Dark Revival

by Grace Hamilton

“Wyatt!” she screamed, racing behind the cabin for cover.

  He pulled her in and pushed her behind him. He was trying to rig a battery from the flashlight to detonate the dynamite.

  “I'll shoot it,” she said, not wanting to waste time.

  “We need to get up the hill,” he ordered.

  She followed him up, thankful the shooting had stopped. Her ears were ringing. She knew the men had opened fire in the hopes of scaring them out of hiding or killing them with no effort. She was about to tell Wyatt to stop or she would be out of range when the men started shooting again. They looked down the hill and could see the men shooting at the cabin at point blank range.

  “They're going to hit—”

  Boom!

  The dynamite exploded. It wasn't a massive explosion, but it was strong enough to take out the men within ten feet or so of the cabin. She took a moment to survey the scene before Wyatt was pulling her up the hill.

  “We need to get out of here,” he ordered.

  She looked back and nearly cried when she saw another twenty or so men rushing towards the cabin.

  “Up there!” one of them shouted.

  The sound of gunfire filled the air again. This time it was punctuated by the sound of bullets slamming into trees and hitting the ground around them.

  “Go!” Wyatt shouted.

  They crouched behind a large boulder. Wyatt leaned around and began taking shots. He was being methodical, not wasting the little ammunition they had. Megan leaned out on the other side and copied his actions. Between them both, they had to have taken out at least fifteen men that she counted.

  “I'm out,” he said.

  Megan took another shot, dropping a man who was coming up from her left side.

  “Let's move,” she replied.

  They crouched low as they kept the rock between them and the men crawling up the hill. Bullets continued to whiz by. Her heart raced. She had no idea where they were going. They weren't familiar with the area and there was nowhere to hide.

  They crested a hill. She quickly scanned the area, but saw nothing that would help them.

  “Megan, down!” Wyatt said, seconds before he pounced on her back, driving her face first into the rocky ground.

  His body jerked and he grunted. She knew he’d been shot. He collapsed on her. His full weight pressing her into the ground.

  “Wyatt? Wyatt!” she said louder, trying to fight the panic.

  “I'm okay,” he mumbled, his words slurring.

  She managed to push out from under him. The men seemed to be holding back, but she knew it wouldn't be long before they came over the edge of the hill.

  Megan looked down and could see a red stain spreading across Wyatt's back.

  “Wyatt, how bad? How bad are you hit?” she screeched, frantically trying to pull his shirt up to survey the damage.

  There was a small hole in his lower left side. Blood was bubbling out. She quickly pressed her hand against the wound. He flinched. All she knew to do was apply pressure, but she couldn't sit here and wait for the men to come and finish the job.

  “Wyatt?” she asked again.

  He groaned in response. He was fading fast. She had no idea what the bullet hit, but knew it was bad. With her hands pressed into his back, she scanned the area, looking for somewhere to hide. Her ears were ringing and her body shaking with shock and adrenaline as she looked left and right.

  There was another rocky hill not too far away and off to her left. She blinked, focused her eyes and realized there was a small cave carved into the rocks. It blended right into the scenery, appearing to be nothing more than a large boulder.

  “Wyatt, I have to drag you. I know it’s going to hurt like hell, but we have to get out of here,” she explained as calmly as she could.

  He didn't answer.

  “Wyatt!”

  Nothing. Without hesitating, Megan jumped up and rolled him over. His eyes were closed, but she could see he was still breathing. She put her gun on his chest and that's when she noticed he was still holding his own gun in his right hand. Her heart lurched as she saw the blood covering his arm and hand. He never dropped the gun. Putting a hand under each of his armpits, she began to drag his heavy body towards the cave.

  It was pure adrenaline that gave her the strength to move such a heavy burden. A buzzing sound overhead reminded her there were eyes in the sky. She stopped moving, grabbed her gun and shot the thing. Two men crested the ridge, she aimed pulled the trigger twice, taking them out before they had a chance to aim their weapons.

