A searing pain was attacking both of my wrists when I came around. I blinked furiously, trying to clear my vision. I didn't like what I finally saw.
In front of me Dee was laying face down, limbs twisted in uncomfortable ways. There was blood trickling down her temple and caking in her hair, staining it crimson. Her shirt was torn and she was missing both shoes. "Dee?" I croaked my throat full of dust.
We were in a barn I realized. I was hanging from a thick rope that was tied to my wrists on one end and the rafters on the other. "Deanna, you still with me?" I called again. No response.
I glanced around looking for something sharp to cut the rope with and saw my only option was a broken shovel about a yard out of my reach. I had a feeling if I swung myself I might be able to drag it closer with my toes, but it was going to be painful in this position.
"Well here goes nothing," I muttered, realizing after that I was talking to myself. I started kicking my legs to get myself moving and then I swung them in unison. Pointing my toes like a ballerina I aimed for the shovel's curved handle. Strike one.
I tried again; holding my weight on an angle as I swung so one toe was lower to the ground.
Strike two.
"Damnit!" I grunted, swinging myself for the third time, feeling the rope dig its fibers into my skin. My toe grazed the handle; I was closer than the last time. On the fourth time I was able to drag it just a bit closer, but I was going to have to get the handle over my boot if I wanted to pick it up.
On the fifth swing I got it over my foot. From there I wedged it between my knees and then shimmied the end with the crooked blade so it was facing up towards my face. The problem was going to be getting the sharp edge closer to my arms. I thought about it for a moment and realized the only way I was going to accomplish this was if I could swing my legs and the shovel up to my head and stay in a crunch position long enough to saw myself free. After that I was lucky if I didn't fall and impale myself. I hung there feeling defeated, the rusty shovel laughing in my face. Looking over at Dee, still crumpled on the floor, I started to cry.
My biggest fear had always been that this would happen, that I would let us both down because I couldn't save her. It was why mom never wanted us to hunt if it was just the two of us together. "Two girls, alone, hunting together? That's asking for trouble, you don't have the power to free yourselves in a dangerous situation." She'd always insisted we take her with us, for an extra set of hands. Or find a guy to tag along with.
But Dee and I were stubborn. Before I had given up hunting "for good" and left for Stanford, we'd fought her tooth and nail to let us go on our own.
And now? Well we were on our own whether she liked it or not.
And after all that, she was going to be right. We were going to die here because I couldn't set us free when we needed to get out of danger.
I heard a soft cough from below and held my breath.
"Dee?" I said softly.
"Sam..." She coughed, trying to clear the dust from her throat, "What happened...?"
"The ghost slammed you over the head with a wheel barrow... Christ I thought you were dead..." Fresh hot tears stung my face.
Deanna rolled painfully onto her side and looked up at me. "You?"
"He had a partner; apparently the dead wife isn't too happy about us either. She hung me out to dry and I guess she figured I'd die eventually here..."
"You're bleeding." She pointed at my leg where my pant leg was ripped clean up one side and covered in blood.
I pointed a toe at the rusty and crumpled oil drum by the door, "They may or may not have tried to shove me in that thing."
"Sammy..."
"Dee I'm fine, I'm really fine. I just have to get down and get us out of here."
"Let me help," she tried to get up and cough painfully, clutching her side.
"Just stay there!"
"Damnit Sam, I'm getting you down from there." She closed her eyes and heaved herself off the ground, legs buckling and threatening to give way as soon as she stood, but she caught her balance. "Kick me the shovel."
"Dee..."
"Samantha, kick me the shovel. I'll be okay a lot faster once you're not dangling like a ragdoll from the rafters."
I bit my lip and swung my foot so the shovel went toward Deanna. Feebly she grabbed it and started to saw through the rope holding me up.
Fifteen minutes later we were both sitting on the hay covered concrete, out of breath and bloodied.
"You okay little sis?"
"I told you I was fine Dee; I was going to get you..."
"It's not your job to save me; it's my job to save you. I'm the big sister, that's what I do."
"But I..."
She cut me off and patted me on the shoulder, "It's okay, Sam. It's going to be a-okay."
