~Six~

Barely fifteen minutes after they left, McGee pulled his coat together tighter beneath his chin, unable to shake an unexpected feeling of abandonment. The wind chill had to be at least freezing by now. No matter how he hunched his shoulders and curled his body, icy cold still ran spine chilling fingers through him. The quiet unnerved him. Water dripped, sleet made little noises as it hit the foliage, but there didn't seem to be any other movement around him. He knew he should be grateful that no curious animals were stopping to check him out, and that the blood from his wound wasn't attracting something looking for a meal. But ever since the team had walked away, it was as if a bubble of silence had settled around him. He found it disquieting.

A hot stab of pain shot through his leg. Instead of dissipating, his discomfort grew. He leaned forward and looked at his leg, but couldn't tell if the bleeding had stopped or worsened. The bandage looked about the same to him, but a steady, throbbing pain had taken residence in his leg. On the plus side, it helped him ignore the other irritating twinges of pain vying for attention. On the minus side, the pain intensified until he felt as if it would shoot through him and explode out the top of his head.

Then he heard something that froze his breath: a footstep. Hoping he was mistaken, he listened, concentrating on separating out the various noises around him: dripping water, soft pinging of bits of sleet, the white noise of nothing, and then - the definite sound of a foot stepping on saturated foliage. He didn't question how he knew that sound, he only knew that someone was approaching him. If it were one of his friends coming back, they would have called out to him by now, which meant the person was either a stranger, or, factoring in McGee's tremendously bad luck, it was Morrison.

Gripping his weapon, McGee pushed against the ground and attempted to stand. His struggles and the resulting pitiful cry muffled between clenched lips surely alerted his stalker to his presence. Still, he refused to just sit back and be taken. Resigned to facing the enemy sitting down, McGee tightened his fingers around his gun and tried to look everywhere at once. A dark shape rushed at him from the side. Before he could swing his gun around, a fist exploded against his jaw. Darkness swooped down with feathery wings and scooped him up into nothingness.

Voices argued with each other. He waited for recognition to take hold and siphon the unfamiliar sounds into people he knew. Instead, he drifted up toward awareness and blinked his eyes open to two strangers bending over him. McGee gasped in surprise. The big man, buzz cut, shoulders as wide as a football stadium, turned to him with a kind expression of worry. The young boy behind him put a hand on his arm and leaned closer. Wait. If this was Jason and Lance Corporal Morrison, shouldn't Jason be cringing in fear and Morrison have some sort of unpleasant glare that curled his lips and made him look more like a monster? Confusion reigned, crowning itself king in McGee's head.

"Hey. You okay?"

Confusion chose a queen: dumbfounded.

Morrison must have interpreted the look on McGee's face. He smiled, further throwing McGee's thoughts into chaos. "I'm sorry I hit you. I saw your gun and couldn't think of a safer way to disarm you."

McGee opened his mouth, hoping something intelligent would present itself, but his leg chose that moment to remind him of his injury. Instead, he grimaced and grabbed for his wound.

"You have compartment syndrome."

"What?"

"Compartment syndrome. It's when the pressure is building up inside your leg and needs to be released."

"Is - is it terminal?"

"No. But if something isn't done soon, you could slip into shock and die." Morrison shook his head. "Look, this is my fault; I'm the one who set the booby trap -"

"Me and Rodney -" The kid tried to interrupt, but one look from Morrison stopped him.

"Yeah, you and Rodney did help build it, Jason. But it was my idea." He turned back to McGee. "Let me help. I can make a long incision in the fascia; that will relief the pressure and your pain, and you'll be fine until we can get you to a doctor." He reached into his backpack, pulled out what looked like a bandana, some bandages, and a knife.

Fear gripped McGee's heart and he pushed himself up a little straighter. "You said - how - how long of an incision do you need to make?" McGee swallowed and blinked, then locked his eyes on Morrison's face. "Never mind - I don't want to know."

Morrison twisted the bandana until it looked like something you'd tie around your head, then leaned forward and waited until McGee opened his mouth. He slipped it between McGee's teeth. "Bite down on that. It'll help. And hang onto something." Pouring alcohol over the knife blade, he told Jason, "Head down for the car, kid. Hotwire it like I've shown you and run the heater. We'll follow you as soon as we can." Jason turned to leave. Morrison reached out and caught his arm. When the kid looked at him, he smiled. "Be careful. It's going to be okay." Jason gave an answering smile and nodded, then left.

"He doesn't seem very frightened of you."

Focused on getting his supplies ready, Morrison glanced at him and then back at his hands. "He doesn't have any reason to be. I was pretty angry when I grabbed him and took him up here." He paused and grew still. "But the poor kid felt so guilty." A deep sigh lifted his shoulder. "I was guilty, too. We talked, got some things said, and I figured out I couldn't blame him for Rodney's death."

His voice quiet, McGee ventured, "You can't blame yourself, either."

Morrison looked at him. "I know." He straightened his shoulders and got down to business. "This is going to hurt, sir. Just hold on to something."

McGee glanced to the left and right and found two saplings he could grip, then braced himself as Morrison drew closer. Instead of watching, McGee squeezed his eyes shut. Pressure touched his leg, bared down, then sliced through him with lightening speed. Mind-numbing pain sickened him; nausea rolled in thick waves through his belly. Weakness gripped him and he lost all strength. He melted boneless against the ground. His jaw slackened with unconsciousness, and the twisted bandana rolled gently out of his mouth.

Morrison checked McGee's pulse, then quickly began binding the incision.