Supernatural Fresh Meat

SIXTY-FIVE




Dean collapsed on a pile of rocks outside the mine. “Man, I want a burger… Two burgers. With bacon. And extra cheese.” He wiped black aswang gunk from his face and rubbed his hands on his pants.

Sam sat down in the snow nearby. Bobby stood, checking his wrist, pushing his sleeve up to examine the swelling. It hadn’t gotten any better.

Dean frowned. “It’s not over yet.”

Sam looked at where the aswang had vaporized. “What?”

“Eggs,” Dean reminded them.

Bobby nodded. “Eggs.” He pulled his sleeve back in place. “Where did you hide them?”

Dean thought back to angling away from the cabin, finding the boulder with the crevice. It felt like a long time ago. “If we can reach that cabin, I can retrace my steps. I think we need the stingray barb to destroy them. Nothing I did hurt them at all, not even the spices.”

Sam reached over and grabbed the whip, then coiled it up and put it in his pocket.

Bobby glanced around the snowy forest. Now that the sun gleamed down on the white powder, it was dazzlingly bright. He fished into his pocket and pulled out his snow goggles, fastening them in place. “Let’s go.”

They drank some water and walked to where they’d left their snowshoes by the mine entrance. Checking the map, they determined where the cabin was and started out. Dean couldn’t believe how much easier it was to navigate when they could actually see the rock formations around them. Bobby used his compass and expertly directed them toward the cabin. Now that the avalanche had released the tension, hiking the shorter way was once again an option.

Dean had been so relieved to see Bobby and Sam again at the lodge, but now that they were all together, they didn’t say much. They walked in relative silence, each consumed in his own thoughts. All of them had taken a beating on this one. Dean tuned out all the aches and pains that wracked his body. After years of practice, he’d made an art of it.

As they crossed a meadow and entered a cluster of trees, Dean finally spoke. “Heard you guys fought some vampires at Point Reyes.”

“Decapitations galore,” Bobby said.

“Fought some more on a cliff top on the way here,” Sam added. His tone was light, but Dean could see it had been rough.

Dean told them about Jimmy, how Jason had sold him out to the vampires in exchange for them killing Sam and Bobby. He was another casualty of the hunter life. Dean felt bad about what had happened to him. He more than anyone understood what it was like to be turned into a vampire, and the guy had still saved Dean’s bacon, not to mention Grace and Steven.

After two hours of hiking, they reached the cabin. Dean checked under the sink, to be sure he hadn’t missed any eggs, and that the aswang hadn’t laid any more.

“Hey, Bobby,” he called from the kitchen.

Bobby entered the cabin, looking around. “Yeah?”

Sam joined them.

“Do you think there was more than one clutch of eggs?”

Bobby shook his head. “According to the Spanish missionary, an aswang has one shot to lay eggs in its lifetime, and they have to eat more than usual to be able to do it.”

Sam lifted his eyebrows in realization. “That’s why so many hikers vanished in such a short period of time out here, why the aswang had managed to stay off hunter radar until now.”

Dean frowned, disgusted. “It had to gorge on human organs to get itself pregnant? I may not eat a burger tonight after all.”

“Usually only one or two of the eggs hatch,” Bobby continued. “And often they die afterward, when they’re young.”

“So those eggs were its last chance,” Sam said.

Dean moved past them, leaving the cabin. “Then let’s fry the suckers.”

He retraced his steps to the little creek, looking for familiar landmarks. Now that he could actually see more than thirty feet into the forest, things looked different. He followed the stream, looking for the large jumble of boulders.

At last, gleaming with snow in the sunlight, they came into view.

“There!” Dean said.

They moved to the largest of the two boulders, and Dean found the crevice where he’d stashed the eggs. He borrowed Bobby’s headlamp and shone it inside. He saw the patch of soil where he’d buried the makeshift sack.

“I’m going in.”

He slid into the narrow space, squeezing his way along the cold granite. Once again, the tightness of the place made breathing difficult. When he had shimmied all the way in, he kicked his feet at the clump of dirt covering the eggs. A hint of the carpet appeared and he used the toe of his boot to hook underneath the cord binding the top. Then he lifted it up, saying another silent prayer that the things weren’t about to hatch. His grasping fingers took the carpet from his foot and he started to shimmy out. A gust of fresh air blew through the tiny space, sending up a spiral of dirt. He continued on, finally reaching the entrance, and climbed out, throwing the carpet of eggs onto the snow.

“All right. Let’s do this,” Bobby said, untying the cord.

The carpet fell open to reveal all the leathery grey eggs. None had hatched.

Sam pulled the whip out. Holding the barb, he pierced one of the eggs. Vile grey mucous spilled out. The egg rolled, pulsating, then the shell burst into flames. Dean kicked it away from the others. It simmered and spat, sparks flying outward. A billow of black smoke consumed it and, with a muffled whump, the egg turned to ash.

Sam pierced the other eggs, one by one, destroying them all.

When only ash covered the carpet, the three hunters stood around it, gazing down thoughtfully.

“Well, that’s that,” Bobby said finally.

“What’s next?” Sam asked.

Bobby looked thoughtful. “There’s still that possible rakshasa eating folks near Springdale, Utah.”

Dean smiled. “Your favorite, Sammy. Maybe it’ll be posing as a clown again.”

“I still can’t believe you made me stay at the Three Ring Motel.”

Dean looked to Bobby. “So we’re going to gank the sucker?” His stomach growled. “After we eat, I mean.”

Bobby nodded. “After we eat.”

“I get to drive,” Dean said to Sam, thinking of his beloved Impala waiting at the trailhead.

Sam smiled. “Be my guest.”

They gathered their belongings and made their way back through the now-sunlit forest.





Acknowledgments

My deepest gratitude to Jason, for his unending encouragement, support, and belief in my writing. Thank you to Draven for bringing me laughter, and to Lynne for championing my work. To Becky, Sarah, and Francesca, I give my love and thanks for their longtime friendships and encouragement.

Once again, my agent Howard Morhaim proved invaluable, and hearty thanks to Jo Boylett and Cath Trechman at Titan Books. The feedback of Christopher Cerasi and Rebecca Dessertine at Warner Bros. was most helpful.

Many thanks to the cast and crew of Supernatural, whose collective work makes the show such a delight to experience. It was a pleasure to write this novel.

And finally, I extend much admiration to the spectacular area around Lake Tahoe, with its snowy peaks and abundant wildlife. I hope that the residents of the Tahoe Basin can forgive the few geographic liberties I took with the area for the sake of storytelling.





About the Author

Alice Henderson is a writer of fiction, comics, and video game material. Her horror novel Voracious pits a lone hiker against a shapeshifting creature. She has written Buffy the Vampire Slayer novels, and her Buffy novel Portal Through Time won the Scribe Award for Best Novel. Her work has appeared in Dark Horse’s Creepy comic. While working at LucasArts, she wrote video game material for several Star Wars titles. She holds a master’s degree in folklore and mythology and her graduate research focused on monsters such as Bigfoot and El Chupacabra. Please visit her at www.alicehenderson.com.