Foster father

05

Carter Vaughn treated his wounds as best as he could, then started packing to leave as quickly as possible.

Despite the pain and exhaustion pushing him to the limits of human endurance, he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. He knew his situation was growing increasingly dire. Without proper medical supplies and treatment, he wouldn’t make it out alive.

Though his unexpected injuries were a setback, discovering the river was a significant breakthrough. If he followed it downstream, he would eventually find a settlement. With some luck, he might even save his arm.

Gritting his teeth, Carter packed his bag, then tossed it in front of Oliver. “From now on, you carry this.”

The bag wasn’t heavy—mostly ammunition and basic medical supplies—but for a five-year-old, it was a significant burden. Still, the boy didn’t whine or complain; he simply hoisted the bag onto his small shoulders.

Carter found a sturdy branch to use as a crutch and limped along the riverbank.

The child followed beside him, murmuring softly, “Thank you, Uncle.”

Carter didn’t respond; even speaking felt like a waste of precious energy.

“If you meet my dad,” the boy continued, “he’ll thank you properly. He’s very powerful.” Oliver glanced at Carter, hoping for a reaction, but the man remained silent, and the boy’s hope faded.

After a pause, Oliver hesitated, then asked quietly, “Uncle, will you take me home?”

Finally, Carter spoke. “No.”

The boy’s face fell. “Why not? Uncle, please take me home. My dad will give you lots and lots of money. Please?”

“Once we reach a settlement, you’re on your own,” Carter replied coldly. “Stop talking to me.”

Oliver opened his mouth to protest but swallowed his words.

Carter’s injured leg slowed him considerably, forcing frequent rests. By the end of the day, they had only managed to cover about ten miles. However, the forest density was noticeably thinning, and fewer animals crossed their path, signaling they were heading in the right direction—toward civilization.

That night, they lit a fire to rest. Despite the apparent safety of their surroundings, Carter remained vigilant and decided they would take turns keeping watch.

Oliver clutched Carter’s watch tightly, crawling onto his lap and cautiously observing him, as if fearing rejection.

Carter glanced at him, then closed his eyes. “Wake me in an hour.”

The boy nestled into his arms, seeking warmth. “I won’t fall asleep.”

True to his word, Oliver woke Carter on time. Carter took the next three hours of watch, letting the boy sleep. They alternated through the night, enduring until dawn.

By evening the next day, they crested a hill and finally spotted a village.

Oliver jumped up with excitement, shouting, his tiny frame weighed down by the bag yet still managing to leap with joy.

Carter let out a long sigh of relief.

They hurried down the hill and encountered a local man and his child gathering firewood at the base.

The man froze upon seeing them, then cautiously approached, speaking rapid Burmese. Neither Carter nor Oliver understood a word. Frustrated, the man sent his child running toward the village before bending down, offering to carry Carter on his back.

Carter regarded him with cold suspicion, hand brushing the grip of his gun, then limped forward on his crutch without a word.

Undeterred, the man tugged at Oliver’s arm, gesturing for the boy to climb onto his back.

Frightened by the man’s dark, gaunt face, Oliver clung to Carter instead.

With no other choice, the man led the way.

Near the village entrance, a group of people approached, led by a towering, burly white man.

“Carter!” he called, waving enthusiastically.

Carter stopped walking, threw down his crutch, and collapsed to the ground.

The man jogged over, laughing as he clapped Carter on the shoulder. “We finally found you! What the hell happened? You look awful.”

“Cut the chatter,” Carter snapped. “Is there a decent doctor here, or are we heading straight back to base?”

“You need treatment ASAP,” the man replied. Two villagers brought over a stretcher. He smirked at Carter. “Need me to carry you, princess?”

Carter climbed onto the stretcher himself. “Get me on the line with the boss, Jobber.”

“Patience,” Jobber said, his gaze falling on Oliver. “Hey, where’d this kid come from? Yours?”

“Hell no,” Carter shot back. “Found him.”

Oliver didn’t understand their conversation, but he tugged at Carter’s sleeve nervously. “Uncle…”

Jobber crouched down, his bear-like frame casting a shadow over the boy. Forcing a smile, he spoke clumsily in broken Vietnamese. “Hi there.”

The boy shrank back, eyes wide with tears, and clung to Carter. “Uncle, who is he? Is he your friend?”

Carter shoved him away. “Get off me.”

Jobber lifted Oliver effortlessly, much to the boy’s dismay, and led the villagers carrying Carter toward the village.

“Uncle! Uncle! Where are you going?” Oliver wailed.

Jobber grinned, revealing sharp white teeth.

Later, as Jobber sat by Carter’s bedside, eating an apple, he asked, “So, how’d you end up with the kid? What were you even doing in that hellhole?”

Carter glared. “Shut up. I want to sleep.”

Undeterred, Jobber sliced off a piece of apple and handed it to Oliver, who hesitated before taking it.

Satisfied, Jobber leaned back. “You’re lucky I found you. Guess my radar for spotting beauties works just as well in jungles.”

Carter closed his eyes. “Get lost, Jobber.”

Jobber shrugged, leaving to arrange transportation back to base.

After he left, Carter turned to Oliver, who was curled up nearby. “You, out.”

“Can I stay here? I promise I won’t talk,” Oliver whispered.

Exhausted, Carter let it slide, falling into a deep sleep.