The gunshots sound around me a moment before Shepherd slips around the corner and ducks behind the hot tub with me. He pulls my gun out of my hand and shoves his into it. “Reload it. We’re going to make a run for the trees. They’re pushing us back, but we need more cover than this.”
I nod as he hooks my arm and drives me toward the tree line. He keeps me in front of him as he runs and the moment he hits the trees, he ducks behind one as I hear bullets split the air. I turn my attention to loading the gun, knowing that I need to get it loaded and ready as quickly as I can, but my fingers are shaking. I’m not meant to do this. And as Shepherd fires off shots, I realize that it doesn’t matter how much he shows me, I’ll never be able to be like him. I’m not good in situations like this. It doesn’t matter how much practice I have, I’m not sure I can keep doing this.
I get the gun loaded and he holds his hand out and instantly takes it before passing the other gun back to me.
“Get it reloaded, we’re moving back. Let’s push to spot three,” he says.
When we’d arrived here over a month ago, Shepherd had spent days scouting out spots to run to if we’re ever attacked. There are specific things in each spot that make them ideal holding spots. But right now, he’s wanting to reach one of the farther ones, so I start moving while trying to remember everything he’d said.
I’m wearing a red hoodie, so I pull it off and drop it since the t-shirt I have under it is brown and blends better. “Where’s Bear?” I ask, anxious because I haven’t seen the dog since the shooting started.
“I don’t know. Keep moving. He’ll find us.”
I’m not sure he will, but I know I can’t fixate on the dog when we need to get out. Shepherd jerks me back behind a tree as a bullet embeds itself into the tree I’d just been in front of. He fires off a few more shots.
“Should I be shooting? I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“No. Only do that if I go down,” he says.
I nod and when he hands me the gun again, I realize it’s wet. I pull my hand back and it comes away red with blood. “Did you get shot?” I ask.
“Move.”
I nod and start moving again. He couldn’t have been hurt too badly, right? Or he wouldn’t still be moving. He’ll be okay, right? What if he’s not? What if it’s just adrenaline keeping him going and he’s horribly hurt?
I trip and nearly fall as I realize that I’m too fixated on losing Shepherd when it’s my job to pick the path while he keeps them off our asses. When we reach the river, I realize it’s been about a minute since I’ve heard a gunshot, so they might have lost us. I slow a little to keep us quieter and keep moving. I want to ask about his wound, I want to make sure he’s going to be all right, but right now the concern is staying hidden and getting to the spot Shepherd wants me to lead us to.
By the time we reach it, it’s clear we lost them, but for how long? Do they have a way of tracking us?
When I reach the rock that signifies our spot, I slow down and slip around the corner where there’s a small recess that had been created by some animal long ago.
“Are you okay?” I ask as Shepherd leans against the boulder.
He takes a breath before saying, “Maybe. Get the medical stuff. We’ll try to stop the bleeding and then we’re moving again.”
“Okay,” I say as I crawl into the hole and start pulling debris and dirt off the bag we semi buried. When my fingers connect with the strap, I grab onto it and pull it toward me, dragging the bag out before rushing over to Shepherd. It’s dark in the undergrowth of the trees, but peeks of the late afternoon sunlight are shining down on us.
He grimaces as he pulls his arm through his shirt and pushes it up so it hangs around his neck. There’s blood running down his chest and a wound right below his shoulder where the bullet got him. Just seeing the wound and