His energy orbs started hitting his targets. One guard went down. Then another.
A sharp crack rang out, and that’s when I saw the gun raised in the third guard’s hands. Oh God. They were shooting at Hayden!
Hayden turned and threw two orbs at the shooter, one from each hand, driving the soldier to the ground unconscious.
Hayden lowered his hands, watching the downed guards, probably to make sure they didn’t get back up again. Then he turned towards the tent and tried to raise his hands as if to hit it with energy orbs or another of his spells. But his hands were only halfway up before he groaned and fell to his knees, his right hand darting up to clutch at his left shoulder. Eyebrows pinched, he looked down at his hand as it came away covered in blood.
“Hayden!” I screamed, finally able to move.
I ran around the stunned group of prisoners to Hayden, noticing two of our men also take off running towards the tent, hopefully to finish what Hayden had started. My pulse boomed in my ears like a car stereo system's subwoofer turned up too high as I reached Hayden’s side a second before he began to topple over sideways. It took all my strength to hold his weight and ease him the rest of the way to the ground.
I knelt beside him, brushing aside his hand so I could see his shoulder. Red bloomed through the cotton hoodie, rapidly spreading down the sleeve. “Oh God. Hayden, your arm.”
“The tent—” he groaned, his eyes rolling wildly.
“They’re taking care of it.”
I unzipped his hoodie, peeled back the now soaked layers of his jacket and shirt, and the blood bubbled up to the surface like a natural spring, robbing me of the ability to breathe.
“We've gotta go,” Hayden choked out. “Are there any military trucks?”
“What?” Was he insane? He was hurt! How could he still be worrying about getting us out of here?
Dad joined us, crouching at my side to rest a hand on my shoulder. But he wouldn’t be any help. He was a scientist. Hayden needed a real doctor right now.
The prisoners had also figured out Hayden was hurt. They gathered around us, muttering. Then Pamela pushed through the crowd and knelt at Hayden’s other side. Immediately she called for someone to find a first aid kit, sending more men scattering.
“Trucks.” Hayden tried to sit up. I pushed him back down, scared for him to even move until we got the bleeding to stop. “We gotta get these people out of here.”
“I'm on it,” a man said from somewhere towards my right. He took two guys with him at a jog.
“Uniforms. For the men,” Hayden muttered as Pamela ripped the bottom two inches off her sweatshirt, using part of the strip as a compress against his wound. She wrapped the rest of the strip around his shoulder to hold the wad of fabric in place.
“And those…those walkie talkie things. On the necks…” Hayden added.
Two more people, overhearing their new leader’s probably insane ramblings, took it as an order and ran towards the guard building.
I shook my head in disbelief. He was badly wounded, slurring every word, barely able to talk from either shock or the pain, and still trying to boss people around. Yep, he was definitely a Shepherd.
“And food…and water…” Hayden said, his voice growing fainter now.
“Okay, Hayden,” I said. “Relax now. Everyone's working on it.”
He squinted at the sky and said something that sounded like “'S it gonna rain?”
“Rain?” At first, I thought he was delusional. Then I realized what he meant when I heard the thunder-like rumble too. “Oh. No, that's the trucks.” The men were driving two military trucks around from behind the guards’ building where the vehicles must have been parked out of sight.
Pamela partially lifted Hayden, checked the back of his shoulder and grumbled. “The bullet went straight through.”
“Is that good?” I asked, thinking, Please let it be a good thing.
“Yes and no. There’s no bullet to dig out, and it missed all his organs. But it means twice the holes to lose blood from.”
Hayden tried again to sit up but was so weak I was able to hold him down with a single hand on his good shoulder.
“I found some uniforms and those communication thingies,” someone reported in.
Hayden tried to look in that direction. “Get everyone…on the…”
“Hayden, I said we've got it!” I honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He seemed determined to die a true Shepherd, still mumbling out orders like a general on the battlefield. Couldn’t he just rest and let us figure out what to do?
“Don't forget food. And water.” His eyelids began to droop.
“Hayden, shut up already!” I finally had to say, exasperated beyond measure. “You've been shot, you idiot!”
He made a face that would have been comical if not for the fact that he could be dying from blood loss. “Well, that sucks.”
And then his eyelids drifted closed and stayed that way.
“Hayden?” I tapped his cheek, getting no response. “Hayden!”
CHAPTER 8
“Hayden’s right, we’ve got to go,” Pamela muttered even as she pressed her hands to the front and back of Hayden’s wounded shoulder and closed her eyes.
“We can’t move him while he’s pouring out blood.” Why did I feel like I was the only sane one around here all of a sudden? Couldn’t this woman see how hurt Hayden was?
“I’ve slowed the bleeding already. I can heal him more in the back of a truck while we’re putting some miles between us and this place.”
Dad pressed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “She’s right, Tarah. I’m pretty sure that guard had time to send out a request for backup. This place is going to be crawling with a fresh wave of soldiers soon.”
I blew out a long breath through puckered lips then nodded. “Fine. Let’s go.”
I supported the heavy weight of Hayden’s head while Dad, Pamela, and two men carried the rest of his weight over to one of the two trucks they had parked close to us. Getting him up into the high back end was another matter, though, requiring Pamela and me to climb in first and both hold the tent-like flaps open as well as guide Hayden’s head and shoulders in while several men lifted his body from below. I was scared so much movement was going to reopen his wounds, but Pamela didn’t seem concerned at all. Maybe she knew she could reheal him if necessary. Or maybe she didn’t know him, didn’t really care whether he lived or died, and just worried about getting herself and her family out of here.