“Looks like ankle, calf, above knee, and thigh,” Wolfe said, calculating the blood loss. It was a burst of bullets. There was nothing like an AK-47 to mess up a body—old school.
He dug in his pack and drew out QuikClot to wrap around each of the wounds. Jethro bit his lip but didn’t make a sound, his body tense with pain.
A man came around the nearest tree, caught sight of them, and quickly lifted his weapon.
Wolfe partially turned and threw the knife, penetrating the guy’s neck. The man dropped his gun, grabbed the knife handle, and fell forward to land on his face, his legs kicking out.
Jethro grunted, his face looking pale, even in the darkness.
Wolfe padded each wound and tied them tight, wrapping material from his first aid pack around each one.
Jethro shook his head. “I can’t run, mate.”
“I’m aware.” Wolfe stood and replaced his pack. Shouting came from the hill to the right, and three armed men scaled the top, running toward them.
Wolfe leaped to the nearest tree, ducking and dodging for a better angle. “Go flat.”
Jethro instantly complied, sliding down, his gun out and ready.
Wolfe levered himself up, aimed, and squeezed the trigger three times. The men fell fast, one of them getting off a shot that spit up dust next to Wolfe.
Gunfire erupted from the opposite direction, throwing twigs and rocks all around him.
Shit. Jethro was exposed, even flat on the ground.
Wolfe ducked his head and launched into motion, weaving to avoid the rain of bullets. He reached Jethro, clamped his hands around Jet’s good ankle, dropped his shoulder to the ground, rolled and twisted, hitting his knees and coming up to his feet with Jethro over his shoulder, one arm manacled around Jet’s calf and the other on his forearm.
The man’s muscled weight bore down on Wolfe and he grunted, running for the distant trees and the one hill that didn’t hold anybody shooting at them.
Yet.
A soldier ran toward them from the side, shooting erratically. Jethro lifted himself up from his position on Wolfe’s shoulders, and fired rapidly, dropping the guy.
Wolfe grunted and held on, his grip sliding to Jethro’s thigh as the Brit twisted and fired three more shots in the same direction.
Grunts and cries of pain echoed back.
Wolfe’s ribs cracked together and projected pain throughout his body. He sucked it in, let pain take him, and shoved sensation away, ignoring the agony. He kept a tight hold on Jethro, running up another hill, along a ravine and then over yet another hill, through a series of trees, and over rocks that kept dropping beneath his feet to another ravine below.
Jethro held tight, not making a sound.
Impressive.
Wolfe kept running, his boots barely finding purchase. He glanced at his compass and switched directions a couple of times because of the terrain. Blood slid over his arm, and he glanced down to see what he thought was Jethro’s good arm bleeding. “You shot in the arm, too?” Wolfe growled.
“No. Just a scratch,” Jethro whispered back, his voice low with pain.
Pain was good. It meant that Jet still had feeling in the limb, which boded well. If they got out of here. The moon shone down, lighting Wolfe’s way; the stars were brilliant above them. He took an angled approach to descending the next hill, running along a gully and frightening a couple of iguanas into the rocks.
An explosion sounded behind them, and Wolfe ducked, riding out the waves. Fire billowed, along with smoke, into the sky, lighting the entire area.
Screams and more gunfire started pattering in every direction but not directly at them. What was everyone shooting at? Particles started falling, and he pressed his mask closer to protect his lungs from what might be pure heroin.
He saw an opening and took a barely there trail between two rocks up yet another hill, digging his feet in to keep moving. This one was more of a mountain, but he kept climbing, finally reaching the top with his breath panting out painfully. He looked down at a small field where a camouflage-painted helicopter waited quietly.
Movement sounded behind him.
Not good. He started to run again, this time letting gravity take control as bullets pinged the rocks around them.
