Demon Trackers: The Anointed

part twenty-eight

Henry Gillant could face down ghouls, werewolves, banshees, countless things from the most imaginative nightmares without a blink of his eye, but seeing his bright inquisitive son so still and out of it scared him more than the worse things he had hunted. He glanced at his boys through the rearview mirror. "He asleep?"

"No," Jake answered tightly.

Henry's fingers squeaked around the steering wheel. Hospital was in the next town over and Henry was already driving as carefully and slowly as possible, avoiding every damn pothole on this bumpy country road.

Last night had been horrifying. Henry's stomach turned queasy. He couldn't get the image of Cal disappearing in that hole out of his mind. He thought he'd lost him, right then and there. Henry peeked in the mirror again, grounding himself that Cal was here, safe with them, not gone, not lost and unreachable a thousand feet down. He wished he could see Cal's face, but his son had it pressed hard into Jake's side. The square of gauze on the back of his head was already coming loose, impossible to tape down to that soft tangle of hair, but it didn't appear as though any more blood had seeped through.

That was something, though…Henry breathed out a steadying stream of breath. Something wasn't right. Cal needed more help than he could give him.

"Dad. Look." Jake brought him out of his worried thoughts. "A Vet."

Sure enough, up ahead there was a sign for Blue Ridge Veterinary Clinic with a broad arrow, pointing to a turn-off where a sliver of a dirt road wound its way to what looked more like a ranch spread than a clinic out by itself on a lonely country road.

Henry immediately took the car onto the turn-off. He was well acquainted with smaller clinics, preferring less people, and on occasion less paperwork to deal with—cash under the table so to speak when he couldn't get to the base hospital.

Henry pulled up close to the door, noting there weren't any other cars out front even though it was late afternoon, just an old green pick-up parked out by the barn. Was the clinic closed? Open sign said otherwise.

"Wait here while I check it out."

Inside, the cheery little clinic appeared empty. No customers in the plastic chairs of the waiting room, even though the doors were unlocked and the place was clearly open for business. Henry pushed past the saloon-style swinging shutter doors and into the procedure room, startling a raccoon inside one of the small cages lining the wall. It hissed, slipping a cast-enclosed leg through the thin bars. It was the only animal in the place. Henry also noted the array of medicines stacked on shelves and behind the glass insert doors of wooden cabinets, unattended and easy for the taking. Except Henry wasn't here for supplies.

"Hello?" he called out. "Anyone about?"

Huh. Fists on hips, Henry waited for someone to come out of one of the doors on either side of the procedure room. This was certainly no way to run a business. Frustration mounting, Henry took the door to his right and walked into a kitchen of all things with the back door wide open, letting a warm breeze come in through the screen.

Okay, barn then. Henry marched across the dirt yard toward the large building out back. If he didn't find anyone in there to help him, he was going to come back, scoop as much medicine and supplies as he could carry and get his boys to the hospital the next county over.

"Anyone here? Oh." Stepping into the barn, Henry winced. Now that was a sight you didn't come across every day. A wiry geezer stood a few feet away with his left arm elbow deep in the rectum of a cow.

"Like I thought. Pregnant," the guy announced. "Hand me that towel, will you?"

"Oh. Um, sure." Henry grabbed one of the linens folded neatly on top of a stainless steel table and held it out to the vet who smoothly removed his arm and pulled the nastily long sterile glove from his hand. Studiously, Henry set his gaze on the cow who except for a little widening of the round eye seemed to have taken the invasion in stride.