The wide red road gradually narrowed into little more than a goat path through the jungle. Swanson and Peña walked ahead, cutting back the more oppressive growth so that the truck could get through. Fisher took point about twenty yards ahead of them.

An hour into the journey, Fisher trotted back from the scout position and replaced McBride, who took his turn walking ahead. Peña had gone forward and taken point.

Doctor Myers leaned forward and put a blood pressure cuff on Ozzy’s arm. Rick watched out of the corner of his eye while she took the reading, then made a notation on her clipboard. She shifted and spoke out the back window. “Sergeant Fisher, do you know how to take a blood pressure?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied. “I can do pulse, though.”

“How are you doing, Sergeant Sanders?”

“Better than three-day-old mud on a set of Mickey Thompsons,” he said.

Rick chuckled. The more tired or stressed his friend got, the more his Alabama came through.

“I’m calling that good,” Doctor Myers said.

Rick glanced in the rearview mirror and saw her smile. So far, she hadn’t smiled much around him. The expression softened her face, made her look very young and very vulnerable.

“Hey, Daddy,” Swanson said through the radio. Rick could hear the stress in his sergeant’s voice.

“Copy,” Rick replied into the microphone of his earpiece.

“We got a roadblock half a klick up ahead.”

“Reassemble,” he said, slowly coming to a stop. He looked at Doctor Myers in the mirror. “We have a roadblock ahead.”

Her eyes widened. “What does that mean?”

“It means we might be packing stretchers through the jungle,” he said. “Inventory your equipment and supplies and prioritize down to must-haves, wants, and wishes.” He paused. “Just in case.” He angled his body toward his medic. “Hey, Ozzy?”

“Daddy.”

“Any chance you could walk? If you had crutches?”

Ozzy’s eyes widened, and Rick could tell he contemplated his answer. “If I had serious meds on board.”

Rick thought about Ozzy’s refusal of opioids. “What does that mean to you?”

Ozzy looked down. He took a deep breath, then met Rick’s eyes again. “It means I’ll function.” He shifted his head back so he could look at Doctor Myers. “Load me up, Doc. As much as you think you can give me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You sure?”

“I am.”

Tapping the back of Rick’s seat, she said, “Let me out, please.”

Rick slipped out of the truck and walked to the back. He looked into the bed. “Can you walk?”

Sanders let out a breath. “I can try.”

Rick set his weapon on the tailgate and jumped into the truck bed. He and Fisher lifted Sanders until he sat up against the cab.

“Whoa,” Sanders said. “I don’t know.”

“Sit there a spell,” Rick said. “I’ll be back.”