Robby hadn't let go of his wrist yet and his warm, strong fingers were still firmly pressed to Jack's pulse. Jack's awareness of the world was narrowing again. He was focusing on Robby breathing next to him. Robby was breathing. Robby wasn't injured. He wasn't bleeding out into the sand and dust and dirt, staining the ground a color that never could be mistaken for oil or any other substance.

Jack's pulse picked back up again and his breathing got rougher as the images started playing through his head again.