Sofia slept deeply, held in such a state of depleted exhaustion that she was almost comatose. Every fibre in her body felt heavy with deep-set fatigue, and her mind was so numb and fogged that when she woke, it was several long moments before she remembered where she was.

She used those moments to orient herself, her brain piecing itself back together. The ground beneath her felt hard, the camping mat barely sheltering her from the rocky landscape below, but the sleeping bag she was wrapped in was warm and snug. She opened her eyes, and in the dark could just make out the curve of the domed tent above, and the memory then flooded back with such painful intensity that she had to close her eyes again – they were still in the desert, separated from Grissom and Sara, and far from home.

It was a painful thought. She knew that while the four of them had made it to relative safety, they had achieved nothing. They had found no food, and supplies back at the house were dwindling fast. She thought of Sara's baby, of Catherine's skeletal figure, and suddenly it seemed ridiculous that they had waited as long as they had to launch their search. She saw starvation peering at them from around the next corner, and knew that if they did not react fast, it would leap out and ambush them. She thought about it until she felt her anguish harden into steely determination – one way or another, she would have to find food, even if it meant another trip to Vegas. If that was the price of her friends' survival, then it was a price she would have to pay. That was all there was to it.

She was mulling it over just as she heard a whisper close by, and Warrick's voice sounded in the darkness.

"What's wrong?"

She turned her head, and saw then that he was addressing Catherine, who lay nestled in close beside him. She appeared half asleep, drifting as she murmured some kind of faint response.

"Hmm?"

She shifted slightly, whispering close, and then he moved.

"Hang on, let me find a light."

He sighed deeply – a masculine sigh of sheer exhaustion – and then reached to rummage in his pack behind his head. Sofia listened to the quiet flurry of buckles and zips, until a click sounded and a soft glow bathed the tent.

She blinked as her pupils adjusted, and knew then that she had to ask.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Warrick replied. "Go back to sleep."

It was sorely tempting, but there was something in Catherine's quiet plea which niggled at her, and after debating it for a moment she rolled onto her side to check. She saw Catherine there, her back turned as she snuggled into Warrick, but she seemed unusually quiet. Though Warrick shone the torch on her, and touched her shoulder to prompt a response, she seemed to barely acknowledge him, and instead snuggled down deeper into her sleeping bag. After a second Sofia saw it ripple, as though struck by a shiver from within.

She sat up a little.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

She stretched out a hand to her friend, and searched Warrick's eyes for an explanation.

"She says she's cold," he provided.

He perched the torch on top of his pack, positioning it like a lamp, and then reached to examine her. Sofia wriggled closer, shuffling over to Catherine's side, and slipped her fingers in to feel her friend's pulse at her neck. It beat steadily, but her skin did feel slightly cool.

She searched her mind for memories from the previous night, but came up with only a few scraps. She had a faint recollection that Nick had forced her to change, and could only guess that he had probably helped Warrick and Catherine too if they had struggled, but she was vague on the precise details.

"You did change before you went to sleep?" she asked.

"She changed her shirt and took off her jeans," Warrick provided, "but her hair was still wet. I think it's dripped all the way down her back."

He unzipped Catherine's sleeping bag and peeled it away to prove his point – how he knew Sofia wasn't sure, and she could only guess the knowledge came from some canoodling earlier, but Catherine's shirt and sleeping bag were indeed both damp. She had effectively fallen asleep in a puddle, and it was no wonder she had woken with hypothermia. She wished they had had the foresight to dry her hair earlier when they had settled in, but she knew truthfully that Nick had done extremely well in staying awake long enough to help them at all, and they were only lucky the problem was not more widespread.

"Sleeping bag's soaked," Warrick observed. "You might as well has fallen asleep inside a refrigerator – it's no wonder you're cold."

"I'm fine," Catherine murmured, with faint irritation "Don't fret."

"Don't fret? Don't lie."

"Sit up," Sofia urged, intervening before Catherine could find the energy to become stubborn. "Get changed."

Sofia's guiding hand was so firm that Catherine didn't argue. She relented, and sat up to reluctantly let them fuss over her. She seemed too tired to do much else, struck down with the same physical exhaustion that had hit them all; and Sofia knew from long experience that when Catherine was tired, she fell quiet. She did not protest as Sofia took charge, raiding Catherine's pack for a fresh supply of clothes, and dropping a dry shirt, pair of jeans and socks into her lap.

"Put them on, dry your hair, and then get in with one of us. You'll be fine in an hour."

