Nathan Jones - Shortage

No gunshots rang out from their hidden benefactors as she made her way over to the man in the snowsuit, trying to hide how it made her skin crawl to see a face other than her dad’s wearing it. A closer inspection of the body confirmed that on top of the bloodstains from the two bullet wounds he’d taken there was also a torn patch and a much larger bloodstain on the suit’s back, as if from a stab wound.

That seemed confirmation enough of Mitch’s fate. Jane went very still, unable to look away from the torn patch for what could’ve been seconds or minutes.

Sometime later she pulled herself together to find that Tom and Alvin had gathered the bandits’ packs and any other useful gear they’d been carrying to bring back to the group. There was valuable stuff there, even a little food in the form of cans of beans and jars of peanut butter. Tom even convinced her to let his son have the snowsuit, and in spite of the thought of being torn with grief every time she looked at it Jane had to admit that the young man needed the warm clothing, so she agreed.

As she and Alvin packed up the first load of supplies to bring to the group Tom went to investigate some footprints he’d discovered in a shaded and snowy part of the hill. While he did Jane gave the clearing behind the log one last look.

“It’s hard to believe that this could’ve been us getting robbed or even massacred if these men had had their way,” she mused to herself.

Alvin heard her and shivered slightly. “Are you sure you saw someone?”

She gave him a surprised look. “Of course I did. The guns are gone, right?”

The young man nodded. He looked almost like a kid, or at least more of a kid, as he glanced around uneasily. “It’s just, well, it’s Halloween, right? And you always hear old Native American legends about haunted mountains and ancient curses. Maybe some spirit sensed their evil intent and took them out.”

Jane chuckled, trying to hide her sudden uneasiness. “The Spirit of Huntington River?” she asked. She glanced up at the early afternoon sun. “Come on, it’s broad daylight. Don’t try to spook me with ghost stories.” In spite of her flippant response she found herself thinking back to the man she’d seen. He’d been so silent and had disappeared so suddenly, but he certainly hadn’t been see through!

“If it’s a ghost then it’s one that bleeds,” Tom abruptly said, picking his way across the clearing. “There’s a stump up there with a lot of bloody snow around it. Either the bandits had someone up there or our friend got hurt protecting us.”

Jane hesitated, torn. It seemed pretty clear the “spirit” didn’t want anything to do with them, and seeking him out to offer help might just cause trouble. It was probably better to thank their good fortune and be satisfied with her dad’s death avenged, small consolation as that was in her grief.

“Let’s get this stuff back to the group,” she said, starting down the slope. The other two were quick to follow.

It took almost twice as long to get Lewis back to the hideout as it had taken for them to trail the bandits, even at the leisurely pace the seven men had set. Trev had hurried as much as he could without jarring his cousin’s wound, but all the time he’d secretly dreaded what would happen when they got home.

He would have to dig the pellets out of Lewis’s leg, clean the wounds, then bind them up again. It wasn’t squeamishness that worried him but that he would do something wrong and worsen his cousin’s condition. Or, even worse, would discover that the wounds were more severe than they’d thought and there was nothing he could do. After convincing his cousin to protect the refugees he would never forgive himself if Lewis suffered permanent injury because of it.

He managed to manhandle Lewis up onto his bed, then hurriedly got a fire going from the banked coals in the stove and gave it plenty of fuel. As he was waiting for the small space to warm up enough to strip his cousin out of his winter gear Lewis murmured something about livestock antibiotics in one of his totes, and Trev hurriedly dug around until he found them and gave his cousin the recommended dose for humans, which naturally Lewis knew.

There were more serious painkillers there as well, but since Lewis had already taken some and anyway needed to be lucid to talk Trev through the process he insisted he’d hold off unless the pain grew unbearable.

Under his cousin’s guidance Trev quickly got out the small bag of medical tools and spread the ones he’d need on a clean cloth, dousing the forceps and smallest retractor with rubbing alcohol. He then unwound the makeshift bandage and wiped down the area around the wound, then doused it with rubbing alcohol as well.

Then he brought the lantern over and turned it up all the way, along with giving Lewis a flashlight to further illuminate the operation. The last step to prepare was to wash his own hands thoroughly and douse them with more alcohol. And finally, with some reluctance, he hesitantly set the forceps to the first entry wound.

“Don’t just dig around in there,” his cousin warned. “You could do more damage. But don’t be afraid to get in and get hold of the pellet.”

Trev wasn’t sure how to follow those seemingly contradictory instructions, but he hesitantly explored down into the wound with the forceps until they hit an obstruction and couldn’t go any farther. Even if he hadn’t felt it he would’ve known from Lewis’s sudden intake of breath. Feeling as clumsy as if he was trying to thread a needle with numb fingers, he did his best to work the tips of the forceps around the obstruction and get a tight hold of it, then as slowly and carefully as he could he eased it out.

It was the pellet, intact. Trev breathed a sigh of relief and set it on the cloth. Using a small bladder and hose he thoroughly flushed out the wound with more alcohol, pinched it tightly closed between thumb and forefinger and dabbed it dry with a swab, then taped it. That was as much as they could think to do so he moved on to the next one.

The second pellet was a bit trickier, unfortunately, because it had fragmented inside the wound. Trev had to dig around to find the pieces, all the while his cousin grit his teeth and clenched the flashlight and the side of his cot with white knuckles. In a way it was good Trev had done this one second, because he had the first pellet as an example and could guess at how many pieces there were. When he was as close to certain he’d gotten them all as he could be, and anyway didn’t dare do more digging, he flushed out that wound as well and taped it.

Fortunately the third pellet was intact when he pulled it out, although the sudden welling of blood frightened him. It wasn’t spurting, at least, so there wasn’t much to do aside from flush it out as best he could, pinch it closed, swab it as dry as possible, and tape it as well.

Last of all he used proper bandaging to wrap the wound again, then helped his cousin strip down to his boxers and zipped him into his sleeping bag. “We’ll need to check the wound again in a few hours but it should heal well,” Lewis muttered, looking drained but still alert. He sucked in another sharp breath. “Although I wish it was later and I felt tired enough to sleep. This pain is killing me.”

Trev brought a bottle of water for his cousin, who gulped it down and then leaned back on his pillow. “Guess you won’t be going out trick or treating, huh?” he said, trying to lighten the mood. The relative ease of the operation and the knowledge that the wounds really weren’t too serious filled him with a tremendous amount of relief.

Lewis snorted. “I completely forgot today was Halloween. Too bad we don’t have any candy.”