  She knew more men and drones would be coming soon. She only had a small window to get Wyatt to safety. Without delaying another second, she started dragging him over the uneven ground once again. Apologizing for the bumpy ride and the scrapes and bruises, he was sure to have afterwards. Bruises healed. She looked down at his pale face and acknowledged there was a chance he may not even survive.

  The thought made her gasp as the realization slammed into her. She couldn't lose him.

  “Hold on, we're almost there,” she whispered. It was meant to bolster her and assure him, in case he happened to be feeling every bump.

  When they reached the cave opening, Megan gently put Wyatt's shoulders on the ground and ran inside to inspect the place. It was small, but it would do. No animals were currently using the cave as a shelter that she could see.

  “Okay, let's go,” she said, taking a deep breath and mustering as much strength as she could to drag him inside.

  Once in, she sat beside him, sucking in deep breaths. Everything had gone terribly wrong. She needed a minute to figure out what to do next. Wyatt's breathing beside her was a small comfort, but she was on her own.

  23

  Megan could feel fear threatening to take hold. She was scared, but she couldn't panic. If she panicked, she would only get them both killed. This was unlike anything she’d dealt with in the past. Before, she always had Wyatt or Caitlin or someone there to help her focus. Now, she felt as if she were falling apart.

  “Get it together, Megan,” she said aloud. Hoping the sound of her voice would provide some comfort.

  “Megan,” Wyatt's weak voice cut through the silence in the cave.

  “Wyatt,” she said, leaning over him.

  “You're okay, relax, take a deep breath,” he managed to get out. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of him comforting her. He was the one shot in the back.

  She reached down and squeezed his hand. “I'm so glad you're okay.”

  He coughed. “Did you stop the bleeding?”

  “Uh, I don't know, let me see,” she said, gently lifting his body. “No,” she said, feeling the relief of hearing his voice fade away like the blood flowing from his body. He was still bleeding. She had to stop the bleeding or he wouldn't have a chance. They’d left the hunting cabin with nothing but the two guns and the clothes on their backs. She grabbed the end of her t-shirt and pulled until it tore. She kept tearing until half of her shirt was gone. Wadding up the cloth, she pushed it against his back.

  He flinched, but encouraged her. “Hold it there. We need to check for an exit,” he grunted.

  She nodded, knowing what he was talking about, praying they saw evidence the bullet had passed through his body without any major damage.

  “Ready?” she asked, holding the cloth against his back.

  “Yeah.” He moaned and rolled to lie on his back. His fingers clumsily pulled on his shirt. She brushed them aside and gently lifted the shirt up. In the dim light from the cave opening, she could see blood.

  “I can't see,” she muttered, trying not to panic. She grabbed the hem of his shirt and used it to wipe away the blood gently. He flinched in pain. “Sorry.”

  “Well?” he asked.

  “I think it's a hole. Not as big as the back, but it’s definitely a hole.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “That's a good thing, right?”

  “Uh-huh,” he managed to get out. “Not so bad.”

  She could see his fa
ce and knew he was lying. Getting shot was bad. She knew he was in excruciating pain. Megan was grateful to him for taking the bullet, but mad at the same time. He was the one that knew what to do. He had the physical strength to save them both, but he was down!

  If only Brenda were here. Or Rosie. Anyone! She couldn't hold pressure on his wound and fight off the bad guys. The sound of gunfire in the distance reminded her of the precariousness of their situation. The fact the men weren't at the cave opening was a relief and a concern. Had they found the others? Why hadn't they followed her up here? What were they shooting at if not Brenda and the rest of the group?

  A sudden realization struck and made her sick. “The blood trail. I'll be back,” she told him, scurrying out of the cave.

  She looked down at the ground and saw the smeared trail of blood leading right to them. She looked back at the cave and then the trail, debating whether she had time to take care of the evidence.

  She quickly kicked over rocks and spread dry pine needles around to cover the blood. It wasn't perfect, but hopefully the men wouldn't be looking very close. The sound of gunfire echoed in the distance. Were they shooting at each other?

