Supernatural Fresh Meat

THIRTEEN




Dean fired the rifle, unable to make out the creature’s dimensions in the dark. He thought he managed to hit it at least once, but it sure as hell wasn’t slowing the thing down.

Sam landed hard next to a fallen log, and Dean started backing away, hoping to lure the creature in his direction. “C’mon, you son of a bitch!” he shouted.

He felt a blast of air from its wings before he heard it. Clawed feet knocked him flat on a bed of pine needles and branches. He clutched his rifle to his chest, rolled, and got up on one knee. He didn’t see his attacker. If the thing would just get low enough, maybe he’d be able to spot it against the trees. Fighting something jet black against the night sky was not getting the job done.

Another whoosh of air blasted him from behind and a sharp pain bloomed in his arm as the creature grabbed him and threw him like a sack of wet noodles.

Dean’s left arm windmilled as he flew through the air, but he managed to keep hold of the rifle. His back hit a tree trunk and he slid down the rough bark. He landed hard on his side, brought up the gun, and fired it point-blank into the dark shape above him.

Nothing. Not even a whimper.

A blinding wave of fire erupted to Dean’s left. Sam stood with his flamethrower, the entire arc of fire enveloping the creature.

“Right on!” Dean shouted, jumping to his feet and punching a fist into the air. “Nice going, Sam!”

The dark shape shook, wings flapping as it rose into the sky. It darted to the left so fast Dean didn’t actually see it move. Then it darted back to the right. The flames went out.

Dean pulled out his .45 and fired the entire clip into the creature while Sam hit it with another blast of fire.

It rose higher, wings beating in the darkness. Running back to his pack, Dean found his shotgun loaded with rock salt, then ran back. With a deafening blast, he fired two rounds into the creature as it tried to fan out the flames. Plummeting backward, it fell to the ground, its feet kicking. Dean saw a glimpse of leathery flesh, narrowed, coppery eyes and a hulking torso of muscle. Then it took to the air again, wings outspread.

Dean grabbed more shells out of his jacket pocket and opened the breech of the gun. When he snapped it together again, the creature had vanished in the darkness. He and Sam waited, braced, staring into the sky. The wing beats grew louder and Dean aimed the muzzle of his shotgun at the sky, searching the surrounding trees, waiting for the telltale silhouette to block out the stars. The whoosh of air sounded louder and louder. Dean knew it was on top of them, somewhere, waiting to swoop in for another attack.

Then the sound stopped.

He got out his flashlight and shone it at the tops of the trees. But the thing hadn’t landed, at least not that he could see.

They waited, moving closer, till they stood back to back.

“Nothing hurt it,” Sam said. “Not bullets, not iron, not fire.”

“Or rock salt.” Dean pointed in the direction it had disappeared. “What the hell was that? A friggin’ pterodactyl? It sure as hell wasn’t a wendigo.”

Blood seeped down Sam’s chest and back. He could feel it soaking through his shirt. “That thing could fly, Dean.”

“I noticed! It was ready to carry your ass off to feed its little dinosaur babies.”

“What the hell was it?” Sam sounded a little shaken. “I’ve never heard of something that could do that. Have you? It had talons and leathery wings. And it didn’t make a sound. Even when I stabbed it, and you shot it.”

“And you set it on fire.”

Dean rested the butt of his rifle on the ground. “Whatever it is, we’re going to find out how to kill it and finish this job.” He pulled out his cell to call Bobby, but couldn’t get any reception.

“I think I might need some stitches this time,” Sam said.

“Let’s go. I can’t reach Bobby. We need to figure out what this thing is.” Dean checked his .45, then slung the rifle onto his back. Sam winced as he gathered his gear up. Then they hiked into the darkness, searching the sky.