With a long groan that sounds more animal than human, I press down with my palms and push up. My shoulder screams out at the abuse, reminding me just how not okay I am. I swallow back a whimper, the thought skittering through my head that death might be preferable to this. I ease pressure off my left hand and use my right hand to push myself the rest of the way up. Sitting upright, I pant like I just wrestled an alligator.

As the haze of pain clears, I gingerly touch my shoulder. My fingers meet slick blood. Dropping my hand, I assess my surroundings. The river flows only a few feet away from me, the brown, sunlit waters swimming in a swift current. I made it across.

Looking left and right, I peer over weeds that reach past my waist, squinting at the horizon, hoping to see Sean, Gil, or Sabine. I’m desperate for a glimpse of them . . . even as I know how unlikely that is. They wouldn’t be standing out in the open. It’s too risky. A hawk flies overhead, its screech echoing on the skies.

How am I going to find them?

Panic noses in, and I shove it back before I can swing into full-scale hysteria. That won’t help. Sucking in a deep breath, I fill my lungs with warm air. Bracing for pain, I stand. And it’s every bit as hard as I feared. With my good hand stretched out for balance, I secure my footing and exhale slowly. It’s not so bad. I can do this.

I stagger a few steps and stop myself just short of falling over. Gasping, I stop, knees slightly bent to help steady me. You got it. You got this!

I start walking.

Progress is slow. I scan the horizon, holding a hand over my eyes as I search among the scrub and cacti, hoping the others are near. My pace drags to a crawl. Exhaustion weighs me down. It feels like lead weights encircle my ankles. I clutch my injured arm close, holding it at the elbow. Pain vibrates through me with each step.

Sweat trickles down my spine, and I’m unclear if it’s just really hot or I’m feverish. My shoulder burns so much that I weep as I walk, silent tears trickling down my cheeks. Dully, I realize crying is probably a bad idea. Just a waste of fluids that I need. My lips are so dry. No matter how many times I lick at them, they stay chapped. It seems rather soon for me to be this dehydrated, and I know it must be a result of blood loss.

I don’t know how long I walk, but the grim reality is there. I’m all alone. Still, I push, lifting one leg after another. To stop is to die.

I work on convincing myself that my shoulder isn’t that bad. For all I know it’s just a scrape and there isn’t even a bullet lodged in there. Maybe the bullet grazed me. It’s a faint hope, reed-thin, but I cling to it. I might just trick myself into believing that I’m not going to die out here.

My friends probably think I’m dead. My chest hollows out at this. I stop and gaze at the sparse brown terrain. That’s why there’s no sight of them. They moved on.

I know they made it across. They had to. At least Sean did. He’s strong. A survivor. And he was so far ahead of the patrol boat, only holding himself back for us. They’re probably all together now. They’re probably halfway to the refuge by now.

This thought fills me with some comfort. I guess it’s enough knowing they’re okay out there. It will have to be. I can be at peace with that knowledge.

Still, I’m not going to stop. To quit. My legs keeping moving. I count my steps. Lift shuffling foot after shuffling foot. Left. Right. Left. Right. Fear drives me. Fear of dying out here alone. It’s stronger than my pain. Stronger than the exhaustion.

For now anyway.

I realize that fear as a motivator isn’t working anymore when I start to hear my brother’s voice.

Davy. Davy. Come home. We miss you.

It’s like he’s right beside me, but when I turn to look for him, I see nothing. Just bleak, relentless horizon. Is this the hallucination stage right before death?

I laugh brokenly. Or maybe I’m already dead and caught up in some hell reserved just for killers.

Gnats buzz around me, attracted to the coppery-sweet scent of blood soaking through my shirt. I swat at them in frustration. One of my swipes is especially savage and throws me off balance. I stagger and fall, landing on my knees on the hard-packed earth. Pain jars through me. I hover there for a moment, swaying.

I press one palm down on the ground to see if I can get back to my feet again. No good. Even my uninjured arm isn’t strong enough for the task.

Mitchell’s voice is there again. Get up, Davy. Keep moving.

I moan, shaking my head. “I can’t.”

Groaning, I let myself sink, dropping to my side and rolling onto my back. Almost as if the thought of falling facedown is somehow reprehensible. Like I might get my cheeks dirty or something. The silly idea makes me giggle, and I know I’ve lost it. This battle I’m fighting is over.

Who knew it would end like this?

I think the part I regret the most is being alone. Feeling so very alone at the end.

Too late, I wish I hadn’t shoved Sean away. Every time I cringed at his touch and winced at the sound of his voice—that is what he has left of me. I’ll never see him again, and he’ll have only that. Sadness swells through me.

“Mitchell?” I whisper, reaching for something. Even if it isn’t real. “Are you there?”

I feel myself fading. Squinting against the harsh sunlight, I turn my face to the side, escaping the cruel glare.

“Mitchell?” I try moistening my hurting lips but can barely move my tongue. “Are you there?” My hand drops near my head, the backs of my fingers curling against my cheek. “I don’t want to be . . . alone.”