Page 39 of Rescuing You

Poisonous.

As if the desert heat, the lack of potable water, and the armed men out to get him weren’t enough…

Snakes.

He didn’t move.

Just watched the slithering thing. It wasn’t long—maybe eighteen inches—but that was full-grown for many species of viper.

After tending his wound by the river the night before, Michael had spied an outcropping of rock in the distance. It hadn’t looked that far away—maybe a mile to a mile and a half. But traversing the distance in the dark with a stab wound had taken all his energy. When he’d reached it, he’d made his way over the rocks into the shallow cave. He’d slid down, propped his pack against the stone wall, and passed out.

Now, the sun was rising. And Michael was dripping with sweat. Which, considering the cool desert nights, didn’t make sense.

Did he have a fever?

He didn’t feel sick.

He twisted his wrist to check the time. After seven. He’d slept like the dead for hours.

The snake made it to the other side of Michael’s body, continued toward the back of the cave—which, in the daylight, was no more than an outcropping of rocks—and disappeared into a crack.

Only when it was out of sight did Michael shift.

The movement was instantly arrested by a sharp pain in his side.

He lifted his shirt and spied the blood-soaked ace bandage. He unwrapped it, lifted away the gauze, and confirmed what he’d already guessed.

The stupid wound was still bleeding. So either the clotting stuff hadn’t worked—and it was standard-issue for a reason—or the wound was deeper than Michael had realized.

On the upside, if that knife had hit a major artery, Michael would already be dead. So, something to be thankful for.

He shifted to access his pack, found his first-aid kit, and pulled out the supplies.

Two Tylenol for the pain, washed down by water he tipped from a fresh bottle.

And then superglue.

He worked to keep his hands from shaking as he pinched his wound closed with the fingers of his left hand and squeezed the superglue onto it with his right.

All the while keeping one eye on the crack in the rock, praying the viper wouldn’t reappear. He and the snake were going to have to cohabitate until sunset. God willing, Michael would be strong enough to move by then.

He worked slowly along the two-inch gash, pleased to see the glue holding his skin in place.

See, Dad. I could’ve been a doctor too.

Except Michael doubted his father or his doctor-brother ever got nauseated at the simple act of gluing a wound. Task completed, he added antibacterial ointment and fresh gauze and wrapped the bandage around his torso again.

When he was done, he settled against the wall, breathing heavily as if he’d just climbed a high summit. Hopefully, he’d gotten the worst part of the day over before breakfast. But he wouldn’t count on it.

After scarfing down an MRE and the rest of the water, he stood, stretched—careful of his wound—and looked out of the cave.

Nothing in any direction except sand and, to the east, the river snaking toward Baghdad and the gulf.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, Vipe.”

Fortunately, the snake didn’t answer.

And then…uh-oh.