Nathan Jones - Shortage

Matt was just about to turn to Rick to ask him about his family’s Thanksgiving plans, more as a distraction than anything, when a sharp crack echoed through the hills around them. He stiffened, motioning for Rick to stop as he listened intently. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

The teenager paused, frowning, as the sounds were repeated, some slightly louder and lower pitched than others. “Gunshots?” he guessed. “With all these hills it’s impossible to tell how far away or what direction they’re coming from.”

They both fell silent, listening intently and slowly turning their heads, and Matt abruptly pointed towards Aspen Hill Canyon. “There. Makes the most sense.” He lifted his radio to his mouth. “Evan, you hear gunshots coming from the canyon?”

There was a short pause before the refugee answered, voice slightly distorted by static. “Nope, but we’re close to the south end of our route. On our way as fast as we can make it.”

Matt nodded, although of course Evan couldn’t see him. “Mayor’s office?”

Catherine’s voice responded almost immediately. “I heard you. Sending some people out there, and I’ll have Terry go along to do what he can for the wounded.”

“Roger. I’m going to check it out and report what I find.” Matt clipped the radio to his belt again and started forward at a quick but cautious trot, unslinging his .308 and pausing regularly to check the hills around them through the scope. Rick followed clutching his shotgun and looking a bit jumpy, and seeing it Matt had to wonder if he should be feeling uneasy himself.

In a way he felt a bit bad bringing the younger man along, since in spite of his duty to investigate whatever was happening for the safety of the town he also had personal motivations. The canyon was a likely direction for his dad to take coming home, and if he was and he had the wagon of food then he would make an ideal target for Razor’s thugs still out in the hills surrounding the town and causing trouble. The theory didn’t make much sense because his dad hadn’t taken a gun with him and the gunfire ahead certainly sounded like a shootout, but it was a possibility.

Whatever his motivation he kept going, ignoring his instincts screaming that it might not be the smartest idea to be heading towards the gunshots.

Or at least where the gunshots had been. They didn’t hear anything more as they walked for roughly half a mile, finally making their way up the tall hill ahead that stood between them and the mouth of the canyon. At the top Matt cautiously poked his head over and saw a ragged, emaciated group, six women and three young children, standing on the canyon road while a middle-aged man and a teenaged boy dragged the bodies of four men into a line beside the road.

A tall, skinny redheaded woman about Matt’s age or maybe a bit older stood off by herself on the road beside the bodies, covering them with a pistol held in shaking hands as her friends moved them. She was obviously wounded, with blood staining the left shoulder of her jacket, and from her alarming swaying Matt was impressed she was still on her feet.

Her caution was sensible, but the men she was covering were clearly dead. Matt could guess easily enough who they were and what had happened, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he spoke to the refugees. “Stay here and cover me,” he whispered to Rick. He pulled the radio off his belt and handed it over. “You can report in too.”

“Cover you with a shotgun?” his friend protested, but Matt was already rising to his feet, rifle held ready but not pointed at the group below.

The redhead immediately saw him and started to raise her pistol, and Matt was torn between the sensible reaction of lifting his own weapon and the kinder tactic dropping flat while he shouted to reassure her. After all, she’d just killed four men and might not have a problem with adding a fifth to that number before he could get a word in edgewise.

In the end it was the fact that he was still about 100 yards away that decided him. Even a good shot would have trouble hitting him uphill against the rising sun at that range, and if it looked like she was seriously aiming for him he could drop and she’d have an even harder time of it. Not to mention she was wounded and looked as if she was barely on her feet.

So he lowered his rifle and raised his voice. “Easy there!”

She hesitated. “Coming to help your friends rob us?” she called in a hoarse voice, motioning. The man who’d been lining up the bodies hurried for cover while the other refugees began fleeing back up the road.

Matt shook his head, although he wasn’t sure she could see the gesture with him partially backlit by the sun overhead. “I’m from Aspen Hill, the town a couple miles east of here, patrolling our borders. These men have tried to attack the town before, and we’re actually grateful to you for dealing with them.”

“Not grateful enough to help when the bullets were flying,” she called back.

“We came as quickly as we could!” Matt answered, irritated by the accusation. The woman looked doubtful, but after a considering moment lowered her weapon. Or maybe she didn’t have the strength to keep it up anymore. Matt felt his shoulders loosen. “I’m coming down! You’re wounded. We’ve got a surgeon on his way who should be able to help you.”

He turned to Rick. “Radio the group. Tell Terry to be ready to stabilize a gunshot wound to the shoulder until we can get her back into town.” He sincerely hoped his brother-in-law knew what to do in this situation, intern or no. He supposed he’d had enough experience treating wounds after Razor’s attack to have some idea what he was doing.

The teenager hesitated. “Are you sure? What if she shoots you?”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to arrest her. But I think it’ll be okay.” Matt smiled grimly. “Anyone who takes down four of Razor’s former thugs is all right in my book.”

He made his way down slowly, noticing that the refugees remained back a safe distance in spite of his assurances. The redhead kept her gun drawn as she made her way over to him, but considering she nearly fell once Matt was more worried for her than about her. He stopped to let her come the rest of the way if she wanted, but she stopped as well. “I’m Matt Larson. I’m in charge of the town’s defense.”

“Jane Mathers,” she replied, still sounding cautious. “I’m in charge of this group.” She abruptly slumped to the ground.

Matt rushed forward to fall to his knees beside her. Her eyes were drooping but still open and alert, but her strength had obviously given out. “We can worry about introductions later,” he said. “We need to do something about that shoulder.”

“It’s not so bad,” she mumbled. “Mostly just fatigue and hunger. Got dizzy for a second.”

Matt rolled up his pant leg enough to get to the bandage wrapped above his knee, the cleanest cloth he had available. He unrolled it and cut off the end that had been in direct contact with his wound, then bunched the rest up and pressed it to the woman’s shoulder. She sucked in a sharp breath when he did, hunching slightly. That gave Matt a look at her back and he saw that there was a larger wound there.

A through and through. That could be more serious than a bullet lodged in the body, or less, but it meant they wouldn’t have to dig anything out and risk doing more damage. Matt shifted the bandage to press against the larger wound, drawing another agonized breath from Jane. He saw her eyes start to roll back in her head.

He knew it was important to keep patients conscious for some injuries, but he wasn’t sure if gunshots were included in that. Was it anyone who was in shock, or just head injuries? Either way it was probably good to get her talking to distract her. “I’m guessing Razor’s men ambushed you. That body at the end is Simons, the last of his lieutenants. You must be good with that pistol.”