Free Shortage (Best Laid Plans Book 2) by Nathan Jones Page B

repeated the task.
    Five minutes later Trev finished collecting the guns and other weapons from all but one of the bandits, including the shotgun wedged underneath the body of the man to the far right end of the log. The last man he checked was still alive, although he was unconscious from loss of blood and would be dead soon.
    Trev patted him down like the others, doing his best not to be seen from the highway below, and left him there. Then, satisfied he had everything that could be a danger to him and his cousin as they made their escape, he returned to a hiding spot behind the log and piled the weapons on a heavy coat he'd stripped off one of the bodies. He spread another heavy coat across the top and used their belts to tightly tie the bundle, which he slung over his shoulder.
    After that was done he straightened for just a moment to peer south, making sure the two bandits who'd escaped weren't in sight and the coast was clear.
    There was no sign of them, but he did see two men and a woman from the refugee group crossing the bridge over the river below and peering up in his direction. They must have heard the shots and had found the courage to investigate them. As he watched the redheaded woman leading the group reached down to draw the pistol at her hip.
    Trev ducked back down and scuttled across the clearing in a crouch, then began climbing up the hill to where his cousin waited.
    “What is it?” Lewis demanded, painfully craning his neck to peer down the slope behind Trev.
    “Refugees on their way to see what's going on.” Trev slung his .223 over his shoulder, then the G3, noting that in spite of Lewis's state not a drop of blood had touched it. Finally after a quick check around to make sure he hadn't left anything he crouched and did his best to help his cousin to his feet, offering him his free shoulder. “Do you need a crutch?”
    “It's not too far up to the road. If you can get me there you should be able to drag me the rest of the way. It'll lead anyone following nearly straight to our hideout, but we'll worry about covering our tracks once we get closer.” Lewis set his mouth in a thin line and hopped up the slope, doing his best not to put weight on his leg. Trev stumbled forward as well, nearly losing his balance in the slick deadfall, and his cousin hopped again.
    Somehow they managed to make their way up through the trees along the steep slope, laboriously climbing over deadfall and through densely clumped blockages of evergreen branches. The entire time Lewis hissed out quick, labored breaths and his face got paler and paler. It seemed like an eternity they stumbled along, and Trev even heard a few shouts from the refugees now far below them. He ignored the noise, although with every step he expected to hear a gunshot from the redheaded woman's pistol to accompany it, or maybe a bloodcurdling shriek as one of the two remaining bandits caught up to them and attacked from behind a tree.
    Neither of those things happened. Maybe the investigating refugees saw the scene of the ambush and decided to get out of there before they were next, and for all he knew the two remaining bandits might still be running south like he'd assured Lewis.
    At last they reached the road, and Trev felt a bit less urgent as he used some straight sticks to splint Lewis's leg. Once he'd done the best he could they rested it on the bundle of coats and bandit weapons and tied it tight. Lewis, true to his penchant of always being prepared, had popped a few painkillers he'd had in his pouch and was slumped in an awkward laying-down position on the road, face still pale.
    Trev felt like a bit of a jerk as he pulled his cousin's arms up above his head and tied his wrists-over the sleeves to avoid welts-to the stock and barrel of the G3, but he couldn't think of any other way to pull him. Thanks to a week of pulling wagons it didn't feel particularly tiring dragging his cousin's weight over the dirt, grass, and for some better