Chapter Text
The horse’s name was Hades. Mac thought that should have been a sign.
Jack changed his name to Hal.
“He’s never responded to Hades and it’s a hell of a name to be branded with.” Jack had winked at Mac, delighted with his pun. “New name, new beginning, he deserves a fresh start. He’s being fostered by my buddy’s cousin’s uncle’s neighbour,” Mac had blinked at that, bewildered by the thread of who knew who and how, “but she can only keep him for a short time so I told her I’d take him. We have the space and I think he could be happy with us.”
Jack visited Hal regularly so they could get to know each other while he was arranging to bring him to the stable, and he returned from each visit pleased with the progress the horse was making.
One evening when Jack came home from seeing Hal he’d called an especially cheery greeting to Mac from the front door.
Mac had met his dad in the hallway, “You’re in a good mood.”
“Coming home to you always puts me in a good mood, Kiddo.”
“Yeah, but, you’re in a particularly good mood right now. Is Hal okay?”
“He’s getting there,” Jack had claimed, hanging his keys on the hook by the front door. “He’s starting to trust me.”
Mac had leaned his weight against the wall, wondering about the horse he’d heard so much about. “You’re making him trust you?”
Jack had pondered that, “It’s not that I’m making him trust me,” he’d said carefully, “it’s more like I’m doing things that are helping him learn he can trust me.”
“Those two things aren’t the same?”
“Nah, buddy,” Jack had said, “the difference between them is subtle, it’s like, you know,” he’d wrinkled up his nose, trying to sniff out the best way to explain his thoughts, after a second or two of searching he’d relaxed his face, apparently having given up hope of finding what he needed. He shrugged. ”It’s subtle.”
Curious, Mac had searched the internet for stories of rescued horses and footage of horse whisperers. In the videos he found he’d seen how gentle the horse experts were and how carefully they watched the animals they were working with, reacting to the tiniest cues - a flick of their ears or turn of their head - the horses gave them.
Drawn by Mac’s engrossed expression Jack had peeked over his shoulder at his IPad to see what he was watching. “Mac, don’t forget that if you see any videos with a horse called Mr Ed in them, they’re not real,” he’d whispered conspiratorially when he’d seen what was on Mac’s screen, “that horse couldn’t really talk. ”
“Thanks I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Mac had replied, pausing a video of a woman patiently leading a horse round and round in a trot, “and I won’t forget that the Lone Ranger’s horse didn’t really ‘hi ho and away’ either.”
“Woah! Hold on there, pal!” Jack had reared back, hands thrown up to fend off Mac’s words, “I was a child who believed that the Lone Ranger was actually a real guy and to this day I haven’t one hundred percent let go of that notion.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Mac’s imagination had been filled with visions of seven year old Jack running around his back yard pretending to save the day as a real life masked hero, “if I find archive footage of Silver I’ll let you know.”
“That horse really did do the things in that TV show,” Jack had nudged Mac’s shoulder, “there was a real horse running and rearing and chasing out of control wagons with damsels in distress inside. Just because something is a legend that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
Mac turned to face Jack, grinning playfully, “Has anyone ever talked to you about the Loch Ness Monster?”
“Tttssssh!” Jack had shushed him with an authoritative forefinger held aloft. “Having no evidence of there being a monster is not the same as there being proof that there actually is no monster. You can’t prove a negative, it’s the same thing.”
“Well,” Mac had squinted as he’d tried to unpick what Jack had just said, “I’m not entirely sure that it is.”
“Wouldn’t you rather live in a world where there’s a possibility of a cool, dinosaur-like beastie living in the depths of a Scottish lake than in a boring, predictable one where that couldn’t happen?”
Mac had thought about the mysteries of a loch so deep light had no hope of touching it’s rocky floor and about all the strange and wonderful creatures that could thrive unobserved in that dark. He thought of the chill and the thrill of the unknown. “Yeah,” he had to concede, “I suppose everyone would.”
“There you go then.” Jack had nodded smugly and left Mac to his search.
