Matthew Silver and the Monster Hunters, Book One: The Darkest Waters

Chapter Twenty-One

SilverCHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I wish I could say that I was tough and ignored the pain, but the hit I’d taken left me confused, dazed, dizzy, and sick to my stomach. All I could do was lie on my back and moan as they tried to softly dab the drying blood off my forehead and clean the mud off of me. From the looks on their faces, the gash must’ve been pretty ugly. I was kind of glad I couldn’t see it.

Sandy stood up with a wet, red-stained washcloth. She looked down at me worriedly. “We need to get that cleaned out. That water’s filled with enough germs and bacteria to kill a rhino.”

“As long as it’s quick,”I said weakly. The last thing I wanted was to waste more valuable time recuperating. That made two times having to play the injured victim. I hoped I wasn’t starting a pattern.

“Matthew, it’s not that serious, but you hit something pretty hard. You could require medical assistance that I just can’t provide with what little we have. You sure you don’t want to go to a hospital? Take a look at yourself.”Jade walked over to a backpack and rummaged around for a minute. She came back with a small hand mirror, and I shuddered at the image I saw on it.

My face was ghostly white, whether from shock or blood loss, I had no idea. The gash on my forehead was a jagged diamond that was turning an ugly shade of green. My eyes had a wild look in them that even freaked me out. It was the gash I was worried about the most. It looked like it was getting infected. The murky waters of the loch probably weren’t that purifying.

I let my arm go limp, still loosely hanging onto the mirror. “How do you want to play this?”I asked them.

“My best guess…We need to get you to a hospital. And soon.”Jay said, feeling my forehead with her palm. Her hand felt cool against my hot forehead.

There came a chik-chik from the edge of the campsite over by some trees. I may have felt out of it, but I knew the sound of a shotgun being racked any day.

Jay dropped into a kneeling position with her gun trained into the distance. Sandy swung up her own shotgun and ducked into a crouch behind a supply crate. Scott stood in front, protecting me with his large frame, while sweeping the woods with his massive machine gun.

“Why don’t you all throw down those arms?”a creaky, old, rustic voice said. “Old Parker’d hate to have to shoot a wounded kid.”

The other three dropped to their knees with weapons sighted and at the ready. I could’ve sworn that the voice had been from the forest in front of us, but he popped up right behind us next to my cot.

When I saw him, I immediately thought of a miner. He had a tattered, old fishing hat that covered scraggly, white hair, and he sported a crusty looking beard. He looked like he was a stranger to showers, and he smelled like it too. The shotgun pointed at me didn’t make him any less threatening, despite his apparent age.

The other three had no choice, but to slowly lay down their guns and put their hands behind their heads. I pretended to lie there helplessly, but I was secretly shifting my arm to get to my hidden knife sheath. I had to let my arm hang off the cot, so that the blade could fall directly into my hand. I moaned and let my arm drape over the side. The gunman didn’t even bother to look down. He held the shotgun loosely, using only one hand to keep it pointed at me and the other to scratch at his scruffy neck.

Scott cautiously stepped forward, making his motions slow and deliberate, while keeping his hands on his head to show that he wasn’t a threat. “What do you want?”