Milo heard the groan and glanced over at Andrew. "Hm? Oh, it's you." She knelt next to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "No, don't get up just yet. Your concussion is still bad."
___
Elsewhere, and not very far off, a madman whistled a Christmas song.
Yes, a complete madman. Hardly any sanity left, and what little he did ahve, he clung to by acting less sane than he was. What was his name? Who cared? He was a madman, and he didn't have a purpose anymore. His existence was held together by a few Hispanic strings of DNA, a few old memories, and the need to whistle Christmas carols.
Life was funny like that.