Turn Not Back
“Damn it, Jim!” McCoy snarled. Trails of sweat cut through the dirt that covered his face, but he made no move to wipe them away; his hands were red to the wrist and pressed firmly against the captain's abdomen. “I swear to god, if you die on me I will kill you. Spock, talk to me here, I need information.”
“Respiration and cardiac rates are falling. The blow to his head was worse than we originally surmised, as well.” Spock's voice was cool and calm, a direct contrast to his white-knuckled grip on the tricorder. “His brain activity appears to be weakening.”
McCoy let out a stream of vicious curses. “I can give him trianoline for the concussion, but his system can't take more than half a normal dose of netinaline. It'll help keep him with us, but only for a few minutes. Damn it, I need more time!”