Demon Trackers: The Anointed

part twenty-six

Every step pierced Cal's head like a sledgehammer striking against his temples. His brother and father were getting farther ahead of him even though they both limped, Jake with a twisted ankle and Dad with a wound in his thigh where one of the Gremlins bit him. They'd still insisted on practically carrying Cal out of the forest sandwiched between them until they draped his arms over their shoulders and the pain in his broken wrist and burning from the gremlin bite on his other arm flared so hard he couldn't stop the grimace.

They'd had no choice, except to let him walk out on his own power. Now he wondered if that had been a good idea because his head throbbed every time he put his foot down, no matter how gingerly. His skull pulsated with bruising pain that hammered behind his eyes, making everything turn a sort of grayish color.

He stared down at his boots, the tongues flopping outward without any laces to hold them tight, and willed himself to take another shuffling step, knowing the explosion it would cause inside his head. His dad and Jake limped farther ahead, so focused on keeping themselves upright, they didn't yet notice Cal had fallen behind.

Gotta suck it up. The car couldn't be that much farther, right? Cal hobbled his weight forward—and all two-hundred tons of a runaway freight train crashed through the cavity of his brain. His legs buckled and his sight faded at the same moment a hairless creature scurried across his view, between him and his family. Pitching sideways, he blindly threw out his arms to stop his fall, crying out as he found a tree and the jolt on his broken wrist vibrated up his entire arm.

"Hey, hey." His dad was suddenly near, large warm palms pressing on his shoulders. "Stay down. Easy."

He was down? Cal's sight returned, making slow orbits around the ground mere inches from Cal's face as he knelt, curled over his arms. His skull rattled like the aftershocks of someone gone crazy with a giant gong.

"It's your head, right? How bad?" Jake's voice, getting right to the source of the matter.

"Just…" Cal winced. How the hell did just talking hurt this much? "Need a moment."

"Long as you need," Henry said, his hands steady on his shoulders. "Truck's not that far." Cal could tell his dad wasn't talking to him. "I'm going to go ahead, get the kit. Wish these trees weren't so thick, I'd drive right back to you."

"Dad, I can go," Jake said.

"Don't want you having to make the trip three times on that ankle. My leg's better off walking the stiffness out anyway. Stay here with your brother."

"Kay."

"Cal." Dad's hands squeezed his shoulders. "Hang in there. I'll be back soon with something for your head." The palms slipped away and Cal heard footfalls moving away across soil.

"Hey, Cal?" Jake's hand replaced Dad's, sliding across the back of Cal's neck. "You wanna try and sit up or does keeping your head low help?"

Cal wasn't sure. "It just hurts when…" Cal sucked in a breath.

"Whenever you move. Been there, bro. Head wounds are bitches. That position doesn't look too comfortable. Let me know if you want to move and I can help."

"Wanna sit up."

"Okay. We'll take it slow."

Jake's palm slipped beneath Cal's forehead, pressing warm and firm. Cal nearly wept at the slight ease of pressure it provided as though Jake somehow knew exactly where to hold his head. Jake's other arm slid across Cal's chest and together, very slowly, Jake letting Cal take the lead on how fast he wanted to move, they got Cal up into a sitting position, leaning back against Jake's chest.

Jake kept his palm firmly against Cal's forehead, an anchor against the angry mallet battering a nail between his eyes.

"Jake?"

"I know it hurts. Don't speak if you don't have to."

Jake was right about that. Just swallowing hurt. But as he was falling, he thought he saw one of the little beasties. "Gremlin's are…"

"All gone, Cal. Don't worry about those anymore. Dad checked the cave-in."

"But what if one got out…?"

"Before the blast?" Jake paused. With his back pressed against Jake's chest, Cal felt the slight hitch in his brother's breathing. "I'm pretty sure nothing survived that detonation."

Kay, yeah, yeah. If Jake said they got them all, they got them all.

Cal stayed very still against Jake, listening to the chirps of the little gray birds that flew from branch to branch above them. The jackhammer pulsed beneath the steady pressure of Jake's palm on Cal's head, taking the edge off and Cal found that if he remained very still, the pounding died down to a bearable throb.

He let his eyes slip closed, must have fallen asleep, because he didn't hear any footsteps signaling his father's return, just an abrupt voice. "How is he?"

Cal jerked awake, wishing he hadn't at the sudden spike of pain and dizziness. Crouching in front of him, his father seemed to tilt sideways—or maybe it was him.

"Easy, son." Dad finally settled, no longer tilting, the lines of worry deepened beneath the ash and dirt streaking the strong features. "You okay?" Two sets of hands steadied him.

"His head's still hurting," Jake answered for him, which was just as well since Cal didn't think he could so much as move his lips without making his head implode, let alone form a coherent answer.

A calloused hand pushed his bangs back. "Son, I found some leftover hydrocodone. Just gonna slip them into your mouth. There that's good."

Cal felt like a friggin two-year-old, needing his dad to put the pills in his mouth and hold the water bottle to his lips. He'd be completely humiliated if his head didn't hurt so horribly with the slightest movement. He'd worry about being embarrassed later because right now he was just so grateful his dad and brother were here to take care of him. The only thing he could concentrate on was staying impossibly still to minimize the pain.

"That's it. Good. Just take it easy and rest for a while until these kick in." His dad's long fingers started rubbing Cal's head like he had last night. Having something else to focus on, Cal let his eyes close, sinking back against Jake, feeling more love for these two men than a sixteen-year-old knew what to do with. "We don't have anywhere special we need to be. Just let the medicine do its work." Their strong badass drill sergeant of a father was practically cooing and it made all sorts of things swirl around inside Cal's chest.

"Here, Jake, I want you to take one as well." Dad's voice was back to normal.

"I'm good. Save them for Cal," Jake answered.

"We have enough."

"But what if…" The conversation soared above him as Cal sank into sleep, warmed by his father's capable fingers massaging away the pain.