learned it about 2 seconds before I went out the window.”
MILLICENT: Under her breath, “Sounds like enough time to tell me. Millie, the cute cop is bad. See?”
MILLICENT: “Anyway, our car service is two minutes away.”
STORY: “You left your family, Alejo.”
STORY: “That’s who we were.”
STORY: He coughs again. More blood.
STORY: He’s not looking good.
ALEJO: Alejo nods, solemnly. “You were, Miguel. Cali was.” Alejo kneels down, palms up, and eases closer, friendly. “And I’m sorry for leaving you. Both. But the RDG. Exodus. Whatever. They used us. All of us. You know that. Right?”
ALEJO: “Let me help you, Miguel.”
STORY: “Too late for that, I think.” You see a dark, wet stain on his belly, previously covered by his arms.
ALEJO: He reaches out and touches Miguel on the shoulder, not reaching for the data file. “Jesus, Miguel. I’m sorry.”
STORY: “Too late for that too, brother.”