While watching footage of a man and an uneasy colt Mac had become aware with a slow building realisation that Jack could do with him what the person in the video was doing with his horse. Jack knew when to give Mac space and when to connect with him by touch, what questions to ask and when to be silent.
Dr Amanda could do it too. She was thorough but slow and full of care. Mac trusted her enough to talk to her about some of the things he struggled to discuss with Jack.
It would be good to learn some of those skills, Mac had thought as Jack had rested against the chair he was sitting in and started pulling off his boots, he’d like to know how to be still, quiet and watchful rather than thinking, thinking and overthinking all the time. It would be amazing to be like that, he’d thought - patient, kind and gentle - people like that were amazing.
“I’m proud of you, you know,” Mac had blurted out suddenly, awkwardly, “for having the heart and the skills to be able to take care of that horse.”
“Oh, thank you.” Jack had frozen briefly, one foot still hovering off the ground and a boot clutched in his right hand, he’d looked surprised but pleased with Mac’s outburst.
“I don’t say stuff like that enough,” fidgeting, Mac had shoved his hands deep into his pockets, ducking his head to cover his face with his hair. “I should say that kind of thing more because it’s true.”
“I’m proud of you too.” Jack had taken Mac in his arms, softly knocking him in the head with the boot he was still holding. “I’m proud of you right now for saying something you thought was important even though you were embarrassed to do it.” He’d ruffled Mac’s hair and chuckled.
When the day of Hal’s arrival at the stable came Mac helped Jack get the empty stall ready.
“He’ll love it!” Jack cried. He and Mac had made the stall comfortable with clean straw and fresh food and Jack stood in the centre of the space circling slowly and grinning widely. “He’s going to do so well. Just watch, he’s going to get a little better every single day here with us.”
The driver of Hal’s horse box sounded her horn when she arrived and Jack jogged out to meet her calling a hello. Waiting inside the stable Mac heard the rise and fall of their conversation, the crash of the horse box’s ramp being lowered then the distinctive clip clop of horses hooves.
He hadn’t been sure what to expect of the stable’s imminent newcomer but he’d imagined that the horse would either be young, scrawny and skittish with a tangled mane and long legs it hadn’t grown into yet or old, grey muzzled and careworn with a stooped back and a weary gait. But as Mac watched Jack lead him from his trailer and into his stall he found himself taking a step backwards.
Hades…Hal was a large adult male with a deep chest and powerful flanks. He was grey with a dark undercoat that gave him a bluish cast, and he had a jet black mane and tail and big, intelligent eyes. When he was fit and strong he would be majestic - his long neck would hold his proud head up high - and Mac could tell that he would move beautifully, but the animal Jack was leading into the empty stall looked unwell and unkempt. His eyes were wide and rolling and he tossed his head erratically, sweat slicked skin shivering as Jack crooned softly to him.
“Is he going to be safe?” Mac asked.
As Jack bolted Hal’s stable door shut a furious bay echoed around the wooden space. Mac’s breath caught at the sound.
“He’ll be fine,” Jack answered, misunderstanding Mac’s concern, “he’s just a little unsettled by the journey.”
Mac didn’t comment.
“That’s it, there you go. Good! Easy now, good boy.”
Mac could hear Jack working with Hal as he distributed fresh food and water to the other horses. Jack had been working with Hal every day, standing by the door of his stall talking to him in a soft voice, offering him tempting tit bits and slow scratches on his head and watching him from a seat perched on the fence as Hal ran around in the exercise area. Mac always made sure he was somewhere else when Hal was out of his stall. He didn’t like his angry snorts and the bangs that came from his pen when he lashed out with his hooved feet. Mac didn’t like the wild unpredictable look in Hal’s eyes and the way they flickered around almost constantly, or how his muscles quivered with tension. Hal always seemed troubled, moments away from...from...something. Mac never knew what the horse was one heartbeat away from but the potential for a sudden burst of reaction frightened him.
