Chapter 287: Chapter 287

Chapter 287

The violent river current pulled Ethan under the moment the guards tried to grab him. The muddy banks collapsed under the weight of the men, sending him tumbling straight into the rushing water.

He couldn't fight the strong tide with a bullet in his leg. The freezing water carried his battered body down the river, bouncing him over smooth stones and submerged branches while the sound of gunfire and shouting faded far behind him. By the time the current tossed him onto a shallow sandbar nearly two miles downstream, he was barely conscious, his lungs burning and his strength completely gone.

He lay face down in the wet gravel at the edge of the water, the storm pouring over his motionless back.

Early the next morning, an old local fisherman named Jean walked down the muddy path toward his small fishing dock, carrying a wooden bucket and a pair of heavy shears. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted a dark shape lying half-submerged near the reeds.

Dropping his bucket, Jean ran over to the riverbank and found Ethan lying motionless in the mud, pale as a ghost, his clothes torn to shreds and soaked in dark blood. Jean pressed two calloused fingers against the young man’s neck. He felt a weak, erratic pulse beneath the cold skin. Ethan was unconscious, but he was still breathing

Jean didn't waste time asking questions to the empty woods. He hoisted Ethan’s heavy, soaking-wet frame over his shoulder, grunting from the physical strain as he dragged him up the steep hill toward his small wooden cottage tucked deep inside the treeline. Once inside, Jean laid Ethan down on a low wooden bed near the fireplace. His wife, Colette, gasped when she saw the state of the boy, immediately rushing over with clean towels and a basin of warm water.

Together, they cut away the ruined denim around his calf, exposing the jagged entrance wound from the bullet. Jean had lived in these rural woods long enough to know basic first aid. He cleaned the tear in the meat of Ethan's leg with strong homemade alcohol, applied a thick paste made from crushed medicinal leaves and herbs gathered from their garden to stop the bleeding, and wrapped the wound tightly in clean white linen cloth.

For hours, Ethan lay still under heavy wool blankets, his feverish body shivering as Colette tended to the stone hearth, stirring a large iron pot of broth on the stove to feed her family and their unexpected guest.

When Ethan finally opened his eyes, the high ceiling of dark wooden beams overhead confused him. The room was warm, filled with the rich smell of burning wood and cooked meat. He tried to sit up, but a sharp, burning pain shot through his right calf, forcing him back down onto the soft pillow with a low groan.

"Easy, son. Don't try to move yet," a deep, rough voice said from the corner of the room.

Ethan turned his head slowly, his vision blurry as he saw Jean sitting on a wooden stool near the window, whittling a piece of oak with a pocket knife.

"Where... where am I?" Ethan rasped out, his throat feeling completely dry and scratchy.

"You're in my cabin," Jean said, setting the knife down and walking over to the bed. He folded his arms over his thick flannel shirt, looking down at Ethan with a serious glare. "I found you washed up on the riverbank early this morning. You were bleeding like a stuck pig from a gunshot wound in your leg. If I hadn't come down to check my fishing nets when I did, you would have bled out in that mud and drowned before noon."

Ethan pressed his back against the wooden headboard, his heart instantly racing as the memories of the night came rushing back to his mind the gunshots, the guards, and Isabelle running across the narrow footbridge into the dark woods alone. "How long have I been out?" he asked desperately.

"Most of the day," Jean replied plainly. "Your fever just broke an hour ago. Whoever shot you was trying to kill you, boy. Black security vans have been driving up and down the main country road all morning, asking if anyone saw a young man and a girl coming out of the woods. I didn't tell them a damn thing. I don't like armed thugs trespassing around my land."

Ethan closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. He was weak, his leg was wrapped tightly in bandages, and his body felt like it had been run over by a truck, but knowing that Sam's guards were actively searching the roads meant Isabelle had managed to get away. She was out there somewhere, , relying on him to stay alive. He had to survive this. He had to heal his body fast so he could get back to monterey and find her before Sam did.

"Thank you," Ethan said, looking directly into Jean's eyes with genuine gratitude. "Thank you for saving my life, sir. I don't have anything on me to pay you right now, but I promise I will make this right."

"I don't need your money, son," Jean said with a small nod. "Just stay alive and keep your head down until you can walk."

The door to the kitchen opened, and Colette walked into the bedroom carrying a wide wooden tray filled with warm food. She smiled warmly at Ethan, setting the tray down right across his lap. On the plate sat thick slices of freshly roasted local bread and seasoned beef cuts, steaming hot and smelling incredible.

"You need your strength if you're going to survive out there," Colette said kindly, handing him a clean fork. "Eat all of it."