John was finding it very hard to breathe. His guilt and sorrow are like a lead weight against his chest making each breath he took a little harder than the last. The worst part was that he couldn't do a damned thing to make it stop. The creature was in control now. John could do nothing but watch as his hand plunged the knife in again and again. The woman had long ago ceased her screaming but still the creature wanted more blood, more gore. John wanted to twist and turn and shake the damned thing off of him.
He let out a grunt as ten small fingers latched tightly onto his rib cage. John slowly opened his eyes to find the real source of tightness in his chest. Wide blue eyes looked up at him from under a fringe of poker straight brown hair. "You were thrashing," the treble voice of his young granddaughter explained.
John should have known better. Elly's favorite sleeping position was curled up against his chest. His nightmare must have disturbed her rest. "Sorry."
"It smells like rain, grandpa."
John's nose twitched. She was right, there was a storm headed their way. "We'd better go home," he sighed. He set Elly down beside him so she could stretch her limbs. His own legs gave a protesting series of cracks as he brought them down from the porch railing he'd propped them up on. They protested again when he got up from the antique rocking chair. All the while Elly watched him with her wide blue eyes. So like her father's. Almost everything else about her came from her mother though.
"No teleporting," Elly said.
John cracked his back. "No teleporting," he agreed. Elly quickly caught his hand, a signal that she would rather use her legs than be tucked against his hip like usual. John gently tugged at her hand and they began the trek back to the apartment they called home this month. The wood creaked as they stepped off the porch, causing a few cockroaches to come scuttling out. John deliberately stepped on each and every one of them. Elly hated bugs.
John felt a tug on his hand. Elly wanted his attention which until that moment had been focused on the ghost town and desolate landscape around them. "I like rain, grandpa. Rain makes growing things."
"That it does, my Elly."
A/N: So, um, yeah. I have no idea why John is walking around a post-apocalyptic landscape with his eight-ish year old granddaughter but there you go. Let me know what you think.