CHAPTER 40
“He’s been shot.”
Parks’s knuckles blanched around the grip of her gun. “Shot?”
“Bird shot. But it’s bad. His back looks like raw meat.”
The heaves had stopped but were followed by rapid, shallow gasping. Shock, or the bird shot had penetrated deeply enough to collapse a lung. Deadly either way.
“We don’t have much time,” I said. “He needs to get to a hospital. We need a med chopper.”
“Here? There’s no place for it to land.”
I searched the trees but couldn’t get my bearings. “Where the hell are we, Parks?”
She spread the map on the ground between us, and her index finger tracked our route so far, then tapped our current location. “Here, I think. Two hours to hike this far in, more carrying the kid back.”
The boy moaned, semiconscious now. I looked at Parks. She nodded. The kid didn’t have that kind of time.
“Give me options. Any bare spot.”
Parks peered at the map. “Negative.”
“A wide riverbank, shallow river . . . No. Wait! I do remember something about this area. That militia encampment isn’t far from here. Maybe a mile due north. They might have medical supplies.” Then I shook my head. “Yeah, and guns ready to shoot us. Last time we met them, it wasn’t pretty.”
“But he won’t make it.” Parks stared at Asher. Saving a kid came first.
“Okay, let’s go for it.” The militia encampment was stuck in the woods—no clear space for a chopper—but they’d likely at least have some medical supplies. “Call it in and let our guys know what’s up. Let’s get him there.”
I found a couple fallen branches, thin but sturdy enough, I hoped, to hold Asher’s weight. Evacuation litters came as standard equipment in the Marines, no branches required.
Meanwhile, Parks worked her radio. “Nothing out here.”
I unzipped my pack and pulled out a shelter tarp and nylon cord. “Over one branch and under the other. S shape,” I said. We worked, folding the tarp over and under the branch poles.
As we worked, anxiety kicked in. My mind sought relief. I half grinned.
“What?”
“You know the joke. A gypsy, a Melungeon, and the militia meet up in the woods.” I cut strips of cord.
Parks frowned. “No. What’s the punch line?” We tied the cords off for extra security.
“Beat’s me.”
She shook her head. “Let’s hope not.”
Wilco paced back and forth by Asher, then stopped to sniff his wounds. I scooted closer to the boy, leaned in with a piece of cord, wrapped it around his body, and cinched it around the upper part of his wounded arm, a makeshift splint, but enough to stabilize the arm for transport. His eyes fluttered open, then rolled back in his skull.
“Stay with me, Asher. Stay with me.”
“We can’t lose him, Brynn. He’s just a boy.”
His eyes snapped back open. He groaned, his head rocking from side to side.
“He’ll make it, Parks. He’s a fighter.”
She bent over Asher with a water bottle and tipped it to his dry lips. Asher gurgled and coughed. “Wo . . .” He sputtered some more; water dribbled over his lips and down his neck.
Parks looked at me. “He’s trying to talk.”
I bent closer. “What is it, Asher?”
Parks’s radio crackled. The dispatcher’s speech sounded fragmented. Parks barked our location and what we needed, over the static.
I stayed focused on Asher. “Asher. Is there something you want me to know?”
He licked his lips. “Woman.”
“A woman shot you?” His eyelids opened and shut. I tapped his cheek. “Hey, Asher. Stay awake, okay, buddy? We’re getting you help.”
Parks pocketed the dead radio. “Don’t know if it got through or not.”
We half rolled/half lifted the boy onto the litter and used the last of our cord to secure his body. I shouldered my rifle and lifted my end; the improvised stretcher wobbled between us. We moved toward the militia site, zigzagging through underbrush, Wilco staying close to Asher.
We’d gone maybe half a mile when my foot struck something. I stumbled forward, overcorrected, and the litter slipped from my grip. Asher bounced and slid, the rope cutting into his wound. His eyes bulged; his mouth contorted with pain. His shriek, high pitched and thin, tore through me and echoed through the trees.
“Oh, crap.” Parks put her end down.
Asher writhed, his nostrils flaring in and out as he struggled to take in air. Fresh blood oozed from his arm. Parks pulled a rain suit out of her pack, dropped to the ground, and pressed it on the wound.
My stomach churned. “Don’t die. Don’t die . . .”
Wilco whined, his eyes focused into the woods on the left.
“Stop there. Don’t move!” The muzzle of a gun poked through the brush. The bearded guy whose nutty wife had tried to take me down stepped forward, gun aimed at me. “You and your mutt back for—”
“Hold up, Jed.”
I whipped my head to the right. Viper stood behind Parks, and two more of his crew broke through the surrounding trees behind him, guns drawn.
Viper’s eyes were already on Asher. “What do you have?”
I kept my voice low. “He’s bleeding a lot. The bone’s through the skin.”
Parks shifted aside slowly, exposing the wound to their view.
The big militia guy jerked back. “Son of a bitch.”
“He’s been shot, too,” I said. “In the back. Bird shot.”
Viper stepped in closer. “He’s just a kid. Who would shoot—”
“We’re tracking a fugitive,” I said. “A woman, we believe. She’s violent and armed. We think the kid came across her. We found him like this at the bottom of a ravine He was probably on the run and took a fall.”
Viper scoured the surrounding trees. “And she’s still out here somewhere in the hollow?”
“Yes,” I said. “I believe so.”
Viper’s features turned dark. The muscles under his shirt twitched. Anger radiated from him. Three guns were still pointed at us. No one moved.
I broke the silence. “We can’t get a chopper in here. Radio’s dicey, too. Hoped you had medical—”
“No.” Viper shook his head.
“What the hell do you mean, no?”
He ignored me, motioned to Jed. “Let’s get them out to the landing area.”
Landing area?
Jed stared a moment at his leader, gun still on me.
“Now!” came the order, and the guy lowered his gun, grabbed a radio, and started calling.
“We got a spot,” Viper said. “Chopper friendly, but we keep it covered. Kid needs more than we have here.” He knelt close to Asher, covered the boy’s hand with his. “We got you, buddy. Hang in there.”
Asher’s eyes fluttered.
Jed spoke up. “They heard your call earlier. They’re already in transit. Won’t take long.”
Viper nodded, motioned, and his men lifted the boy and headed out. They threaded easily through their territory to the rendezvous spot, Parks trailing them.
Viper stood in front of me. His intense eyes took in the scars on my neck in one fleeting second. Then he nodded. “You did good getting him here, soldier.” And he turned and slipped into the undergrowth. I shifted my gun, took up the rear guard, and for the first time, my puckered skin felt like a badge instead of a maiming scar.
I motioned Wilco forward. “Let’s fall in line, soldier,” I said, then thought, A gypsy, a Melungeon, and the militia meet up in the woods....