TWO

Ten minutes passed before she finally gathered the courage to crawl out from behind the dead tree. She slowly, delicately, made her way through the underbrush in search of his gun.

It had taken her nearly thirty minutes to find it, and when she did, she nearly cried with relief.

Now what?

She checked her watch again.

They weren't due back until tomorrow morning.

No one would miss them.

Not in time anyway.

She was miles from the gate – miles from rescue – and with the falling suns, she had only an hour or so of daylight left.

At dusk they would stake Ronon to the earth, and leave him to die. Alone. Defenseless.

She refused to put his face on the bodies she'd already seen. Skin ripped off bone. Limbs torn off. Tendons and ligaments detached and shredded. Bones snapped like dried kindling under the incredible force of the beast's jaws.

Eaten alive by something very big, and very hungry.

There had to be something she could do.

She couldn't stand by and do nothing.

Couldn't let him die.