Page 33 of Rescuing You

After allowing himself a few minutes of rest, he sat up, swung the waterproof pack off his back, and dug inside. Everything was dry despite the time it’d been submerged. He found his first-aid kit.

What hurts?

Everything.

No, not everything. Think, Wright. Don’t be Wrong tonight.

He was sore and bruised. Internal injury? Was that why he was losing energy and focus? Was he slowly bleeding to death?

He was tired, but he didn’t feel ill, and wouldn’t he, if that was the problem?

What else?

His side ached. Throbbed, now that he thought about it.

He lifted his black T-shirt to look, then bit back a curse word.

Though everything was shades of green and gray in the NVGs, he saw a wound and a dark line streaming from it. A touch confirmed it. He yanked his hand away from the blood.

He thought back to the fight in the water. But no, this injury must’ve happened before that, outside the compound walls. He remembered now, the pain.

He’d been stabbed.

All this time, he’d been bleeding.

No wonder he couldn’t think straight.

Great.

He’d been stabbed, and then he’d gone for a swim in a cesspool.

If the loss of blood didn’t kill him, the infection would.

Assuming the enemy didn’t find him first.

He lay back, inhaled and exhaled, exhausted. He’d just close his eyes for a second and…

Nope.

He sat back up, paused through the pain and a wave of dizziness. He yanked off the NVGs and dug into his bag for his penlight. Then he unzipped the first-aid kit and dug inside until he found what he was looking for.

A bottle of alcohol.

This was going to hurt.

He got the rest of his supplies ready, taking them out but laying them inside the bag so they didn’t get dirty. He lay on his side, opened the antiseptic, took a deep breath, and poured the liquid into the wound.

At the sting—a thousand times worse than the stabbing itself—he managed to bite back a scream, barely.

After setting the bottle down, he pressed gauze treated with a clotting powder over the wound and wrapped an ace bandage around his torso to keep the gauze in place.

Assuming the knife hadn’t hit any vital organs—and wouldn’t he feel weaker if it had?—that should stop the bleeding.

He leaned back against one hand, afraid to lie down. Afraid he’d fall asleep. Be discovered by bad guys. Or…anyone, really.

After a few moments of rest, he stood, shoved the NVGs back on, hoisted his pack, and started moving.

He’d studied the map enough to know that, if he continued north along the river, he’d eventually run into a town. The main road was just to the west, but he’d steer clear of that.