Supernatural Fresh Meat (36 page)

The aswang circled, heading for a mass of granite boulders that protruded from the base of an outcropping. Sam held tight to the whip, stealing a glance upward. The aswang surged up and down in the air, leathery wings working to support both of their weights, its snout twisted with the effort.

It flew up, moving higher and higher, and below him Sam saw the meadow in front of the mine spinning. He could now barely make out the mine entrance, just a dot of darkness against the grey of the granite rock wall.

With a gust of air, the aswang dove past Sam, and for a brief moment, Sam was weightless, hanging there in the sunshine. Then the whip jerked down on him, the breath rushing from his chest at the sudden constriction. The aswang folded its wings and dropped.

Suddenly, its wings came out, lifting upward, and Sam arced under it, swinging out on the extent of the whip. It hovered in mid-air, letting the whip continue its arc toward the mess of treacherous stone, and Sam saw the aswang’s plan. He sped toward the granite outcropping.

Sam held his feet out, bracing for the inevitable impact. He considered attempting to untie the whip, but couldn’t let Jason fly away with their only means of destroying the aswang.

One jagged edge slammed into the side of his head and his teeth clacked together. Bright points of light swam around him as his shoulder struck simultaneously, followed by his knee. His weight on the whip felt instantly heavier as he went slack, trying to stay conscious. He caught the briefest glimpse of Bobby and Dean below him, emerging from the mine, staring around for him. Then Dean saw him, pointing upward.

Sam’s hands slipped from the whip handle, but the knot around his torso and shoulder held. His feet scrabbled on the rocks, trying to find purchase. He managed to lift his heavy head and looked up to see the aswang hovering above him, enraged coppery eyes staring down.

It darted upward again, flying straight for the clouds. The whip jerked around Sam’s chest and shoulder and he flew straight up. The aswang was going to slam him against the rocks again, and Sam knew it wouldn’t stop until he was dead.

SIXTY-FOUR

Sam spiraled through the air, trying to right himself by kicking his legs and arms out, but it was fruitless. He dangled at the mercy of the aswang.

It arced ever skyward, then suddenly dove past Sam again. He knew that in a second the whip would cinch tightly around his chest and shoulder and held on as best he could. He could hear Bobby and Dean shouting below, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then he was careening downward again, swinging out for that sharp pile of jagged rock.

He heard gunfire, the crack of Bobby’s .30-30.

The whip jerked against Sam and his body whirled around, slamming his back into the granite boulders. A sharp edge jabbed into his thigh, another into his ribs. The air rushed out of his lungs and he gasped for a breath while trying to catch a glimpse of the scene below.

Bobby ran with his rifle pointed upward. Then he fired again.

Movement on the rocks below Sam caught his attention. Dean jumped up toward him, taking the rocks three at a time. As Sam swung away from the pile of granite, he leapt, grabbing hold of the whip just above Sam’s head.

His added weight sent them plummeting downward. Dazed from the knock on the head, Sam felt the impact a second after it actually happened. Then he was flat on his back on the ground, staring up at the sky and the hovering creature, its huge wings flapping.

Dean moved hand over hand along the whip, yanking the aswang downward as it strained to fly higher. Sam struggled to his feet, joining Dean. Together they wrenched the whip downward, making slow progress.

The aswang twisted on the end of the whip, then brought its hands down to scratch where the barb lay embedded in its flesh.

“We can’t let it get free,” Dean said.

Bobby ran up, jumped and grabbed a higher section of the whip. The three of them pulled it lower and lower, while it tore at its own flesh.

Sam could see the aswang’s hands smoldering every time it touched the whip. The spices were working. The insectile face twisted in pain.

They were down twenty feet, then ten, and then Bobby reached up and grabbed one of the clawed feet. He seized the other one, yanking it to the ground. Sam ran over, catching hold of the aswang’s arms. He put all his strength into holding it down. It bucked beneath them, alarmingly strong, but weakened.

Dean grabbed the barb and dragged it downward through the flesh, tearing through its stomach. The barb ripped open its torso and Sam could see the aswang’s beating heart.

Dean yanked the barb upward and it caught around the rib cage, then he twisted it. The serrated tip pierced the aswang’s heart. It burst open, black fluid spewing over all of them. The creature fluttered on the ground, body going into spasms. Then its heart caught fire, flames engulfing the entire chest cavity.

They leapt back as searing heat swept over the body. With a dull
whump
it ignited, completely engulfed in flames. It sizzled, globules of spitting fat spraying outward. The body flailed, feet kicking out, wings flapping, and then it suddenly went limp. The fire burned to incandescent brightness, instantly turning the body to a heap of ash.

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