Part 5
Night arrived, and still the rain fell. Tony had discarded his jacket and stopped long enough to help McGee pull his off, long ago. He'd slowed his steps, hoping to keep McGee on his feet as long as possible. He figured he could carry Tim for awhile, but not long enough to make a difference. Besides, the only way he'd be able to handle it would be to use a fireman's carry, and with a potential abdominal injury, that wouldn't be feasible.
He looked down and saw that Tim held his hand protectively over his belly. There was no blood; that meant probably an internal injury. How many hours had it been since the accident? No doubt with an injury like McGee probably had, he should have been kept still and quiet until medical assistance could be found. Instead, Tim had pulled him from the car, given him support to lean on, and had run and fallen and run again for the past several hours. What those movements were doing to his insides was not good. The longer they went without finding help and getting Tim to a hospital, the less his chances were of - no! stop it! It did no good to have negative thoughts like that.
Tim pulled in a quick breath. He turned his face away as if trying to hide his discomfort, but with their bodies pressed together, even if he hadn't heard his moan, Tony could feel the vibrations through his side. Before he could catch him, Tim's knees buckled and he went down, sliding out of Tony's arms. Tony knelt beside him, pulled him up, and held him. Tim trembled. His forehead, pressed against the side of Tony's throat, radiated warmth. Tony closed his eyes for a moment to escape the rain, nearly overcome with defeat. The very real fear of his friend dying in his arms squeezed his heart with pain. He blinked his eyes open, hoping to know what to say.
In the distance, a tiny light winked at him. He squinted in disbelief, wondering if his mind was playing a cruel joke on him. Wind bent and played with the branches of distant trees, playing hide and seek with the light. Just as he was about to give up, there it was again: a light. Hope rose painfully quick in his chest. Tony swallowed, gathered Tim close, and stood. "We're almost there, Tim. Hang on for me, we're almost there."
Stumbling, holding onto Tim, Tony pushed forward. For a long time it seemed as if the light didn't move any closer. Then finally, through the trees, he saw a dark, vague outline. A huge old country home revealed itself through the rain and darkness. A worn picket fence lined the perimeter of a front yard. The gate in the middle stood open, inviting them in. The mailbox beside the muddy dirt road read 'Stanley, V.' And beside it, discolored wood showed the weathered outline of two other letters that used to be there: M.D. His heart in his throat, Tony staggered to the front door. Leaning against the frame, Tim tucked close to his side, he pounded on the door.