A ball of guilt sat in his chest whenever he avoided Hal like a pebble caught in his shoe, hard, painful, there at every step and impossible to ignore. He hated that guilt and the fact that whenever he walked past Hal’s stall fear clenched in his gut. The stable was somewhere he’d always felt safe but with Hal there it was like a corner of it had been corrupted. Having his refuge tarnished made Mac bristle with irritation, which was always followed quickly by contrition because Jack was doing a good thing by giving Hal a home and it wasn’t Hal’s fault that he scared Mac.
Mac reached Peppers stall and refilled her water. She drew close to him as he worked, whickering a welcome. “Hello, girl,” he said, scratching Pepper’s neck. “At least you never change,” he told her, leaning his weight against her as she butted him with her head searching for snacks. “Do you miss how things used to be too?”
A secret part of Mac he was struggling to keep squashed down wished Jack had never offered Hal a home. But, he reminded himself as he rubbed Pepper between her ears, Jack’s heart was full of generosity and kindness, that was who he was. If he were a different kind of person, one who wouldn’t have taken Hal in, maybe he would never have opened his home to Mac either and made them a family. Mac didn’t like to think about what his life would have been like if that hadn’t happened.
“It’s all messed up,” Mac said to Pepper who was mouthing at the pocket of his hoodie. “I’m all messed up.” He was confused, tense and ashamed and dreaded Jack noticing that and asking him what was wrong because he had no idea how to answer without sounding self-centred or stupid.
Pepper didn’t like their new arrival either. She’d snort with distain and jealousy whenever Jack worked with Hal, grumbling until Mac stood at her head, stroked her between her ears and snuck her treats. She whinnied as Mac petted her.
“I know girl.” Mac pulled an apple out of the pocket Pepper had been sniffing at. She took it from his open palm gently. “Jack says that Hal is getting better,” he said, leaning close to speak softly into his favourite horse’s ear and hearing the apple crunch between her teeth. “You’ll get used to him, we both will. It will be okay.” Pepper let out a sound that could only be described as a snort. “Yeah, I know,” Mac had to admit. “I didn’t sound very convincing then did I?”
Across the stable from where Mac and Pepper were sharing apples and confidences Jack was leading Hal back to his stall.
“There you go,” Jack told him as he bolted Hal’s stall door, “good job today.”
The stallion was safely behind a locked door again, and that was better, but Mac’s shoulders were still tense and his stomach unsettled.
“Hey,” Jack called, walking towards Mac and Pepper, “what are you two gossiping about?”
“Nothing much,” Mac told him, “the usual.”
“So about how Queen Pepper here should be getting all the treats, attention and the red carpet treatment?” Jack joked.
Mac thought about Pepper nibbling at his pocket demanding she be given the treat he’d put in there. “Something like that,” he said.
When Jack grew close enough he patted Pepper’s neck. “How is Her Majesty today?”
Pepper smacked her lips as she finished off the last pieces of her apple. “She’s enjoying the snack I gave her,” Mac said.
“Hal did good too, we’re having a banner day in the Dalton Stable today,” Jack said. “You know, buddy,” he leaned towards Mac to tap him with the back of one hand, smelling of straw, horses and the sharp tang of his aftershave, scents that reminded Mac of home and shelter, Mac felt a little of his bad mood melt away, “if you wanted you and me could work with Hal together.” A slow smile spread over Jack’s face as he warmed to the idea, “Yeah, you could learn a bit of horse whispering, you’ll be a natural! Look how much this grumpy old mare likes you.” He patted Pepper’s neck again. “What do you think?”
“Um. I, well I um -” Working with Hal, being close to him, close to that hostile bulk of angry muscle and unpredictability - Mac’s stomach clenched at the thought.
“You don’t want to?” Jack asked when he saw the reluctance on Mac’s face. “I’ve never known you turn down the chance to learn something. What’s going on?”
