She sank down, grateful for his solid grip. A water bottle appeared in her hand.
“Drink.” Noah’s voice, closer now. When had he gotten there? Time felt elastic, unreliable. But suddenly he was kneeling in front of her, brown eyes searching her face while darkness retreated. Teague hovered beside him, worry written in every line of his young face.
“Looks like dehydration.” Teague was digging through his supplies. “And low blood sugar. We should stop, eat something.”
Noah nodded, but his skeptical gaze never left her face.
“I’m fine.” The words came out slurred, unconvincing.
“Clearly.” Dry humor edged his voice, but it was gentle. He pulled his bag around, propped it behind her. “Lean back.”
Trail mix appeared in her palm, courtesy of Teague. “Blood sugar, doc.”
“Guess this means they’re without supplies.” Teague lifted Liam’s waterlogged pack, then dumped the contents on the ground.
“Why—” Meg started.
“We’re not leaving it, and I’m not hauling extra water.” He wrung out a soaked shirt, stuffed it back in.
“Which direction?” Teague looked to Noah. “Upstream or downstream?”
“Upstream.” Noah’s voice dropped to something close to a growl, his expression darkening.
Meg heard what he didn’t say.If they went downstream, they’re probably dead.
She forced herself to chew the trail mix, nuts sticking in her throat like sawdust. Liam was experienced—he’d keep himself and Nimue safe. But from what? What were they running from that was worse than flash floods and canyon walls?
Twenty minutes. Noah and Teague gave her twenty whole minutes while insisting it was simply dehydration and low blood sugar. She wanted to argue, to explain that it wasn’t just physical. The thought of pulling bodies from that churning water had nearly shattered her—the same panic that had driven her from emergency rooms, where loss was a constant companion.
But how could she explain that? She was supposed to be the strong one. The doctor. Not someone who crumbled at the thought of death.
Noah’s eyes lingered on her face, studying her, perhaps trying to read her thoughts. Like the other day when she’d nearly lost it seeing him covered in blood.
She didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m ready,” she said and pulled on her pack. Started down the trail that paralleled the wash.
Noah and Teague followed, but a grunt from Noah sounded behind her.
It wasn’t long before Teague passed her, his long legs—and too much energy—striding out ahead of them.
Noah fell into step beside her, matching her slower pace. “You sure you’re okay?”
She didn’t look at him. “Yep.”
A beat, then, “If something’s bothering you?—”
“Noah!” Teague’s voice cut through the air, sharp and urgent. He stood at another trail split, arms spread wide. One fork led north toward the canyon wall, the other northwest along the wash.
“Left.” Noah motioned without hesitation. “The right’s just a loop.”
They pushed on, silence heavier now. Oppressive. Only their footsteps and the wash’s constant roar filled the air. The trail mix sat in Meg’s stomach like concrete, but she forced her legs to keep moving.
Fear for Liam and Nimue had become a constant ache.
“Look!” Teague again, ahead. He stood on a boulder, pointing across the raging water.
The opposite bank was littered with gear. Too much gear. Way too much for just two people. It looked like an abandoned camp.
Meg’s chest constricted as reality hit.