Supernatural Fresh Meat

TWELVE




The naked man marched right past, taking no notice of them, eyes glassy and staring. Bobby automatically stepped out of the way as he continued in a straight line toward the south.

“What in the world?” Bobby breathed.

As he passed the ranger, she lit out after him. “Sir?” she asked.

He didn’t respond, just kept walking. Sam saw that his body was covered with strange marks, like stab wounds that had closed up. He hurried to catch up with Grace, Bobby and Dean following.

Nearer now, he saw that the wounds were sealed with some kind of glistening adhesive, almost like super glue. Deep gashes covered the man’s chest, stomach, and kidneys.

“Sir?” Grace tried again.

Still he marched onward.

She shucked off her jacket and draped it over his shoulders. If he felt the gesture, he didn’t give any indication. He walked right through a bush, the branches scratching his legs. Bile and blood dribbled down his back from one of the wounds.

“I’ve got to get him back,” Grace told them.

“He might be our vic.,” Bobby said, “the one who disappeared this morning.”

“I’ll see that he reaches help.”

The man tripped on a log, regained his balance, and kept walking.

“I’ll go with you,” Bobby offered.

“That really isn’t necessary.”

The man walked face-first into a tree trunk, stepped to the side, and continued on.

“I really think I should. I need to question him.”

“I don’t think this guy’s going to be fit for questioning any time soon.”

“Still,” Bobby insisted, “I’d like to help.”

“Fine,” Grace said coldly. “But hurry up.”

Sam and Dean walked alongside them. Sam stared around the forest, feeling eyes on him. “Agent Plant and I should stay out here, keep looking for signs of the killer.”

“Good idea,” Bobby said. “I’ll call you when I learn something.”

Sam nodded at him and watched as he disappeared over the next rise with the ranger and the marching man. He pulled out the map. “We need to make camp, Dean. We’re dead center where the attacks have been happening.”

Dean looked around. “Some place defensible.”

They walked around, settling on a flat spot where they would be able to see anything approach. No trees stood overhead, so they could avoid surprise drop-in visits this time.

Sam built a fire while Dean walked around the perimeter, setting up an early warning system with some tripwire so they could hear anything approach on foot.

The sun sank low and cold came with the darkness. Sam could smell sage on the wind. They sat down on their sleeping bags, watching the smoke rise and curl up into the black sky. The embers glowed bright yellow and orange and Sam watched them pulse and fade.

Something rustled in the bushes and they leapt up, braced for a fight. A doe came through the underbrush, stepped over a log, and stared at them.

“It’s just Bambi,” Dean said.

“That’s Bambi’s mother.”

The deer disappeared back into the underbrush. They sat down again, tense, waiting, trying to conserve their strength. The stars came out, more dazzling than Sam had ever seen before. The Milky Way stretched from horizon to horizon, a glowing cloud of light.

Dean made a line of Molotov cocktails next to the fire, waiting to be lit. Sam fiddled with his flamethrower, checking it for the twentieth time in the last hour.

In the distance they heard a swooping noise, like a huge bird sweeping over the forest. It faded away.

“Did you hear that?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded, getting to his feet.

The noise of beating wings returned, louder than ever. Sam jumped up, eyes scanning the starlit sky. The beating grew thunderous and Sam spun around, trying to find the source. “What the hell?” Then it faded, tapering away softly, the wing beats barely discernable.

Sam was just looking back to Dean with a shrug when something blocked out the sky above him. Where stars had been, a dark shape descended, reptilian wings outspread. Glowing coppery eyes gleamed in the darkness. At the last second, two clawed feet whipped out and caught Sam by the shoulders. Talons hooked into the flesh below his collarbones. He cried out, thrashing, grabbing at the leathery feet. White-hot pain erupted in his chest muscles as the claws tore through him. The thing wrenched violently to one side, and Sam struggled to keep his balance. As he thrashed, he felt his feet leave the ground. He kicked, feeling pebbles cast away from his boots, then suddenly his feet swung free. He grabbed his knife out of his jeans pocket. Stabbing upward, he felt the blade sink into the tough flesh of an ankle. Warm liquid rained down over Sam’s hand and dribbled thickly onto his head. He dared a look down, seeing twenty feet of yawning space between him and the ground.

“Sam!” Dean yelled, rushing forward. He slung his flamethrower around to his back and pulled out his rifle.

Sam tried to look up, to make out what had him, but he couldn’t see anything more than a black silhouette against the stars.

He heard the crack of a rifle, then another shot, and suddenly the thing banked and weaved. The pain in Sam’s shoulders erupted and he bit back a cry. It felt like any second his collarbones would snap and the claws would tear through his muscle, sending him crashing to the earth.

As the creature banked rapidly to the left, another rifle shot rang out. It pitched forward. Sam watched as the ground sped toward him, alarmingly fast, too fast, and a huge, jagged rock loomed up in the foreground. He was going to hit it. Face first. He clenched his teeth against the pain as he careened toward the granite. Air streamed over him, causing his eyes to tear up. Sam put his legs out, hoping to buffer the crash, and suddenly the thing turned. For a moment it hovered, rising and lowering in the air with each powerful flap of its wings. Every time they sank and rose again, Sam could feel his flesh tearing.

Then the talons slid out and he plummeted downward. The last thing he saw before he hit was Dean whirling around to fire the rifle again, while the dark shape closed in on him.