Ringing pierced Cody’s ears, his vision blurred, and his body ached. Just below the high-pitched whine, he could hear something crying, the sound a hurt dog would make. As reality came back into focus he realized that Rick was that dog. He was whimpering and clutching his left leg, rocking back and forth. Were his pants always red? It took Cody a minute to realize that it was blood that stained his friend’s clothes, blood that was still pouring out. Cody remained lying on the dirt, staring at Rick. Mia was nowhere to be seen. Cody’s pack was still strapped to him, Rick’s had spilled its contents out on the ground like a frat boy on a Saturday night.
“Fuck. My leg, Cody, help me.” Rick gripped his leg as blood spurted out.
Cody didn’t move until Rick shouted at him a second time. Then he sprung up and ran over to him and said, “What do I do?”
“You have to tie off my leg above where it’s bleeding, here take my poncho.”
Rick squirmed out of his rain gear and handed it off to Cody. Cody looked at it, wrapped it around Rick’s thigh, and tied it off, his hands slipping in the blood and sweat. Rick put his leg up on a rock and a few seconds later the bleeding stopped. The adrenaline subsided and Cody’s heart calmed down. He became keenly aware of the dozens of cuts across his own body now. But after a quick check, he determined that nothing required serious attention.
“Wait, Mia,” Cody said, looking back at the cliff. She was above them, having landed up on a higher ledge.
She wasn’t moving.