Unfounded Fears
Part 24
"Are you sure?" Paul whispered. "Are you sure it's Peter's blood?"
Caine slowly nodded, his eyes fixed on the red stickiness coating his fingers. "He has been injured."
Paul turned worried eyes on the elder Caine. "How bad?"
Caine shrugged. "I do not know."
Paul's head dropped in defeat. "I swear to God when I find that kid I will kick his butt all the way back to town. I can't believe he has done this again."
Caine listened to the angry words of Peter's foster father. "He is Peter. He knows no other way."
Paul couldn't help the small smile which came to his features. "Okay, I suppose I should expect it by now. But damn it, he has got to stop doing this to me. . ." Paul muttered and then corrected himself. ". . .Us."
Caine agreed silently. ""It has not been long since he passed through here."
Paul furrowed his brow as he examined the other bloodstains on the ground. Touching his index finger to another spot, he tapped the red against his thumb. "You're right. It's still wet."
"Over here," Claudia called out from the other side of the path. "A footprint." Paul and Caine joined the woman.
Paul examined the track left in the soft mud. "It's from the right foot of a hiking boot."
"Here's another one," Claudia said, pointing to a spot over five feet away.
"It's the left. Heading away from the blood," Paul commented.
"But is it Peter's?" the woman asked.
"Was he wearing his hiking boots when you left?"
Claudia thought for a moment, then she nodded. Paul turned to Caine. "We can assume these are from him. If that is his blood over there, then it would make sense that these are his footprints."
Caine gave a nod of agreement again. "This would mean that he was able to run away after having been injured." Collective relief swept through the searchers.
Then Paul placed a hand on Caine's shoulder as he stared back down at the ground. "With the amount of blood over there, we can assume he's suffering from more than a scratch. He may not be able to run for long." The comfort from the moment before faded quickly with the words.
"So we follow the tracks?" Claudia asked, pushing aside her fear.
"No," Caine answered.
Paul looked at the Shaolin, his smile hiding his surprise that the two men were thinking along the same lines. "Not yet," Paul clarified. "We need to search this area and find out if Peter was running from something or to something."
The woman looked confused. "What do you mean?"
"We need to determine whether Peter was being pursued or whether he was pursuing," Caine explained, as if reading Paul's mind.
"Right," Paul continued. "We need to know what went down here before we walk into something we aren't expecting."
Claudia huffed impatiently. "But Peter's hurt."
"Yes." Caine responded softly. "But if we do not take time to determine what happened here, more may be injured."
The ranger sighed in defeat. "Okay, I'll search over here." She pointed and began walking through the brush, carefully surveying the ground. Caine and Blaisdell similarly divided.
After a few minutes, Paul shouted out to his companions, "Found something."
Caine and Claudia immediately joined him. He pointed to the trampled ground. He then extended his hand palm up. Claudia grabbed the small metal object which was held out to them. "A shell casing," she whispered, a knot in her stomach.
"So Peter was running from someone who was shooting at him and I think we can assume that someone was one or all of the poachers," Paul commented flatly.
Claudia closed her eyes. "He doesn't stand a chance if the poachers are after him," she murmured.
Paul shot a concerned look at Caine, but kept up a brave front. "Peter can handle himself." He said the words while trying desperately to ignore the memories of Peter's run-in with Del Barton only a few nights before.
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God, he was tired. . and he hurt. And, damn it, he was lost, again. He was lucky enough to be able to find his way back the first time. He didn't have high hopes that the luck would be repeated. Yes, he'd been on most of the trails in these woods during his teenage years, but that was a long time ago. To top it off, he had just spent the better part of the past hour running for his life, criss-crossing the paths so as to lose his pursuers.
He collapsed on the ground, rolled onto his back and then grimaced in pain, clutching his side. He hadn't originally thought the wound was bad, but the race through the forest had proven him wrong.
He scooted himself under the bush and closed his eyes, trying desperately to recover his breath. Every respiration reminded him of his cracked ribs and that there was a hole through his side that felt like it was the size of a fist. He lifted his hand and examined his blood-stained fingers, frowning. It was a hole which was bleeding profusely, as well.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, wishing for the umpteenth time that he had thought to bring water with him on this excursion. He knew that thirst was an early sign of shock. He pushed the fearful thought from his mind. The truth served no purpose at the moment.
Lifting his head and pulling his shirt up, he examined the damage. The gory injury was almost an inch long, on his side, just above the right side of his pelvis. The red had stained the bandage wrapped around his chest which was supposed to be protecting his ribs.
His fingers moved to his back, only a couple of inches away. There was another hole. The exit wound. He sighed. He'd seen worse. Hell, he'd experienced worse. But, that didn't make a difference when it came to the pain or blood loss.
Lowering his head back to the grass, he closed his eyes, and tried to control his body. 'An obedient body obeys the mind,' his father had told him once. Peter couldn't help the small laugh. Unfortunately, his body seemed to listen about as well as he did. "How in the hell do I end up in these messes," he muttered.
Pain shot through his side once again, and Peter bit his lip to keep from crying out.
End Part 24
To Part 25