“Okay,” I whisper, steadier now as I force myself into control.
I grab the water first, unscrewing the cap with fingers that do not quite respond the way they should, and take a measured sip, forcing myself to stop before instinct takes over and drains it entirely. The liquid hits my tongue like a shock, cool against the dryness, and I swallow slowly before sealing it again.
“Don’t be stupid,” I mutter, setting it aside with care instead of urgency.
I pull the med kit closer and open it, forcing my focus into the task as I assess damage with practiced precision. I test my ribs carefully, pressing until the sharp flare confirms what I already suspected, and I exhale through my nose as I adjust my position.
“Cracked,” I say quietly, my voice tightening. “At least one, maybe more, so that’s going to be fun.”
My leg holds when I shift it, though the pain spikes hard enough to make my vision flicker, and I take that as the only good news I am going to get for now.
“Not broken,” I add, more to lock it in than to celebrate it.
I clean what I can, wrap what needs it, and work through the process with controlled efficiency even as my hands shake and the wind drags sand across my exposed skin, stinging against the cuts that are now impossible to ignore. The heat continues to build, pressing harder with every passing minute, and I can feel time working against me in a way that does not allow for mistakes.
“You’re running out of time,” I mutter, sealing the kit and forcing it back into the pack.
I sling the pack over my shoulder and push myself upright again, slower this time, heavier, and the world tilts harder before settling into something barely manageable. I steady myself, forcing my gaze outward again as I scan the horizon, squinting through the distortion until something finally breaks the line.
Not movement.
Structure.
Faint, warped by heat, but real.
“Yeah,” I murmur, adjusting my stance. “That’ll do, so you start moving now before you lose it again.”
I start forward, angling toward it with determination that overrides the growing exhaustion, each step dragging more than the last as my body begins to protest in ways that are harder to ignore. My breathing roughens further, my muscles respond slower, and the distance refuses to close as quickly as I need it to.
A sound cuts through the wind, low and wrong enough that it pulls my attention immediately, and I stop just enough to shift my stance as my hand drops to my sidearm.
“There you are,” I whisper, spotting movement blending into the sand.
The creatures circle outward, low and deliberate, their bodies nearly invisible until they shift, and I track them as they tighten their pattern around me with predatory patience.
“Of course,” I mutter, raising the weapon and adjusting my footing despite the instability.
The nearest one edges closer, testing distance, and I follow its movement, my grip tightening as I align the shot.
“You want it?” I say under my breath. “Come get it and see how that works out for you.”
It lunges, and I fire, the shot cracking through the air as the creature drops mid-motion, its body skidding across the sand in a spray of dust and heat. The others scatter briefly beforeregrouping, their movement faster now, tighter, more aggressive as they adapt to the threat.
“Yeah,” I say, adjusting my stance. “You’re not that easy to scare, so this is going to get messy.”
Another one lunges, and I fire again, the shot hitting but not cleanly, forcing me to adjust as it stumbles and keeps moving. I step back, angling toward a rock formation rising unevenly from the sand, forcing the fight into a narrower space where I can control their approach.
“You’re not getting me out in the open,” I mutter, breath tightening as I reposition.
Another lunge.
Another shot.
This one drops clean, and the others hesitate just long enough for me to move, pushing through the pain as I scramble up the rock, my hands slipping once before finding purchase against the hot surface.
I haul myself up, turning as I reach a higher point, my weapon already raised as I track their movement below. They circle, waiting, watching, their patience matching mine in a way that sets my nerves on edge.
“Yeah,” I breathe, my chest rising and falling hard. “You’ll wait, and so will I, because I’m not coming down there for you.”
