Draco stumbled down the hallway hugging the wall, as every so often a soldier in hazmat gear came running past. Confusion was erupting all around them. Shouts in Russian – dismay, anger, fear – the emotions clear even if he couldn't figure out the damned words. His chest was on fire and his shoulder was a similar agony, and blood was dripping on the floor leaving a trail that – if the soldiers were calm enough to pay close attention to their surrounds – wasn't invisible. He couldn't risk calling out to see if Hermione, Weasley, Truffle, and her two unconscious bodies were still behind him so he just kept going, struggling up the stairs, keeping his pain tightly behind gritted teeth and trying not to make a sound. Through the doors, having to wait now and then for one of the soldiers or scientists to open them, but the base was in chaos and mostly all the doors were wide open, security apparently thrown to the bloody wind in the Muggles" confused panic.