He wasn’t that far away from the medical kit, but the distance seemed like miles. He had to rest frequently. Sweat broke out to mingle with the blood covering his body. There was a roaring in his head, his pulse thundering loud enough to drown out the natural sounds of the forest. His mouth was dry and his arms like lead.

He left a trail of blood behind him, but he managed to make it to the kit. It took longer to push himself into a sitting position. His hip screamed a protest and for a moment, everything swam in a dizzying circle. He rummaged through the bag, searching for the field IV equipment and more painkillers. Rio was trying to stay focused, but it was obvious he was becoming disoriented.

“You fucking decide to die on me, and I’ll put a bullet in your head,” Conner muttered.

“That’s helpful,” Rio pointed out.

Conner’s hand trembled as he tried to wipe Rio’s arm over the vein. He smeared blood on Rio’s forearm and cursed.

“I’m thinking that you could be just a little more sanitary about this,” Rio added.

“You have bugs crawling all over you. You’re lying in dirt and rotting leaves.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” Rio coughed. The effort to talk was beginning to weigh on him. “I was trying to ignore the bugs.”

Conner poured water over his hands and wiped them, afraid they were so slippery he wasn’t going to be able to get the needle in. “Hold still. And don’t whine while I do this.”

“Ow. Quit poking me.”

“You sound like a girl. I told you not to whine.” Conner took a breath and let it out in an effort to steady his hands. He was weaker than he’d thought. The two of them were very likely going to die there, bleeding out slowly, and the bugs were really going to pick their bones clean.

He felt sluggish and found it hard to concentrate. Once again he wiped sweat and blood from his forehead with his arm, trying to keep his hands clean. Rio had good veins, but Conner’s eyesight kept blurring.

“Just do it,” Rio encouraged and let his head loll back.

Conner didn’t like the shallow way he was breathing, as if he labored for every breath. He was as gentle as he could be with his blurred vision and shaky hands, but he got the needle into the vein. With a sigh of relief, he hastily set up the IV to give Rio fluids.

“Come on, man, hang in there.”

“Hurts like a son of a bitch,” Rio admitted.

“A few minutes and you’ll be feeling better.”

“If something goes wrong . . .”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“No listen to me, Conner. If anything happens to me, you and the others take care of Rachel. She’s got money. Elijah saw to that, but she’ll need all of you.”

Conner swore and bent over Rio. “Look at me. Open your eyes and look at me, Rio.”

Rio’s lids fluttered with the effort, but he managed.

“You. Will. Not. Die.” Conner enunciated each word individually so there could be no mistake. “I’ll get you out of here if I have to pack you out on my back.”

Rio searched his face a long time and then a faint smile crept into his eyes. “I believe you would. You’re a stubborn son of a bitch.”

“Watch what you call my mother. I’m the son of a bastard. Get it right.”

Rio managed another smile and nodded his head.

Conner pressed his hand to Rio’s shoulder and took another swallow of water. He meant what he said. If he had to crawl, he’d get Rio to help. It was a matter of finding the strength.

He rested, drinking water to try to hydrate while he waited for the painkiller to take effect. Rio moaned a few times and grew restless, but eventually he quieted. Conner prepared for the journey slowly and with deliberation. The first thing to do was clean as many of his own wounds as possible. He used the Betadine, which burned like hell. Once he was certain he passed out, but as soon as he came around again, he sewed the worst of the wounds closed to keep from leaking more blood.

He had to pause several times, his body shuddering with pain, shaking so uncontrollably at times he couldn’t work the needle through his skin. He continued doggedly until he thought he’d done enough repairs to stay alive. The next step was to drag jeans over his lacerated legs. That was a hell of a lot harder than he’d imagined and hurt so much more that he actual rolled over onto his hands and knees and was sick.

He gathered weapons next, methodically preparing for the journey. He had to get Rio to a clearing where a helicopter could come pick him up. The others would be looking at the coordinates on the map they’d used for every contingency including this one. They’d be coming, but they needed a place to set down.

It took three tries to get Rio on his back. Each time Conner tried to heft him up, his legs turned rubbery and threatened to give out. Both men were sweating profusely by the time he managed to lift Rio up. Conner began with one step. One foot in front of the other. At first he was conscious of hurting Rio and tried to keep his stride smooth and even to jar him as little as possible, but within a matter of minutes, Conner realized it was going to be a long, bone-jarring journey for both of them.

He walked, or more accurately, he staggered as far as he could go toward his destination until his strength gave out and drove him to his knees. He put Rio carefully on the ground, gave him water and drank himself, both lying down until the air stopped burning in his lungs and he could push himself again to another effort.

By the second hour, Conner realized the others were long gone and no one was coming to relieve him. They were sticking to the plan and meeting at the rendezvous point with the helicopter. He really wasn’t all that certain he and Rio were going to make it there.