“We’re right here,” I say, as calmly as I can. “My name is Casey. I’m with a camp nearby. I have two other people with me.”
His head swings, following my voice. “I can’t see you. It’s too dark. I need a light.”
I look up at the soft yellowish light of early evening. Then I take a deep breath. “I … I think you’ve suffered a head injury. You appear to be temporarily blinded.”
Is it ethical to say this when I have no idea whether it’s temporary? Maybe not, but it’d be a hell of a lot less ethical to panic a man when I don’t know how badly he’s injured.
“You’re okay,” I say. “We found you, and you’re okay. I was just examining you before we get a doctor.”
Silence.
“Can you understand me?” I ask.
He nods.
“You’ve suffered a head injury,” I say. “Your eyes look fine. It’s probably just trauma. Do you remember what happened?”
“I—I was attacked. Some guy from the forest. He looked like … I don’t even know what.” He swallows. “I’ve heard stories. About crazy folks. Criminals. Killers. People who escape into the woods out here, and I thought they were just stories but…”
“All right. I have questions, but first I need to examine you. You’ve been stabbed.”
He shakes his head. “Not stabbed. Just sliced up.” A hollow laugh. “Suddenly, that distinction seems really important.”
Another swallow, and he sits upright and rubs his eyes. “Go ahead and examine me, but I suspect I’m okay other than this…” A wave at his eyes. “The guy clocked me in the head. With a rock, I think. Snuck up behind me. I fell, and he seemed to think I was unconscious, so he flipped me over. I jumped up, and he came at me with the knife. I’d put my pack down, so all I could do was follow his example and grab a rock. After he slashed me a few times, I managed to hit him and…”
His voice trails off, coming back in a whisper that is half awe and half horror. “I don’t even know how I did it. Something inside me just took over. An instinct for survival, I guess. I hit him, and I just kept hitting him until he went limp. Then…”
He shakes his head. “It’s a blank after that.” He pauses, that empty gaze lifting to mine. “Is he…?”
“He is.”
A moment of silence. Then, “What was he?”
“We can talk about that in a minute. I know you don’t think you’re badly injured, but I’d like to examine you. We found you while searching for other people. If you’re badly hurt, we’ll abort that search to get you to a doctor. If you’re okay for now, though…”
I look up at Dalton, who gives an abrupt nod. While getting this poor guy to April might seem like the obvious next move, if he’s stable, we need to consider Felicity and Edwin.
“My injuries can wait,” he says. “But go ahead and double-check.”
“Thank you. If you’re fine, one of us will stay with you, but we were following their trail, and we’d hate to lose it.”
The man nods. “I understand.”
I ask his name—Colin Berger. Then I remove his shirt. His injuries do look worse than they actually are. There’s a lot of blood, but it’s surface damage. I don’t even see any cuts in need of stitching.
“You aren’t going to ask who we’re hunting for?” Dalton asks after a few minutes.
Colin’s head jerks up, tracking the voice.
I don’t stop Dalton from asking the question. I should have asked myself—I’d been too focused on the man’s injuries to realize it’s odd he didn’t question us about the search.
“For the Danes, right?” Colin says. “Or, at least I certainly hope you are, and I definitely hope you did find their trail. I’ve been hunting for two days without a trace.”
“What’s your interest?” Dalton asks.
“Not sure I need an ‘interest’ in finding missing hikers.” Colin’s tone cools. “But I know folks out here can be private, so I’ll respect that. I dropped them off last week. They were…” He rubs his chin. “I’m a pilot and I love my job, but I hate how many people like them we get.”
“They were difficult?” I ask as I plaster the worst of his cuts.