Supernatural Fresh Meat

SEVENTEEN




Sam and Dean had been walking through lunchtime and into the afternoon, coming up empty. They searched the area where they had found the organ victim, then started moving in greater circles. The weather looked iffy, a new layer of clouds moving in low and grey on the horizon. A chill came with it.

As they crested a rise, suddenly Dean felt eyes on him. A branch snapped and he whirled around. Grace stepped out, her huge backpack towering behind her. “Hey,” she said as they lowered their guns. “That was some messed up crap the other day. Guy was full of other people’s body parts.” She met Dean’s gaze, her eyes haunted. This was a subdued Grace Dean hadn’t seen before. As if reading his thoughts, she added, “You don’t shrug something like that off.” She sized them up. “I’m surprised they don’t have more agents out here.”

Sam shrugged, then winced at the pain in his shoulders. “We’re pretty busy at the bureau.”

Dean noticed that she had double the ammo in her belt now, and a shotgun was strapped onto her pack. He looked at Sam.

“It’s strange that everywhere I go, here you are,” she said.

Sam looked at his watch. “We should check in with Bobby.”

“Sounds good.” Dean pulled out his cell and checked the bars. The icon on his screen displayed a satellite dish spinning uselessly. No signal.

“I’ll be right back,” he told them. He walked toward the nearby ridge, then began the steep ascent up the smooth granite. He could feel the sun radiating off the rock. Yellow and orange lichen grew in colorful patches as he climbed higher. From the top of the ridge, he could see trees and other patches of open granite outcroppings. In the distance, the Tahoe Summit ski resort ran its ski lifts, and in the far, far distance, he could make out the treeless slopes of the Boreal and Sugar Bowl ski resorts. The whole area up here was dotted with them, with miles and miles of undeveloped forest between. It was a perfect place for a man-eater like a wendigo to make its nest. Lots of tourists coming and going, as Bobby had said.

Dean pulled out his cell again, lifting it up as it powered on. One bar. He called Bobby.

When he answered, Dean asked, “You find anything yet?”

“I think I may be on to something. I contacted a hunter on the west coast at Point Reyes who found an account of a villager using a stingray barb on the end of a whip. But both the whip and the barb have to be treated with a variety of spices and an incantation was performed on top of that. It’s not something I could whip up here. The ingredients make quite an exotic shopping list.”

“So what should we do?” Below him, Dean watched as Sam and Grace milled about the clearing, talking awkwardly. The wind sighed through the trees, and a gust buffeted his back.

“This hunter has some of what we need. I can go out there and get her to make it, but it would save time if you helped gather the ingredients. We could be there and back in a day.”

“Sounds good.”

“Find anything exciting out there?”

“Not yet. Grace found us again.”

“Well, you two should come back. I don’t like the idea of leaving one of you alone out there. Faster we get this weapon made, faster we can take care of this thing.”

“Okay. I’ll tell Sam.” Dean hesitated. “Should we call Jason? He was good backup before.”

“Slow backup.”

“But he helped.”

“Okay,” Bobby relented. “I guess that way one of you could stay out there, warn people off, and the other could come to Point Reyes.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll come pick one of you up at the trailhead now,” Bobby told him, and hung up.

Dean noticed he had a voicemail message on his phone and checked it. It was Jason, telling them to look him up if they were ever back that way. “Nice hunting with you,” he’d said, and hung up.

Dean debated, worried that at best Jason might slow them down, and at worst, get himself killed. But finally he decided the extra help would be welcome, especially if they all had to split up. He called him, catching Jason at the Aces and Eights.

“Yo, Dean,” Jason said.

“Hey Jason. How’s it going?”

“Can’t complain. Ribs better. You guys must be halfway across Utah by now. To what do I owe the honor?”

“We’re actually back in the Tahoe National Forest.”

“What?”

“There have been more killings.”

“Another wendigo? I thought they were solitary.”

“So did we. But it’s not a wendigo. It’s something worse.”

Jason sounded incredulous. “Something worse?”

“Yeah. An aswang.”

“An ass what?”

“Something we don’t want to mess with lightly. Bobby knows a hunter in Point Reyes who can make a weapon for us.”

