Tintin skidded to a stop, having barely managed to stay upright. Qoya had tumbled into a boulder, and now lay in its shadow, making small movements but not trying to stand. Tintin knelt by her side and touched her arm. She seemed dazed, possibly even concussed-all entirely reasonable, given what had just happened to her.
One step at a time. She was alive, and she was moving. Was she physically hurt? A bump was swelling on her temple-she winced when he gently brushed it with his fingertip-but no open wounds.
"Can you see me OK? How many fingers?"
"Three," she said, and tried to sit up.
"Not yet, lie down just another minute. What's your name?"
"Qoya."
"What day is it?"
"I have no idea."
Tintin realized he didn't know either. "OK, what year?"
"1947."
"What's my name?"
"Idiot."
Relief spread through Tintin as Qoya smiled up at him. "OK, do you want to try sitting up?"
Qoya nodded and slowly propped herself onto her elbows. Tintin slipped an arm behind her shoulders as she winced and rose to sit. She drew her knees to her chest, poking and prodding her own legs. "I've got some major bruises, but I don't think anything's broken."
"Well, thank God for that."
"Can I try standing?"
"Sit for one more minute."
"Yooooeee!" the captain hollered down to them. "Everybody OK?"
"We think so!" Tintin shouted up.
"Do you need help getting up here?"
"No, stay where you are, but keep a sharp lookout in case they come back!"
The Captain nodded and raised one of the rifles again, his eyes narrowed on the retreating forms of the kidnappers.
Qoya was now itching to stand. "Please, I need water."
"OK, yes, let's go." Tintin knelt beside her, one arm around her waist, and offered her his other hand. She interlaced her fingers with his and slowly, shakily, stood. They paused for a second. Qoya leaned against the boulder, her eyes closed, her hand still grasping his. Then she nodded, and carefully, one inch at a time, the pair made their way back up to the Captain.
.
.
.
.
.
Qoya revived a bit after she'd had water. She now sat cross-legged on a flat slab of rock overlooking the valley. Tintin stood, unwrapping some of their packed food. He handed a cooked potato to Qoya. A few yards away, the Captain paced back and forth on the path, keeping watch on the llamas and supplies. Tintin knew he felt guilty about the previous night, even though there was nothing he could have done against a team of seven.
"Can we work a stop in a creek into the plan today?" Qoya asked as she gobbled the potato. "I need to wash this whole experience off me."
"Absolutely, but… are you sure you want to keep going?" Tintin asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Just that I wouldn't blame you if you want to turn around and head back to town."
"Straight into the arms of those guys?" Qoya barked a laugh. "I don't think so." She shoved the rest of the potato into her mouth. "Can I have one more?"
"You need some protein." Tintin pried the lid off a tin of beans and handed it to her.
She accepted it with a groan. "I hate tinned beans…" Sighing, she reached up to rub the back of her neck. Her eyes widened.
"What is it?"
Qoya didn't answer, just slowly lowered her hand. Her fingers were bright red, smeared with blood.