Only Child
You know, there are times when I really wish I was an only child. Not many, 'cause, ya know, he's my brother and sometimes I think Bobby was right when I was sixteen and he said "Boy, you got 'look out for Sammy' tattooed into your damn brain" while he was stitching up the hole the wall'd put in my head after I'd jumped in between Sammy and a pissed-off spirit and got thrown into said wall for my troubles. But there are times when I really, really wish I was an only child, and this had to be pretty much at the top of that list.
For a brief moment as I sprawl flat on my back blink away the spots that dance in front of my eyes from the flash of that damn camera phone, I consider fratricide as an option, but then that tattoo beats itself across my brain again, and the kid goat I'm holding picks that instant to struggle, kicking out wildly at my stomach. It's only got small hooves, but it's strong and they're hard and sharp and the blow forces a muffled grunt from me. My brother drops the phone, frowns at me but I shake my head, snarl a quick, "Settle down," at the baby animal and push myself back to my feet, wincing as I feel a trickle of heat tickle it's way down my belly from the deep scratch the hooves left behind. Sam doesn't see it, or if he does he knows as well as I do how much time we don't have and chooses – wisely – to ignore it for now. He turns, leads the way out of the barn now burning fiercely behind us but I know he isn't moving fast enough so I yell frantically at him, apprehension colouring my voice.
"Get a move on, Sa – "
The tanks of fertiliser and red diesel explode halfway through his name, and the blast picks us up and throws us in different directions, the goat bleating pathetically in my arms as I wrap myself around it, trying to protect us from the wall of heat I can feel scorching hair and skin on the back of my neck. One second of flight that lasts forever, time slowed to a fire-lit crawl – and I reaffirm my vow to never, never get on a freakin' plane again, no matter how many demons are trying to crash it – and all I can do is watch the ground come hurtling up to meet me, as I try to keep track of Sammy. He hits hard, rolls a few times in a flailing tangle of long arms and legs, tumbling through the tall grass of the field surrounding the barn. There's no grass to cushion my landing, just a wide expanse of cracked asphalt that hits me like the end of the world and I feel a rib or two break with a dull snap, hear the sickening crunch of my shoulder dislocating in an flare of white-hot pain before my head slams against the ground and then… nothing.
~*~
In my world, it's rarely a good thing if something licks you awake. I lie still as I try and claw my way up from the bottomless well of black that claims me, tries to drag me back down into its endless depths, but the tongue rasps across my cheek again, hot and slimy and accompanied by a scared whimper that sounds a little like…
"Sammy?"
My eyes snap open but I can't see anything, and I wonder why my brother is bleating. Then it comes back, sort of, my fuddled mind trying to sort out confused memories of barns and spirits and goats and fire.
"Sshamm?"
I mushily wonder why I sound like I've just drunk Jack, Jim and Jose under the table and try to sit up, and the world I can't see tilts away from me in a flood of pain that surges from my chest, shoulder and head and I can't hold on, slipping back into that comforting darkness, taking the fuzzy memories with me to play out in an in-flight entertainment that I could really do without.