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As the night wore on, Cat finally fell into a restless slumber. Dylan remained about half awake and could hear Cat’s cold coming back with a vengeance as

she began to cough and wheeze. She held her tighter, relishing the feel of the smaller woman in her arms, and rested a damp cheek against Cat’s soft hair.

Please God, get us out of here.

Dawn was still many hours away when Dylan was roused from a light, very fitful sleep by a sound out of place with those around her.

As she blinked the sleep from her eyes, she cocked her head, willing the sound to return so that she could identify it.

The rain had stopped, allowing the normal night sounds of the thick forest to take over once again. A soft moan came from slightly below her, and Dylan

looked down to see Cat huddled tightly against her, face streaked and shiny with sweat. She was mumbling incoherently within the grip of some fevered

dream, and her body was emitting a great heat.

“Shit,” Dylan swore softly through gritted teeth as she shifted slightly, trying to make a more comfortable nest for the uneasy Cat.

“Dylan,” Norton called, sharply. “Help me. He’s coding.”

“Wha—?” Carefully, but quickly, easing herself away from Cat, Dylan half ran, half stumbled her way around the fire to where Johnson lay, ignoring the

agony in her knee.

“You need to help me. We have to start CPR but with this broken arm, I can’t do compressions. If you can do them, I’ll work on mouth-to-mouth, okay?”

“What about her?” Dylan asked, pointing to the platinum blonde head that peeked out from beneath the solar blanket as she awkwardly knelt down beside

Johnson.

“Dead to the world. C’mon, Dylan, I need your help.”

“Alright,” Dylan replied shortly, getting into position and placing the heel of her hand on the lower third of his sternum as Norton knelt at his head and

tilted his head back, opening his airway. “Ready?”

Nodding, Norton bent her head and delivered two quick breaths. Coming up, she nodded to Dylan, who began compressions, counting each one out in a

slow, liquid rhythm. After two rounds of compressions and rescue breathing, Norton called a halt and felt for a pulse.

There wasn’t one.

“Shit. Ok, start again.”

Several more rounds continued in the same vein. With the same result.

They were getting ready to resume when Dylan stiffened and cocked her head, listening.

“What is it?”

“Helicopter.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, listen.”

As Dylan continued compressions, Norton looked up through the leafy canopy, then grinned when she saw a large searchlight playing back and forth in

slow arcs over the ground. “They found us!”

“Not yet they haven’t.”

Taking a deep breath, Dylan briefly rested all of her weight on her injured knee and lashed out behind her with her good leg, impacting the stuporous body

of the blond bimbo behind her.

Said bimbo rolled over from the force of the blow, and remained where she lay, completely out for the count.

“You sure she isn’t the one we should be doing this to?” Dylan asked, eyebrow raised as her hands continued to press down on Johnson’s sternum.

“Hey, that was some powerful shit I gave her.”

“You sound like a streetcorner drug dealer.” Dylan gratefully took a rest as Norton breathed for Johnson. Looking behind her, she noticed Cat’s huddled

form near the fire. She looked up, still tracking the circling helicopter. Shit. I don’t wanna do this. She needs her rest. Damn.

“Cat!!”

Hodge fought her way up through layers of fevered images, horrifying and terrifically sharp in their intensity.

“Cat!!”

It was as if she was swimming, and the nebulous voice calling out to her was some bizarre lifeline. She headed toward it as the dizzying dream images

conspired to lay false traps for her consciousness.

“Cat! Wake up!!”

Her eyes snapped open and she quickly, without realizing it, rolled to her feet, balanced on the balls like a fighter ready for attack.

Then the nausea hit, sinking its claws into her belly and twisting.

Dylan was saying something to her—screaming it, really—but she couldn’t understand the words over the sick thumping in her head and the queasy

accompaniment of her guts. To take her mind off of both, she squinted, trying to determine, through a fuzzy and vapor locked mind, exactly why Dylan was

kneeling by Horace Johnson and why she was pressing his chest like that.

The answer hit her like a ton of rubble, and she stagger-stumbled her way over to Dylan’s side, bighting back the urge to collapse into a shivering ball only

with the greatest of wills.

“Oh my god! Is he…”

“Never mind that,” Dylan bit off, resuming her rhythmic compressions. “There’s a helicopter out there looking for us. Grab the spare flashlight and try to

flag them down, okay?”

“Um…yeah. I can do that.”

“Still nothing,” Norton said, feeling for a pulse as Dylan paused.

“Cat?”

“Yes?”

“Hurry.”

The urgency in Dylan’s voice cut through the fever-fog, and Cat jumped to, bending quickly to scoop up the large flashlight and running out into the forest.