"You can jump in with me," Warrick offered to her. "You'll be okay."

He tenderly swept back her hair, and she gave him a look of weary gratitude as he moved to help her. He took the hem of her shirt, and lifted it over her breasts and head with practiced efficiency, leaving her sitting there in nothing but her skimpy underwear. Sofia was struck by how vulnerable she looked in the dim torchlight; Catherine's frame was skeletal thin these days, and she looked frail and helpless as another shiver took her. Her damp hair had fallen messily about her face, and Warrick gently pushed it back again as he considered her remaining bra and panties.

"What about your underwear?" he asked. "They wet?"

The innuendo only occurred to Sofia when Catherine looked up at him, suddenly a fraction more awake. Her head was inclined to the side, her face still weary with exhaustion, but her eyes and lips now carried the faintest tinge of amusement.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly, hastening to give Sofia a reassuring look. "At least not with Sofia here."

"Pity," Catherine returned, making a weak effort at humour as she grabbed the fresh shirt. "You might've got lucky."

Warrick laughed, his brown eyes shining with love.

"Thanks. But not while you're sick. Let's get you well first, okay?"

He helped her get dressed, and trusting that Catherine was in good hands, Sofia chose to leave them to it. She gave her friend a reassuring touch on the shoulder, and then, her bladder full, went to grab her torch and pull on her boots.

"Where are you going?" Catherine asked, spotting her as she reached for the tent zip.

"Bathroom," Sofia said, holding up a roll of toilet paper. "I'll be right back."

"Don't go far," Warrick warned.

It was a freezing night – even more bitterly cold outside than it had been in the tent. Sofia saw that they had pitched the tent near a cliff-face, allowing for some protection from the elements, but the protection was minimal. The dome of their tent was sopping wet from the rainstorm, and the miles of dusty desert around them had been turned into a mud swamp. The few patches of shrubbery were still dripping wet, their branches sagging from the weight, and the patches of mud were interspersed with long rivers of puddles. Her own boots squelched as she wove around it all, searching for a dry spot, and her feet inside were cold and damp. She had not bothered to put her jeans on, and the bitter cold nipped at her bare legs as she hurried along, stopping at a dry patch of dirt sheltered by a boulder.

She glanced over her shoulder to check the tent was still within sight – they could not be too careful – and then put the toilet paper down on the rock to do her business. She had been camping many times before as a child, and the process of toileting in the wilderness did not bother her – at least not as much as it did Catherine, who as a city-bred child could sometimes be precious about it. Sofia remembered with a smile the time when Catherine had first been forced to stop on one of their return trips from town; the trip had been taken by the three women, and had been a relaxing wander in the afternoon sunshine before Catherine had announced she was ducking off the road for a second. Sara had wordlessly handed her a trowel and toilet paper, and Catherine had stared at it for a moment, clearly missing modern facilities, before she had reluctantly taken it. Sara, in one of her humorous moods, had offered Catherine a helpful description of the best position before Catherine had killed the conversation with a single stern look, and Sara had then leaned calmly against a tree to wait while the redhead stalked off into the desert, her shoes crunching in the grass. Sara had been unable to resist winding up Catherine about it upon her return, and had joked and jibed for a good half mile before Catherine had swiftly changed the subject.

The memory still made Sofia smile, but as she thought about it it was accompanied for the first time by a sense of unsettled longing. Sara and Grissom were both miles away now, and the separation remained painful, as though something had fractured amongst the group.

As she pulled her panties back on she tried to stifle the feeling, but was abruptly halted as something crunched in the desert nearby.

She froze. The noise was foreign, like a footstep on broken twigs, and she held still, ears sharply peeled. She knew better now than to announce her presence, or rush off to investigate – Sara's encounter in Vegas had taught them that – and she instead swiftly killed the torchlight, and moved the luminous roll of toilet paper out of sight onto the ground. She clicked off the safety on her gun, and crouched down, listening hard.

She felt suddenly the enormous gap between herself and the tent, and wished that she had swallowed her pride and let or asked one of the others to come with her. But she was alone now, and it was too far to call out.

Whatever happened, she would have to deal with it alone.

She gripped her gun tight, on edge. She scanned the desert, searching the darkness for sign of a human, but saw nothing. The miles of dark desert stretched out before her, wet and quiet, and though the view was impeded by the clusters of salt brush, all seemed still.

She craned her head a little, uncertain, peering around the nearest bush.

There was nothing there.

She sighed, and was just about to stand when she heard a voice behind her.

"Sofia?"

