Stephanie's POV
He was so heavy. Dead weight in my arms. The fire I'd built was just embers now, but his skin was on fire. A sick, dry heat came off him.
"Cane," I whispered, shaking him gently. "Cane, please."
Nothing. Just the horrible, shallow sound of his breathing.
My kids were gone. My husband was dying. The thought was a cold fist around my heart, squeezing tight. I wanted to scream. I wanted to curl up and let the jungle take me. But I couldn't. If I stopped, he died. If he died, I was alone. And if I was alone, I would never find Josh and Jolina.
The panic was a living thing, scratching at the inside of my ribs. I had to push it down, deep down, and lock it away. Just for now. The Sparrow could do that. A mother couldn't.
"Okay," I said out loud to the empty beach. "Okay, Steph. First things first."
