Tupperman was alive.
He was unconscious, just barely in the shade of the shack, his laze in one hand. The snake bite kit was scattered on the sand before him, the syringe used and the vial of anti-venom empty.
Kara had to love a practical man. She bent and listened to his pulse, relieved that it was slower than she’d anticipated. She got the first aid kit and washed the area around the snake bite, then rolled him over and nudged him to wakefulness.
“I can’t lift you into the truck, Tupperman,” she informed him but he only murmured incoherently at the sound of her voice. He took a deep breath, struggling against something, then collapsed again.
Kara lifted the laze out of his hand and put it in the holster for him, thinking that might reassure him. He didn’t move. “We need to get out of