She jumped, and turned to see Warrick there, his eyes narrowed in faint confusion. He had gotten dressed, his jeans on over his boxer shorts, his feet jammed into his boots with the laces hanging untied and loose. Evidently he had dressed in a hurry, and he held in his hands his gun and flashlight that he had used to examine Catherine back in the tent.

"You okay?" he asked. "You've been ages. You got the runs or something?"

He looked at her with concern, and she realised suddenly that he had come looking for her.

She hastily shook her head.

"No – I thought I heard something."

She heard the fear in her own voice, and in that same instant his expression changed. His eyes flew over her bare legs, and the half-open blouse which barely covered her, and he raised his weapon, guarded.

"Heard what?" he asked. "Which direction?"

"It sounded like a footstep," Sofia said. "Twigs breaking."

She was careful to keep her voice low, and indicated vaguely ahead to where she thought it had come from.

"And it wasn't me?" he asked quickly. "Definitely not one of us?"

"No way. Wrong direction."

She still felt on edge herself, and kept her own weapon raised as she flanked him. The desert appeared still, but she knew appearances could be deceiving, and did not lower her guard. Warrick stayed firm beside her, and he appeared reluctant to go off to investigate, but instead scrutinised the desert, until a moment later when there were more footsteps, and Sofia looked around to see Nick and Catherine jogging down to meet them.

They jogged down the slope looking like trained cops; both with their guns hard outstretched, their fingertips clutching flashlights. The beams jiggled over the salt brush as they made their way down, all signs of sleep vanished. Nick's eyes locked onto Sofia as he dashed into the fold.

"What's going on – you okay?"

"You didn't come back," Catherine said, confused.

"We've got company," Warrick provided.

He said no more, but the hard concentration in his eyes was enough. He did not break his gaze from the surrounding landscape, and quickly summing up the situation, Catherine fell silent. There was a muted click as she removed the safety from her weapon, and stepped up warily beside him.

"Nick," Warrick said, with chilling calm, "Take Sofia and get her dressed." He spared Sofia a brief glance. "Go put some pants on."

Sofia was suddenly aware of how naked she was – standing there in nothing but her underwear and a flimsy half-open blouse. The frigid night air was freezing, and though she did not care about being undressed in front of her friends, she felt suddenly uncomfortably exposed, as if she was on parade for the entire world. Catherine threw her a wary glance, a hard protectiveness filling her eyes, and Nick took her wrist.

"Let's go," he said.

"Stay together," Catherine ordered.

Though she had been pale and trembling not five minutes before, she now looked wide awake, and there was a hard determination in her eyes which Sofia instinctively trusted. She made her way off with Nick, in a hurry to get it done, and as they hurried up the slope toward the tent his spare arm fell protectively around her shoulders.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," he admonished. "It's not safe."

For once, Sofia did not argue with him. Though there had been a time when she would have, goaded by the slight sexist undertone, that time had long passed. She was not that naïve anymore, and knew that in their new hostile world women were a prized commodity. With no law and order to protect them, they were at the mercy of the violent dregs of civilisation, and the horrifying possibilities only began with rape. Sara had been lucky to escape it, and Grissom's fears for their safety were well justified.

She slipped into the tent and snatched up a pair of jeans, jamming them on as Nick continued to hover.

"You should've taken Warrick," he went on. "He could've turned around while you did your thing –"

"Catherine was sick," she interjected. "He had to stay with her –"

"She's just chilled, she's okay. She would've been fine until you got back. Your safety's more important, okay? The same goes for all of us. It's wild out here."

She looked into his eyes, and beyond his evident fear, saw a loving concern which made her relent. She nodded, and said nothing as she threw on her old LVPD windbreaker – though the collar was stained with blood from her head injury, it remained her favourite, the item reminding her of home.

Nick squeezed her hand as they left the tent again, emerging into the open night air.

"Stay close, okay?"

Sofia needed no guidance, and they hurried side-by-side back down the hill toward Warrick and Catherine. She saw their heads bobbing above the salt brush, several feet from where they had left them, and quickly jogged down to join them.

Warrick's eyes flicked up to check she was decent, but Catherine remained focused on something on the ground, and had her torchlight shone onto it with an expression of being deeply unnerved.

"Sperm," she reported, talking quietly as Sofia joined her. "It's fresh."

Sofia's stomach twisted as she instantly realised what it meant. Catherine touched her arm, offering support.

"Must've been watching you from the bushes," Warrick added, looking wary of her reaction. "Probably snuck away when I came down."