“I think -” Saying ‘being anywhere near Hal scares me’ would sound ridiculous. Mac understood about Hal, about his past, he really did, and that he was scared and settling into his new life, but he still made Mac’s skin crawl. Being frightened of Hal was stupid because he was a horse, just a horse, nothing else, he wasn’t, he wasn’t… “Maybe I will when he’s more comfortable, he’s still getting to know you,” Mac said, reasonably he thought. “I wouldn’t want to unsettle him, I might get something wrong and scare him.”
“It’s not an exact science, bud. You have to watch carefully and react to what you’re seeing. Unless you jump up and down, yell and throw things at him you won’t really get it wrong with Hal, you already know a lot of what to do.”
“It’s just,” Mac looked up into Jack’s curious, trusting face and his hard ball of guilt gained new weight. He breathed around it fighting his instinct to hide what he was feeling. He and Jack had promised that they would be honest with each other and Jack would understand what he felt, or would try to. He owed it to Jack to at least try to tell the truth. Mac ducked his head to hide his embarrassed flush and steeled himself, “He’s big and he’s unpredictable,” he said, petting Pepper’s nose as a distraction, “he makes me nervous.”
“Okay,” Jack said slowly, his head tipped to one side as he studied Mac. “He is, I get that, son. Hal can be a might flighty. Maybe me teaching you some horse whispering ways with him is something we could circle back to another time.”
Mac squirmed under Jack’s scrutiny. Jack would clearly love for them to work together with Hal but Mac couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
“I wouldn’t know what to do with him,” Mac continued. “I wouldn’t want to do anything wrong and frighten him, it could be dangerous.” Mac looked away from Pepper to meet Jack’s eye, trying to make him see the depths of his concern. “You are safe when you’re with him aren’t you? You don’t take any risks?”
“I don’t take any risks, you know me.” Jack tapped the centre of his puffed out chest, “Careful is my middle name, I’m Mr Careful, don’t you worry.”
But Mac did worry.
He was in the tack room a few days later, scowling at the saddle he had just heaved back into it’s storage space. He was sure that there had to be a better way of keeping the saddles, a way that used the space more effectively. Maybe if he built some shelves or changed where the bridles were hung that would make a difference, if they moved them over to the corner near the door that would free up the left hand side of the windowless wall and…
He wasn’t avoiding the exercise area because Jack was in there with Hal.
He really wasn’t.
Much.
When Mac was little he’d been too scared to scale to the highest point of the climbing frame in the playground his mom used to take him to - the top had been so far away from the ground, way out of reach for a little boy like him. The gap between the summit of the metal bars and the floor below had seemed like a yawning, unforgiving space that would swallow him whole if he fell. Being scared like that didn’t sit comfortably with Mac so each time he and his mom went to the park he would try to work his way a little higher up the climbing frame, touching the next bar up from the last one he’d stood on, pulling himself up to sit on it, then slowly, slowly standing on the bar and waving to his mom from the loftiest height he’d ever conquered.
He never reached the peak.
His mom grew too sick to take him to the playground and after her death James never seemed to have time for outings like that, ‘I’m working, Angus’, ‘I’m busy, Angus’, “For God’s sake, why can’t you amuse yourself!?’
Mac still didn’t like being frightened like that or feeling defeated but his usual resolve to chip away at the thing confounding him until he understood and could master it stalled when it came to Hal. He didn’t know how to manage the nervousness rolling in his stomach whenever Hal was near him or he saw him and Jack together.
He was letting out an angry snort of breath and pushing his fingers into his hair, telling himself to get a grip when he heard an angry equine scream, a shout of alarm from Jack and a loud crash.
Instinct had Mac running before he was aware of making the decision to move. He bolted from the tack room to the exercise area to find Jack pulling himself up off the floor and dusting off the seat of his trousers.
“Jack!” Mac called breathlessly, his heart pounding. “Are you okay?” He skidded to a halt beside his dad and looked him up and down for signs of an injury.
Jack whistled. “That was close!” He wiped away the sweat on his top lip and gave a bark of thrilled laughter. “That horse has got spirit, I like it!”
“Are you hurt?” Mac reached for Jack with shaking hands. “What happened?”
