With Father Anderson carrying Carly, the three of them reached the Raptor quickly.
He opened the rear door, carefully lowered the injured woman onto the seat, and helped Jessie climb in beside her.
Only after everyone was inside did Anderson get a clear look at Carly’s condition.
Blood had completely soaked the lower half of her right pant leg.
Her sharp features had lost nearly all their color, and her unfocused eyes struggled to remain open.
Combined with her shallow breathing and cold skin, those symptoms suggested significant blood loss.
“This is bad.”
Anderson placed the Winchester on the front passenger seat and leaned into the rear cabin.
“We need to stop the bleeding before we go anywhere.
If we leave it like this, she may not survive the drive.”
Jessie had barely begun to calm down, but panic immediately returned to her face.
“What do we do?
Carly, stay awake.
Please, stay with me.”
Anderson released a quiet breath.
Jessie had just escaped a group of killers after watching several friends die.
Expecting her to remain completely rational would have been unreasonable.
The fact that she and Carly had reached the highway at all was already impressive.
“I’ll handle it.”
Anderson opened the glove compartment and removed a compact trauma kit.
He kept medical supplies in every vehicle he owned, since both supernatural investigations and ordinary community work had a habit of producing injuries.
“Hold her shoulders and keep her still.”
Jessie quickly moved closer to Carly.
Anderson braced one hand against the seat and reached into the back.
The fabric around Carly’s wound had dried against her skin, so trying to pull the jeans down would only worsen the injury.
He took a pair of trauma shears from the kit and cut through the right pant leg.
The blood-soaked fabric peeled away, revealing a deep, mangled wound around her lower calf and ankle.
Several punctures had torn through the skin, and the surrounding tissue was badly bruised and swollen.
Jessie covered her mouth.
“Oh my God.”
Carly’s eyes fluttered open for a moment before closing again.
Anderson examined the injury carefully.
The pattern strongly suggested that she had stepped into a steel hunting trap.
Fortunately, the jaws hadn’t completely crushed the bone, probably because her heavy boot had absorbed part of the force.
Without that protection, she might have lost the foot.
“It looks worse than it is,” Anderson said, though the wound was still serious.
“The bone doesn’t appear completely broken, but she needs a hospital as soon as possible.”
He packed sterile gauze against the deepest part of the injury and applied firm pressure.
After slowing the bleeding, he flushed away the dirt around the wound, disinfected the surrounding skin, and wrapped the lower leg in a thick compression bandage.
Carly groaned faintly.
“That’s good,” Anderson said.
“Pain means she’s still responsive.”
Jessie watched his hands move with practiced precision.
“You’re a doctor?”
“Among other things.”
Once the bandage was secure, Anderson checked Carly’s pulse again.
It was still fast, but the bleeding had slowed considerably.
He tied the final knot so that it could be removed quickly by emergency-room staff.
“This will keep her stable for now.
Don’t let her stand, and keep talking to her so she doesn’t lose consciousness.”
Jessie nodded rapidly.
“All right.”
Anderson began returning the medical supplies to the kit.
While doing so, he studied the two women through the rearview mirror.
“How did you escape?”
Jessie stiffened.
Her breathing became uneven as the memories returned.
“Chris distracted them,” she whispered.
“He led those things away while Carly and I ran.”
That explained how two exhausted women—one of them seriously injured—had managed to reach the highway ahead of their pursuers.
“Chris Flynn?”
Jessie nodded.
“He told us not to stop.
I don’t know if he’s still alive.”
Anderson didn’t ask for more details.
Forcing her to relive everything inside the truck wouldn’t help anyone.
He removed his phone from his coat and handed it over the seat.
“Call the police.
Give them the road number and tell them to send an ambulance.”
Jessie immediately took the phone and tried dialing emergency services.
She pressed it to her ear, waited several seconds, then looked at the screen in disbelief.
“There’s no signal.”
Anderson glanced at the empty bars displayed on the dashboard.
“Then we’ll drive until we find one.”
He returned to the driver’s seat and closed the door.
Once Carly was secured across the rear bench, Anderson reached for the gear selector.
Before he could shift into drive, something cut through the air beside the truck.
Whoosh!
Anderson’s instincts screamed a warning.
He turned sharply toward the back seat.
“Get down!”
