Qinghe settled back into his seat, still gripping the seat belt that had pulled tight when he tried to stand.
Beyond the windshield, the older man tried to lift his head off the pavement.
But before he could get far, his elbows slipped beneath him, and his cheek fell back against the road.
The woman crouched beside him and pulled at his shoulders, saying something Qinghe couldn’t make out through the outside microphone. She stopped when his bare heels scraped along the ground.
Qinghe’s medical bag was strapped beneath his seat. He barely needed to bend to reach it, and he knew exactly what was inside. Everything he needed was within reach, but he could only watch the woman struggle.
"Reverse," Hanchuan told Zeyu. He was watching the cameras instead of the man in their path. "We haven’t gone past the barriers. We don’t need to drive toward him."
Zeyu checked behind them before slowly backing up. Qinghe felt himself press against the seat as they moved, and the broad man outside immediately stepped away from the older man.
"Wait!" the broad man shouted, waving both arms. "I told you to open the door!"
While he was distracted, the woman slipped her arms beneath the older man’s shoulders and dragged him toward the shade. She stopped twice to get a better grip. Qinghe watched one of his heels leave a faint mark on the road.
Zeyu glanced back at Qinghe, his foot hovering over the brake.
"Keep going," Qinghe told him. He made himself let go of the seat belt and lowered his hand to his thigh. "She’s getting him out of the road."
The man in the delivery jacket hurried alongside the cab, clutching the towel around his neck. His lower lip was split, and he winced as he opened his mouth to shout.
"Water, then!" the delivery man called. "You don’t have to take us anywhere. Give us something to drink, and we’ll let you through."
Qinghe started to think about how little they were asking for now. They could pass a few bottles outside. They had enough to spare.
Then the man slapped the door and pulled at the handle.
Qinghe watched his hand tug against the lock. He was still asking for water, but he kept trying the door.
"Zeyu, stop," Shichen said from the seat ahead of Qinghe. He enlarged the rear camera view as the vehicle slowed. "Two people are coming out behind us."
One man rolled a metal drum out of an alley. The other dragged a broken section of fence, its end catching on the pavement. Both had to pause to catch their breath, but they kept going until the drum and fencing blocked the trailer.
The man beside the drum wore slippers much too large for his feet. His shirt hung open over patches of peeling skin, and he shifted from one foot to the other while he waited. Qinghe wondered how much heat he could feel through those thin soles.
"They were waiting for us to reverse," Zhiyi said, looking at the side display. Her injured leg rested on its support in front of her. "The man at the front didn’t signal them."
Hanchuan looked at the screen. His hand rested beside her seat, and she touched his fingers without turning away.
Qinghe looked back toward the underpass.
The broad man was coming toward them again, taking his time now that they had stopped. Behind him, the woman had reached a pillar. She knelt beside the older man and searched the ground until she found a piece of cardboard to slide beneath him.
"We only need supplies," the broad man said, spreading his hands below the windshield. "You can afford to help. Look at what you’re driving."
The bottle he had taken from the woman was still tucked into his waistband. Qinghe could see the water shifting inside it with each step.
Hanchuan pressed the speaker button. "Move the drum and the fencing. We’re leaving."
"There are people behind you," the broad man replied. He lowered his hands and looked past Zeyu at the seats farther inside. "You going to drive over them too?"
Qinghe clenched his jaw. These men had put the older man in front of the vehicle, then blocked their way out. Now they were blaming Zeyu for putting people in danger.
Behind them, the man in slippers looked toward the underpass. He held a short pipe against his leg, but he had taken his other hand off the drum.
"Tell them to move," Hanchuan said through the speaker.
The broad man ignored him. He was looking at Zhiyi’s raised leg and the water bottle beside her seat.
"You brought your woman out in this," the broad man said. "She looks comfortable enough."
Hanchuan’s thumb went still against Zhiyi’s fingers. Qinghe noticed it because the rest of him barely moved. Zhiyi squeezed Hanchuan’s hand once, then let go as he leaned toward Zeyu.
"Can you push the drum out of the way?" Hanchuan asked.
Zeyu checked the rear camera. "Yes, once that man moves."
Jingwei switched on the speaker and warned the people behind them to step away. The man with the pipe started toward the alley, but the broad man shouted at him to stay.
For a few seconds, everyone stood still.
Qinghe could hear the cooling system above him and someone’s rough breathing through the outside microphone. He watched the man’s loose slippers, waiting to see whether he would move.
Zeyu began backing up.
The man stumbled out of the way just before the trailer touched the drum. Metal scraped over the road, and Qinghe’s shoulders tightened at the sound. The other man dropped the fencing and hurried back toward the buildings.
A stone hit the windshield and Qinghe flinched.
A pale mark showed near the edge of the glass, and the broad man was already bending to pick up another stone. Jingwei sounded the horn before he could throw it.
People beneath the underpass covered their ears. The delivery man released the door handle and backed away. Zeyu kept reversing until they were several vehicle lengths from the barriers.
As soon as the horn stopped, Qinghe heard the woman scream.
The broad man had gone back to the pillar. He grabbed her hair as she tried to stand and pulled her away from the older man. She caught at his wrist with both hands, the cardboard crumpling beneath her knees.
Zeyu braked but Hanchuan wasn’t going to allow it. "Keep moving," he snapped at him.
"He’s hurting her," Qinghe said before he could stop himself.
"I can see him," Hanchuan replied. "But I can also see that he’s watching to see whether we stop."
Qinghe looked at the man’s face. Hanchuan was right. The man hardly looked at the woman as she struggled against his grip. He was watching their vehicle.
That didn’t make her screams any easier to hear. Qinghe gripped the edge of his seat. He wanted to shout at the man, to do something besides sit there while she tried to pull his hand out of her hair.
"Jingwei," Zhiyi said, pointing toward the side display. "The delivery man is coming back."
Qinghe turned.
While they had been watching the woman, the man in the torn jacket had reached their door again. He wrapped the towel around his hand, grabbed the hot handle, and pulled himself onto the step.
Jingwei reached for the controls. Outside, the delivery man pressed close to the door, struggling to catch his breath.
"Don’t open it yet," the delivery man said. He glanced back at the underpass and lowered his voice. "Listen to me first. There’s a gun in the cart."