Riccio stayed where he was. Every five paces I looked back, half
expecting to find him charging toward me with a boulder held high, but
he was really out.
It was perhaps a hundred or a hundred fifty yards from the place where
we had fought to the bottom of the sloping hill on which the cabins
were. I moved slowly, each step sending a shaft of pain through my
body. I could still feel Riccio's fists landing under my heart, landing
in my mouth, in the pit of my stomach. And I could still hear the dull
thunking sound of his head hitting the rock.
I had gone about half the distance when people appeared in front of me.
At first it seemed like an entire army, but I realized dimly that there
were really only five--Joanie, Dr. Richards, Meehan, Naomi, and Ernie
Bryan. I stood still, swaying like a tree in the breeze and feeling
ready to topple.
"Riccio," I muttered thickly.
"Where is he?" Dr. Richards asked.
"Back there. On the ground. I hit his head against a rock and knocked
him out."
My legs felt weak. My knees were turning to water. The world was
spinning around me. I looked at them--at Naomi, pale and frightened, at
Joanie, eager and anxious, at the men, grim and determined. Don Riemann
and Ted Nichols came running up. Riemann said, "Where's Riccio? Where'd
he go?"
I pointed back behind myself. Then my legs gave way altogether, and I
started to fall forward as my feet slid backward.
Riemann caught me and eased me to the ground. I sat there muttering
something and feeling very stupid for the flop. I tried to get to
my feet, but it was no go. Strong hands hoisted me up. Riemann and
Joanie, they were. They started to carry me, half-dragged between them,
up the hill to my cabin, while the rest of the posse took off in the
direction of the prostrate Riccio.
I'm a little fuzzy on what happened next. I know they got me to the
cabin somehow and stowed me in bed. Then I have confused recollections
of people coming and going, and very little idea of how much time had
passed before I opened my eyes and saw Dr. Kristin looking down at me.
"Drink this," he said, and gave me a spoonful of something sweet. I got
it down--though I had to struggle to keep it down--and lay back. He
went to work with some cotton, squeegeeing the blood away from my face
and examining my cuts and tidying them up. He gave me a quick once-over
to check for broken bones. Evidently he decided there weren't any,
because after ten minutes of poking he gave up and left.