Supernatural Fresh Meat (34 page)

Bobby aimed his headlamp at the photograph, scanning the faces of the sailors and passengers. A nun shivered inside a blanket. A tough-looking sailor stared to the left of the cameraman, a haunted look on his face. Another man peered out from a wide-brimmed hat that was pushed low over his forehead. His face was darker than the others, with deep-set eyes and a square jaw. Bobby peered closer. Something was familiar about him. The photo didn’t have very good resolution. He pulled out the magnifying glass on his lensatic compass and held it over the face.

It was Jason.

Gathering up the folder, Bobby rolled over on his side in the sleeping bag. The wind howled at the tent door, flapping the material. The storm showed no signs of slowing down, and already the snow had drifted around his tent. He’d read through the rest of the clippings. Most described grisly murders of people found without organs, or with extra organs sealed up inside them. They happened in small towns along the coast in the 1860s, eventually moving into San Francisco. He’d only found the one photo of Jason, but it was enough.

“Sam!”

He heard him stir in the neighboring tent.

“Yeah?”

“Dean’s really in the drink this time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know who the aswang is. It’s not Grace.”

“Then who?”

“Jason.”

“What?”

“Check this out.”

Bobby unzipped his tent and handed the article over to Sam. He heard an answering zip and felt Sam take the photo. In another moment, light from Sam’s headlamp flooded the dark.

“Oh, my god. It’s him. And look at the date! 1863.”

Sam read over the article.

“What I want to know,” Bobby said, propping himself up on one elbow, “is how the hell he infiltrated a hunter’s bar?”

“He did a damn fine job. I believed him.”

“Me, too.”

“He knew dad. Or said he did.”

“And Bill Harvelle, and Ellen and Jo.”

“Even Ash and his mullet,” Sam added. “He was good.” Sam went quiet for a minute. “Dean has no idea.”

“Maybe he knows by now. We haven’t talked to him for a long time.”

“How long did you say it would take us to get to the resort?”

“Maybe we’ll reach it tomorrow, if the weather stays this good.”

“We’ve got to pick up the pace, Bobby.”

Bobby knew Sam was right, but unfortunately, they were already pushing themselves as much as they could. The weather held them at its mercy. Showing up a little late was better than not showing up at all because they were buried under ten feet of snow. But that didn’t make him any less impatient at how long it was taking to get up there.

SIXTY-ONE

Dean lay in the darkness, ears tensed for the slightest sound. He hadn’t heard Susan cry out for hours. Maybe Jimmy was right, maybe she’d gotten out. The venom had made him doze off a couple of times, he was pretty sure. He’d lost all sense of time, and the coldness of the trash-littered floor had seeped into his bones. He’d started shivering violently about an hour ago. He concentrated on staying awake. The space was so cramped that oxygen was getting slim now. He couldn’t get a deep enough breath.

But already he could wriggle his fingers. The paralysis was wearing off. He flexed his toes inside his boots. He could move his tongue now, too, and his lips.

When he was sure Jason was not in the room, he whispered, “Grace?” but she didn’t answer. “Don?” he whispered. No response there, either. He wondered if Don were still alive, if Jason had fed on him while Dean was unconscious. He waited to hear Jimmy at the vent again, now that he could talk, but only silence hovered in the room.

He heard someone walking through the narrow hallway. Jason entered the room and walked straight to him. Dean pretended to be unconscious, but a swift kick in his ribs brought forth an uncontrollable
oomph
.

Jason knelt down over him.

“What did you do with them?” He prodded Dean’s back with his sharp fingers. Then he punched him in the face, grabbing a fistful of his hair and wrenching his head back. “Where did you put the eggs?”

Dean felt blood streaming down from his nose, but he kept his eyes shut.

“I know you’re awake, you piece of crap hunter. Where did you put them?”

Dean could hear more than anger in his voice. Desperation tinged it. Dean wondered if aswangs only had one shot at producing offspring in a lifetime.

He kept his body limp, hoping to buy time. He couldn’t fight Jason when he was tied up like this.

“Just tell me. You already helped me once, you and your brother and that sad alcoholic excuse for a hunter you call Bobby Singer.” He hit Dean in the back of the head.

Dean was really starting to hate the guy.

“That damn wendigo was finishing all my kills. I like to take my time. Stupid ape was finding my half-finished meals and stealing them.” He leaned closer to Dean, rank breath creeping into Dean’s nostrils. “But you made quick work of him for me.”

Dean felt rage fill him, but he remained silent. He was so going to kill this son of a bitch.

“Okay then,” Jason spat angrily.

He stood up and stomped across the room. At the small pile of people, he seized Grace. He slammed her down next to Dean, then turned her face so she stared straight at him. Her eyes were wide and teary, desperate and terrified.

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to suck every organ out of her right in front of you.” He sneered in the gloom. “And I’ll make it last.”

Grace’s eyes widened.

He kicked Dean again. “I know you can talk!”

Dean flinched. If he told Jason, he’d kill them both anyway. But he couldn’t watch Grace die in front of him like that. If only he knew how far out Bobby and Sam were.

“I’ll ask you one more time. Where are the eggs?”

Dean remained silent.

Jason flipped Grace over on her stomach. He ripped open the back of her parka, exposing her bare skin. Then the feeding tube came down, finding just the right spot. Dean could see the glistening needle teeth inside the pulsing snout. It paused over her kidneys.

“No!” he shouted, struggling against the ropes.

