The cold saltwater of the harbor stung Vikram's skin as he pulled Mr. Desai onto a quiet, stony pier. Rohan climbed up after him, his teeth chattering from the cold and the pain of his leg.
A pair of headlights cut through the rainy darkness. A white delivery van slid to a halt on the wet asphalt.
The side door slid open. Rhea and Rahul were inside, their faces filled with relief.
"Get in! Quick!" Rahul called out.
Vikram hoisted Mr. Desai into the back of the van, then helped Rohan up. Rahul slammed the door, and the van accelerated into the dark streets, splashing through deep puddles.
Rhea immediately began wrapping Mr. Desai in warm blankets. He was shivering violently, his skin pale, his pulse weak.
"We're heading to the old shipping yard in Mazagaon," Rahul said, steering the van through a series of narrow back lanes to avoid police checkpoints. "No patrols go there. It's too close to the chemical docks."
Vikram sat back against the metal wall of the van, his muscles aching from the electrical strain. He looked at Mr. Desai. The old man was breathing shallowly, but his eyes were open, fixed on Vikram.
"You did it, Vikram," Desai whispered, his hand trembling as he reached out. "But the real battle... has just begun."