Supernatural Fresh Meat (25 page)

She blinked, trying to make sense of the map. Dean could tell she was struggling to focus. He reached his hand out. “This is where you thought we were.” He pointed to the place on the map.

She turned the map in her hands, closed her eyes for several long moments, then opened them again. She pulled the map closer, staring at it. “I think we walked on the wrong side of this ridge here.” She pointed to a steep incline. “See that?”

Dean did. On one side of the ridge stood Seven Boulder Meadow. On the other was a tiny alpine tarn called Little Heron Lake. “Your unexpected dip in the water?” he asked, pointing to it.

“I think so.”

She studied the map for a few more minutes.

Dean pointed to Seven Boulder Meadow. “As soon as it’s light, we’ll backtrack to here, then cross the meadow. Then it’s just up the rockslide to the resort.”

“Sounds good.” Her speech was a little slurred. “Did you try to start a fire?”

“Everything was too wet. We’ll just have to hike fast tomorrow. Your boots will still be wet, and you’ll be a prime candidate for frostbite in those things.”

She lifted back the sleeping bag, seeing that she was dressed in Dean’s clothes. “I’m not wearing any underwear, am I?”

“You know what they say. Cotton kills. It was for your own good, I assure you.” He lifted his palm up to show he meant no harm. “I was a total gentleman.”

She looked at him begrudgingly. “Well, thanks. You saved my bacon.”

“And it’s very nice bacon, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

That earned him a weak punch to the ribs.

She folded up the map and gave it back to Dean. “Let’s try to get some sleep. We’ll need all our strength tomorrow.”

Exhaustion had long ago crept over him, and now that she was out of danger, he welcomed sleep. “Sounds good.”

She curled up next to him and soon he drifted off to the sounds of the gale tearing at the tent door.

The morning appeared as a slow lightening at the tent walls. Dean sat up, peering out of the tent’s small window. Snow had almost buried them, which explained why he’d been so toasty all night long. Grace stirred at his movement.

“It’s light.”

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Is it?”

“Yep.”

Outside, the snow fell heavily. The wind gusted, sending up columns of white through the trees. He still couldn’t see more than forty feet away.

“You sure about the way we have to go?” Dean asked.

“I better be.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“We’ll make it.”

They slipped on their boots and parkas, hats and gloves. When Grace stepped out of the tent, Dean stuffed the sleeping bag back in his pack, then took down the tent. When it was lashed onto his pack, they set out.

Grace walked faster today, probably worried about her feet. It was slightly warmer than yesterday, the temperature fluctuating as they moved on. They retraced their steps, skirting around the massive ridge this time. Every fifteen minutes or so, the wind would blow the clouds away, allowing Dean a glimpse at the huge outcropping of granite.

They walked next to it for half an hour, then another vast snow-covered expanse opened before them.

“
This
is Seven Boulder Meadow,” Grace announced.

Dean paused. “You’re sure this time?”

She smirked. “You want to go first?”

Dean stared out at the even layer of snow. It could be a meadow. Or another lake.

Before he could answer, Grace started across.

She pulled out an ice axe and every few feet pushed down on the ground in front of her. “Solid!” she announced. “It’s the meadow.”

Dean crossed it with her. At the far side, he saw the rockslide.

“This is it?” he asked.

“Yep. Ready to climb?”

“Let’s go.”

Grace started up the boulders. Some of them were as big as a VW Beetle, others as small as Dean’s boot. It was a tough scramble at times, the rocks icy in patches. Obscured by snow, crevices kept fouling them up, catching their boots. But they made fast progress, gaining altitude by the minute.

Eventually they reached the top of the slide. The head of it lay in a narrow valley. Parting clouds let Dean see steep, open mountain slopes.

He spotted something that made his heart sing. It was a slalom marker. He walked to it. Farther up on the slope, he saw another one.

“This is it!”

Dean resisted the urge to shout, afraid he’d send an avalanche down on their heads.

“We made it!” Grace agreed. They hugged. “I recognize this section. We need to head northeast to get to the lodge.”

A lodge meant hot beverages, food, beer, and electricity. Dean’s spirit lifted. He’d be able to call Sam and Bobby. Maybe they would have heard from Jason, too. At that moment, finally knowing exactly where they were, and with the promise of warmth and shelter, anything felt possible.

Dean hiked beside Grace, gazing up at the mountain whenever the clouds allowed him a view. It really was gorgeous up there.

