CHAPTER TWO
Juggling a cardboard box, a six-pack of beer and a couple bags of burgers and fries, Dean fumbled open the door to the motel room.
"Sam? Gimme a hand –" The rank stink of blood filled his nostrils. Without thinking he dropped everything and jerked his pistol out of his belt, eyes scanning the darkened room.
There was no movement, no sound save the rattle of harsh breathing.
"Sammy?"
A groan was the only reply.
Kicking the door shut, Dean turned the light on.
Sam lay on the floor in a growing pool of blood, white as bone and unconscious.