The next two hours passed in a nightmare blend of vigilance and agonizing stillness. The forest pressed in with its damp silence, every snap of a twig loud enough to set nerves on edge. Gray worked efficiently, administering strong painkillers to Cameron—who was shivering violently despite the mild hypothermia stabilization—and cleaning the smaller, yet still deep, glass shards from my head and the nasty blistered burn on my palm. The crude dressing on my back was bulky evidence of the near miss.
I had changed into an extra shirt that was with cam.
By 0245, the riverbank was a scene of coiled anticipation. The four remaining team members were spread out, rifles held loose but ready, scanning the darkness. The air was thick with the scent of pine and decay, overlaid now by the metallic smell of blood.
"Time," I stated, my voice a low gravelly sound. I ignored the throbbing on my back. The pain was now a familiar friend, sharpening my focus rather than dulling it.
