After Paradise

Chapter Eight ~ Attack

"Shucking hell!" Thomas yelled, "Minho! Get everyone to their beds!" Shouting and chaos arose behind them as Thomas and Jorge sprinted off into the night. It wasn't a large distance to cover, but the prickly branches ripping at their skin and rocks tripping their feet slowed them down a lot. At one point Thomas felt a sharp rock slice the side of his ankle where his  trousers skimmed his flesh, and the sensation of dripping blood ran down his skin as he winced and carried on.
"HELP! Someone! Help! Please," The two males heard a collection of sobbing and screaming as they skidded straight into the jagged slit of water, wetness splashing up their clothes as they headed towards the glow of lights only a few metres away.
"Is everyone okay? What's happened?" Thomas gushed, grabbing the shoulder of one of the women who had dropped her container of water, the torch picking out a trickle of the cold liquid running through the dirt and illuminating it like dark blood. No, in fact, that was blood. Jorge pushed past the shoulders of a few of the individuals, and Thomas was about to follow when the thud of a pointed arrow slamming into the tree trunk next to him caused him to swivel about, searching for its owner. Someone was attacking them. Someone with a skilled shot and crafted weapons. His heart thudding and hammering against his chest like shrapnel splintering across a battlefield, he floundered around the back of the tree and peered around, desperately hoping that the attacker would give up and leave now that they were outnumbered. But maybe there was more than one. However, his eyes jumped to movement to his right hand side. The figure was slight and barely made a noise over the undergrowth, stealthy and silent in the darkness. It was too dark to make much out, but the silhouette was dark-haired and quite short, the rattling sound of weapons sounding from their race into the shadows. Thomas yanked the arrow from the tree and tucked it under his belt: perhaps it held a clue, and scanned the forest again before returning closer to Jorge's position.
"Thomas! I need your help! Now!" Jorge was screaming at the top of his voice, and as Thomas bounded to his side he felt a rush of disgust and sickness rising to stick his throat together. A number of about four or five people lay on the woodland ground, wounded. Some had arrows sticking out of their chests or puncturing a leg or arm. Cindy was amongst them, a deep knife slash cutting deep through her t-shirt and flesh.
"I'm going to get more help! Stay here!" Jorge shouted to Thomas, throwing over a knife after pulling it out of his shoe, and racing off into the darkness. Most of the seemingly-fine volunteers were crowding away from the massacre, a few of the younger ones crying with shock or terror. One or two members were sat by the wounded, wailing and clutching onto their arms or hands. Thomas feared there was nothing he could do to help, there was certainly no way he would be pulling any arrows out without consent, he didn't want to cause more harm than good. He knelt down by Cindy as her eyelids jammed halfway down and her breath stilled. He felt his breath choking at the back of his throat. Okay, so this girl was nothing but trouble, but still, she didn't deserve this. None of them deserved being attached or slashed by their own camp. He stared down at Cindy's stomach, the blood hadn't stopped oozing out of the raw wound. It beaded and bubbled onto her toffee skin, a slippery looking white substance also trickling out and mixing with the blooming crimson liquid. He couldn't bear to look any longer, his attention turning to the other four wounded members, trying to persuade them to sit up so Jorge and the others could carry them back through to the clearing. One by one, eleven or twelve Immunes swarmed by the stream, gently tugging the wounded into their arms and carrying them back towards the well through the panic. Thomas followed slowly, his heart sinking further and further as he stumbled onwards, one step at a time, trying to ignore the piercing feeling of his hurt ankle. He felt a combination of paranoia and excitement gripping his mind. On one hand, this proved that he'd been right all long. There were actually people here, and they didn't seem to be Cranks, at least that predator hadn't. No Crank would have been able to move that quickly and quietly through the forest and have such an accurate shot. This community obviously had the advancement of weapons, and if they accepted the Immunes, it seemed like they'd all have a much greater chance of survival of they all joined up. The Immunes had knowledge, fighting skills, and Frypan's culinary successes, and the attackers had weapon supplies. Unless of course it was just the archer, living by himself or herself in the mountains away from the Flare and its deadly grip on humanity. However, anxiety also wrapped itself around Thomas' skull, because Paradise wasn't supposed to be full of death and violence and casualties. Maybe this person had been sent to their camp to warm them off, as a caution not to carry on any further. Plus, they sounded pretty hostile considering the fact that five Immunes were now laying hurt in camp, or even dead. It wasn't exactly the friendly welcome Thomas had expected to encounter.