Land of Wolves

Chapter 65

My knees give out as I sprint toward the unmoving wolf, and I drop to the ground with a loud cry as I stumble upon him. He's face down on the ground, his face buried in the dirt. He's significantly larger than the other wolves, probably weighing at least three hundred pounds.

My knees scrape against the ground as I reach for his torso, and I hold in a sob as I slide my fingers through his matted fur and give him a shake. He needs to get up.

"No, no, no," I choke out, my voice hoarse.

I know this wolf Caleb, his coloring and markings permanently ingrained in my mind. I give him another shake, desperate for him to do something, anything, other than lay still on the ground.

He doesn't make a noise.

He doesn't do anything.

The wolves around me continue to fight, and I throw my body over Caleb's as an armored van swerves down the empty road and HPAW soldiers begin to pour out of the back. They're shooting before they entirely exit the vehicle, and I curl my arms around Caleb to keep everybody away from him.

The truck squeals to a stop near the one I was brought here in, and the front doors open so more soldiers can jump out.

Thankfully they don't even notice Caleb and me as they fire at the incoming wolves, their nervous eyes traveling right over us. I wait until several wolves are between the HPAW soldiers and us before sitting back up and continuing to shove at Caleb.

"Wake up, you fucking idiot," I say, sliding my fingers through his fur in search of his injury.

I know Dan shot him, and I need to press against the wound so he doesn't bleed out. His fur is tangled and matted with dirt, probably from his journey here, making it hard to look through.

I still have no idea where the fuck we are, but I assume we must be somewhat close to the border if Caleb and his wolves were able to make it here undetected. HPAW would have sent the entire fucking army if they knew the wolves were on their way, especially if they knew Caleb specifically was coming.

They'd risk anything for the opportunity to take him down.

I'm aware of the painful lack of sparks that once existed between Caleb and me as I sift my fingers through his knotted fur. It's probably just because I cut off my mark.

That's why.

I ignore the aching pain in my body as I shove my shoulder into Caleb's torso to roll him over. I get him about halfway on his side before grabbing his snout.

It's not hard to find his injury.

Blood pours out of the front of his head, and I spin and dry heave as I see what's become of his left eye. Dan shot him in the inner corner of his eye, and the pressure pushed most of it out of the socket. It bulges, his eyelid unable to close around it, but there's no awareness in his pupils.

They're as unmoving as the rest of him.

I don't know what to do with this. Should I apply pressure? Will that make it worse?

I lift Caleb's head and pull it onto my lap to feel the back of his skull for an exit wound. There isn't one, and I smooth my hand down his blood-soaked fur before digging my fingers into his neck in search of a pulse.

Where the fuck are you even supposed to feel a wolf for a pulse?

"Caleb, stop," I whine, shoving my fingers against every part of his neck I can think of. "This isn't funny."

He still doesn't wake up, and I give him a rough shake before pulling even more of him onto my lap. I look around, desperate for help.

My physical wounds and state of starvation make my movements slower than I'd like them to be, and I know I won't be able to get Caleb out of here by myself. He needs a doctor, and he needs to be carried.