Time Crunch Page 18

  The wound was long and probably deep, oozing where the bandage had pulled away bits of the scab; it was red around the edges.

  “We tried to flush it out before we bandaged it,” Treeck said. “But there wasn’t much bourbon left. Hope it was enough.”

  “Yeah. Have you had a tetanus shot?”

  Treeck nodded. “We stay current, so that’s not an issue.”

  “Good. Um, I’d say you needed stitches if we were anywhere near a doctor. But by the time we get home it won’t matter anymore. You got anything I can use for a bandage?”

  “Couple T-shirts in the pack.”

  “Those’ll work.”

  Chase used water from Treeck’s canteen to scrub around the wound, then slashed several long strips from a clean T-shirt to use as bandages.

  “I’m sure you know this,” he said. “But the main thing is keeping it clean. I tied the dressing a little bit tighter than usual—”

  “Yeah, I can feel it.”

  “—but that’s to keep the wound from popping open again. Without stitches, you’ve just got scab and T-shirt holding it closed, and if you move around too much the scab could burst and start bleeding again.”

  “Keeping still isn’t going to be easy; not around here …”

  “Which is why I tied the bandage so tight.” Then: “It’ll loosen up by itself, but if it still feels too tight after an hour or so—or if your leg starts feeling numb—let me know and I’ll loosen it.”

  “Great. Thanks, Doc.”

  Chase felt another rumble of affection. He was again struck with gratitude that the men weren’t treating him as a kid. He was an actual, functioning member of the team.

  A member without a weapon, sure. But even commandos have their limits.

  SMITH WAS AGAIN standing near the group’s meager supplies, and Chase thought he appeared to be calculating. After a moment he looked around and said, “Huddle up.”

  The men instantly stopped what they were doing—with the exception of Bridger, who never took his eyes from the trees—and gathered around. Captain King stepped close to Chase and gave his shoulder a friendly bump.

  “Sitch has changed obviously,” Smith said, using slang for “situation.” “We’re low on ammo, but if we go on rations we’ve got enough food and water to hold on until rescue.” He said “rescue” with obvious distaste, and Chase figured Smith had never needed to be rescued from anything in his life. “We’ll have to cut our consumption down by half, but we can do it.”

  He looked around the circle.

  “But our young friends know where there’s fresh water and plenty of fish. If we move camp we won’t need to ration.”

  He glanced around again.

  “Thoughts?”

  Chase was surprised the man was asking. He’d always believed military commanders simply made decisions and then expected everyone to comply. He was impressed that Smith was confident enough in his leadership to ask for opinions.

  Or maybe he just knows everyone will feel better having a say in their plans.

  “How far?” Captain King asked.

  “Couple miles, anyway,” Zach answered. “It took me’n Chase about three hours to get here, but we were moving pretty slow to keep from being ambushed.”

  “We’ll have to carry our gear,” Treeck noted. “We don’t have a heckuva lot, but we won’t want to leave anything behind.”

  “What about just a couple of us going?” Captain King asked. “Catch a bunch of fish, fill the canteens, bring it all back.”

  “Too risky,” Treeck said. “All of us here or all of us there. Our best chance—our only chance—is to stay together.”

  Smith nodded, then looked behind him. “Bridger? You have any thoughts?”

  “I’ll go where the food is.”

  “All right, then.” Smith glanced up at the sky, checking the time. “Could probably make it, but run into any trouble and we’ll be caught out in the dark.”

  “Wouldn’t be my first choice,” Bridger called back over his shoulder.

  “Noted. We’ll stay the night, take off at first light.” He looked at Chase and Zach. “That okay with you two?”

  Chase: “Yeah.”

  And Zach: “ ’Course.”

  Smith gave them an especially stern look. “You can lead us there? No problem?”

  The boys nodded resolutely.

  Chase: “Absolutely.”

  And Zach: “Took us four tries to get here. We know the trail pretty well.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s get everything packed up and ready. We’ll move out at first light.”

