Sam thought it best to give the food and drugs in Tom's system time to work, but knew they would have to move out before night fell upon them again. The food and water in their systems wouldn't provide and rigorous enough defence against the biting cold they had experienced the night before: they had to find shelter.

Right now the freezing cold was far from their minds however, as the blistering sun was proving to be just as menacing an adversary. Sam could feel her skin burning under the biting heat, but that had more to do with the fact she had decided to abandon the meagre amount of shade the jeep was providing in favour of attempting one of the two vehicles in their possession started.

"Any luck?" Called Tom following Sam's lengthy examination of both vehicles.

"Hmm." Sam replied unhelpfully.

Sam had calculated it was already midday, which meant they had around 7 hours before they were in real trouble. The motorcycle Tom had used in his heroic rescue had taken a bullet in the front wheel, and the jeep had next to no fuel. Sam was pretty sure the surpassingly significant amount of fuel left in the motorcycle was different to the fuel the jeep required, so with no spare tire they were technically stuck.

With a snarl Sam kicked the motorcycle back into the sand, sending a plume of it up into her face.

"I'll take that as a no." Tom stated, watching her cough and splutter.

"What was your first clue?" Sam snapped as she sat down next to him in a huff, but found him quickly shuffling away from her.

"You stink!" He shouted, holding his nose.

"Well, Dr Kent, I'm sweating like a pig and there is barely any shade. What did you expect?" Sam stated, staring at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Well I don't stink." Tom said, sniffing at his clothes.

"…I think you've developed a selective sense of smell." Sam said, waving a hand in front of her nose.

"Come again?" Tom asked, sniffing at his top like a dog.

"Well let's just say you don't exactly smell like roses."

…

"…And your sure you haven't seen them since?... No, no I understand. Thank you." Zoe ended the call and threw her phone down onto Sam's couch in a huff.

It had been nearly two days since she heard anything from Sam and Tom despite several promises not to lose touch and not to get themselves killed. Zoe had a funny idea that they were not sticking to either deal.

She had contacted the airport, who gave her the number of a local hotel, and was informed no one had seen hide or hair of either of them for nearly 48 hours. What with news that an army base had been taken over by rebel forces wanted for the murder of over a thousand soldiers near the airport the two doctors had last been spotted Zoe had no reason not to assume the worst. According to the news report someone had escaped the base and ran through the desert until he came across some soldiers who he reported the news to and plans were being made to get the base back under the control of the army.

Zoe winced slightly as she sat back down on the couch and placed her crutches on the seat beside her, the cast her broken ankle was encased in beginning to itch. Sam's stairs had been repaired in a matter of hours; unfortunately Zoe couldn't say the same for her ankle. She had six weeks in plaster still to go and had to be on crutches for a minimum of two months.

For a moment she stared at the blank TV screen in front of her, silently willing it not to give her any more bad news before she grabbed the remote from the coffee table in front of her and switched it on.

"...and according to the sole survivor of the catastrophe, Archer Miller, all of the other men in his platoon were taken out from the cells and killed but it appeared to him that he had somehow slipped under their radar. According to him there was another man bought into the cells that he helped escape, known simply as 'Tom'. Mr Miller was unsure of this man's location but said that he was there because he was helping his friend Sam search for her brother's killer, upon escaping Tom went and pursued Sam, but Mr Miller was unable to follow as he was re captured, and they are both presumed dead. Another platoon is expected to be deployed tonight in the hope of retaking the base. In other news…" The reporter finished her report, leaving Zoe white as a sheet.

She sat there and stared at the TV long after she had turned it off, but she wasn't really seeing the dark screen. Sam and Tom were presumed dead. In her eyes the presumed part may as well not be there.

There was no way two doctors with no supplies could survive in the middle of the desert.

…

"Are you sure about this?" Tom asked awkwardly as he stumbled to his feet, "We only have enough food for a few days in these er… 'Bags'."

Sam had had an idea. It was a reckless one at best, and involved ripping up one of the thick coats into two large pieces and awkwardly securing the fabric in places with a small role of selotape she had found into the shape of bags that she could swing over their backs and hold using the sleeves she had converted into handles.

"You have any better ideas? Because I would seriously love to hear them." Sam replied, helping Tom get one of the bags over his good shoulder.

"'fraid not." Tom replied with a small grin that got progressively bigger.

"What are you grinning at?"

"Your hand."

Sam had unconsciously rested her left hand on his chest while getting the bag on his shoulder.

"Er… let's go." Sam replied with a pinkish tinge to her cheeks.

"One more question."

"What?"

"Which way?"

"Er.. that way." Sam replied, pointing to a random sandy hill in the distance.

"That way it is…" Tom said with more than just a few misgivings.

…