The Survivor Chronicles (Book 3): The Forsaken (29 page)

Carl had a clear view of the person attacking Bobby as they sat up again, it was a shot he never would have taken even with the training he'd received at the academy, but Bobby's blood was already staining the ground. Carl took a steadying breath before squeezing the trigger.

Though he knew the world around him was filled with far more noise and chaos than he'd experienced since the start of the quakes, the only sound he heard was the bullet that erupted from his gun. A silent prayer ran through his mind that he didn't kill a man he'd come to consider an ally and friend.

The bullet struck the person in the chest. They released an inhuman squeal, as they were lifted up and flung from Bobby's back by the force of the impact. Donald grabbed hold of Bobby's arm and attempted to lift him to his feet but Bobby was a deadweight that pulled Donald down with him. Carl put his gun back in his waistband but even though he had managed to dislodge the person from Bobby, he didn't see how they were going to get him to safety before the entire horde was surging over them.

He'd been so absorbed on firing the gun, and trying to defend Bobby, that he hadn't heard the truck start up until it went flying past him across the lawn. He caught a brief glimpse of Al in the bed of the truck before he was driven out of view. The doors smashed against the metal sides of the truck with a loud clang as John came to an abrupt halt.

"Get in!" Mary Ellen screamed from the passenger side as John continued to blare the horn from the driver's side.

Carl burst into motion as he spotted the car coming across the lawn toward them. Xander and Donald were scrambling to get Bobby to the truck when Carl got to them. Grass and dirt skidded up around the car as Riley screeched to a halt beside them.

Peter leaned out the passenger side window of the Cadillac and fired at the people that continued to stalk them.
At least he was finally doing something,
Carl thought.

"Get in the car," he told Xander as he took Bobby's arm from around Xander's shoulders.

"Bobby..."

"Someone has to ride with Riley; the map is in there and we have to have some idea of where we're going. We'll take care of him," Carl promised.

Xander hesitated before he released Bobby's hand and helped Donald and Carl to maneuver Bobby into the back of the truck. Casting one last glance at Bobby, Xander turned away from them. He released a few shots to scare back a few of their enemies as he ran around the car to the passenger side. Riley threw the car into reverse as soon as Xander was settled, and hit another person that had been closing in on them.

Donald scrambled into the back of the truck as the car shot past them again. Carl hefted himself into the back of the truck, he was rolling away from the doors when a hand seized hold of his ankle and jerked him back. His fingers scrabbled over the truck bed, splinters bit into his skin as wood dug beneath his nails. He ferociously kicked at the hand holding him as he scrambled for purchase on the bed. No matter what he did though, he continued his slide out of the truck as another hand seized his calf.

With the sinking realization of a man that was coming to the end of his life, he knew that he wasn't going to be able to maintain his hold, and that the others couldn't stay. Not if they were going to escape the things pursuing them.

John and Mary Ellen wouldn't be able to see him, not with the doors open. "Go, we're good!
Drive
!" Carl bellowed.

His legs slid out the back of the truck as John hit the gas.

Al,

"Wait no!" Al shouted but it was impossible to be heard over the commotion raging around them. He lurched toward the metal blocking him from the cab of the truck in an attempt to get John to stop, but the acceleration of the truck threw him back again. He managed to catch himself before he plummeted out of the truck and into the street.

Donald dove forward and grabbed hold of Carl's wrists as his waist slipped over the back of the truck. Donald was jerked forward but he stopped himself from falling out the open doors by catching his foot on the metal siding. Al was almost hit by a case of water as he strained to right himself over the incessant bouncing of the truck.

"The supplies," Carl protested. "You
need
the supplies, let me go."

"We need you more," Donald said as a case of water slid past him, it fell out the open doors and splattered on the roadway.

Al's heart sank as Donald continued to try and pull Carl into the truck. Donald had been right when he'd said they needed Carl more than the supplies, but they had to get those doors shut before they lost everything. A bag of oats slid by him; Al lunged forward and managed to grab it before it was lost. Throwing the bag behind him, he was able to get close enough to grab Carl's left wrist with both of his hands. Donald released it and seized hold of Carl's right wrist with both of his hands. Al's arms protested the weight of Carl, and the person still clinging to his legs, but he refused to release him.

"Hold on," Donald insisted.

One of Donald's hands released Carl's wrists; he reached back and grabbed hold of a jug of water sliding around the back of the truck. He leaned forward and smashed the jug off the face of the man almost at Carl's waist now. Blood poured from the nose and lips that had been broken open by the force of the blow as the man slipped. Before the man could regain his firm grasp on Carl, Donald raised the jug and slammed it into his face again. Plastic split open, water poured out, but the man finally lost his grip on Carl. Josh had to swerve the car to avoid hitting the body that tumbled away from the truck.

