That evening, like countless others, the sun was dipping low, staining the horizon orange and purple. Caleb whistled softly and counted his sheep one by one. All accounted for.
He turned toward the narrow trail that led back home.
Then he heard it.
Not the bleating of an animal.
Not the wind.
A human sound.
A groan.
Soft. Strained.
Caleb froze. His heart pounded in his ears. Stories traveled quickly in small towns—about smugglers, about strangers who meant trouble. For a moment, fear rooted him in place. He was just a kid. No one would blame him for walking away.
The sound came again.
Longer this time.
Caleb swallowed hard and stepped off the trail, pushing through thorny brush with his staff. A few yards away, hidden between rocks, he saw a man sprawled on the ground.
Beyond him, a sleek black SUV had crashed into a limestone outcrop, its hood crumpled like paper.
Caleb had never seen a vehicle that expensive up close.
“Sir?” he called cautiously.
The man’s eyes fluttered open. His face was pale, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle.
“Water…” he whispered.
Caleb didn’t hesitate.