“Something you want to tell me?” Jason asked.

Dean stared into his coppery eyes in the gloom. “Let her go! Your fight is with me!”

“Not a chance. I know you won’t talk. You’re a hunter. It’s the greater good with you lot. You’re not going to spill your guts unless some innocent person is in danger. Maybe not even then,” he added.

The proboscis returned to sliding down Grace’s back. “What do you think? The appendix? The gall bladder? What can she live without for now?”

The needle teeth pierced the skin of her back, and Dean heard her draw in a sharp breath.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Dean shouted, thrashing around.

Blood spilled from the wound and the feeding tube started thrumming.

A two-by-four came swinging out of the shadows, striking Jason on the back of the head. He sprawled forward, teeth tearing free. Jimmy swung for a second time.

Dean struggled to reach the Bowie knife in his jacket pocket, but couldn’t even get close.

Jimmy struck Jason again and again, driving him back toward the hallway. He shoved him through the door. When the aswang stumbled onto his back in the hallway, Jimmy tugged on the lockers against the wall, heaving them up and over on their side. Metal clanged loudly as they fell into place between the room and the corridor.

Stuck on the other side, Jason banged furiously on the metal. The lockers shuddered under the force of his blows.

“My knife! In my left jacket pocket!” Dean yelled to Jimmy.

The vampire darted back, kneeling in front of Dean. He pulled out the knife and sliced through the rope. Dean felt his arms and feet fall to the ground with exquisite relief. He rolled over onto his back, taking the knife from Jimmy, then cut through the rope at his wrists and ankles.

Panic seized Jimmy. “I don’t know what we’re going to do now! That’s going to hold him for about five seconds.”

Jason still pounded on the lockers.

“Where does that air vent go?” Dean asked him.

“Into another part of the building.”

“Has Jason been in there yet?”

Jimmy shook his head. “No, but you’ll never fit. You’re huge.”

“Get into the vent.”

With vampire speed and reflexes, Jimmy spun and leapt up into the vent. Dean stood up on shaking legs. Grabbing Grace fireman-style, he hefted her over his shoulder. Rushing to the air vent, he lifted her up and Jimmy grabbed her shoulders.

“Drag her through to the other side.”

As cacophonous blows echoed through the little room, Dean hurried to where Don lay. He was still alive, but Dean realized that, with his beer belly, his girth would make the air vent too tight a squeeze. He turned Don over and grabbed Steven instead. The snow ranger was breathing steadily. Dean hefted him over to Jimmy.

“Take him, too!”

Jimmy pulled Steven all the way through, then wriggled back. “Give me someone else!”

With the wrenching of metal, the lockers toppled over. Jason stood in the doorway, wings flexing, eyes glowing angrily.

Dean braced himself to fight.

SIXTY-TWO

Dean was momentarily confused when the banging sound continued after the lockers had settled onto the floor. Then plaster rained down on him and he realized someone was trying to get in from above.

Jason grabbed Dean, throwing him to the side. He crashed painfully into a wall and slumped down next to the empty body. The aswang reached inside the air vent and Dean heard Jimmy cry out in surprise. He jumped up to help, but another backhanded blow from Jason sent Dean crashing backward, landing on a ruined desk.

Jason dragged Jimmy out of the hole, the vampire kicking him and clawing at him. Dean struggled to his feet, still shaky from the paralysis.

The banging sound continued overhead, filling the room.

Jimmy snarled at Jason, all his teeth growing sharp and his eyes gleaming in the dim light. He bit into Jason’s throat, blood spraying out. Jason placed his hands on both sides of Jimmy’s head and, in an instant, ripped his head from his torso. He tossed the head against the far wall.

Another surge of rage swept over Dean. Jason turned to him, eyes full of hate. Dean’s hand closed around the extra gun clip in his jacket, but he couldn’t see his gun. He’d hoped maybe Jimmy had been wrong, that Jason had left it there, but he hadn’t.

A large chunk of debris crashed down from above. Brilliant light spilled into the room. Dean glanced up to see blue sky, with snow falling toward him. He breathed in a gulp of the fresh air. He felt a sharp pain in his side and looked down to find Jason’s feeding tube attached to his stomach. He grabbed it, wrenching it out.

Something shattered at his feet. Jason screamed.

Bobby and Sam stood framed against the blue above him. They threw another vial of the spice concoction on Jason and his skin erupted in boils.

“More! More!” Dean yelled.

Vial after vial exploded onto Jason’s skin, causing the flesh to peel away in burning, sizzling strips. Screeching, his wings opened wide and he shot through the hole above, shoving Bobby and Sam aside.

Dean watched him wing away across the blue. Then he was out of sight.

“God damn it!” he cursed. “Is he gone?”

Sam’s head turned to look back down at his brother. “Yes.”

Dean blinked against the brightness. “It’s good to see you. Get me the hell out of here!”

Two hours later, rescuers had gotten all the survivors out of the air vent and the collapsed building. The storm had lifted, and now only a few clouds drifted across the azure sky. Though the temperature was still hovering in the thirties, the sun beating down on Dean felt warm and reassuring. He sat in the snow, Susan beside him, cooling her broken leg in the frozen white.

She stared at Grace and Steven, who were lying a few feet away on stretchers. “They don’t have any wounds,” she said. “There was really a paralysis-causing gas leak down there?”

Dean shrugged. “Something did that to us. It wears off, though. I’m proof of that.”

“Jesus, this was the scariest time of my life.”