One of the open doors swung toward them. Donald and Al pulled back with all of their might; they lifted Carl into the truck as the door clanged shut with a thunderous crash. More supplies spilled out the remaining open door as they pulled Carl further away from the edge of the truck bed.

Al could feel Carl's heaving breaths against his arm, but even as Al was still struggling to catch his breath, Carl was regaining his feet. Carl leapt forward and grabbed hold of the closed door before it could swing open again.

"Hold this!" he barked at Donald and scurried to the other side of the truck.

Grasping the side of the truck, Carl leaned out to grab the other door. His muscles bulged; his face became florid as he fought to pull the door closed. The entire truck shook from the force of the door crashing back into position. Carl kept one white knuckled hand wrapped around the side of the truck and the other on the door as he turned to survey the supplies still in the truck.

"You should have let me go," he said gruffly.

"No," Al said firmly. "Even if we'd lost everything we had, we never should have let you go. Donald is right, we need you."

Carl shook his head. "Not more than you needed all the things we just lost."

Al sat back on his heels to stare at the stubborn man before him. "I am too old to lead, Donald is too new to the group, John, Riley, Bobby, and Xander are too young, Mary Ellen is not the type, not yet, and Peter is too unstable. So yes, we
do
need you. Even Donald sees that," Al told him.

Donald didn't say anything as he glanced between the two of them but he gave a brief bow of his head to Al. Carl's jaw was locked, his gray eyes unrelenting as they met Al's. "I'm not a leader."

"Maybe not before, but you have no choice now."

Before Carl could protest further, Al decided to let those words sink in and turned away from him. He focused on Bobby's unconscious form near the front of the truck. The young man's breathing was shallow; his head was turned to the side to reveal the jagged bite mark on his shoulder. Muscle and skin had been torn away; even through the blood oozing from the wound, Al could see the white of Bobby's shoulder bone. A feeling of doom settled over him as he leaned forward and pressed his palm against the bite mark. Even still, the blood seeped around his fingers and a growing pool of it was spreading beneath Bobby.

Al glanced at the others for help but if they were going to keep the doors shut, they had to remain at the back of the truck. Al's hand pressed more firmly against the young man's neck as he gently turned Bobby's head toward him. His heart dropped when he spotted the large egg, already turning purple in the center of the boy's forehead. Blood seeped from the cut that had split Bobby's forehead, but it wasn't as profuse as the bite on his shoulder. Al could slow the bleeding on his shoulder until they were able to find something to sew the bite wound shut with, but there was nothing he could do for a head injury.

He pressed at the edges of the ugly looking bump. His prodding should have been painful but Bobby didn't even stir. Helplessness filled him as he realized there was no way for them to know the extent of the damage that had been done. Bobby could have a concussion or something even more serious like a contusion, perhaps even a fractured skull and brain damage.

Al took a deep breath as he decided to focus on the things he
could
help to fix right now. "Are they still following us?" he demanded.

"They're out there," Carl confirmed. "How is he?"

Al shook his head, and keeping his fingers pressed against Bobby's neck, he leaned forward to grab hold of one of the bags closest to him. There were medical supplies somewhere back here but trying to find them was going to be a difficult task in the bouncing truck. If the medical supplies weren't some of the things that had gone out the back...

"Al...?"

"Don't let go of the doors," he commanded briskly.

Carl hiked an eyebrow up as he stared at him. "I don't think your age should count. Not if you're capable of leading."

Al chose to ignore him as he shoved aside a bag full of batteries and motor oil. The next bag he grabbed contained food, a welcome sight but a useless one right now. He shoved it aside and tore through two more bags before locating one with bandages, antiseptics, ointments, and Band-Aids.

Pawing through the supplies with his free hand, he tugged out some packages of bandages. The bite had to be cleaned but he was more concerned with getting the bleeding to stop first. Using his teeth, he tore open the packaging and pulled the cloth free. He pressed it firmly against the wound and grabbed the tape. Tearing the tape awkwardly with his teeth, he was able to pull enough free to secure the cloth in place. It wasn't the best-looking bandage but it would do for now.

Trying to hold Bobby's head as steady as possible, Al was able to turn him enough to get a look at the crisscrossing gashes marring his back. Al winced and looked at his own hand pressed against a small, unmarred section of Bobby's skin. The burns on his palm were far better, but it was still reddened and the blistered skin had begun to peel away. What had been done to his hand though was nothing compared to the flesh that had been stripped from Bobby's back.