  CHASE AND ZACH helped as the men divided their supplies and packed them into camouflaged packs like the one Chase had been issued the first day.

  “You two able to carry packs?” Smith asked.

  Chase: “Absolutely.”

  And Zach: “You bet. ’Specially if it’s the one with the energy bars.”

  Smith’s lips twitched—

  Before we’re home, I’m gonna get him to smile for real, Chase vowed.

  —then the man turned back to his work.

  The men all wore machine guns on slings over their chests as they worked. The weapons affected their mobility, but Chase knew it would be easier to pry a determined pit bull from a postman’s leg than separate one of the men from his rifle.

  Smith, he noticed, was having an especially difficult time. His left shoulder was obviously hurt, and with his right hand holding his rifle he struggled with his chores. Chase thought for a couple of minutes, then found Treeck.

  “You guys got anything like a bungee cord” He held his hands up about three feet apart. “ ’Bout this long?”

  “Um, yeah. We got a few for strapping things to the packs.”

  “Good! What about a square of plastic, or canvas”—he used his hands again—“ ’bout this big?”

  “Piece of torn tent work?”

  “That’d be perfect.” Then: “Should’ve thought of that myself.” Chase gave himself a mental kick, then asked: “What about one of those rifle straps? Got a spare?”

  “Just the strap?”

  “Yeah.”

  Treeck looked back and forth, then pointed to a pile of discarded gear. “Check over there.”

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  Chase rooted through the rubbish for a moment and quickly found what he was looking for.

  “What’cha doin’?” Zach asked as he worked.

  “Gonna try something. Give me a hand?”

  “Sure.”

  Chase pointed to a wad of shredded tent fabric. “See if you can’t find a piece about four feet square. Then cut it out for me.”

  Zach did as he was asked, and then Chase used him to hold various items as he put them together, making adjustments here and there until everything was just right.

  “Okay,” Chase said finally. “Now let’s hope this works.”

  He took his improvised contraption over to Smith.

  “Mr. Smith? Got a second?”

  “What’cha need?”

  “Can I take a look at your shoulder?”

  “Shoulder’s fine.”

  Chase expected the answer and was ready for it. In a voice low enough no one else could hear, he said: “You can still use it a little, but”—he made sure Smith was looking him right in the eyes—“if it gets any worse it might give out. And it might be right when you really need it. And then we’ll all be in trouble.”

  The man scowled darkly, but didn’t turn away. Chase’s respect for the man increased, knowing the man wasn’t so stubborn he wasn’t willing to listen.

  “What’ve you got in mind?” Smith asked.

  Chase pointed. “Take a seat.”

  Smith sat on a nearby rock, and Chase unbuttoned the man’s shirt. There were no obvious gashes, but the man winced when Chase touched the shoulder.

  “Put your hands up like this,” Chase said, holding his own hands up about a foot apart.

  Smith did as he was asked: Chas
e put his own hands against Smith’s and said, “Push against my hands.”

  The man did, the left side not nearly as firmly as the right.

  “Okay, put ’em up again.”

  Smith did, and Chase placed his own hands inside Smith’s.

  “Now push in.”

  Smith did: he was obviously strong, but there was no question the left side was considerably weaker than the right.

  “It’s probably a strain or a sprain,” Chase said. “An injured shoulder ligament will heal if you give it time to rest. But if you’ve torn a tendon, you’re gonna need surgery.”

  “Not from your Swiss Army knife, I’m not.”

  Chase grinned, knowing the man had made a joke and actually come within a whisker of smiling.

  “Shoot … and I was excited to show off.” But then, more seriously: “I know you guys well enough to know you’re not gonna just sit around and take things easy. But I’ve got an idea.”

  He reached for the machine gun hanging from Smith’s chest—

  “That thing’s loaded!” Smith cautioned.

  “I’m aware.”

