His neck felt squashed and ached in a strain like he had been sleeping at an awkward angle. Evan opened his eyes and a wave of pain and nausea overwhelmed him. His head pounded in the most severe migraine of his life. He tried to speak, to call for help from the murmured voices around, but the effort needed proved too much to hold back a retch; with a leaden hand he reached for the car door, finding the handle in a strange position, and pushed it open. The world looked upside down but it didn’t matter. He dragged himself out and collapsed onto the grass and vomited. 

He lay on the damp ground, breathing in the night air, which helped a little, and stared unfocused at the wavering stars in the sky, hearing the distant cries of zombies. He knew enough basic first aid course that he suffered from a concussion. Running was out of the question for a while. The vertigo persisted. He felt liquid drip down his ear. He touched it and saw blood coat his fingers. He wiped at his forehead - more blood - and down his chin. His head had split open on the side, where the source of hammering agony was. “Dammit,” he muttered. Evan chanced to sit up. His vision swam and he felt the rise of bile. It took many seconds before stability returned. The rest of his body felt fine. He removed the roll of bandage and aspirin from his backpack, popped four pills into his mouth and had a drink with it, then offered the medication to anyone who needed it. The zombies were shuffling closer to the smell of fresh blood. They had time but not much. “I need my head wrapped up, can someone please help me?” he asked, even though the driver looked like he was in far worse shape than himself. If there was enough time, he would help him after the flow from his head was stymied.