The Awakening

When he awoke, it was dark. A delirious fever raged through him. In his confusion, he scrambled to one knee. His revolver was fully loaded and in its holster, and the few pouches he carried at all times: ammunition, a day's worth of trail food, and useful odds and ends were still intact. His clothes were stiff with blood, some his, and some the ocher and slimy green of the horrors. The last he remembered, he was making his to camp. Now, in the moonlight among the dead, it was obvious he had not. How long had he been out?