“Where are you now?”

“Near the Finder Mountain Trailhead.”

“I’m coming to meet you.”

“Okay.” He looked at his watch. “When can you get here?”

“Give me two hours, maybe a little more. Got to gear up and then I’ll leave.”

“Thanks, man.” They agreed to meet at the trailhead and Dean hung up.

He rejoined Sam and Grace in the clearing. “Agent Cash has a lead,” he told Sam.

“Great. Does he want us back there?”

“Yeah. A.s.a.p.”

Grace smiled ruefully. “So I’m back to being on my own?”

“Sorry, ranger. Looks like it,” Sam told her.

“I’m used to it. Wouldn’t survive long in this gig if I didn’t like being alone.”

“Call us if you run into any trouble,” Dean said. He handed her one of their fake F.B.I. business cards, though the number on it was accurate.

“And you’ll come running?” she asked dubiously.

Dean smiled. “Something like that.”

“Well, good luck,” she told them, and set off again in the direction she’d been heading.

“I don’t like the thought of her out here alone,” Sam said as they watched her go.

“Me, either,” Dean agreed. “But she’s tough. Besides, we can’t force her back to town.”

“Maybe we should level with her.”

“Are you kidding me, Sam? Level with her? She’d laugh us out of the forest. And then probably lock us up.”

“So what did Bobby say?”

“He thinks he has a line on a weapon that might kill it. He wants one of us to go with him to the bay area. I called Jason for backup. He’s meeting us at the trailhead.”

They started walking back, keeping an eye out for hikers. The trees grew thick in this area, broken only by large expanses of grey granite. They ducked and bent, moving through a particularly dense section of pines, and Dean heard something moving ahead of them. “Sam!” he whispered.

They squatted behind a boulder. Footsteps drew nearer, something big and bipedal moving through the underbrush.

They waited tensely and it grew closer. Dean stood up suddenly, bringing his .45 to bear.

From around a bend in the trail, a hiker with a huge backcountry pack appeared, face lit up and grinning beneath a shock of blond hair.

Dean stepped out, flashing his F.B.I. badge. “This area’s been closed off.”

The hiker’s face fell. “What? I’ve been planning this trip for ages. Finally got the time off.”

Sam emerged, showing his F.B.I. I.D. as well. “Sorry, sir. There’s a manhunt in progress.”

The hiker’s eyes went wide, and he glanced around nervously. “Manhunt? Like, serial killer manhunt?”

Sam took the man’s elbow and turned him around on the path. “The sooner you return to your vehicle and leave the area, the better.”

Looking thoroughly spooked, the hiker did as he was told, moving at a quick pace back the way he’d come. Sam and Dean followed at a distance, making sure he got back to the trailhead safely. Soon they reached the parking area, and watched while the man loaded his pack into his car and drove off.

While they waited, they turned away two couples and a guy with a dog.

Soon they heard the rumble of Jason’s truck. He pulled in next to the Impala and got out, lifting a hand in greeting. Hefting a pack out of the passenger side, he slung it on his back.

He strode over to them. “So, what kind of fight are we looking at?”

“Big,” Dean said.

“Mean,” Sam added. “Seriously bad news.”

“So how do we fight it?”

“Bobby’s figuring that out now,” Dean told him.

Jason looked around the forest. “We can’t just wait around. People are hiking into these woods all the time. I made two people turn back on the road just now. Told them some crazy story about a pack of rabid dogs. I think they were more scared of me than my story.”

“One of us has to go to the coast with Bobby to get what we need for a weapon.”

“It’ll work?”

“We’re not sure yet. But it’s the best lead we’ve got.”

Jason sized up Dean. “You up for staying out here with me, fending that thing off?”

Dean felt a slight pang of something within him. It felt good to be needed. “Sounds good. Sam, you go with Bobby. We’ll stay here and patrol, try to discourage people from spending the night out here until you two get back.”

Sam shifted his weight. “You sure, Dean?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“All right. Sounds like a plan.”

