Supernatural Fresh Meat

TWENTY-NINE




Barreling east along I-80, Bobby looked over at Sam, who placed his phone dejectedly in his lap. They’d been on the road for hours, with no further vampire incidents.

“Any luck?”

Sam shook his head. “Going straight to voicemail.”

“I still say the battery might be dead.”

Sam shrugged. “Then why wouldn’t he recharge it at the Impala?”

“Hot on the trail?”

“I hope that’s what it is.”

Sam dialed another number, then hung up. “Jason isn’t answering his, either.”

“We’ll be there soon. Dean will be fine.”

Sam looked over at him. “What about Dean’s head not being in the game?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Bobby insisted, but Sam could feel the weight of that white lie.

“I don’t like this.”

“Well, neither do I, but bitchin’ about it isn’t going to get us there any faster.”

They had left Point Reyes Station two hours ago, and were now passing through Sacramento. The American River sparkled in the sunlight as they passed over it, barges and a paddleboat lining its banks. The drive felt four times longer than it had on their way out.

They climbed into the foothills. As the elevation increased, they passed a sign that warned that snow chains were required on all vehicles heading east into the Sierra Nevadas. Bobby assured Sam he had chains in the back of the van.

Flurries started as they reached the historic town of Auburn. The snowfall increased as they got higher, and soon it was snowing so hard they could hardly see the road. A layer of ground fog hung thickly just above the highway, and Bobby slowed to a crawl behind a line of cars trying to reach Lake Tahoe and Reno beyond.

“This is terrible,” Sam said as they slowed down to five miles per hour.

A yellow road hazard sign glowed through the mist, warning them that the chain checkpoint was just a mile ahead. Bobby pulled over on the side of the highway and he and Sam quickly fitted the van with chains, tightening them down over the wheels. In five minutes they were back in the car, rattling toward the checkpoint.

As they neared the checkpoint agent, they crept ahead, a few feet at a time. The agent waved them ahead, seeing the chains on the van.

“How heavy is it snowing at Truckee?” Bobby asked.

“Highway might be closed by the time you get there. This is a whopper of a storm. You might have to spend the night there, or at the very least kill a few hours in a restaurant.”

“Thanks,” Bobby said, his mouth pulled into a colorless slit.

He pulled clear of the agent and picked up some speed, though the cars in front of them were only moving about twenty miles an hour. Still, it was better than the agonizing inching along they had been doing.

“Do you think Dean’s out in this?”

“He’s a smart kid. He can handle himself.”

Suddenly, the silver Escort in front lost control, skidding dangerously close to a guard rail.

“Jesus!” Bobby cursed, angling around it just in time.

The Escort recovered and pulled back onto the road.

“Idjits!”

As they moved along, it seemed to Bobby the road was filled with people who had never driven in snow before. Cars skidded dangerously close to each other, and they passed one that had gotten hung up near the median after driving into a snowdrift. A tow truck was attempting to pull it out. The cycling yellow light on top of the truck cut through the snowy haze, causing Sam to squint.

It was going to take them a long time to reach Truckee at this rate. Sam only hoped that Dean was somewhere warm and dry.

He looked into the back seat. The whip rested reassuringly by his winter jacket. Outside, snow obscured the road, making it hard to determine where lanes ended and began. Consequently, everyone had merged into a single, painstakingly slow line. Sam hoped Dean could hang on a little longer.