Nathan Jones - Shortage

Even after satisfying himself that none of the bandits were moving he still did his best to stay out of sight as he bolted for the stump Lewis had taken cover behind. As he went he called softly, ignoring the danger of giving enemies a way to find his location, and to his vast relief he heard his cousin call back equally softly.

He rounded the stump, already dropping to his knees beside where Lewis slumped. But as he landed next to his cousin he froze, horrified by the sight of blood-smeared snow as Lewis clutched his upper left leg with both hands and blood oozed around his fingers.

“Did you get them?” Lewis demanded, somehow focused on the important thing in spite of his condition. “Are they all down?”

Trev shook his head. “Two bolted like rabbits. Neither one of them was carrying a weapon, though, so they shouldn’t be a threat. The others I checked after the shooting stopped and none of them were moving.”

Lewis jerked his head towards the .223 Trev still clutched to his chest. “Check again.”

Trev nodded and rose, positioning his rifle on the stump to peer through the scope. In a way it was almost a relief to turn his attention to something besides the terrible sight of his injured cousin bleeding into the snow, although he knew he couldn’t afford to waste any time. Still, he also had to be careful. So it was only after almost thirty seconds of checking that he ducked his head back down behind cover. “All clear.”

Lewis suddenly hissed in a breath, hands around his leg clenching until the knuckles started to turn white. “Man that hurts,” he panted. “And the other two aren’t trying to sneak back or get above us?”

“I didn’t see them but I seriously doubt it. Going by the last time I saw them they looked like they didn’t plan to stop running until they reached Huntington.” Trev left the gun on the stump and fell to his knees next to his cousin, feeling sick as he stared at the wound. He could see it wasn’t good. “How bad is it?”

After sucking in another breath through gritted teeth Lewis answered with a grim smile. “Well I’ve got a thigh full of buckshot, but on the plus side I was beyond effective range so it didn’t tear my leg to shreds.” He took his hands away from the wound for a second, frowning at it. “It doesn’t look like anything’s spurting either and I haven’t bled out, so I don’t think he hit any vital areas.”

Trev couldn’t stop the tears that filled his eyes. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have—”

“I’m the one who got cocky with my body armor and had my leg sticking out of cover like an idiot,” his cousin cut in. “Anyway we don’t have time for that. We need to act fast, so do exactly what I say.” Trev nodded and blinked a few times to clear his eyes. “Okay. First, we bind my wounds tight to slow the bleeding as much as possible. That’s as much as we can do until—” he suddenly swore, face twisting with a sudden jolt of pain, then with some effort continued. “Until we can get back to the hideout where I’ve got tools to dig the pellets out and treat the wounds.” He paused for another labored breath and to collect himself, then gave Trev a serious look. “Next you need to go collect all the bandits’ weapons.”

Trev nodded in realization. “In case their two friends come back while we’re trying to get you to safety on your wounded leg.”

“Or if the refugees turn out to be dangerous.” Lewis closed his eyes slowly and motioned to his leg, an invitation for Trev to begin.

Trev quickly removed his coat long enough to strip off his shirt to tear into strips for bandages, then carefully cut away the left leg of his cousin’s pants above the wound. It looked ugly, at least 3 pellets that he could see and the flesh already swelling and bruising, and he quickly folded up the bloody pant leg as a pad over the area then bound it tightly with the strips.

By the time he was done treating his cousin as best he could Lewis was looking pale, and Trev knew he didn’t have much time to waste. He got up and turned to head down the mountain, but before he’d taken his first step his cousin reached out and grabbed his ankle to stop him.

“Watch out for any of them pretending to be dead so they can shoot you before you know you’re in danger,” Lewis said soberly. “Keep your .45 handy just in case.”

Trev paled slightly. He hadn’t even considered that possibility. But he did as his cousin suggested and left his Mini-14 behind on the stump, taking out his Glock and holding it ready as he moved cautiously down the mountain. He constantly roved his eyes over the bandits as he hurried to the first and quickly patted him down, removing his weapons. The moment he was done he hurried to the next one and repeated the task.

Five minutes later Trev finished collecting the guns and other weapons from all but one of the bandits, including the shotgun wedged underneath the body of the man to the far right end of the log. The last man he checked was still alive, although he was unconscious from loss of blood and would be dead soon.

Trev patted him down like the others, doing his best not to be seen from the highway below, and left him there. Then, satisfied he had everything that could be a danger to him and his cousin as they made their escape, he returned to a hiding spot behind the log and piled the weapons on a heavy coat he’d stripped off one of the bodies. He spread another heavy coat across the top and used their belts to tightly tie the bundle, which he slung over his shoulder.

After that was done he straightened for just a moment to peer south, making sure the two bandits who’d escaped weren’t in sight and the coast was clear.

There was no sign of them, but he did see two men and a woman from the refugee group crossing the bridge over the river below and peering up in his direction. They must have heard the shots and had found the courage to investigate them. As he watched the redheaded woman leading the group reached down to draw the pistol at her hip.

Trev ducked back down and scuttled across the clearing in a crouch, then began climbing up the hill to where his cousin waited.

“What is it?” Lewis demanded, painfully craning his neck to peer down the slope behind Trev.

“Refugees on their way to see what’s going on.” Trev slung his .223 over his shoulder, then the G3, noting that in spite of Lewis’s state not a drop of blood had touched it. Finally after a quick check around to make sure he hadn’t left anything he crouched and did his best to help his cousin to his feet, offering him his free shoulder. “Do you need a crutch?”

“It’s not too far up to the road. If you can get me there you should be able to drag me the rest of the way. It’ll lead anyone following nearly straight to our hideout, but we’ll worry about covering our tracks once we get closer.” Lewis set his mouth in a thin line and hopped up the slope, doing his best not to put weight on his leg. Trev stumbled forward as well, nearly losing his balance in the slick deadfall, and his cousin hopped again.

Somehow they managed to make their way up through the trees along the steep slope, laboriously climbing over deadfall and through densely clumped blockages of evergreen branches. The entire time Lewis hissed out quick, labored breaths and his face got paler and paler. It seemed like an eternity they stumbled along, and Trev even heard a few shouts from the refugees now far below them. He ignored the noise, although with every step he expected to hear a gunshot from the redheaded woman’s pistol to accompany it, or maybe a bloodcurdling shriek as one of the two remaining bandits caught up to them and attacked from behind a tree.

Neither of those things happened. Maybe the investigating refugees saw the scene of the ambush and decided to get out of there before they were next, and for all he knew the two remaining bandits might still be running south like he’d assured Lewis.