"I'm good." He glanced up. "Hey, I said get back from that damn edge, Charlie."
"No. Not until you're safe."
He muttered and reached up again. And again. Over and over he pulled himself toward me.
Finally, his bloody fingers appeared over the edge, trembling, and he groaned as he shoved the rifle ahead of him.
The sight of it made my stomach twist. I couldn't believe Doug had aimed that thing at me.
I couldn't believe Mitch had risked his life to retrieve it.
He curled his knee over the top, and I grabbed his upper arm and hauled back with everything I had.
With an agonized grunt, he surged upward, rolled over the edge, and collapsed, eyes closed, chest heaving.
I sat back, hands shaking.
Jesus. He's a mess.
Bloody scratches covered his face. A bruise bloomed above his eye. The front of his shirt was torn, revealing purple-black bruising across his ribs. Plus, his knuckles were split and swollen.
"Jesus, Mitch. You're bleeding."
"I'm okay." He opened his eyes. "Nothing broken."
"Your face..."
"I'm fine, Charlie."
Such an obvious lie.
His gaze found mine. "Are you okay?"
"Um, yes and no, I guess." I shook my head. "I can't believe Doug fell."
Mitch heaved a breath and pushed himself up to sit, pain flashing across his face.
I looked toward the brown water below. "We should look for him. Maybe he got out."
"Hey." Mitch wrapped his hand around my wrist. "He's gone, Charlie."
"You don't know that."
"Charlie. He couldn't swim. You saw him in the water before." His tone was gentle despite his certainty. "We need to take care of ourselves now."
Guilt settled heavily in my stomach.
"Can you walk?" he asked.
The question brought my attention back to my body, and the pain that had been throbbing beneath my fear. "Can you?" I shot back because he looked like he could barely stand.
"I asked first." A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, but his gaze dropped to my boots.
Shit. I'd forgotten about my blisters.
"I'll be fine."
"Good. Let's get going. We need to find some shade."