For one long moment, she stood in the small doorway while her eyes adjusted to the dark. Her grandfather was huddled in a far corner, and he wasn’t moving. She gave a gasp of dismay, but then Mike pushed her aside, striding across the sand to stoop over the huddled figure. He lifted a limp wrist and turned to stare at Tess in the gloom. ‘He’s alive, Tess. Help me.’ ‘Alive…’ Somehow Tess made her legs carry her over to where Mike was kneeling in the sand. ‘Oh, Mike, alive…’ Strop fell back. He’d been trained to do this. He wasn’t all stupid. When Mike’s voice hit a certain tense pitch, Strop knew enough to shove his butt down and wait. ‘How…? How…?’ Tess stared down. ‘He’s unconscious, Tess, but there’s a heartbeat. He’s so dry. Hell, feel his skin! His mouth is parched and his tongue is swollen. You’ll find a torch in my pack, and a saline pack.’ His hands were running over the old man as he spoke, moving with care and concern. ‘For him to have been here… He must have been here all this time!’ Tess was hauling Mike’s backpack from his shoulders and fumbling inside for a torch.
