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was in the midst of trouble, either through pain or other sensations, like throbbing, burning and soreness. Such was the case for Greg as soon as he surfaced from his blackened haze. He realized at once that he was in deep shit when he tried to move his body and everything felt somehow disconnected. A series of sharp, stabbing twinges radiated through his body before converging on the lower part of his abdomen. It felt like someone had left firecrackers inside his stomach and lit them all at the same time.
    It was burning, exploding, hot and unimaginably painful.
    He tried opening his eyes, but their sheer weight made it difficult. Moaning, he reached around for something to help push himself up, but the pain shot through him again and he’d have doubled over if he hadn’t been lying down.
    That smell . . . what was it? The scent of metal came to mind, just before another searing ache emanated from his gut, burning until he stopped every attempt to move. Greg took shallow breaths to control the intense ache inside him. The more shallow his breathing, the less throbbing he had to endure. He tried lifting his heavy lids again, but his eyeballs just strained hard against the barrier and rolled up instead.
    What in the world was wrong with him? Greg opened his mouth to speak, but the dryness in his throat made it impossible to get a word out. His throat was a scorching burn, as if someone sandpapered his mouth and left it to dry in the sun. A faint, raspy moan escaped his lips.
    Although he’d been trying to regulate his breathing, he could do nothing to prevent the shaking of his body, which intensified the spasms. His body was vibrating from the cold shiver he was experiencing. Again, he was helpless to do anything but moan.
    A rustling sound came from his left, and soft footsteps approached. Then a soothing, warm hand touched his forehead. An unfamiliar voice filled with gentleness spoke to him.
    “I did what I could. I’m rooting for you,” the voice assured him before a warm hand caressed his sensitive skin, bringing him warmth. Minutes later, darkness prevailed once again.

Chapter 4

    Greg managed to pry his tired eyes open after several attempts. The pain had been terribly real, and he couldn’t get anything but moans out of his mouth when he tried to speak. The room was dim, but there was adequate light filtering through the gaps of the blinds. He looked around in confused haze.
    Where was he? The stark white walls held no frames, no pictures—nothing to give away his location. Greg’s eyes swept around the place, and he noted the modern equipment next to his bed. There was also a constant beeping from another machine that he couldn’t see. After several attempts, he was able to raise his hand, but even that simple action drained him of energy. His confusion grew when he noticed a tube attached to his arm and the stale scent of blood wafting around him.
    Then he remembered.
     
    “Ready?” Cade McPherson grinned at him from the pilot seat of their rented DeHavilland bush plane.
    “Sure am.” Greg propped himself up next to Cade. After pulling out the set of headphones hanging on the dash, he adjusted the earpiece before donning them.
    Cade had planned this hunting trip and made all the necessary arrangements. This time, Greg had agreed to rough it, backpacking in the wilderness instead of employing the services of a guide, like they’d done in the past.
    Flying and hunting had always been a passion the two friends shared. They had met when Greg’s father, Gregory Jr., brought Cade on to help Greg when business took him to out-of-town meetings and presentations. Cade had soon become his right-hand man.
    “Let’s find out what Beaver has to offer this time.” Cade grinned before he powered up the plane. The engine whirred efficiently, and the lone propeller spun to life, spinning wildly while Cade turned his attention to the GPS. Keying their destination, he checked his watch and spoke to the man in a