Some tiny part of himself that Dean was ashamed to admit was there felt a little hurt at Sam’s nonchalant answer. So Dean would stay out here, fighting this thing, while Sam headed off to the bay with Bobby. He could remember a time when Sam wouldn’t have left his side. Now it seemed like Dean was merely an afterthought, and sometimes not even that.

“Okay,” Dean said. “That’s the plan.”

A few minutes later, Bobby’s van pulled up in the trailhead lot, its tires crunching on the gravel. He stepped out. “Jason,” he said in greeting.

“Good to see you again, Bobby,” the other hunter answered.

Bobby eyed Dean. “You boys going to be okay out here on your own?”

Dean nodded. “Someone’s got to keep people from entering this thing’s territory.”

Sam put his gear into the backseat of Bobby’s van and rejoined them. “Be safe, Dean.”

Bobby looked at his watch. “And check in every six hours. If we don’t hear from you, we’re coming back here pronto.”

Sam and Bobby climbed into the van and Dean watched them drive off. Now only their car and Jason’s beat up pickup waited at the trailhead parking lot. At least that meant there weren’t other hikers out there right now, at least none from this access point. Now all Dean had to do was keep people safe until Bobby and Sam returned.

He and Jason walked back into the forest, alert to every sound and any hint of movement, while Dean gave Jason the rundown on what they were hunting this time. They passed through a dense copse of trees and emerged from the other side, moving toward a trail on the map. Dean figured most hikers would move along that path. They walked for a couple of hours, not running into anyone or seeing any hint of the aswang.

A sudden rain of pebbles from a nearby ridge snapped his attention in that direction. A gaunt figure stood on top of the rocks there, some three hundred feet away. It stared down at them, unmoving. “What the hell?” Jason asked.

Dean pulled out his binoculars, but before he could train them on the person, he had vanished.

“Did you see him?” Dean asked.

Jason nodded. “Skinny son of a bitch.”

Dean pulled out his handgun and ran toward the bottom of the ridge. A steep but do-able slope of granite rose up to the top. Dean ran up the rock, aiming his gun in front of him as he drew near the crest. After a few feet, he’d reach the tree where the man had stood. Dean ducked low, hurrying toward it. He couldn’t see over the other side of the rock from there. He reached the top and pointed his gun down, scanning the other side of the ridge. A lot of open country stretched out before him. All he could see were more mountains, valleys, brush, and the ski resorts in the distance. Whoever had been standing there had lit out fast. Maybe too fast to be human.

He moved along the top of the ridge, checking the area. No one. When he looked down, Jason stood at the base of the slope with his rifle out. He was using the scope to scan the hill.

“Anything?” Dean called down.

“Nope.”

Dean descended, keeping his .45 out. They joined up at the bottom.

“What was it?” Jason asked.

“I have no idea. Dude was gone.”

They hiked for another half an hour, moving through trees. In the distance they thought they heard human voices, a long way off. They started moving in that direction, wanting to turn away any new hikers.

A sudden flash of movement brought Dean’s attention to the remains of a massive rockslide that had swept down the mountain in antiquity. Huge granite boulders piled up to a small level area with few trees. Standing next to one of the pines was the same thin figure they’d seen earlier. It looked human, lean and tall. Dean stared harder. Shifting his rifle from his shoulder, he pointed its scope to the spot. Standing next to the tree was a rail-thin man, one hand on the trunk. He was too far away to make out any features. He darted away, dropping out of sight as soon as Dean focused on him.

“Jason! There’s someone up there. I think it’s the same person we saw before.”

Jason trained his scope on the ridge, too. “I don’t see anyone.”

“He’s fast.” Dean lowered his rifle. He scanned the ridge one more time for the strange figure, but didn’t see anyone. Dude was used to hiding, whoever or whatever he was.

They continued on, but now they couldn’t hear the voices. Sound had a strange way of carrying in the forest. Things that were far away sounded close—voices, waterfalls—as they bounced off the granite walls. Dean wondered if they were walking near another trail.

As he paused to check the map, he suddenly felt eyes burning into him. Pivoting, he saw the figure again, only this time he stood only a hundred feet away. He’d crept up on them, moving with no sound. A dark hood was pulled around his head, obscuring the face. Dean snapped up his rifle, ready to fire.