He is twenty years old when he faces Death for the first time.
"I think I'm in trouble."
Finally able to crack out a whisper, he breathes out the worry he was feeling since this whole mess began.
He finds it odd that it is at this point when he is about to break. He was completely calm when his car broke down under the heat of the Sonora Desert and when he started walking towards help. He didn't feel anything when he realized, in his wanderings, he somehow lost the road.
So why was it now, while watching relief come in the form of dark grey clouds, did he feel the pain of panic rising from his gut?
Two days searching to quench his need for water, two nights listening to the bay of wolves so close to his fire. It was now, on the third day, under the gaze of clouds coming towards him that Tim suddenly knew he was going to die.
"I guess Aunt Ruth was right."
It seems unfair. He is a good son by trying to surprise his parents with a visit before he went back to college. He is financially responsible by driving to California instead of getting a flight. He is a former cub scout by being prepared and making sure his car had enough gas to travel through the desert.
Not that it matters.
Because here he is, wishing and dying for rain.
There is so much he still wants to do: Get his masters, fall in love, save lives. Twenty years is not long enough to live and he has barely lived.
If only he had more time.
He stares at the cacti, standing like sentinels against the sky. The sun is descending again and he's going to need to find shelter to ride out the downpour and survive into another night.
He should, but he doesn't. He settles down on a rock and watches the rolling clouds. Flashes of lightening show signs of the danger coming, but all he feels is starting to break down.
He sighs, leans back, and prays for the rain to come.