The male groaned, muttering an angry spate of nonsense as he thrashed in the sandy dirt. Puffs of dust rose, adhering in another layer of grit to their already sweat-soaked bodies.
Leah blew a greasy strand of hair from her face. “We don’t know if it’s water. Could be piss or something even more disgusting.”
But it looked like a water skin. One of those bota bag things so popular in the seventies. “If we’re going to rob him of his water, the least we can do is take him with us.”
Incredulous, Moira rolled her eyes. “How’re we going tae move him? He looks tae weigh a ton.”
Leah edged around the male, careful to stay out of reach of the flailing arms. “Maybe he has something we can use to make a travois in that pack he’s wearing.”
Moira inched closer, scrubbing her toe in the dust. “We cannae get it off him if he’s lying on it.”
She heaved a sigh, shaking her head in disgust. Whatever happened, it’d be up to her to do something. Moira certainly wouldn’t. She did swallow the tracking device though. Have to give her that one!
The male gnashed his teeth, the elongated incisors flashing in a teeth-bared grimace. He sat up, muttering to himself as he struggled to stand. Soft moans replaced the crazed gibberish. That he was in agony was obvious. Purple streaks of infection spread from the brutalized hand and arm threading up to the paleness of his shoulder and chest. Like a stuffed sausage ready to burst from pressure.