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.”
With some effort she focused and looked up at him. “Dad taught me. He was always a gun nut. Seemed like more than just a hobby after the world ended.”
Matt heard a soft crunch of gravel and looked up to see the older man approaching. “Only one of the attackers had a gun,” he said, pulling out a handkerchief and offering it to Matt, who took it to press against the front of Jane’s shoulder. “That fellow you call Simons. He was hiding while his friends jumped out at us, so he got a shot off before we even knew he was there. I managed to shoot him before he could shoot again, then kept shooting until he stopped moving.”
The refugee modestly patted the stock of the rifle he held, a .22 Matt thought. “Jane got the rest. She downed two of them before they even got close, then even after getting shot managed to get the third one while she was flat on her back on the ground.” He held out his hand. “I’m Tom Harding.”
In his arms Jane went limp, and Matt grit his teeth. His hands were a bit full at the moment so a handshake wasn’t happening. “Nice to meet you, Tom, but we can get your story once we’re all back safe in town and she’s been seen to. Rick!” He said that last in a shout. “How far is Terry?”
“You’ll let us into town?” Tom asked hopefully. “Do you have food?”
That was always the question, wasn’t it? Matt bit back a sigh, still doing his best to keep pressure on Jane’s wounds. Then an unsettling thought struck him. What if they were from Price and their bedraggled state was from more than just hunger and exhaustion? “Our town’s borders are open. Which direction did you come from?”
“Over the mountains from Fairview,” the older man answered. “We were following Highway 31.”
Matt fought a surge of uneasiness. “31 takes you to Huntington, well to the south of here.”
“We nearly got robbed near Candland Mountain on Halloween and decided it would be safer to take side roads the rest of the way.” Tom gave him a somewhat indignant look. “What, do you think I’m lying?”