"Or he's still here," Catherine added darkly.

She carefully examined the surrounding bushes, moving her torch beam slowly from branch to branch. She met eyes with Warrick, dark and serious, as though sharing a silent plan, and he nodded in grim response.

"Walk with us," Catherine said.

She put a caring hand to Sofia's back, sympathetic to her shocked silence, and led her over to a natural landmark a short way away. It was a large collection of rocks accompanied by a dead tree, and she sat Sofia down at the base, on a secluded patch of dirt that was still dry. Warrick deposited Nick beside her.

"You two stay here," Catherine said. "No matter what happens, stay together and keep your guns close. We'll be back."

"Where are you going?" Nick asked dumbly.

Sofia thought she knew, and the thought only made her feel even more rattled. She tried not to meet Catherine's eyes, which were looking at her with a deeply disturbing calm.

"We're just going to make sure it's safe," Warrick said. "Stay here with Sofia where we can find you both."

"Don't go anywhere," Catherine emphasised.

She leaned forward from her position knelt in front of them and gave them each a hurried peck on the lips. She lingered in front of Sofia, her hand on her shoulder.

"You'll be fine. We've got you looked after, okay?"

And after giving her another peck on the forehead, she squeezed her arm and left with Warrick, and the two stalked off like hunters into the darkness. Sofia felt Nick move closer, and his hand slipped down to tightly grip hers, but he seemed similarly unable to say anything.

Two minutes later Sofia heard the gunshot – ringing loudly through the night like a cannon – and another two after that, Catherine and Warrick returned. They strolled back looking slightly uncomfortable, Warrick's hand on her shoulder as she holstered her weapon.

Nick looked relieved to see them.

"What happened?" he asked quickly.

Sofia thought she knew, and stared down into her own lap, feeling too numb to speak.

"He's dead," Warrick provided.

They offered nothing more, and after a moment of silence Warrick moved.

"I'll go grab our things."

A short time later they set off into the night, their packs back on their shoulders, Sofia feeling the weight of far more than just its contents. She put one foot after the other, numbly walking with them as they wove their way through the salt brush, heading for the open desert. She felt tears in her eyes, but simultaneously felt unable to cry, and the time passed in a strange mental haze. She felt Nick touch her shoulder, something about that it "had to be done", heard Catherine query if she was okay, but she said nothing to any of them. After a while Nick settled for simply walking beside her, and they trekked on across the endless miles of desert in silence.

Sofia felt strangely mentally detached as the hours passed, her weariness returning in full force, only faintly aware of events around her. She sensed the first raindrops hit her windbreaker, landing in a steady plop-plop-plop rhythm, and then it intensified until they were walking in a downpour again. Sometime after that Warrick became worried about Catherine, and a mile or two further on she began shivering hard. The men too seemed constantly worried about something behind them, glancing repeatedly over their shoulders as though there was something there, but Sofia had little energy to follow the conversation.

A short while later Sofia recognised the dirt road again, that blessedly familiar track that led home, and felt a brief period of relief before disaster struck, and Catherine's knees buckled from under her. She crouched on the roadside, head in her hand, shaking uncontrollably.

"Shit," Warrick said.

He tossed his pack to the ground, and grabbed hold of her.

"Cath? Cath!"

Catherine's clothes were wet through, her hair dripping, and she shook her head vaguely in response.

"It's getting worse," Nick said, dropping to his knees in front of her. "She needs help, man."

Even in her shock Sofia glanced around, but they were alone. She dropped instead to her knees, struggling to focus enough to help.

"It's okay, Cath," Warrick said, holding her to him as she shook, her head buried in his shoulder. "It's okay …"

He cooed to her, trying to warm her even though he was shaking himself. His own shirt and jeans were long wet through, and he looked weak.

"I'll go for help," Nick said. "The house isn't far –"

He struggled to his feet, wavering.

"… I'll get help …"

"Hurry, Nick –"

Nick wasted no time, and was gone before Sofia had even wrapped her head around what was happening, and soon he disappeared from sight. Warrick cradled Catherine in his arms, soothing and cooing at her whispered apologies, and Sofia sat with them, wrecked and helpless.

"It'll be okay, Cath … it's okay …"

Sofia only wished it was true, but knew the reality was that they were far beyond that point, and that whatever happened now, chances were it would not be okay.

Their luck had run out.

Looking ahead to the next chapters and all I can see is action, action, action ... May slow it down eventually for the epilogue but I guess we'll see. :)

Would love feedback if people have the time. :)