When they reached the cactus stand Hornbreed collapsed atop his survival blanket. "Enough ... enough ... I'm done", he said.
"I want to get farther away from that cave", Valentine said. He stomped hard next to a wandering scorpion, sent it scurrying back into the thorns. "Fifteen minutes, then we'll pick up and move on".
Hornbreed's breath left a moist wing on the reflective surface of the blanket. Valentine decided it was safe to reload, opened a box of shells, and fed them into the magazine. He decided to give Hornbreed a few more minutes and cleaned the barrel.
"C'mon, bud. Up", Valentine said.
Hornbreed moaned. He looked like a deboned fish, sweating and gasping. "Can't. Muscles won't work". He managed to drag an arm under himself.
Valentine sorted through Hornbreed's gear, took medical supplies and water, the flare pistol and signaling mirror. The rest he buried.
lOO
Hornbreed was a big man. Valentine could carry him, but he would have to stop and rest frequently, and a few hours would exhaust him utterly. His bad leg started up a preemptive ache at the thought. They'd never make the highway.
A drag might be possible, if...
The wreck!
Valentine felt the flier's pulse, which was regular but fast, picked Hornbreed up in a fireman's carry, and thanked creation that they'd be going downhill. He placed Hornbreed inside the rear cabin of the plane, closed the door, and went back for his pack.
With that done, he looked around the wreck site.
The fuselage was intact - if only one of the rear wings had come off, it would make a good sled.
Doors! The hinges were designed to come apart easily; all you had to do was pull a pin. Even better, a broken piece of landing gear could be used in an improvised wheelbarrow.
He tore up some cargo netting, clipped his light to the higher of the two wings, and went to work, careful to keep the Steyr within reach.
It was in the deep night of predawn by the time he finished. He dragged Hornbreed back out of the aircraft and tried him on the improvised wheelbarrow.
"It works!" Valentine said, though the balance left a lot to be desired. Hornbreed, wheezing and whimpering, managed a nod. Valentine lowered him gently and put the canteen to his lips. "We're out of here, Hornbreed".
It would be a race against the sun.
Valentine never got to test his contraption any further. He caught a whiff of the telltale ammonia smell on the clean night breeze and reached for the Steyr.
The hunter-gatherer rushed out of the night, grasping arms up and ready. Valentine had no idea where the vital spots were, so he settled for sending shot after shot straight down its centerline, trusting that the big-game 7.62mm shells would find something important.
lOl
The bug collapsed, flipped forward in a weird imitation of the downed aircraft, continued to twitch with the three legs and the pinioned arm on one side of its body. Valentine reached for the bug prod, held the rifle at his hip in his right hand and the prod with his left.
The shots roused Hornbreed, though he grasped the flare gun rather than his pistol.
"Most-heeeeee!" a voice shrieked from the darkness.
Others took up the chorus. "Most-heeeee!"
A fast metallic rattle, either an imitation of a snare drum on some piece of aluminum or an attempt to re-create a rattlesnake's warning, broke out in the desert predawn.
"That can't be good", Hornbreed said, and managed to rise to his feet using the fuselage for support.
"I think I just committed blasphemy", Valentine said.
Something whizzed nearby and the fuselage popped near his ear. Stones!
"Inside", Valentine said, shoving the pilot toward the rear door.