“Hal here just wanted to show me that he has a few tricks up his sleeve. I had to jump over the fence to get out of the way, that’s all. It’s fine.”
It felt to Mac then like something heavy and acrid had dropped from a great height into his stomach. It fell straight into his gut, that bitterness, sudden and unforgiving as it was, and landed with nothing but a storm of scorching emotions. He stumbled backwards away from Jack. “No it’s not!” he found himself shouting. “It’s not fine!”
The dread Mac had felt at the sound of Jack’s cry, that had frozen the blood in his veins, that had apparently been unnecessary since Jack was laughing, twisted, boiled and churned inside him and with no other way to release it the heat manifested as anger. “It’s not funny and it’s not okay and it’s not fine! “ Mac yelled. “He could have hurt you! Horse’s kicks can break bones and if he’d have caught you in the head he could have...”
Jack’s amusement softened into concern. “It’s okay buddy. I know what I’m doing. Hey,” he reached out to stroke Mac’s arm, “this is just part of the process of working with animals like Hal. Everything’s’ fine.”
“Stop saying that it’s okay!” Mac jerked away from Jack’s touch. “It’s not! It’s dangerous and it’s stupid!”
“Kiddo,” Jack said, he relaxed his posture, shoulders lowering, hands lose and harmless at his sides and for some reason the fact that he was using his horse whispering moves on him just made Mac angrier. Rage, unreasonable but undeniable, coursed through him. It made him reckless and harsh.
“If you like risking your safety with abused animals so much maybe we can get you something else to work with when you’re done with Hal,” Mac spat. “Maybe we can find a half starved wolf or a captured tiger for you to tame - you could add them to your collection of broken, screwed up things. You’ve already got me and Hal, so why don’t we find room for something else?”
He swore under his breath, too choked with frustration to carry on and stalked away, fists clenched and tears burning his eyes.
“Mac?” Jack called after him. Mac could hear the concern and hurt in his voice. “Son?”
Mac ignored him and slammed his way into the tack room, kicking a box across the room when he was alone then leaning against the wall to press his forehead against one of the cool wooden panels until his shaking breaths slowed.
Later, as they drove home passing fields and trees and Sara’s diner, Mac offered a stumbling apology.
“Sorry,” he said down to his hands, wanting everything to be better. Jack deserved better. “I thought you’d been hurt. It scared me. Sorry.”
“When I was seven I almost ran straight into the path of a car, " Jack said in response. Mac settled into his seat, knowing he was about to experience one of Jack’s long and rambling stories, one that would end at a valid point – eventually - if he was patient and paid attention. “I was heading to the park across the road from where my mom had pulled up and was so intent on getting to the playground I didn’t check the traffic. The slide in that playground was awesome, it was tall and shiny and you could build up so much speed going down it that you felt like you were moving at a hundred miles an hour. All the kids used to call it The Rocket.” As Mac watched him Jack smiled and for a moment he could tell his dad wasn’t driving the road home in early evening traffic with plans for a shower then left overs for dinner, he was a small boy zooming down a silver side with a joyous yell and the wind in his hair. “Anyway,” he said, coming back to himself, “I didn’t look where I was going and just rushed out into the road. My mom saw what was happening and grabbed my arm before I got in front of the car and, man, she yelled at me. My momma can make some noise when she wants to and I swear people in the next state probably heard her hollering.” Jack’s eyes left the road to meet Mac’s. “I’d scared her and her fear made her angry.”
“Yeah, that.” Mac nodded. He looked down to where he was picking at a button on his shirt, unable to hold Jack’s gaze. “So, sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”
“Didn’t you?”
With his head down Mac couldn’t see Jack turn to face him with a perceptive eyebrow raised but he knew he had. He shrugged, an awkward jerking movement that Mac knew screamed ‘sullen teenage boy’, but since he kind of was a sullen teenage boy nothing could be done about that.
