Supernatural Fresh Meat (35 page)

Dean thought about how lucky she was to have been in another part of the building. She’d been the first person the rescuers had found when the storm broke.

Sam appeared from behind one of the wrecked walls of the resort. The avalanche had decimated almost the entire lodge, leaving only a couple of pillars and one of the stone walls intact. Amazingly, the chandelier still hung from the only crossbeam standing.

Sam walked over to his brother. While Dean recovered feeling in his body, he and Bobby had been helping dig people out. He looked tired as hell.

“Grace is talking,” he told Dean.

Dean got up, hurrying over to her. Sam joined him.

“Dean,” she said, smiling when she saw him. “What the hell was that thing?”

Dean looked around carefully, then brought a finger to his lips. “I’ll tell you in a minute when we have more privacy.”

Bobby walked over too. He eyed Grace suspiciously.

“We know you’re not a ranger,” Sam told her.

Weakly, she lifted a finger to her lips, imitating Dean. “I’m out here tracking bear poachers,” she whispered. “It’s easier to check people’s permits and find out if they’re legit when you pretend to be a ranger. Some assholes have been killing bears to take their organs to sell on the black market as aphrodisiacs. I was tracking them up by Silverado Ridge. I found a bear killed, with its gall bladder missing. Then the trail just went dead, as if those guys had vanished. I thought you guys were the poachers at first.” She gripped Dean’s hand. “Do you think that thing got them?”

He frowned, realizing how close she must have come to the aswang on numerous occasions. “Could be.”

“So you’re just an animal rights activist?” Bobby said, trying to suppress a smile.

“What’s funny about that?”

“Nothing. Nothing,” he said quickly.

“And what do you mean ‘just’ an animal rights activist?” She eyed him irritably.

Dean grinned, happy to see her fire back.

Sam scanned the horizon. “Bobby, it’s getting dark. We need to stay on this thing’s trail before it vanishes completely. Everyone’s been pulled out of the wreckage who made it. We need to go.”

Bobby met his gaze. “Agreed.”

Grace wriggled her boot. “I can come, too. I’m fine.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? Move your legs.”

She couldn’t. She frowned. “You see those bear poachers, you tell me where I can find them.”

“Will do,” Bobby told her.

They suited up, got fresh water and a little more food. Dean still felt weak, but he knew they couldn’t lose the trail now. They had to find the aswang.

Donning their snowshoes, the three of them trekked off into the snowy forest to find Jason and end it.

SIXTY-THREE

Sam snowshoed along next to Bobby and Dean, grateful for the shafts of sunshine sneaking through the trees. Memories of the fight on the narrow ledge and Bobby cutting the rope surfaced and he pushed them away. The three of them were together, and in reasonably good shape, despite everything. Now they just had to find the aswang. They had started out in the direction it had flown, but had no further glimpse of it.

Bobby stopped next to a tree. “It makes sense that it needs a place where it can store its victims, eat them over a long period of time,” he said, obviously giving voice to a train of thought he’d been following.

Darkness flashed over Dean’s face. “With them paralyzed, it wouldn’t necessarily need to be a place where no one would hear screams. They wouldn’t be able to scream.”

“It wouldn’t have to worry about the smell, either, because it keeps them alive,” Sam added.

“Until it stuffs all the unused organs into a body and has it march out of the lair, at any rate.” Bobby winced. “So what does that leave us?”

“A mine, maybe,” Sam suggested. “But the lair doesn’t have to be underground.”

“A cabin, like the one I came across. But I didn’t see any evidence of it keeping victims there, just its eggs.”

“So it’s got a separate place where it caches its food. It’s secretive, so someplace reclusive where interested passersby won’t investigate.” Bobby lifted his woolen cap, rubbed his head, and replaced it.

“I still think a mine’s our best bet,” Sam insisted. “They’re mostly closed now and have ‘no trespassing’ signs posted all over the entrance.”

“I’m leaning your way, Sam.”

Bobby pulled out his map. They clustered around it, finding the wendigo’s mine, the spot where the hunter’s buddies had found the blood pool, the area where Sam and Dean had first been attacked by the aswang, then the approximate location of the cabin where Dean had found the eggs.

“Grace said she was tracking those bear poachers near Silverado Ridge before they vanished,” Dean added. He pointed to it on the map.

Sam scanned for a nearby mine symbol. Sure enough, one stood in the middle of the activity.

“That’s our spot,” Bobby said.

Sam found their current location. “So, about a mile and a half due east.”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the stingray whip.

They walked steadily, not saying anything to each other.

Dean seemed quiet. Sam knew it must have eaten him up, being so helpless while the aswang fed. He’d always had a thing about feeling useless. But Dean was strong. Even though he and Bobby worried Dean’s head wasn’t in the game, Sam was sure that in the end Dean would always fight, and would fight with everything in him.

They trudged through the snow, covering the mile and a half in little more than half an hour. Stopping in a dense cluster of trees, they spotted the mine entrance some hundred feet away, set into a face of rock. Rusty bars covered the entrance in an attempt to keep out curious explorers. A sign read, “Danger. Unsafe Mine. Stay Out. Stay Alive.” But the gate had long ago been compromised, the bars wrenched away along the bottom, leaving plenty of room to come and go.

Sam held the whip coiled in one hand, while Dean and Bobby gripped knives soaked in spices. Taking off their snowshoes, they left them by the entrance. Then they stepped through the bars, ducking under the rusty metal. Darkness enveloped them as they entered the old mine. A rank gust of methane assaulted Sam’s senses.

“No bullets,” Bobby warned them unnecessarily.

Switching on headlamps, they studied the dirt on the mine floor. A mess of recent footprints disturbed the soil there, some bare, some booted. Bobby pointed out a set of bare feet with claws that lay on top of the others. Sam nodded and they followed them.

