top of Turner’s head, Walt remained quiet. His fingers shook while he rolled the material into a ball and placed it over Turner’s swollen lips. Just as he leaned over to get a firm grip on Turner’s shoulders, his son woke up. The terror and pain in those big, beautiful eyes, tore at Walt’s heartstrings. In a flash, Walt removed the cloth.
“Son, listen to me. Don’t say a word. We ain’t quite alone out here. If you understand me, nod your head once.” Turner did, so Walt continued. “You broke your leg, so before we can move you, Kyle’s gotta set it in a splint. It’s gonna hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but you can’t scream. I’m gonna put the cotton back into your mouth. You bite down on it all you want, but no sounds. Can you do that?”
Turner closed his eyes while tears leaked from the corners. He nodded again and opened his mouth. Walt secured the cloth and gently covered his lips.
“I’ve gotta move your leg out from under you first, then set the splint. I’ll move as fast as I can. On the count of three,” Kyle whispered.
Turner opened his eyes again, locking gazes with Walt. “You can do this, son.”
“Okay, here goes part one. Turner, can you roll to the left a bit?”
Without answering, Turner groaned while shifting his weight. Kyle worked fast, pulling his right leg straight. Tears of pain erupted from Turner’s eyes.
“Good job, son. Okay, on the count of three. One…two…three!”
Walt felt Turner’s body tense as it vibrated with a muffled scream. Even after all the years in the military, watching boys die in front of him, listening to them cry for their momma’s with final breaths, Walt never experienced the kind of sorrow Turner’s yelp of pain brought. Hearing—and seeing—his son in such agony, made a lump of tears form in the back of his throat.
Turner’s anguished scream stopped. Walt realized he was out cold again. The pain had been too much for his mind to endure, so it shut down.
“Well, the good news is the breaks are clean. Didn’t penetrate through the skin,” Kyle offered.
“And the bad news?”
“Turner broke both his tibia and fibula, which means he ain’t gonna be walkin’, even with a cast or brace, for quite some time.”
Walt’s mouth went dry. “How long?”
Kyle scooted over to Turner’s feet. “That’s a question for Jane, not me. In my opinion, just from this quick observation, three months.”
“Shit,” Walt muttered. “Can’t think about that now. Will you check the woods through the scope one last time before we haul him outta here?”
“You bet,” Kyle answered, pulling the rifle up. Squinting, he took his time and scoured the woods. “We’re good. You ready?”
Nodding, Walt and Kyle eased Turner into the sitting position. After securing their bodies, they hoisted Turner to the standing position. “This ain’t gonna work. Not in this terrain. Too rocky. Here, let me take him,” Walt said.
“You sure? No offense, but my back and knees are younger.”
“Positive. I’ll need you to take point anyway. Guide me through this mess. Now, help me get him on my back.”
In seconds, Turner’s body firmly secured on his back, Walt and Kyle headed to the glen.
After the first ten minutes pulling uphill, Walt’s back and legs throbbed. He wouldn’t give in to the temptation to switch places with Kyle, no matter how much his muscles begged him to change his mind.
Twenty minutes later, Walt had never been so glad to finish a hike. Reed and Jane were waiting at the edge of the trail. Walt noticed the sky was a dark, ugly gray as snow clouds twisted above them. A few snowflakes fluttered around in the light breeze. Thankful the weather waited until he was off the trail to take a turn for the worse, Walt smiled. Turner woke up and asked, “What’s goin’ on, Dad? Why are you carryin’ me?”
Walt stopped and eased Turner off of his back. Turner’s words sounded odd since his lips were so swollen. Walt didn’t