Blood Moon Lake

Chapter 8

The sun beamed down on my face. Peeling my eyes open, I bolted upright. Do I still have the bag!? Reaching back, the coarse fabric of my backpack brushed against my hand. I relaxed, still there.

Groaning, I tucked my feet under myself, pushing myself up. My calves ached in protest, and my feet stung. Taking a deep breath, I leaned down and stretched my legs. My pain eased slightly. Rising back up, I reached above my head and cracked my back. The pain in my body lessened.

Glancing around, Anna was sprawled out like a cat, Ella lay on her stomach, and Jack was curled slightly. All were fast asleep. I'll let them rest for a bit longer, then we'll figure out what to do. My eyes drifted to Leo. He was curled in on himself, knife clutched tightly to his chest. Even in his sleep, he won't let anyone take it.

As I went to sit down, something caught my eye. Leo's left calf was wrapped in my shirt sleeve, and a rusty-red spot had formed on it.

Walking over, I crouched down to get a closer look. A metallic smell filled my nose. Holding back a gag, I shook him.

Leo's eyes shot open, and he bolted back. His blue eyes blinked rapidly, searching the clearing till they landed on me.

He cleared his throat. "Do you need something?"

I nodded at his leg. "You're bleeding."

He glanced down and rolled his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock."

I rolled my eyes. "You need to stop being so sarcastic. I'm offering my help."

"Help with what?" he asked.

I raised my eyebrow. "Cleaning it. I have the water."

He wrinkled his nose. "We're not wasting water on cleaning it."

"Yes, we are," I replied, "If it's not clean, it'll get infected and you'll slow us down."

Leo gritted his teeth. "Fine, but don't use too much."

Nodding, I stood up and unzipped the bag. Pulling a water bottle out, I went back. I crouched down, unscrewing the water bottle. "Can you give me the knife, please?"

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"You need a new wrap," I replied, "I was gonna cut off one of the jacket sleeves."

"I can do it," he said, "You worry about the water."

I shrugged. "If you say so."

Lifting his knife, he ripped the fabric just above the elbow. Cutting it free, he ripped off a small strip at the bottom and handed it to me. "Pour the water on this. It'll keep us from wasting more than we have to."

Except for the small cloth, I tipped the bottle and wet the cloth.

Leo held out his hand. "I can take it from here."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "I don't mind helping."

"Yes," he said, "I've got it."

Relenting, I handed the cloth back.

Unwrapping the shirt sleeve, he winced, peeling it away from his skin. The dried blood clung to the fabric, refusing to let go. With the cloth gone, four long jagged gashes came into view. The outsides were rimmed red, and they were bleeding sluggishly. Running the wet cloth down his leg, Leo whipped up the blood and dabbed the wounds.

Setting the bloodied cloth beside him, he picked up the jacket sleeve,

"Do you want help?" I asked.

He frowned. "Why would I need help?"