a/n: I'm SO sorry this took so long. I hated the ending of this chapter, and rewrote it—which opened up some new avenues for this story, so hopefully it's a good thing. Please review!

Chapter Seven: Survival

I didn't understand what happened right away. I felt this burning pain rip through my leg, and I knew enough that I'd been shot. But in my leg? The rebel's gun had been aimed right at me.

I huddled protectively to the ground, wincing at the throbbing pain that I felt with the pulse in my leg, and hoping I wouldn't die. I heard a gurgling noise, and made myself look.

No one was standing. The rebel who shot me had a knife in his throat, a little left of center, but effective. The last rebel . . . Where is he? I saw him running away, looking back at us or at the smoke and flames still coming near Cameroon.

I looked back at the fallen rebels, then at Lake. He was short of breath, grimacing. Even injured he was deadly.

Lake killed one, but . . . I killed the other two. I saw firsthand the damage a close-range bullet can do, and even more multiple bullets. Despite it being justified—kill or be killed—I felt sick. My eyes seemed to swim, and I couldn't focus. My stomach twisted, and I slapped my hand over my mouth. I didn't have anything to really throw up right then, but I was on the verge of being ill anyway.

"Jane?"

Thank goodness for Lake's voice. It grounded me a little, or at least got me past the nausea. He needs help.

"Okay?" he asked. I stared at him. There were tears in his uniform, bullet wounds that tore through his right shoulder, his left arm, and another in his stomach.

"Me? What about you?"

He chuckled. It was a quiet rasp, and that's when I noted how quiet in general it was. The gunfire had stopped. I looked to Cameroon and the flames.

"What was that?" I asked, referring to the whole explosion thing.

"Air support," he said, and he coughed. It sounded agonizing. His forehead wrinkled and his jaw tightened.

"Lake . . ." He kept coughing. I glanced to his stomach. I'd heard, probably from TV, that stomach wounds were the worst. They took a long time to kill you, but were very painful. I grabbed my shirt, a button-up, and took it off, leaving me in a tank top that was as dirty as the rest of me. I pressed it to Lake's stomach, hoping I was helping.

He groaned.

"Easy!" he hissed between clenched teeth.

"Can you move?"

He hesitated long enough before nodding that I didn't believe him. But I looked to Cameroon. We had to get there.

I got to my feet—and fell right back down with a whimper. I'd forgotten about getting shot. My left leg was throbbing. I stared at it.

"You got shot," Lake said, and he was concerned. It was nothing compared to him, but that didn't erase the sudden fear I felt as the pain grew worse. Grow up. You'll be fine.

My body shook though. I tried to force myself to focus on Lake.

"We have something in common, I guess," I said weakly. "Cameroon—can you call the others?"

His eyes fluttered, but he blinked hard once, regaining some clear consciousness. He nodded. Sluggishly, he brought his left arm up, but I saw the bullet wound there.

"Can I help?" I gave a nod at the blood seeping from his left arm. I moved closer to him, half-crawling to avoid jarring my leg. I'm a wimp. Lake looked down to his chest.

"There's a button there," he said, his eyes glancing down to a little clip on his fatigues. "Hold it while I talk." I followed his instructions. As soon as I pressed the button, he spoke into the radio collar around his neck. "LT? Zee?"

There was a desperate look in his eyes. He grew evener shorter of breath, and his eyes watered. "LT. Doc, Silk, Red, anyone." Are they all dead? I understood why Lake looked so . . . afraid now. Please, please be alive. Some of them had to make it. I let go of the button, and we just waited.

Lake shut his eyes. I watched his chest move up and down. The blood from his stomach wound, or whatever was shot, concerned me. It was a decent amount of blood. He was pale. Even his five o'clock shadow (or three-day scruff) seemed pale. I put more pressure on his torso. He groaned.

"I know, I'm sorry," I whispered. I clicked the radio button. "Try again." I'm sure he heard how wobbly my voice sounded.

"LT, Red. This is Lake." He started to shake his head. He was giving up, maybe more from grief if they all were dead. I released the button. And then he drew a sharp breath. His eyes were wide. "They're there." He smiled. "Hit it." He nodded down at the button. I quickly did as he asked.

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm hit. So is Jane. We're in the field." He signaled for me to release so he could listen to whatever was being said back.

My attention was drawn elsewhere. I heard something. It might have been there the whole time. It was a wailing sound. Voices, from ahead of us. Where the air strike hit.

Survivors. While that might seem like a good thing, I knew it wasn't. Not for us.

Lake must have heard it too. He was looking off in the direction of the noise.

"Jane, the radio." I snapped out of it enough to hit it. Lake spoke to whoever. "Enemy still kicking. ETA?"

I let go for a response. Lake looked to me, then closed his eyes with a smile.

"They made it to Cameroon. They're coming for us."

Before I could be too relieved about that, the voices and wailing grew louder. Closer. Not right on top of us, but close enough that I ducked over Lake to stay out of sight. He looked at me uncertainly.