CRACK!
An arrow punched through the reinforced side window.
The laminated glass fractured into a web of cracks, reducing most of the arrow’s momentum.
Even so, the metal broadhead penetrated far enough to stop only inches from Jessie’s temple.
The shaft vibrated beside her face.
Jessie remained frozen, too shocked even to scream.
Anderson lunged over the center console, grabbed the back of her shirt, and pulled her down.
Jessie fell across Carly, shielding her injured friend with her own body.
“Stay below the windows,” Anderson ordered.
“Do not get up.”
Carly stirred weakly beneath her.
Jessie stared at the arrow lodged in the glass, her eyes wide with terror.
“They found us.”
Anderson’s expression darkened.
The shooter had caught up far faster than expected.
More importantly, the arrow possessed enough force to pierce reinforced automotive glass from somewhere beyond the reach of the headlights.
Whoever had fired it wasn’t an ordinary hunter.
Keeping his head below the window line, Anderson shifted into drive.
Another sharp whistle passed through the darkness.
Whoosh!
POP!
The Raptor lurched as one of the tires exploded.
Anderson gripped the steering wheel.
A broadhead arrow had struck the sidewall with enough force to tear it open.
Before he could move the truck, another arrow flew from a different direction.
POP!
A second tire collapsed.
The vehicle tilted slightly and settled against the roadside.
Anderson’s jaw tightened.
The shooter wasn’t trying to kill all three of them from a distance.
The arrows had been used to disable the vehicle and prevent their escape.
The killers wanted to come closer.
Another gust of displaced air passed over the roof.
Anderson ducked lower and grabbed the compact field bag from the passenger seat.
He looped its strap over his neck before turning toward the back.
Jessie and Carly remained pressed against the floorboards.
“How many attackers are there?” Anderson asked.
He reached beneath Jessie’s feet and dragged one of the ammunition bags toward the front.
Jessie struggled to focus.
“What?”
“How many killers did you see?”
Anderson opened the bag and removed a box of 12-gauge slugs.
“Think carefully.”
Jessie swallowed.
“At first, there were two.
They attacked us and killed the others.”
She shut her eyes briefly, fighting the images in her memory.
“Chris, Carly, and I were the only ones who got away.”
Anderson opened his field bag and placed the box of slugs inside.
“Only two?”
“No.”
Jessie shook her head.
“When we were running, I saw two more people in the woods.
I hadn’t seen them before.”
“At least four, then.”
Anderson didn’t like the number.
The attackers might have separated to cover both sides of the highway.
The archer could be only one member of a larger group already moving toward the truck.
He took out a second box of slugs and added it to the field bag.
Jessie watched him through the gap between the seats.
“Father, what are you doing?”
“Preparing.”
Anderson lifted the Winchester Model 1897 from the passenger seat.
It was still loaded with rock-salt shells from the Perron investigation, ammunition designed for incorporeal spirits rather than living killers.
He pressed the action release and began removing them.
One by one, the salt shells dropped into his palm.
He replaced them with solid slugs.
A shotgun slug concentrated nearly the full power of a 12-gauge shell into a single heavy projectile.
It was designed for large animals and targets that required far greater penetration than ordinary birdshot.
Against a human body, the results would be devastating.
Click.
The first slug entered the tubular magazine.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Anderson continued loading until the weapon was full.
He then pulled the fore-end back and pushed it forward, chambering the first round.
Chak-chak.
The familiar mechanical sound filled the cabin.
Jessie stared at the priest in front of her.
His Roman collar remained clearly visible, but the calm expression on his face no longer belonged to a man preparing to pray for mercy.
It belonged to someone ready to hunt the hunters.
Anderson glanced toward the fractured window.
The woods beyond it remained completely dark.
No movement was visible between the trees, yet he could feel several hostile gazes fixed on the disabled truck.
“Keep Carly below the seat,” he said.
“No matter what you hear, do not open the door unless I return.”
Jessie’s face became even paler.
“You’re going outside?”
“If I stay inside, they’ll surround us.”
Anderson checked the exposed hammer and tightened the strap of his field bag.
Outside, another branch snapped.
This time, the sound came from much closer.
Father Alexander Anderson smiled coldly and rested one hand on the door handle.
The killers had chosen the wrong truck to stop.