Chilled (Bone Secrets, #2)(26)

“My stomach doesn’t feel so hot.”

He drank some water, but Alex noticed it wasn’t very much.

Jim gestured at the sky behind them. “Looks like I was right about weather back at camp.” The sky to the west was black. From their small clearing, they had an unobstructed view of sloping dark forests with snowy frosting.

“I didn’t realize we’d climbed so high.” Alex squinted down the side of the mountain. The trek had so many ups and downs he’d honestly felt like they were at the same altitude as where they’d started. Only the depth of the snow told him differently.

Thomas nodded. “We’re probably around four thousand feet.”

Jim immediately disagreed, and Alex tuned out their argument. He kept half an eye on Brynn, waiting for her to jump in and mediate, but she was focused on Ryan. The younger man was shaking his head at her inaudible questions. She put a hand to his forehead, but he pushed it away. Her eyes narrowed at him, and Alex couldn’t hear her retort. It must have been a sharp one, because Ryan’s shoulders slumped and his head dropped.

Suddenly Ryan jumped to his feet and turned. He took four lunging steps away from the group and then started to heave and vomit. Brynn was holding his head and murmuring to him before Alex could even stand.

The concern on her face touched him. He remembered his mother holding his head like that when he was ill as a child. The nasty crap spewing into the snow didn’t gross out Brynn; her focus was on the condition of the man. Ryan leaned away from her, gesturing for her to move back.

Alex caught her arm as she stepped back to the group, hurt and disappointment on her face. Seeing her upset, and with worry in her eyes, drove him to speak. “Ignore him. No man wants a woman to witness his weakness.”

“I know that. But he’s…” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, frowning.

“Give him some privacy,” Alex suggested. Thomas and Jim were still eating, apparently giving Ryan his space, but Alex spotted Jim’s concerned questioning glance at Brynn. She shrugged at him, walked a few yards off, and called for her dog.

Kiana gave an answering bark and came tearing out of the trees. Snow flew up from her feet, leaving a white cloud in her wake. Tongue lolling, ears perked, and tail happy. Just seeing the dog made Alex feel better. He’d never had a dog but had always wanted one. Monica hadn’t liked them, and his job took him away from home so much he figured a pet wouldn’t get enough attention.

Brynn broke off a branch, stripped it of needles, and threw it hard in the opposite direction. Kiana cranked up her speed and raced after it. A gray-and-white blur.

Brynn’s jaw was set. She’d probably prefer to use the stick to beat a little sense into Ryan.

“Hey,” the sick man croaked. They all looked in his direction. He’d moved farther away from the group to the top of the rocks. He was pointing down the slope, south from their view. “Plane.”

They scrambled up to Ryan’s view. White-faced and weak, Ryan braced his hands on his thighs as he stared down the slope. Sure enough. Alex squinted and saw white metal with some orange striping at the edge of a small clearing. Several hundred yards down in almost the same direction they’d come from. They’d probably passed within a hundred feet of it, but hadn’t seen it for the density of the forest between their path and the clearing. If Ryan hadn’t puked, they would have continued southeast, away from the wreckage.

Jim slapped the sick man on the back. “Nice work. Let’s get down there.”

Thomas and Jim turned to go grab their packs, but Brynn didn’t move. Alex followed her gaze to the puddle of vomit between Ryan’s feet.

It was red with fresh blood.

How sick is Ryan? Brynn’s heart had nearly stopped when she’d spotted blood in his vomit. Ryan was actively bleeding somewhere in his digestive tract. The possibility of an ulcer popped into her mind first, but Ryan had never mentioned an ulcer before. From what she’d seen, he ate whatever the hell he wanted and how much he wanted. He didn’t have the eating habits of someone babying an ulcer. And he was the picture of health; he easily burned off every calorie with his good exercise regimen. He didn’t smoke or drink. She didn’t think he had a daily ibuprofen or similar habit that could mess with the lining of his stomach.

She’d have to ask him about an ulcer. Another differential diagnosis for the blood was something he’d eaten. Maybe something poisonous or incredibly sharp. Where would he get something poisonous? And surely he would have noticed swallowing something sharp enough to cause that much damage.

Ryan had been fighting a cough, and his forehead had been unbearably hot as she’d held his head when he’d vomited. His health problem was probably systemic, like the flu or some sort of gastrointestinal virus or bacteria.

But those shouldn’t cause the bleeding.

Some ulcers were caused by bacteria. Weren’t they?

She snorted. Some nurse she was. It’d been too many years since nursing school. Most of those years she’d dealt with dead people, not living people and their various ailments. Her continuing education requirements were fulfilled in the classroom or online. A nurse learned a lot more when she worked with ill people day in and day out. An experienced ER nurse could probably look at Ryan, ask three questions, and have him accurately diagnosed before the doctor entered the room.

But could that nurse take the liver temperature on a corpse?