Dylan slid back and felt his shoulder with his left arm. It was as he expected: the bullet had passed clean through him.
"No, no. It's gone. It's…gone… Tracking?" He began to slip a little in language, and shook himself vigorously, "How can they track? Are they backed?" His head swam, questions floating about in blood and confusion. He leaned his shoulder towards Avery to bandage. Where did she get bandages? Were they in the truck? Oh wait, the little day bag…. yeah, that's it.
Tracking. What was so interesting? Oh, right. Where?