“Shea.” Patrick’s voice was pained, and his face was pale as he spoke through clenched teeth.
Shea turned toward him and froze. Bright red blood marked her father’s shirt. He was curled up, his hands wrapped around his leg. It looked wrong.
“I think I broke my leg,” he said tightly.
Shea nodded. Yes, she thought so too.
“And I’m bleeding.” His face flinched as he tried to shift.
Shea rushed to his side. “Easy. We need to stop the bleeding and splint the leg.”
“You need to go,” he told her. “The blood will draw every predator within ten miles. You know that.”
Shea’s hands shook as they hovered over her father’s injuries. “I’m not leaving. Would you leave me if the situation was reversed?”
“In a heartbeat,” he growled.
“Bullshit,” she told him in a distracted voice. “We’re going to figure this out.”
Her mind struggled to think. The blood, they needed to do something about the blood first. She tore off a strip from her father’s shirt and pressed it against one of his wounds.
“You know that’s not going to work,” he told her. “Do what you’re told for once.”
“Quiet, old man. You don’t know everything,” she snapped.
She rose to her feet and looked around. The blood was a problem, but it was solvable. She just needed to figure out a way to disguise its scent. If she could do that and get everybody out of this area, they had a chance.
If they were in the Highlands, Shea knew of at least ten plants off the top of her head that she could use. This far inside the Badlands she doubted the likelihood of finding any of them.
Think. Think. There must be something.
“Mud,” she said in realization.
Patrick grunted. “That might work.”
“I know it’ll work,” she told him, already moving.
The mud she was looking for was a special type. Bright red and found under many of the rocks here, they had discovered it the last time it rained. It was run-off from the rock itself and its stench was bad enough to burn your eyes. The best part was that the stink would override any scent, even blood.
Several boulders along this ridge looked like the rocks they’d encountered earlier.
“Wait here, I’ll be right back,” Shea told her father.
She ignored his protests as she ran back up the ridge she’d just come down. She only had to go halfway before she found a boulder that looked like it had what she needed. She dug at its base, feeling a sharp sense of satisfaction as a red clay-like substance came away in her hand. She scooped up as much as she could carry before making her way back to her father.
She fell to her knees beside him and set the red clay down. She grabbed her canteen and poured water on top of it, using her hands to create a thick paste. The pungent aroma of the mud wafted up to her.
She turned to him and began smearing the paste anywhere she saw red. He grimaced but didn’t fight her. She determinedly didn’t think of the possibility this might cause infection and fever. One problem at a time.
“Even if this works, my leg is likely broken. We both know I’m not going any further,” he told her.
“Then when I get you back to the others, we’ll leave behind someone who can escort you home,” she said, focused on her task.
“That’s a death sentence for whoever you choose. You know as well as I do that splitting up is too dangerous,” he warned. “You’re going to need all of them. Leave me, I’ll be fine.”
“Bullshit. You won’t even be able to walk,” Shea said in a flat voice. “How would I face Mother if I came back without you? You didn’t raise me to take the easy route, now shut up and let me splint your leg.”
Patrick held back a groan when she felt along the injured limb. He might have gotten lucky and it was just a sprain, but either way, it was going to be difficult to get him out of here. In that sense, he was right. His part in this mission was over.