  Megan rushed back into the cave. Wyatt was still conscious.

  “They're going to be here soon. I need to get out there and do something!” she said, hysteria bubbling to the surface again.

  He moaned. She needed to hear his words of wisdom but Wyatt couldn't help her, now. She was the one who had to help him. She stood and took the few steps to the far wall, using her hands to feel along the wall, hoping it would go deeper into the hill. It was dark and without a headlamp or flashlight, she could see almost nothing. An idea sprang to mind. If she couldn't see, neither could they.

  Her hand ran into a thick ledge protruding from the wall. It was wide enough for a person to lie on. That gave her an idea. If she could get Wyatt to lie down on the ledge, he would be virtually invisible in the back of the cave with his dark clothing blending in with the rocky wall.

  It wasn't a full-proof plan, but it was all she had. She couldn't drag him all over the mountain. She needed to kill Neil and she couldn't do that worrying about Wyatt getting caught. Now, to get him on the ledge.

  “Wyatt,” she called his name softly, dropping to her knees beside him. “Babe, I need you to get up for me. I want you to lie on a ledge at the back of the cave. It'll help conceal you while I go out and try to take care of—” she stopped.

  What was she going to do? She didn't want to worry him. She needed to sound confident and in control.

  He moaned.

  “Wyatt, come on, this is important. I promise, I'll get help, but I need you to be safe,” she pleaded.

  “You can't…leave,” he forced the words out. “Dangerous.”

  She nodded, even though his eyes were closed and he couldn't see her. “I know, but I have to. I can't stay here. They'll find us. I have to do something.”

  His eyes fluttered open. “I'm sorry,” he croaked out. “I need a minute. I'll be okay,” he promised.

  “No! Don't you dare be sorry. You saved me and now I need to save you,” she brushed back hair from his brow. His forehead was clammy. She knew he was in bad shape. She could only pray the bullet hadn't done any serious damage. “I know you'll be okay. You rest while I go see what we’re up against.”

  She moved to his head and shoulders. “I'm going to help you sit, okay? Then I need you to walk to the ledge. It's only about ten feet. I'll support you.”

  “I can't,” he moaned. “Not yet.”

  “Yes, you can. Give it all you have, Wyatt. I need you to do this,” she pleaded.

  He exhaled a long breath. “Ready.”

  She lifted his upper body to a sitting position. He seemed to be a little more cognizant of his surroundings and managed to roll to his hands and knees. From there, it was a lot of pulling, pushing and extreme effort, but they managed to get him to a standing position. Megan's knees threatened to buckle under the weight of his body, but she stood strong and practically dragged him the distance to the ledge.

  “Okay, this is going to be hard, but we have to get you up there,” she said, putting his hand on the ledge that was a few inches above his waist.

  “Megan,” he started.

  “No, you will do this. Push through the pain and get your butt up there,” she ordered, not giving him any room to argue.

  The pep talk worked and he groaned before doing his best to climb on the ledge himself. She pushed him the rest of the way. He made it a second before he collapsed. She knew he’d probably lost more blood with the exertion, but it had to be done. A little pain and blood loss was better than the alternative. She didn't know how long it took to recover from blood loss, but she was holding on to hope it would be soon. The wound would clot and his body would start to repair itself assuming no organs were hit. She was going to hold onto that.

  “Wyatt?” she whispered in the dark, running her hand over his face. There was no answer. She knew the strain had been too much and he’d fallen unconscious again. She leaned down, brushed her lips across his and stepped away. She didn't have time for this. She had to go if there was any hope of saving him.

  With the amount of gunfire she’d heard earlier, she had a sinking feeling the rest of the group had been discovered. They didn't stand a chance against the armed soldiers and would have succumbed with little fight. She couldn't let herself focus on that. Right now, she needed to channel everything she was feeling into anger and a burning desire for revenge. She was their last hope.

