You and Joel had been moving through the woods for hours, eyes scanning the area, when you heard it—a soft, strained sound. You motioned for Joel to stop, raising your hand to signal him. The sound came again—gasping, weak. It wasn’t an animal.

You and Joel crept toward the sound, moving quietly, but it was the boy you saw first.

A young kid, no older than fifteen, lying on the ground. His clothes were torn, blood soaking through the fabric. His leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, and his face was pale, barely clinging to life.

You dropped to your knees, heart pounding. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps.

You pressed your hand against the boy’s side, feeling the wet warmth of his blood.

Joel didn’t move. His voice was steady but firm. “You head on out, check the perimeter for medical aids. I’ll stay here.”

You shook your head. Joel’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. He stepped a little closer, his voice dropping even lower, thick with that Southern drawl. “I said go on. I’ll take care of him.”

Reluctantly, you stood, stepping away from the boy. You gave him one last look, but Joel’s eyes never left you, like a silent command.

But by the time you returned, everything felt different. Joel walked towards you, alone.

Joel didn’t turn to face you. His voice was low, rough like gravel. “He didn’t make it. Ain’t no point in draggin’ it out.”

You stood frozen, your breath catching in your chest. Your eyes scanned the clearing, desperate for some sign, but there was nothing. Just blood and dirt.

Joel slowly wiped the knife, his hands steady. “He was gone the second we found him.” The coldness in his tone hit harder than anything you could say.