Only three of the yurts weren’t on fire, and there was hardly anything left of their wall. Bodies littered the ground, most of them motionless and already cooling. Some gunshots sounded in the distance, but they were drowned out by the growing cries of pain and grief from the village.
The yurts that had been hastily packed with those who couldn’t defend themselves were starting to empty, and the survivors were beginning to realize how much they had lost in such a short amount of time.
Carlee slid down from the horse that she had commandeered from the attackers as Jeff closed in on her. He looked down at his blood-covered mechanical arm and decided to try to clean it on his pants, with middling results.
“You saved the village,” Jeff said. The words came out awkwardly because he had no idea how to sound. He didn’t want to sound jovial or even impressed, given the circumstances.
“We need to help them,” Carlee said. She was crying profusely, which caught Jeff off guard. He hadn’t expected the perfect warrior he had seen a few seconds ago to be emotional.
“You did,” Jeff said. “Twice. They’d all be dead if it weren’t for you.”
Carlee shook her head and mumbled something about doing more as she rushed over to where two teenage girls were kneeling next to a fallen villager. Jeff started to follow after her, unsure what he was supposed to do.
“I’m taking the horse,” Stefani said from behind him. He turned around to see her climbing onto the back of the beautiful brown horse. Horses were luxuries that only those who could defend themselves in the wild could afford.
“Where to?”
“After them. I questioned one of them about what they were doing here. Said they came to take some more slaves, so I’m going to track the monsters down.” She was pissed off, which was a stark contrast to Carlee.
“You’ll be back?”
Stefani didn’t respond as she spurred the horse forward, racing past the villagers who were hectically trying to keep their community from turning into a complete pile of ash.
Jeff understood the hatred in Stefani’s voice. Slavery was a detestable practice that some of the warlords had taken too. Depending on who was in charge of the marauders, slaves could face fates far worse than death.
He jogged over to where Carlee was desperately trying to stop the bleeding of a boy who had taken a bullet to his chest. A rusted metal pike lay by his dying body. The girls who had found him first were crying over his shaking body.
“Stay with me!” Carlee said. But he was losing this fight, and she knew it. Jeff wasn’t a surgeon, but he knew the boy was going to die.
Carlee growled as she reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a strange-looking tool. She set it next to the wound, and some lights activated. A moment later, Jeff heard a slight twang as the pieces of the slug left the boy’s body and collided with Carlee’s tool. She tossed it aside and reached for another pocket. Jeff watched helplessly as she continued to try to save the young man. She was making progress even if the boy was slipping away.
“Jeff!” Carlee shouted as she looked around, apparently unaware that he had been watching over her for the last five minutes, unable to switch his attention to anything else.
“I’m here,” he said, eager to do whatever Carlee needed of him.
“He needs some blood,” she said. She pulled some needles and tubing from another pocket. It was too large to have fit in the small pocket comfortably, and now that he thought about it, she had been doing quite a bit of pressing in front of the girls and a few others who had stopped to watch.
“Of course,” Jeff said. He dropped to his knees and extended his arm before realizing that it was his metal one. He quickly corrected himself and presented the arm with blood flowing through it.
Carlee hastily cleaned the site and then stuck a needle into his vein. He winced as he watched the blood flow from him and into the now unconscious boy. He didn’t watch it for long as he noticed more people gathering around them.
“Carlee . . .” Jeff whispered.
She ignored him as she continued to work. Despite the boy’s wounds, she was starting to make a difference.
“I think something is happening . . .” he mumbled as he saw a group of armed villagers talking a few feet away. They suddenly broke and came striding toward Carlee, guns drawn.
Jeff ripped the line from his arm as he jumped in front of the villagers as they pointed a handgun at Carlee’s head. He grabbed the weapon with his metal arm and ripped it out of the hands of the villager in one motion.
“Jeff!” Carlee shouted in protest. She turned around to see that he was staring down a handful of weapons. “Oh.”
“We know what you are,” growled the old man who had met them earlier that day.
“We’re doctors,” Carlee said. “And this boy needs our help.” She dismissed them with her voice and turned back to the young man in front of her, but the villagers were not finished.
“We should kill you,” the man said. His voice was brooding. Jeff knew the tone well. Nothing good happened when men sounded like that.
“You’d be dead if it hadn’t been for her,” Jeff said. He stood straight and squeezed the gun with his metal arm. It crunched underneath the pressure, and he tossed it to the ground. The armed villagers backed a step away from him.
Jeff looked around and noticed that most of the villagers now gathered around them. Many were helping to hold some of their neighbors up.
“This all happened because of that freak,” the man said. “And I don’t care if you are half leech.” The man already had blood on his worn clothes, and he pulled a long hunting knife from his side.
“Where is Matt?” Jeff asked, hoping to find the young man who had been more reasonable with them before.
“He’s dead. His sister is dead. His cousin is dead. Heather is passed out with burns, and Catherine is dead.” He rattled off the names as he turned the knife over in his hands. “You filthy vagrants have killed us all!” He took an aggressive step forward, and Jeff shifted his feet, ready to defend himself.
But the man didn’t make it far; his companions grabbed his shoulders and held him back. He struggled to free himself, but they held him tight.
“Get out!” He shouted after he gave up his struggle. “Now!”
“We will leave as soon as I can treat the wounded,” Carlee said. She was standing next to Jeff now. Her tears had stopped, and she placed a soft hand on Jeff’s arm. He relaxed as she tried to disarm the situation once again.
“No, you leave now. And never come back.”
Jeff expected some others to dissent, but a quick look around the gathered villagers showed nothing but contempt and fear.
“He will die if I don’t finish. And there are others who need our help,” Carlee said. Her voice was calm and strong. “Let us help them.”
“I’m not going to give you another chance to walk out of here while you still can.”
Carlee sighed and looked back at the struggling boy behind her.
“Fine, we’ll go. But their deaths are on your head.”
The man lurched against the other villagers in an attempt to get to Carlee, but once again, he was held in place. Jeff could hardly believe what was happening. They had gone from saviors to villains after they had risked their lives in order to save as many of the lives in their community as possible.
Carlee held her head high as she walked out of the camp. The villagers formed a wide halo around them, as if they were worried that getting too close to the vagrants would give them the plague. They had made it halfway out of the camp before a rock hit Jeff in the metal arm. He looked back in time to see more children gathering projectiles. The fires of the burning yurts illuminated the small mob.