"They won't be here in time," I whispered aloud. Lake didn't deny it. We have to move then. I crawled over to the dead rebels, trying to ignore the guilt I felt about killing. I grabbed the rifle. My eyes went to the rebel Lake had killed with a knife, and it reminded me of the one I had still at my side. I might need that. I rested my hand on the handle of it, and then crawled back to Lake with the gun.

"If I help you, can you move?" He nodded. I got to my knees. My leg protested at the movement, but I bit my lip hard not to cry out. I put my arms around Lake, and helped him sit up. He groaned, but kept it quiet.

Without a word, we tried standing. I sucked in a breath with the weight on my leg. It hurt, to put it mildly. But I glanced at Lake, and saw him not uttering another sound. It hurt him, I know, but his sheer determination to hold it back anyway made me follow suit.

We took a step forward. I limped along, and thankfully Lake's legs were working, but he leaned heavily on me. His wounds were far more serious—in the back of my mind, I couldn't ignore that his every movement was probably making things worse for him. By moving now, I was killing him more.

Rebels spoke out loudly to the left of us. Lake dropped down, taking me with him. He groaned as we hit the ground. I looked for any sight of the rebels. They're going to be ticked, if they find us. They just suffered a defeat, and if they found anyone left . . . I shuddered to think of what that might mean for us.

I looked around for a better place to hide. If the rebels were alert enough, they'd see us easily. But aside from a few trees and tall grass, we didn't have much.

"They're retreating," Lake whispered in my ear. "They'll be trickling by the rest of the day."

I heard him pant, like the words were exertion enough. He was sweating more now, and his color hadn't improved.

We needed a place to hide. There was tall grass further away from the main path—if you could call it that—that the rebels had taken to Cameroon. As long as no one came that way, we'd be hidden.

"The grass," Lake whispered. I glanced to him—he was looking at the same spot. "Come on."

We had to crawl that way, but crawling involved a good deal of arm use. I looked hesitantly at Lake.

"Go ahead," he said, knowing his limitations. "I can make it." I shook my head.

"Let me help you."

He smiled. And then his eyes rolled back a bit.

He passed out.

-0-0-0-

Dragging Lake while trying not to inflict more damage on him or be seen was difficult. That, and I was favoring my left leg. Being shot sucks. I got us to the tall grass, as far away as I could from the main path of the rebels. Well, as far away as I could without passing out from exertion. It worried me that Lake was still out, but I checked his pulse a few times, and he was breathing too . . . .

When were the Americans coming? Air support came, so why not the rest? I kind of expected them to be here by now, but then again, maybe they were dodging the remaining rebels like I was. The sun was going down.

It started raining. The raindrops were heavy as they came through the trees. It pelted me. I was grateful for it though. I cupped my hands together, gathered what I could, and took a drink.

Heavenly.

I let some more rain collect in my hands. "Lake," I whispered. His eyes moved beneath his lids, but he didn't wake up.

"Lake, can you hear me?" I kept my voice low, aware of the noise in the distance of rebels traveling about. He opened his eyes. They darted around, taking in the surroundings, and then shut again.

"Still here," he said, and I wasn't sure if he meant that we were still in this field behind enemy lines, or that he was still here—as in alive. I carefully guided my hands to his mouth.

"Open up," I said. He opened his eyes first, and when he saw my hands hovering over his mouth, he obliged. I let the rainwater fall between my hands, and he drank. I waited for more rain to fill my hands, and gave him some more.

"Thanks," he said. His voice was weak still, and lower than normal.

"More?" I asked. He shook his head. So we sat, getting drenched and waiting.

"Why did you come back?" he asked. It came out of the blue for me. I wasn't sure how to answer, so I stalled.

"What do you mean?" He suddenly was more alert, and his eyes bore into mine. It felt accusing.

"You should have gone to Cameroon," he said. He's scolding me on this? "You'd be safe there."

"If I even made it alive. We were dropping like flies, Lake," I said hotly.

"Shhh." He nodded out to the field. Right, rebels. I ducked down and lowered my voice.

"There was a bomb, or a grenade," I said, whispering. "It threw me off the path, and I just didn't get up quickly enough. I . . . it made sense to come back." There might have been more to it, but I wasn't going to analyze it right now.

His gaze stayed on me until I saw his eyes droop shut. I thought he was passing out again, but then he spoke.

"I heard them running past me," Lake said. I knew who 'them' was. "I was out of it. Those few rebels, the clean-up crew—" I assumed he was talking about the four we'd encountered. He opened his eyes. "Wouldn't have been a pleasant way to go for me."

He smiled at the idea, but I felt sick thinking about it.

"I heard you shoot, and I saw them . . . ." He opened his mouth to say more, but struggled. He tried a couple of times. "You should have gone to Cameroon. But thanks for . . ."

He trailed off. He closed his eyes.

"Lake?" I leaned forward and tested his pulse again. It was there. "Kelly." Maybe his first name would keep him grounded.

"Don't call me that," he mumbled.

"Open your eyes, Kelly," I said purposefully. He squinted his eyes open, glaring at me.

"Lake," he said. He shut his eyes again.

