"Oui," John muttered over his shoulder hoarsely. He was breathing harder than he had been a couple minutes ago, finding moving difficult. His cracked ribs probably weren't helping. Not that he was unaccustomed to the feel, he'd experienced them a couple times during his younger life, not that anybody knew that.
The blood on his shoulder was no longer confined to the material of his top, it had spread to the gaps inbetween his fingers and was steadily leaking out over the back of his hand.
"You too." John began opening door after door, hoping that one of them led the way out.