  —and eased the strap over the man’s head. He placed the weapon carefully to the side—still within Smith’s reach—then took the piece of tent fabric, folded it into a triangle, and fastened it around the man’s neck, creating a sling. He eased the injured arm inside.

  “That feel okay?”

  “Yeah, but I can’t—”

  “It’s okay,” Chase said. “I made it so you can get your arm in and out in a hurry.”

  He showed the man how he could slip the injured arm into the sling, but easily pull it back out again in an emergency.

  “I broke my pitching arm this summer,” Chase explained as he worked. “But I still had to do my usual yard work and stuff. Like using a weed whacker? It’s not so easy with one arm. So I came up with something like this.”

  He took his modified gun sling—now equipped with a length of bungee cord—and slipped it over the man’s head and good shoulder. Finally he reached for Smith’s gun—

  “Be—”

  “Careful. Yeah, it’s loaded, I know.”

  —removed the strap, and attached the weapon to the new strap, fixing the bungee cord to the barrel.

  “Okay,” he said, demonstrating how the gun swung easily back and forth. “Now you can shoot it one handed. You can still get your left hand out of the sling if you need it, but you don’t have to unless it’s an emergency.”

  Smith stood and faced the trees, then tried swinging the weapon out as if preparing to fire.

  The gun moved, the strap and bungee cord doing the work of his left hand, keeping the weapon stable.

  Smith swung the rifle back to its “resting” position, then abruptly crouched and swung it out again, as if responding to an attack. He repeated the process several times, then “safed” the gun and turned back to Chase.

  “You thought of this?”

  “It’s the same thing I did with my weed whacker,” Chase said lightly. And then in a more serious tone: “If we’re gonna get through this, we’ve gotta take care of that arm.”

  Smith’s face twitched, on the verge of a smile. Then he said: “When Old Man Wolff told me we had to bring a kid along on this trip, I nearly quit. Didn’t want to play babysitter. But now?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think bringing you along is the smartest thing I ever did.”

  21 Starry Night

  AS THE SUN dropped and shadows began creeping through the forest, Chase walked over to Treeck.

  “I saw that you’ve still got a couple of good tents, but that you’re not using them.”

  “That’s right. If anything … well, if anything happens during the night, no one wants to be trapped inside a tent. Sleeping under the stars isn’t as comfortable—assuming you get much sleep—but you can react a lot faster.” Without any trace of judgment he asked: “You and Zach want one?”

  “Heck, no!” Chase still remembered being in his tent the first night—remembered the tent being slashed, torn, and batted around—and how confusing and terrifying it had been. “I think I’ll stick close to whoever has the most bullets.”

  “Smart kid. You want anything to eat?”

  Chase actually was feeling a little hungry, but none of the others were eating, and until they had a supply of fish he didn’t want to use up their rations.

  “No, I’m good,” he said.

  Treeck made a sound that might have been a kind of laugh. “No, you’re not.”

  He pulled a couple of energy bars from a cargo pocket.

  “For you and Zach. Part of my rations from yesterday. Don’t like ’em that much.”

  “You sure?”

  “If I wanted ’em, I’d have eaten ’em yesterday. So go ahead … take ’em.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  Chase took the bars to where Zach was tending the fire. “Here. Want one?”

  Zach’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Where’d you get ’em?”

  “Treeck gave ’em to me. Said he doesn’t like ’em.”

  Zach made a sound like phibbbbbbs. “I bet. But I’m not gonna argue.”

  Zach tore into the energy bar with the enthusiasm of a kid who’d had nothing to eat but a stale MRE, Callovian fish, and a charred dinosaur steak for several days.

  “The guys aren’t putting up tents,” Chase said as he crunched down his bar. He explained why, then asked, “You okay sleeping under the stars?”

  “It’s all I’ve been doing. Anything else would feel weird.”

  “I’d feel better crammed inside those stupid rocks.”

  “Better than around guys with guns?”

  Chase shook his head grimly. “I’ve been around guys with guns. And it’s not as safe as you think.”

