I roll onto my side, sheer survival instinct driving me to my hands and knees, and cough up blood. I spit out the thick liquid as quickly as possible so I can breathe. I retch once, twice, then finally fill my lungs with the dusty, foul air of the safehouse, which strikes me as nothing but delicious right now. I suck in a few deep breaths. The black spots in my vision disappear, my heart rate normalizes, my limbs regain strength.