She was huddled against the makeshift fire, crying until her brown eyes turned bloodshot and her dark hair froze from the tears. A pathetic display by anyone's standards, but Melissa could no longer care. She had an excuse: an unforgiving wilderness, a precious bundle, and their only hope for survival fading quickly from her presence. It had been a miracle Captain McDonald managed so far with a punctured torso, but even the most persistent soldier had his limits.

He had lost consciousness minutes prior. There was no doubt that the man would soon succumb to the cold and the loss of blood. If all those nature shows had taught her anything, it was that she and her unborn child would follow him in time. Her military-issued clothes, the fire--they would not keep out the cold for long.

Melissa stared woefully at McDonald's prone body, one hand reaching down to protectively nudge against her belly. If only that radio hadn't broken down, they might have alerted someone (anyone) to their presence. Instead, the chances were quickly dwindling to zero.

Who could blame her, therefore, for crying?