***Part 11
"No! No! Get up! Damnit! Get up!" Ezra screamed at himself, pounding the ground with his fist. He had left a meandering trail and was now crawling across the sand on his hands and knees. He stopped and settled back on his knees the canteen hanging about his neck. He ignored his bleeding wound. He no longer had the strength to stand, his body too weak from dehydration. He had failed, failed them all, but what else did he expect. He always failed, oh not at cards, but at everything else…everything that mattered.
He looked out over the desert that was going to claim him. He didn't know how far he'd come or how much further he had to go. He thought of the children, of Chanto and his little sister. A fresh surge of emotion rushed through him. He had been so close to proving his worth, something he'd never desired or believed he could do. It was being taken from him. He grew angry and that anger lent him strength. He pushed himself off the ground and with lurching, faltering steps pushed on. All he was aware of was the pain in his body, and the blackness that was encroaching ever further upon his vision and then, after what seemed like a deplorably short time, exhaustion and blood loss combined to pull him down. His anger and determination drained away until there was only a small voice inside him railing against the injustice of Fate. The last of his strength withered and the world around him turned black and stayed that way.
tbc