Instantly, fear gripped Grissom's chest.
He watched as she fell, splashing roughly into the water, and then as she banged her head on a rock. But before he could even digest what had happened she was swept away, downstream.
The river was rocky, and her body bounced off the rocks like a pebble in a pinball machine, but he did not stick around to watch. Instantly he dashed back to the bank, and then sprinted as fast he could downstream, splashing through the mud and wet grass on the edge of the river.
"SARA!" he roared.
He glanced over his shoulder, marking in his mind where they had left the trail, fixing a vague landmark, and then hurried as fast he could after her. She disappeared around a corner, and he ran for what seemed like far too long before the scenery changed and Sara's body emerged – washed up on a mud bank, motionless.
She was wet from head to toe, rested on her side, and was dead still.
He splashed through the last soggy bank to reach her, and turned her instantly onto her back.
Her clothes clung to her, soaked, and her eyes were closed, her head limp. She looked asleep, pale and ill, hair clinging to her face.
"Sara?"
The fear upped into an urgent thumping, his adrenaline surging.
She did not answer.
He didn't hesitate. His put his hands on the space between her breasts, just above her heart, and pushed roughly and firmly down. Then he leaned in and pushed his breath into her mouth, locking lips, urgent and rough.
He repeated the process a few times, panic steadily rising within him, until she finally moved.
She lurched back to her side, her eyes popped open, and then she vomited – all over the grass.
"Sara?" he queried.
His heart still thumped.
She didn't respond. Her eyes rolled a little with incomprehension, clearly dazed, and then she vomited again, coughing and spluttering all the dirty water she had swallowed out onto the grass.
He tried to hold her, lift her a little to support her, but at last it stopped.
When she was done, she slumped back onto the ground, panting for breath.
"Are you okay?" he asked, desperate.
Even as he asked his eyes scanned to the horizon overhead, searching for any sign of other hikers, for potential helpers. But there were none. He could not even see the trail now; he had come a long way.
She took a second to compose herself.
"Are you all right?" he repeated.
She shivered briefly, and then said the last thing he had expected to hear.
"You know," sickly and ill, "I always thought our first kiss would be more romantic."
And even through her evident illness, she smiled up at him, her lips turning up, briefly.
Relief swept through him. Instinctively, he knew through that smile that she would be all right. People with a sense of humour were generally not yet dying.
"When I kiss you, I'll do it properly," he said.
The mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, in his eyes, certainly didn't count. And even as he said the words, a sense of surprise fluttered through him as he heard them. But although Sara smiled briefly, the moment was gone just as fast. A second later, and she had closed her eyes again, and grimaced, evidently in a lot of pain.
"Where are you hurt?" he asked.
He glanced up again, but there was still no one in sight. Not much prospect of help.
"Just sore and bruised," she said. "I just need a second."
"Can you walk?"
"My ankle's twisted."
He had been afraid of that. She had been knocked around a fair amount in water, from what he had seen, and it was a miracle that her brain and spine were all right. A sprained ankle was a small price to pay, but still it was not good news.
He looked up, still hoping for a faint sign of company, but they were alone, and he had never liked that less. It was unnerving.
Still, it was worth being sure.
He bellowed out, as loud as he could.
"HELLO..?!"
Sara shivered in front of him, the wind had picked up a little. Her hair, wet and dark with water, was glued to the sides of her face, and her clothes were covered in mud and bits of dirt that stuck to the wet fabric. She also wasn't wearing much, dressed for a warm hike, and as another flutter of wind came, she shivered a second time.
Instantly, his mind kicked in. He knew he had to get help, but how to go about it was the question. Each team, as part of the safety regulations of the hike, had a radio to call for help, but the problem was that Nick had the radio. Suddenly the idea of separating seemed stupid, almost beyond belief, and Nick, Warrick and Catherine were probably by now at least half an hour ahead. If he ran, he might just catch them, but it meant leaving Sara alone, probably for at least an hour, by the time they returned and hiked back to her. And as he watched her shiver, her face twisted with pain, he knew she could not be able to look after herself. It was a tall order when she was wet, ill, and lying exposed in the elements. She could not even find shelter, being unable to walk.
It would be irresponsible.
"IS ANYONE THERE?" he called.
It was worth one last try, but no. There was no response. Clearly they had been among the last hikers. That, too, now seemed like a stupid thing to have done. He tried to think rationally. Though his heart wanted to surge up the trail for help, and find his team and the radio, he knew Sara would be in big trouble long before he returned. Hypothermia was the biggest risk now. With her clothes wet through, her hair wet, and lying exposed in the cold mountain wind, she probably had half an hour at most before her temperature dropped and she became groggy. She might be in a coma before he got back.
He had to stay. The knowledge came to him easily, but as the decision firmed in his mind he saw Sara's head turn, weakly assessing if anyone was coming or calling back from the trail.
But it was silent. There was no sound but the first rustles of wind in the trees, and suddenly the world was lonely.
"You should go," she said, rationally. "Nick has the radio."
"I can't leave you," he said.
"I'll be okay."
"You'd be dead before I got back."
That silenced her, accidentally. He did not bother to explain the rationale of why she was in danger – Sara was too smart to need a guidebook. Instead, he watched as her mind wrestled with the options for a moment, turning to look briefly around her, before she sighed, her eyes focused on him, caught.
"What do we do?" she asked.
He didn't hesitate. He leaned in to help her up, gripping her under her arms.
"Come on," he said. "We have to find shelter."
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