"I'll call you Lake if you stay with me, okay?" I could hear the patronizing tone in my own voice. I couldn't help it; he was fading. "Kelly?"

He sighed. "I'm awake."

"Open your eyes." He did. I wasn't sure if he was being stubborn about this or just plain delirious. When is the army coming? I looked into his light green eyes. Keep him awake. "Why do you hate your name?" I tried to keep my voice down. The panic I felt was rising, but I didn't want to alert the wrong people to our position.

"Girl's name," he mumbled.

"You're a soldier," I said. "Probably the strongest guy I've ever known, and you're worried your name makes you seem girly?"

"I got flack for it as a kid."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well, whoever teased you probably has a six-pack of fat now, so I think you're okay." He smiled.

Suddenly, I heard something rustle through the grass, so close to us that my whole body froze. Maybe it was just the rain. No, the rain was slowing down now, and the noise was louder than that. It came to the side of us, but slowly. And 'it' wasn't alone. I heard someone speak.

It wasn't in English, either.

Slowly, I ducked further down, next to Lake. Any trace of tiredness in his eyes was now gone. He leaned towards me, and his breath tickled my ear. If the situation were different, I might have taken that romantically. No such luck.

Lake raised his left arm to the radio button on his fatigues—it must have hurt, because I saw him grimace and bite his lip. He clicked the button and whispered into the radio. "Danger close, danger close."

I waited for some sign from him that someone was answering. Instead, Lake just bit his lip again. He glanced at me and gave a slight shake of his head.

No one was answering.

The rustling moved away, but then came near again. Someone is looking for us. Rebels. How did they know we were here? Maybe we were talking too loud.

I reached for the rifle, but Lake jerked his leg to get my attention. Looking to him, I saw him shake his head again. Don't move. I figured that was the gist of it. I stayed still.

Foreign chatter started up, more boldly now. It came spread out to one side of us. I glanced to Lake, but he suddenly was paler, so much so that his face stood out to me even in the darkening light. I carefully leaned close to him.

"Are you okay?" I asked so quietly that I barely heard myself.

He didn't nod. I could hear his breaths coming in quiet, quick gasps. My eyes found his stomach wound—and it was still bleeding. It's been too long. He can't wait any longer. We needed help.

I stared at Lake. He shut his eyes against the pain he was suffering from. If the rebels found us, I wasn't sure if we'd live. But I knew for certain Lake would suffer more—and probably just be killed outright. He was an American soldier, a perfect target for the rebels, and with him being injured . . . If they found him, it was all—

Four or five men burst from the grass and moved to surround us. Their voices blended in a swirl of words I didn't understand. It didn't matter—I got the gist of it all. Rebels.

I leaned back so my body covered Lake's, and raised my hands. My heart pounded hard. This is it. Their guns were aimed at me and Lake.

Then they started arguing, with each other. I got lost in the cacophony of ticked off, angry voices. Three more rebels emerged, and I noticed a couple of them were injured. They limped or favored an arm.

The argument escalated. The group of rebels, 8 in all, pointed at me and Lake with fingers and guns. One of them grabbed a magazine of bullets and loaded it into his machine gun.

He aimed at us both. Automatically, I knew this was it. I stretched back, hoping maybe I'd be able to shield Lake from worse damage. Briefly, I wondered if he was scared as I was.

My eyes went to the muzzle of the gun. I heard the rattling a gun makes as you handle it, and waited for the flash of the bullets.

"No!" someone shouted. A flurry of foreign words came after that. I tore my eyes away from the gun. An older, stern looking man came to the soldiers. The difference I saw in the soldiers was immediate. They all stepped back and stood up straighter.

The soldier who was about to kill me said something back, and the stern man shook his head.

"We take them with us."

The man, who I assumed was the leader, stared hard at me and Lake. His gaze was cold and determined. I noticed he had fresh scratches and cuts on his face. Maybe he was injured by the air raid, albeit slightly.

The rebels gathered around us, and one yanked me away from Lake. My body felt weak and strangely detached from my control. They tied my hands together and brought me to my feet. I yelped at the pressure on my leg. The leader looked down at it.

Then he turned away.

The rebels handled Lake with the same care (or lack of it) as me. He groaned as they forced his hands behind his back.

"Careful!" I yelled. "He's been hurt!"

The leader turned sharply to me, and with one swift motion, slapped me across the face. It was a blur to me. The force of it was stunning; the barbarian held nothing back.

He turned to his soldiers and motioned to Lake. The soldiers turned to Lake and started wrapping up his wounds. It wasn't the soundest medical technique, but it gave me a little hope. Maybe it was worth saying something as I had. Maybe they wouldn't kill us.

The leader shouted something, and the soldiers surrounded us. I was grabbed on either side by my arms, and dragged along through the field. The soldiers supported Lake more beneath the shoulders, but it looked like it hurt him more than helped. His head rolled a bit, but his eyes looked wide and alert. He looked right at me.

For a brief moment, I saw the fear in his eyes, and then a wave of pain deepened it so much that I clearly understood there was really no hope ahead for us.