“You described yourself as a ‘broken and screwed up thing’, that’s a direct quote,” Jack said with a calm neutral tone that made it harder for Mac to answer him than if he’d been probing or sympathetic. He was giving Mac the quote to deal with in whatever way he wanted, and he didn’t want to deal with it at all.
Mac sunk lower in his seat, angling himself to face the passenger side window. He watched the objects in the rear view mirror that appeared closer than they were disappear, fervently wishing he hadn’t said what he’d said. He didn’t know why he’d done it. The intensity of his fear had drawn all his other feelings to the surface like the moon pulling ocean waves away from the shore, and when he’d started to yell in fury they’d all flooded out. “I was angry.”
“I got that, the shouting gave it away,” Jack said and Mac knew that one perceptively raised eyebrow had been joined by another to frame an enquiring and concerned expression. “It doesn’t mean that you don’t believe what you said.”
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Mac replied with a rambling non sequitur of his own. “When your friend brought Hal to the stable she said that he’d been abused. She said that’s why he is the way he is,” he said. “I hate that word. Abused.” It was an awful stain of a word, blighting everything associated with it like a bruise that’s turned sickly green, unsightly, unpleasant and off-putting. It was a glimpse of a horror that filled people with sorrow at it’s tragedy and discomfort at the reality of such cruelty. People shied away from it and why wouldn’t they? Mac did. He’d had to force the word out and he couldn’t look at Jack when he said it. “It makes things sound like they’re damaged. Like they’ve been broken and no one will want them anymore, like they’re ruined.”
“No one thinks that, Mac.” Dismay gave Jack’s tone a higher pitch than his usual calm drawl. Mac had surprised him, and upset him too. “You know I don’t think that’s true.”
“And Hal - what it’s turned him into, how he is - he makes me nervous.” The thread of the shirt button Mac was worrying at started to loosen, uncoiling enough for him to wrap the red cotton around his little finger. “And I feel bad about that, and I know you said that everything is fine but I worry about the way he is, that he isn’t safe to be around and he could hurt someone. I don’t like being near him. I don’t like that you go near him and he could hurt you.”
Mac wasn’t sure how much of that made any sense but he figured that Jack would understand enough to find the truth in his rambling.
Jack sighed and took a hand away from the steering wheel to stroke through the hair at the back of Mac’s head. The gesture was tender, holding no judgement or frustration, and Mac’s eyes drifted closed.
“Hal isn’t broken or ruined. He’s struggling right now because of some of the things that have happened to him but inside he’s okay, he just needs to feel safe and he won’t be so on edge all the time. He isn’t broken, neither is anyone else like him.” Jack tightened his hold on the back of Mac’s neck slightly, his thumb tracing over the tense muscles it rested on. “I’ll be careful when I’m with him, I promise.”
It was easy for Mac to believe Jack then, when they were in the truck together with Jack sat beside him as solid and dependable as a mountain range and as warm and comforting as a hearth fire. They drove home to showers and reheated meatloaf and Mac did his best to be reassured.
Hal isn’t damaged or ruined.
Mac had been repeating that to himself since his conversation in the truck with Jack.
Hal isn’t broken. He isn’t bad. He just needs to feel safe.
If anyone could make Hal feel safe Jack could, Mac knew. With Jack was the safest place in the world to be.
And Jack promised he’d be careful. He always kept his promises so everything would be fine.
It would.
Wouldn’t it?
Mac had volunteered to muck out Hal’s empty stall while Jack worked with him in the stable’s exercise area. It felt like he was helping Hal in a roundabout way that he knew would please Jack.
“That’s it. And there you go! Nice.”
Jack’s voice carried to Mac as he shovelled the hay from the floor of Hal’s stall into a waiting wheelbarrow. He sounded pleased with Hal, enthusiastic and excited.
“Now, we’ve kind of tried this before and I’m feeling optimistic this afternoon so let’s have another go,” Mac heard. “I’m just going to lean my weight on you. Good boy!”
The last of the soiled hay picked up, Mac leaned his pitchfork against the wall of the stable and surveyed the overflowing wheelbarrow with dismay. He loved being with the horses at the stable but sometimes he really wished there could be less manure to deal with.
