Ripples by DL Fowler

handle. “What happened here tonight?”
    “Not sure.”
    “How’d this blood get on your shovel?”
    “No idea. Guess I was trying to put out the fire.”
    “With blood?”
    “I said, I don’t remember. I don’t even know how I got here. Suppose I wanted to help … when I saw the fire.”
    “It’s my impression your neighbor didn’t want you coming around.”
    “I wouldn’t just let the place burn down. For sure I wouldn’t let the girl get hurt.” He looks around. “The pickup’s gone. He must have taken her somewhere.”
    “Your neighbor doesn’t own a pickup, and he doesn’t have a driver’s license. I checked him out after my last visit up here.”
    Chandler wobbles and lists to one side.
    I catch him before he tumbles off the back of the paramedic truck. “Mr. Chandler, these folks are going to give you a ride down to the hospital. One of our deputies will go along to keep you company.”
    “Are you sure that’s necessary?”
    “Positive.”
    As the EMT helps Chandler climb into the emergency vehicle, I nod to the deputy who was holding the shovel. “We’d better tag and bag that thing.”
     

Chapter Eight
    RJ
    M y eyes ache, and sunlight poking through the tree canopy doesn’t help. I put up my hand to block the glare. My throbbing leg reminds me of last night’s chaos.
    After the shotgun misfired at the lake, I panicked and scrambled off, hobbling through trees and scrub toward Mercedes’ hut. Didn't make it far. My knees buckled, and I landed on the shotgun wound, driving buckshot deeper into my flesh. Pain was too much. The cool ground brought on the shivers. My forehead burned with fever. I must’ve passed out. I kind of recall headlights racing past, but I could’ve imagined it.
    I shake the cobwebs out of my head and push up off the ground, standing on my good leg. Bite down on my lower lip and shift some weight to the wounded leg, but it collapses underneath me. I land hard and every pellet buried in my leg stings twice as bad.
    What a klutz. Lost the damn shotgun at some point during the night. Now I can’t even use it as a crutch. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. If only I’d remembered to load the damn thing. I clench my teeth and prop up on my good knee so I can scan the area nearby. Just out of reach, there’s a branch lying on the ground. Probably knocked down during a wind storm. Just the right size for a cane. I pull myself along the ground until I’m close enough to grab it.
    After hobbling for nearly a mile, I recognize the terrain. My heart beats faster, this time it’s from more than exhaustion. Uncle Eric’s ranch is around the next bend in the trail, just out of view. Can’t bear to relive that nightmare right now, so I detour higher up into the woods and trudge ahead.
    Later, I’m on the ridge overlooking Mercedes' hut. I lower myself to the ground and stretch out my throbbing leg. My throat tightens. Did the girls make it back? God, Mercedes could be dead. Then who’d I have left? Can’t imagine my mom would want me even if I found her. I let out a loud caw then wait for Mercedes’ to give me the all clear.
    Mercedes
    My nerves are still jangled from last night when a familiar ‘caw’ sends my heart into my throat. He’s alive?
    I rush over to the door, swallow hard and, return his signal.
    Amy joins me at the doorway. “What’s going on?” she asks.
    “RJ.”
    “He’s alive?”
    “It’s our signal. He’s the only one who knows it.”
    Amy searches the ridge. “Where is he?”
    “It’ll take a few minutes.” I point to a stand of pines. “He should come from over there.”
    The first sight of him takes my breath away. He’s hobbling, supporting himself on a long branch, stumbling, almost dropping to one knee.
    Amy grabs my arm. “Does he need help?”
    I know how this is going down. He’ll have the hots for her in no time. She’s a regular healing angel. Always patched up Bryce when he got hurt. If it’d been me, I would have made sure