Page 48 of Roots of Redemption (Hicks Creek #4)

Chapter Forty-Two

Sutton

T he first thing I notice is the blood. It’s everywhere, soaking into Caleb’s shirt and pooling on the ground beneath him.

His breathing is shallow and uneven. The claw marks down his sides and back are deep, ragged gashes, oozing blood that refuses to slow.

His face is pale, almost ghostly, and there’s a nasty gash on his forehead where it looks like he hit something hard.

I force myself to breathe. Panic won’t help him. I drop to my knees beside him, my hands already moving to assess the damage. “Caleb,” I say, my voice low and steady, even though my heart is racing. “It’s Sutton. I’m here. You’re not alone, okay? We’re going to get you out of this.”

He groans, his eyes fluttering open for a moment before slipping shut again.

“Stay with me, Caleb,” I urge. I yank my shirt off over my head and use it to press my hands against one of the gashes on his side to try and slow the bleeding.

The warmth of his blood against my skin makes my stomach churn, but I push the feeling down.

“I’m going to take care of you. You just have to hang on. ”

Wade’s voice is somewhere behind me, calm and measured as he talks to the sheriff over the phone. I can hear the urgency in his words, even if his tone doesn’t betray it. His hand moves down to hold Caleb’s.

“We’ve got deep lacerations, likely from a big cat. Compound fracture in the left leg, head injury. He’s in shock,” I call over my shoulder, giving the sheriff as much information as I can. “Tell them to bring a backboard or something sturdy. We’re going to need it.”

Wade nods, relaying the details as he crouches beside me.

His face is impassive, but I know him well enough to see the cracks beneath the surface.

This is hitting him hard, but he’s compartmentalizing, pushing it all down to stay functional.

I’ll deal with that later. Right now, Caleb is the priority.

“We need to set his leg before we move him,” I say, glancing up at Mr. C. “But I don’t know if his body can handle it. He’s already lost so much blood.”

Wade nods, his jaw tight. “Tell me what to do.”

“You keep holding his hand and talking to him. Mr. C, can you help me?”

“Tell me what you need.”

I take a deep breath and focus. “We need to stabilize the leg as much as we can. If we leave it like this, it’ll only make things worse when they try to lift him. Grab that branch over there. It’s thick enough to work as a splint.”

He moves without hesitation, snapping the branch to the right length and handing it to me. Wade takes off his shirt and hands it to me. I tear strips from my shirt to use as bindings, my hands shaking slightly but steady enough to get the job done.

“Caleb, this is going to hurt,” I warn him, keeping my voice as soothing as possible. “But it’s necessary. I need you to stay with me, okay? Squeeze your dad’s hand if you can hear me.”

His fingers twitch weakly against Wade’s, and it’s enough to make my throat tighten with relief. “Good. That’s good. Just hold on.”

Mr. C helps me position the branch against Caleb’s leg.

I grit my teeth as I gently align the bone, ignoring the sickening crunch that makes my stomach turn.

Caleb cries out, his body jerking before going limp.

My heart lurches, but I force myself to keep going, securing the splint as tightly as I dare.

“He’s out,” Wade says quietly, his eyes on Caleb’s pale face.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” I reply, though the words feel hollow. “At least he won’t feel the rest of this.”

The sound of hoofbeats announces the arrival of the others. Dad, Sheriff Clark, and a couple of ranch hands dismount quickly, their faces grim as they take in the scene.

“We need to get him to a clearing so the helicopter can land,” I say, already thinking ahead. “Does anyone have a tarp or something we can use as a makeshift gurney?”

Dad nods, pulling a sturdy canvas tarp from his saddlebag. Together, we spread it out beside Caleb and carefully place him onto it. Every movement feels like a gamble; each jolt is a potential tipping point for his fragile state.

“Easy,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else. “We’ve got you, Caleb. Just hang in there.”

A voice crackles over the sheriff’s radio, giving us coordinates for the helicopter’s landing zone.

He relays the information, his tone clipped and efficient.

Wade is nodding, doing whatever is necessary without letting go of his son’s hand.

Despite his stoicism, I can see the tension in his shoulders and the way his hands flex and release as if trying to find an outlet for the stress.

“We’ll carry him to the clearing,” Dad says, his voice firm. “Everyone, grab a corner. Let’s move.”

The tarp becomes a makeshift stretcher, and we lift Caleb as gently as we can. The weight is manageable, but the terrain is rough, every step a challenge as we navigate the uneven ground. I keep my eyes on Caleb, watching for any sign of change, any indication that we’re losing him.

“Stay with me, Caleb,” Wade whispers. “You’re stronger than this. You’re going to make it.”

The clearing comes into view, and relief washes over me as I spot the helicopter circling overhead. The sheriff is on the phone, directing them to our location with precise instructions. The noise of the rotor blades grows louder, the downdraft kicking up dust and debris as the helicopter descends.

“Here!” Mr. C shouts, waving his arms to signal the pilot.

The helicopter lands, and a team of medics rushes out. Their movements are swift and efficient. They take over immediately, assessing Caleb’s condition and preparing him for transport. One of them nods approvingly at the splint.

“You did good,” he says, his voice muffled by the noise.

I step back, letting them work, my hands trembling now that the adrenaline is wearing off. Wade’s hand finds mine, his grip firm and grounding. I glance up at him, his face still unreadable, but his presence is a steady anchor in the chaos.

“He’s going to be okay,” I say, more to convince myself than him. “You need to get in the helicopter with him.”

“Not enough room, sir,” one of the medevac team says. “You’ll have to meet us. We’ll be taking him to the children’s hospital.”

Wade wants to argue; it’s written all over his face, but he doesn’t. He nods. He leans down and kisses Caleb’s forehead before he takes a step back.

Wade’s hand tightens around mine, a silent acknowledgment of the fear we’re both feeling. Together, we watch as the medics lift Caleb into the helicopter, the blades spinning faster as it prepares to take off.

As the helicopter rises into the sky, I let out a shaky breath, the weight of the situation finally settling over me. Caleb is alive, but the fight isn’t over. Not yet. I look at Wade, his stoic mask cracking just enough to show the pain beneath, I know we’ll face whatever comes next together.

“Let’s get back on the horses and get to my truck,” I tell Wade.

“I’ll stay here and get his stuff,” Benny says. “Then we’ll meet you there.”

“I’ll go get your mom, and we’ll meet you there, too,” Mr. C says as he takes off on the four-wheeler.

My dad is already up on his horse. Wade and I are up on ours, and the three of us sprint toward Dad’s house as fast as the horses will take us.

It’s a surreal feeling to watch a helicopter take to the sky and fly away, knowing that someone you love is in it.

It feels like we’re moving as slow as molasses by the time we get to the house. We hop off.

“I’ll take care of the horses. I’ll catch a ride with Benny or the sheriff to the hospital,” Dad says.

I sprint to my truck with Wade, but he goes to the driver’s side first.

“You’re not driving.”

“Sutton,” he starts to argue.

“Nope. We’re not going to argue. You’re in no shape to drive.”

He lets out a groan and then goes to the passenger side of my truck. We’re gone in a matter of seconds. The truck cab is eerily silent as I speed toward the interstate and the hospital.

The closest children’s hospital is over an hour away by car. Caleb will already be there and be getting the help that he needs by the time any of us get to the hospital. In the meantime, we can only hope that he gets there on time.