“Okay, pal, let’s try this.”
Mac picked up the handles of the smelly barrow and pushed it out of the door of Hal’s stable. He glanced up and saw Jack sat on Hal’s back, no saddle between them, trotting in a large circle. Jack was beaming, elated, and leaned forward to pat Hal’s neck when Hal flinched. He tossed his head and bucked.
“Easy, easy boy,” Jack spoke gently but Mac could see his muscles tense as he tried to keep his seat. “It’s okay,” he said, his eyes growing wide with alarm, “You’re okay.”
He tried to steady himself with his hands on Hal’s neck but the horse tossed his head and bucked again, throwing off Jack’s grip. Mac dropped the wheelbarrow’s handles and opened his mouth to cry out a warning but no sound came from his throat.
Hal squealed, a frightened, frightening sound and reared up violently, too fast and fierce for Jack to counter. Thrown backwards, helpless and with a cry of alarm, Jack fell.
“Jack!”
Mac blood pounding in his ears and he felt each foot fall reverberate through him as he ran. It was like he’d seen everything in slow motion, Hal’s sudden movement, Jack’s grip failing, Jack falling, hanging defencelessly in the empty air, then the sickening impact of his body hitting the floor.
“No, no, no, no, no, no!” Mac chanted as he sprinted towards his dad, a denial and a plea.
Hal was pacing restlessly at the other end of the exercise area as Mac vaulted over the fence separating him from Jack and dropped to his knees at his side. Jack was prone on the dusty floor, eyes closed, still and heavy. His head was turned towards Mac and one arm was thrown across his body with the other curled out awkwardly beside him.
“Jack! Can you hear me?” Mac shoved gently at his dad, wary of injuries but terrified of not waking him. “Open your eyes!”
Jack’s eyes stayed closed, his body slack. Mac took one of his dad’s hands but the hold slipped limp and unreciprocated from his grip.
“Jack!” Mac shook Jack as hard as he dared. “Jack. Just…please, okay, look at me, please?”
Mac’s hands shook. His whole body shook. His stomach churned. He tried to remember what he’d learned in First Aid class at school. There’d been something about ABCs. Something important you needed to check when you first found someone who was hurt.
Mac wracked his memory.
ABCs.
His breathing was loud and ragged. Panic made his brain sluggish. He tried to focus…
A was for…
Jack wasn’t moving, why wasn’t he moving…?
A was for…
Jack must be hurt, really hurt, if he wasn’t he would have heard how scared Mac must sound and tried to reassure him…
A was for…
A pool of blood, red and real and horribly there started to gather beneath Jack’s head. A sob tore out of Mac, painful and nauseating, bowing him forward with it’s force.
Mac fought himself upright. He gripped fistfuls of Jack’s shirt in his hands. Jack was bleeding and he needed Mac to help him, Mac had to make sure that Jack would be okay, that Jack was breathing and...
A was for Airway Mac finally remembered! A was for Airway, B was for Breathing and C was for Circulation!
He pushed the hay and dirt in front of Jack’s face away and leaned forward to put his ear next to Jack’s nose and mouth. He was scared that he wouldn’t hear Jack’s breaths over his own frightened gasps so he laid a hand inside Jack’s shirt to feel the rise and fall of his chest and the beating of his heart.
He found them. Evidence of Jack’s life pulsed under his fingers and Mac sagged with relief.
The next part of the first aid sequence he’d learned in class came to him: get help. He fumbled his phone out of his pocket. His hands trembled so much it took three attempts to dial 911, Mac had to grit his teeth and concentrate hard on pressing the buttons before he connected to the emergency operator.
“911 what is your emergency?”
“There’s been an accident at Dalton’s Stable,” Mac said, trying to keep his voice steady and clear. “We need an ambulance, quickly, please, he’s hurt.”
“We’ll get help to you as soon as we confirm your address,” the voice on the other end of the phone told him, “who’s been hurt?”
“My dad.”