Aside from the beams of their headlamps, darkness closed in on them as they turned the first corner. Blood had seeped into the floor in places, red and fresh.

Dean sniffed the air. “I can smell the same sizzling meat smell I did in the lodge. He’s in here.”

They followed the footprints, turning several corners and then descending down a long shaft. The smell of methane grew stronger. An ancient electrical line ran along the ceiling, rusted hooks holding the cables in place by the supporting beams.

At the end of the long tunnel, three forks branched off. Bobby investigated each one, then chose the middle way. It dipped farther underground, taking them deeper and deeper into the mine. Fresh blood continued to dot the soil. Dirt stirred up as they walked, drifting in motes in the glow of their headlamps. The tunnel led them to a wide space where the mine walls had been worked in antiquity. An old mine car stood there, some pieces of ore still sitting in it.

Bobby held up a fist to signal for them to stop. He searched the floor, finding the set of bare feet again and motioning them forward.

Sam strained to hear any sound at all. Sometimes a gust of foul wind blew through the mine, but other than that ghostly rush of air, it was silent.

They walked through a narrow opening into another tunnel which angled off to the right, dipping still lower. The scent of methane was now so strong that Sam felt like he was walking in a sewer. He gripped the whip handle, trying to strain the smell through his teeth. It didn’t work.

At the next junction they continued right, following the tracks. A long, low wail echoed eerily down the mine tunnel. Instantly, the three froze, listening. It came again.

“That him?” Sam whispered to Dean.

Dean listened, then furrowed his brow. “Hard to say.”

“Well, it’s someone,” Bobby said. “Let’s go.”

They followed the sound, keeping track of the blood and footprints. They led in the same direction.

Sam could hear water trickling from one of the tunnels. The sound bounced erratically off the walls, throwing off which direction it lay in. The low moan echoed again, drifting down the tunnels, sounding like it was coming from several directions at once.

Bobby stuck to the physical trail, leading them down another corridor, angling downward again. The water sound grew louder, a stream cascading over rocks.

They reached a narrow opening in the rock, small and unsupported by beams. Bobby stuck his head through, shining the light around. Then he bent down and stepped through. When Sam followed, the sound of water instantly grew louder.

Sam’s headlamp revealed a spring rushing down one of the walls, forming a rivulet of water that bounced along a stony channel out of sight. It wasn’t much water; the mine distorted the noise, making it sound like a rushing torrent.

As Dean pressed through the smaller hole, Bobby froze, bringing up his fist again to signal a halt. Sam followed his gaze. At the extent of their headlamps, propped up in the gloom, sat two men, feet near the rivulet of water. They wore fatigues and hiking boots with hunter caps.

Sam gripped the weapon. The men didn’t move or look up.

Dean put a hand on Sam’s arm. “Their jackets have been ripped open.”

Sam turned his head. “Meaning?”

“Aswang food.”

Slowly the three moved closer, Sam aware now that the creature could be there in the shadows.

Dean reached the men first. He touched the necks of both, then turned to Sam and Bobby. “Dead.”

He tilted one body forward, revealing a bare back with multiple puncture wounds sealed with gleaming saliva.

Bobby winced. “Just like the guy we brought back to the hospital. Looks like it didn’t leave them with much. Maybe the gall bladder.”

Sam took in their clothing. Each had rifles still strapped to their shoulders. They’d been paralyzed, in all likelihood. He went through their pockets, finding some papers and a well-used map with handwritten markings all over it. He held it up for the others.

“Check this out.” The map had bear symbols on it, dotted in different areas. One bear had a red X through it. “I’ll bet they were the two poachers Grace was looking for.”

“Looks like their organ harvesting didn’t work out quite the way they expected,” Bobby said drily.

They stood up, leaving the men where they sat. Bobby searched for more signs of the tracks.

Something stirred close by, an exhalation of breath that startled Sam. He turned, seeing a flash of movement streak by the two bodies. It moved behind them, cutting them off.

“There!” Sam yelled. He uncoiled the whip.

A silhouette vanished through the tunnel they’d come from and Sam leapt over the little rivulet, giving chase. In the bouncing beam of his headlamp, he saw the shadow of wings on the far wall as something moved in front of him. He cast the whip out in that direction, but it landed in dirt. He ran forward, seeing the shadow move as he rounded corners. It was right in front of him.

He threw the whip out again, and this time felt it catch. The whip tugged sharply, almost ripping out of Sam’s hand. He wound it around his chest and then his shoulder, tying it into a knot as best he could. Then he gripped the handle with both hands. The pressure on the other end tugged him forward, and he almost fell over.

He heard Dean shout behind him, “You got him?”

Sam opened his mouth to answer and was tugged face down in the dirt. He tasted the bittersweet of soil and then his whole body jerked forward, dragged along the mine floor.

He caught a glimpse of Dean and Bobby behind him, their headlamps darting wildly over the mine walls as they ran.

Another tremendous jerk sent him flying through the air, slamming into a wall as the aswang rounded a corner ahead of him. Sam slid to the ground just as another great heave lifted him up. His legs kicked out as he slammed down again onto the ground. Then he was airborne, zipping through the tunnels they’d come down, careening into the walls every time the aswang met another junction and turned.

“Dean!” he shouted, not sure he could hold on.

They couldn’t lose Jason now. He squeezed his eyes shut against the rain of dust and concentrated on feeling his hands grip the whip handle. The tightly coiled whip bit savagely into his shoulder. He tried to keep track of how many turns they’d made.

Daylight burst over him. He was facing backward, and saw the mine entrance appear below him. They exited with such speed that his breath caught. His legs spiraled in the air and he tried to twist to see the aswang. He could hear its wings flapping laboriously, feel the gusts of air from it. Below him the mine entrance grew tiny.