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“God,” I muttered, tamping down my gag reflex. “Hold still.”
I pulled the hunting knife attached to his leather belt, then pulled out my own khaki shirttail and sliced off a large swath, cutting and folding it into a thick compress, then using what was left to tie it around his shoulder into place. It was saturated in seconds. So much for basic first-aid.
“This looks really bad,” I said, readjusting it. “We have to get you to town fast. This won’t hold long.”
The man shook his head, damp strands of his longish black hair plastering to his sweating face. “Won’t...make it.”
“Yes, you will,” I said. “Once we get you to a doc—”
The words froze in my mouth when I looked fully into my rescuer’s grimacing, incrediblyfamiliarface.
“Run,” Michael Bryant’s doppelganger hissed out. “Get...away.”
I shut my gaping mouth, then frowned at him. “And leave you here alone to die? No way.”
He shook his head. “Go, woman!”
“Not without you.”
He growled deep in his throat. “S-stubborn.”
“Buddy, you have no idea. Now, get on your feet, and let’s both of us get out of here.”
With another grunting breath, he finally pushed himself upright, then shakily stood with my assistance.
“Which way to town?” I questioned, slinging his arm around my shoulder. “Here, lean on me.”
He shook his head. “C-cabin.”
“There’s a cabin nearby?”
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Mine.”
I debated the options. It was the only choice though. The man wouldn’t have the strength to make it another few miles, much less all the way back to town. Once we reached this cabin, I could always call for emergency help, too.
“Okay, fine,” I said. “Let’s go.”
I took two steps and my forgotten swollen ankle gave out, pulling the man down on top of me with a heavy, painful thud.
Perfect. With his dead weight and my gimpy left foot, we would never make it to the next hillside, much less to this cabin of his.
Understanding my dilemma, he snapped and stripped off a sturdy pine branch and handed it to me. Using this as a walking stick, I readjusted his arm around my shoulder, then together we hobbled as quickly as possible through the underbrush.
“How’re you doing?” I asked as we limped forward.
Not good, by the look of his pallid, sweating features.
“I’ll...do,” he hissed out.
“Sure, you will,” I muttered doubtfully. “Just do me a favor and don’t die on me, will you?”
“No...promises.”
I chuckled nervously at his attempt at levity as we trudged forward.
“So what’s your name?” I asked.
“M-Mike,” he huffed.
