Page 44 of Wild Temple (Tyson Wild Thriller #84)

S omehow, Rex had managed to crawl all the way into the Valley of Darkness. When I found him, I thought he was dead. His skin was baked from the sun, peeling and raw. He had lost a lot of blood. His breathing was shallow, and his pulse barely thumped my fingertips when I felt his neck.

"Rex!” I shouted, lightly tapping his cheek. “Rex!”

He peeled open a sticky eye and gazed at me with a vacant expression. I don't know if he recognized me or if he thought he was hallucinating.

Sweat misted his forehead, feverish from the festering infection. His belly was distended, and a foul puss oozed from his wound. His lips were dry and split. He was alive but wouldn’t stay that way for long without immediate attention.

I unscrewed my canteen and tipped a swallow into the desert that was his mouth. Dry and swollen, he was barely able to get it down .

"Hang in there, buddy. We’re going to get you help."

The valley had sheltered him from the blistering sun. It was probably the thing that had saved him.

He’d used his shirt to plug the entry wound. It was thick with dark, crusted blood. The sour, fishy smell of death clung to him.

The reaper was close.

I kept giving him small sips to rehydrate. Too much, too fast, might induce vomiting.

With care, I pulled the dressing from the wound and irrigated it.

Jack found a first aid kit in one of the backpacks. It had gauze, tape, disinfectant, and antibiotics. I did my best to clean the wound and repack the dressing.

When Rex could swallow better, I gave him a dose of medication to fight the infection.

Jack scavenged two branches and broke off stray twigs so they were relatively smooth. From the backpacks, we used two ponchos to form a makeshift stretcher. With care, we transferred Rex.

I hoped the branches would hold. Rex was a big guy.

On the count of three, JD and I lifted the stretcher and carried Rex through the valley.

Extreme exhaustion had set in. With little sleep, we were barely functioning. Jack's face was beet red, and the veins in his forehead and neck bulged as we carried Rex through the narrow passage. We staggered through like zombies, legs like rubber.

There was no whining, crying, or stopping. We sucked it up and took the discomfort.

JD and I were both sucking wind in no time, drenched in sweat. I focused on one step at a time. That's all I had to do. One more step. Then another. Then another.

If you focus on the big picture, it can seem overwhelming. But a step? That's easy. You can always do one more.

It took some doing, but we made it back to the waterfall. That's where the real challenge began—climbing the towering steps back to the parking lot.

The stretcher was out. That wouldn’t work—not up the steep incline.

We switched to a modified pack carry. I slung both of Rex’s arms over my shoulder like a backpack and Jack grabbed his feet. That would keep the pressure off Rex’s lower abdomen.

My quads burned on the first step and more on the second. Rex was no lightweight—220 pounds of dead weight.

The row of stairs seemed endless.

One step at a time.

My heart pounded, and my veins bulged. Sweat poured. My chest heaved for breath.

One step at a time—some less sure-footed than others.

My back ached.

One step at a time .

It wasn’t pretty, but we made it to the top. We staggered down the path to the parking lot. The girls brought up the rear.

We put Rex into the passenger seat of the Jeep and buckled him in.

I fished the keys from his pocket, hustled around, and climbed behind the wheel.

JD and the girls hopped in back.

With a twist of the ignition, the engine fired up. I dropped it into gear and peeled out of the parking lot.

“Hang in there, buddy,” I said to Rex. He was still delirious. “We’re en route to the hospital.”