Al hadn't felt this powerless since Nellie had been dying and though Bobby was still alive, Al was fighting against the grief trying to take him over. Turning back to the bag of supplies, he hesitated a second before pulling out more. It may not look good for Bobby right now but the young man was still breathing and that was all that mattered. The gashes on his back were vicious looking but they weren't as threatening as the one on his shoulder. Even still, he poured some peroxide on the gashes before wiping away the blood. He took off his shirt and placed it under Bobby to keep him off of the grass stained wooden truck bed. Relief filled him at the shallow rise and fall of Bobby's chest as he settled Bobby onto his back again.

Digging into the bag again, he was dismayed to realize that none of the antibiotics or steroids were inside. Then he recalled that they'd been placed in the trunk of the car to keep them safe from the rain. They must have missed this bag when they'd been moving the supplies around. A low curse escaped him, his gaze traveled to the still bleeding bite mark on Bobby's shoulder.

The bandages were already soaked through with blood; he leaned forward, pulled out more cloth and folded it in half. He refused to acknowledge the dwindling supplies as he placed the bandage against Bobby's neck and pressed down hard. Al knew there were times in life when difficult decisions had to be made, perhaps this was one of those times, but he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge that fact. No, he was not a leader, but he didn't think Carl would have made a different decision right now either.

Peter would have though.

That realization sent a shiver down his spine. If Peter had his way, Al was certain he would kill him off for being too old. Perhaps he would even kill some of the others in order to conserve their supplies. No, he and Carl weren't ready to make the difficult decisions, not yet anyway, but they were still far better at making decisions than Peter was. Perhaps one day he would be able to walk away from Bobby, or Carl would, but today was not that day.

The wind blowing over the back of the truck tickled against Al's bared flesh but he barely felt it as he looked toward the others. Their hands, on the sideboards and backdoors, had turned white as they strained to keep them closed. Al taped the second set of bandages to Bobby and used the side of the truck to help himself up.

He held on as he looked over roads that were completely unfamiliar to him. He had no idea where they would end up by the time they came to a stop, but he'd figure it out when he had a chance. For now, he was mostly concerned with what might still be following them.

"I haven't seen any other people in a few minutes," Donald said in response to his unasked question.

Al nodded and held onto the side of the truck as he shuffled toward the front of it. He pounded heavily against the board blocking him from the cab of the truck. He felt the truck decelerating before it pulled to the side of the road. Al kept a wary eye on the woods as he walked toward the back with the others. Carl fisted and un-fisted his hands before bending to grab some of the bags that had gathered near the doors. He moved them to the front again before kneeling at Bobby's side.

Carl examined the young man before turning to Al. He looked about to ask Al a question when the backdoors flew open again. The doors were barely out of the way before Riley and Xander appeared. Riley scrambled into the back of the truck with Xander close behind. "How is he?" Riley demanded.

"Not good," Al said. She barely glanced at him before rushing to her friend. Al stopped Xander before he could go any further. "You have to get him some medicine; we have to know exactly what it was Mary Ellen gave to you and we need to find some needle and thread to stitch him up."

Xander glanced worriedly toward Riley and Bobby but he jumped back to the ground. Al didn't see where Xander disappeared to as Carl dropped down in front of him and turned to offer him a hand. Pride made him want to wave Carl's hand away but he eyed the three and a half foot distance to the ground warily. He was holding up fairly well but that drop was not something he was eager to tackle. Even still, he refused Carl's hand and sat at the edge of the truck before easing himself onto the ground.

He spotted Mary Ellen and Xander at the trunk of the Cadillac, pawing through the supplies as they sought what it was that Bobby required. Mary Ellen and Xander came toward them with a bag in Xander's hand. As she moved past the car, Peter opened the driver's side door and stepped out.

"If he isn't going to make it..." Peter started.

"
Don't
finish that statement," Xander interrupted crisply. He tossed the bag into the back of the truck and climbed in behind it. Al watched as he approached Riley and knelt at Bobby's side.

"I'll help them," Mary Ellen said before scrambling into the back of the truck.

Peter closed the door of the car and began to approach them. "You know I'm right."

Perhaps he was, but it wasn't something Al was willing to admit. "I don't know that," Al told him. "If we find a needle and thread, and get him the medicine, he has a chance of making it."

"A chance?" Peter demanded.

"There is no guarantee, not anymore. Not for anyone," Al told him.

"Cutting our losses..."

"He's not a loss, not yet," Carl inserted.

Peter shook his head as he folded his arms over his chest. "He's not an asset anymore either."

"He could be again," Carl retorted. "Is this what you would expect us to do if you were to get hurt one day, maybe even today? Do you want us to count you out as a loss? Because if that's what you want I'll be more than happy to do it when the time comes."

Al straightened away from the truck, his breath caught in his chest as Peter took a threatening step toward Carl.
This was it
, Al thought as his eyes darted between the two men staring at each other like two alpha wolves circling a deer. Al could almost picture them snarling at each other with their hackles raised.