  She left the old hunting rifle next to the ledge. If he came to, he would find it—in case he needed it. Megan picked up the other gun and took one last look at Wyatt's still body on the ledge. “I'll be back,” she promised before heading out of the cave and into the sunlight. She took a moment to get her bearings. It was then she heard men's voices. They were coming.

  Her heart raced as she took another look inside the cave. It felt wrong to leave him, but she had no choice. If she stayed, she’d be killed as well as Wyatt. It went against every bone in her body, but she walked away, fading into the tall bushes near the cave. The area was unfamiliar to her. She knew they were far above the lodge and she knew the general idea of where the lodge was, but beyond that, she was lost. Her only thought was to head to the lodge. What else could she do?

  Everything Wyatt had tried to teach her about direction was floating through her mind, but none of it made any sense. It was a serious handicap to be as directionally challenged as she was, but she had to work with it. Her inability to determine which way was what reminded her of how dependent she’d been on the rest of the group, especially Wyatt.

  How could she have ever thought being alone was better? She was utterly alone and it was horrible. She longed for Wyatt's strength. His ability to think through problems quickly and reasonably. The man had been beside her for so long, she couldn't remember what it was like not to have him to depend on.

  Even Albert's cynicism would be welcome at this point. He was surly on his best day, but he had that firm hand that each of them needed on occasion. He didn't take any crap and wasn't afraid to call it like he saw it. She wished she’d been a little more skeptical of Neil. Albert had years of experience on her and only now was she starting to see how naive she’d been to take anyone or anything at face value.

  Rosie's words of encouragement and ability to make her feel better, even in the worst of times, was sorely needed. She tried to recall Rosie's warm smile and some of the platitudes she was constantly spreading about, but she drew a blank. Right now, it all felt dark. She couldn’t find the silver lining.

  Her mind drifted to Brenda. She was easily overlooked in a room. She tended to blend in and said little, but when she did speak up, it was important. She was witty and had a keen eye. Her skills would come in handy right now. Wyatt would be patched up and on the road to recovery. Megan's stomach dropped as she thought about the what ifs. What if Wyatt's wound was fatal? What if she neve
r got to hear him or feel his arms around her, supporting her again?

  This is what Willow must have gone through, except the worst had happened. Jack had died. Willow had a quiet strength about her. Their trip to Ravena had brought them closer together as Megan got to know her better and realized that while she tended to be malleable to almost any idea, she would fight to the death for her children. She was a tigress underneath that suburban mom mask. The fact she managed to get up every day and keep fighting was a testament to her courage.

  Caitlin's face popped into the forefront of her thoughts. Megan had to see her again. She had to hear her sweet voice and feel those tiny arms wrapped around her neck. Caitlin was a fighter. Megan knew if there was a chance of escape, Caitlin would find it. Her daughter was tenacious and wouldn’t give up—ever. The thought brought a smile to her lips and a feeling of pride as she thought about her daughter protecting Rosie. Caitlin would scratch, kick and scream like a banshee. Those men had no idea who or what they were tangling with if they went after her little girl.

  Tara had become another ally. The woman had taken grief by the horns and showed it who was boss. She’d lost her son and the man she loved, but she was still standing strong. Megan didn't know if she had that kind of strength. Tara had been so meek when she first met her she hadn't really given her much thought at all, but the woman was a force to be reckoned with.

  Megan had to hold back a chuckle, remembering Tara holding the gun on Neil without him even realizing it. She was a no-nonsense kind of woman, which Megan could appreciate. She looked sweet and innocent, but that was a ruse only a select few people knew. Evan had been one of them. They seemed to be a mismatched couple, but she now knew Evan had depended on Tara as much as Tara depended on him. He had the physical strength, while she had the emotional strength.

  She had to fight back the emotions as she thought of all those they’d lost. Each of them had been a big part of their blended family. Chase, Bryan, Garrett and Jack had left gaping holes. Too many people she’d come to love had been taken away from her. She was sick of it.