I struggle to grab a canteen and some cloths. I push the damaged chopper door fully open and look down to the desert sand a few feet below. I lower myself gingerly to the ground and begin crawling toward a rock outcropping 150’ away, leaving the overpowering smell of gasoline behind. I’ll have to wait for rescue.

There’s not much shade. I find a couple of old branches, and use one to splint the shattered leg as best I can. I stop the bleeding and ignore the dislocated shoulder. My head feels like it’s ready to split open: what do I do? I think I’m supposed to stay awake.

I’ve lost a lot of blood and I drift off. As I do, I hear noises from a few yards away. I open my eyes to find some vultures standing on the sand, watching me, but they don’t approach. I make sure that I have a branch at hand.

I drift off again. After some time, a sharp peck at my leg jerks me awake. I grab the branch and swing, but miss. We repeat this dance twice more.

“C’mon, birds! Keep me awake!” With a little help, I might make it.