  CHASE KNEW THE men were trying to mask their worry. But as the sky darkened and the first stars began to appear, he sensed a change. The men hadn’t talked much before—except for when speaking with Chase or Zach—but now they hardly talked at all. And when they did, they spoke in whispers.

  Captain King was taking his turn standing guard—looking as comfortable with a gun as the real commandos—but everyone was holding their weapons a little more tightly now. And Chase noticed that even when standing close to the fire, the men faced outward, toward the trees.

  Always watching, always ready.

  Chase didn’t have to be told of the danger: he could feel the mounting tension as clearly as fire-fern blisters.

  It’s not like they’re scared, he thought, watching Treeck. He doubted that men like Treeck and Smith ever got “scared.” But they’re certainly anxious. And a little uneasy. And a lot tense.

  He and Zach were sitting on the ground near the fire—facing outward, like everyone else—talking in whispers.

  “You scared?” Zach asked after a minute.

  “Yes.”

  “Me, too. It’s kinda funny.”

  Chase gave him an odd look. “What’s funny?”

  “I was just thinking that here we are, surrounded by guys with guns, but I’m a lot more worried than when we were on our own.”

  “That’s because nothing could get us in the rocks. But here”—Chase waved a hand—“we’re totally exposed. And like I said before, guns aren’t everything they’re cracked up to be.”

  TREECK WALKED over a minute later.

  “Thanks for the energy bar,” Zach said.

  “No problem. You guys gonna be okay?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Chase said. “Unless you have a better idea, we’ll just spend the night here. Keep the fire going.”

  “That’s fine. If anything happens, I don’t know what to tell you. You could stay close to the fire. Or”—he gestured—“you could crawl over to those logs … hunker down and stay out of sight.”

  “Think anything’s going to happen?” Zach asked.

  “Been quiet the last coupla nights. But”—he shook his head—“I feel like we’re being … watched.”


  He handed each of the boys a paper sack and a butane lighter.

  “What’s this?”

  “Firecrackers. Fifty to a string. If things do get exciting, they’ll help. Just light the fuse, then throw ’em as far as you can into the trees. The noise might scare things off.”

  “Good idea,” Chase said.

  “Yeah, it’s worked before.” He looked around. “Never tried ’em on dinosaurs, but they work good on people.”

  He gave each of the boys a strong look.

  “Okay. If you need anything, I’ll be right over there. Just let me know.”

  “You bet,” Chase said. “Thanks.”

  CHASE DIDN’T REMEMBER falling asleep. He’d intended to remain awake in his place by the fire. But he was more exhausted than he realized. One moment he was watching Smith patrol the perimeter—

  “CHASE!”

  The voice was barely more than a whisper, soft but filled with urgency.

  “Chase!”

  Chase felt a nudge, followed by a sharp jab in the shoulder.

  “Chase!”

  “Wha—huh?”

  Chase opened his eyes.

  It was fully dark, the fire no more than glowing embers behind him.

  Zach jabbed him again.

  “Chase!”

  “What?”

  “Listen!”

  Chase listened, but—

  There was no sound.

  He came instantly awake.

  “You hear it?” Zach asked.

  “Yeah.” Chase scanned the trees as quickly but smoothly as possible, careful not to make any sudden movements. Smith was sitting against a stump a short distance away, facing the forest. Bridger was on the opposite side of the campsite, Captain King to his left.

  The closest man was Treeck.

  Chase rolled onto his belly, then army-crawled toward him. He was trying to be quiet, but Treeck was on high alert: the man half-turned as Chase approached.

  Chase put a finger to his lips: Treeck nodded, acknowledging the signal to be quiet. Chase crawled up close and whispered, “Listen.”

  Treeck cocked his head—

  Chase felt the man tense beside him; knew he understood.

  Barely moving, Treeck turned his head toward Smith and snapped his fingers. The sound was soft—almost as if the man’s fingers were wet—but Smith turned and looked. Treeck tapped his ear, then gestured toward the trees.