(Untitled)

[badblood_rising]

The day had started out ordinary enough. In retrospect, Sam would realize that this was because he lived in a secluded area and had given all the toys he'd won from the amusement park to Cori and Natalya. But at the time, out at the river that weaves itself in a wide curve around his hut, Sam doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary

Comments

[broken_brushes]

Sleep hadn't come very easily for me the night before Halloween. I always approached the holiday with a sense of dread, and no more than when I was an active councilmember. If something was going to go very wrong, I wanted to be prepared. The trouble was, as with everything else the island threw at us, it was impossible to know exactly what to prepare forI'd gotten up even earlier than normal, walked to the bakery in the predawn quiet, gotten well ahead of the morning's work and then took a break to walk back to the Homestead. Stupidly, I let the lack of chaos lull me into a false sense of security. Maybe, I thought, this would be another tame year. Maybe we'd get costumes and candy rather than axe murderers and befanged monsters

[badblood_rising]

The one good thing about the ducks is that they don't move fast. Evil island gods granted them sharp teeth, but they still waddle like tiny ducklings and Sam's got long strides. He sprints for his hut and tears through his stash of weapons. He's thinking speed, mobility over brute strength of arms and straps a hunting knife to one boot before checking the ammo in the shotgun he got for the new year. After ten months with only the slightest use of actual rounds, Sam had been starting to feel like an idiot for not giving in and using more bullets. Now he's grateful, but there's still more yellow duckies than he has bullets.

He loads the barrels anyway with a click and heads outside again, warily looking back at the river. They're still advancing, but if he runs to Dean's, it'll still take them fifteen minutes to cover the same distance. That lead will stretch by the time they get to the Win--

A scream cuts through the air. Unfortunately, it's familiar. "SHARI!" Sam bellows before running off in the direction of her voice.

[broken_brushes]

Consciously, I was aware that the voice calling my name belonged to a Sam I didn't really know. Our shared moments were few: We'd never had long heartfelt talks, he'd never confessed anything deeply personal to to me, and he hadn't held my hand through a dozen difficult experiences. He wasn't the man I'd come to think of my brother and best friend.

But the thing is, he actually was, even if he was forever reluctant to admit it. There were a scant few voices that had the power to make me feel genuinely relieved when I was in danger, and his was one of them

[badblood_rising]

Colors become important in times like these. Sam sees no red on Shari and that's good. He notes no blood on her in his quick glance before she careens into his chest. Instinctively he wraps an arm around her shoulders, but he's already looking ahead, scanning the ground Shari's covered. Yellow is an easy color to pick out, even in this jungle, and that's a good thing, too.

He doesn't say a word but guides Shari behind him. Barrel loaded, all he needs to do is swing the shotgun up, fitted under his shoulder, take aim and shoot. The top of the banana explodes in a mass of felt and fuzz. The monkey though, that's another story. It moves as fast as the primates its modeled after and Sam can't track it so easily. He follows the rustle of branches above them with his gun, but with a maniacal shriek the thing blasts out of the canopy and lands on Sam's head, digging its claws in.