They crossed through a section of trees, and when they came out, Dean saw the glorious sight of a ski lift sweeping up into the clouds. They walked on, passing a large metal pylon that supported the lift, then angled across and downward through the next section of trees. When they emerged, Dean had to fight back another shout of triumph when he spotted the ski lodge. A building of grey stone with large, scenic windows, it loomed up out of the snowy haze. Smoke curled from a massive chimney. Dean could already picture the crackling flames, the radiating warmth.

“How are your feet?” he asked Grace.

“They feel like dancing.”

They reached the patio, with picnic benches and a few closed up food vendors’ carts. Racks for storing skis lined the area. They passed through a small outdoor alcove with lockers, and found the back entrance for the lodge. Huge floor-to-ceiling two-story windows faced out onto the mountain. A pair of double doors stood closed. When Dean tried them, they were locked.

Grace pounded on the glass. They waited. Someone had to be in there if the fire was going. At least Dean hoped someone was in there. If not, hell, he’d just break in.

A few minutes later, a small, red-faced, portly man sporting a brown mustache came hurrying up. He unlocked the door, ushering them in. “What the hell were you folks doing out there?” he demanded. “The mountain’s been evacuated. You could have been killed!”

Grace, still wearing Dean’s clothes, flashed her badge as identification. “Grace Cumberlin. US Forest Service. I was escorting this hiker off the mountain when we got stuck in the blizzard.”

The man’s face softened a little. “I’m Don Charbonneau, the mountain manager here.” He shut and locked the door behind him as he spoke. “Well, we can’t get you down now. One of the avalanches took out a huge section of the road. Going to be days before that gets cleared. Come in and warm yourselves. It’s just a skeleton crew left up here, along with the avalanche control team.”

Grace looked over her shoulder. “Where are they now?”

“Gearing up. They’re going to the top of the mountain to throw some hand charges. If that doesn’t work, we’re bringing out the howitzer.”

“You guys have a howitzer?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“Hell yes, we do. But we have to have a Forest Service snow ranger fire it, and we’re still waiting for him to show up.”

Grace shifted uncomfortably. “I really need to get into some dry boots. You got anything?”

“Sure. Down in the equipment room under us. Just go down those crew stairs there,” Don said, pointing to a wooden door marked “Employees Only.”

“Great. My feet feel like blocks of ice.”

He frowned. “That’s not good. Oh, and food services is all shut down, of course, but you can help yourself to what’s in the fridge.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ve been here before. I remember where that is.” She looked up at Dean. “See you in a bit.” She headed off.

“It’s pretty bad out there, son,” Don told Dean. “You’re lucky you’re okay.”

Dean heartily agreed. He couldn’t wait to shuck off his boots and warm his toes up, but first he had to reach Sam and Bobby. “You got a place where I can recharge my phone?”

“Sure. You can use my office. I’ll show you the way.”

Dean followed the little man through the elegant ski lodge. Artful chandeliers decorated with pine tree and bear motifs hung from high cathedral ceilings. On the walls, old-fashioned skis and snowshoes hung next to watercolor paintings of mountain meadows filled with wildflowers. In the main foyer, a waterfall cascaded over stones, landing in a small pool.

They passed behind the front desk and entered a room marked “Private.”

“Here it is,” Don said. “Help yourself.” He pointed out an outlet next to his cluttered desk. “I have to see how the avalanche boys are doing.”

He left hurriedly.

Dean slipped off his pack, happy to be free of the weight. He got out his phone and plugged it in, pressed the power button and felt good just to see the boot-up screen. He called Sam.

His brother picked up on the second ring. “Dean?” He sounded amazed and relieved.

“Hey, Sammy. Good to hear you.” Dean could hear the wind howling on Sam’s end. The reception was terrible, cutting in and out.

“Where… been?”

Dean could barely make out his words. Then the call dropped.

“Damn it!” Dean cursed, and called Sam back. It went straight to voicemail. He remembered how terrible reception was out there. He would wait for Sam to climb up something high and call him back.

Dean paced in the small office, willing the phone to ring. Three minutes later it did.

“Sam?”

“Dean!”

“You okay?”

“As well as can be expected. Where have you been?”

“In snow up to my ass. Where are you?”

“Ditto. We’ve been trying to track you.”

“Is Bobby with you?”

“Yeah, he’s here.”

“What about Jason?”

Sam hesitated. “We thought he was with you.”

“We got separated. I think something may have taken him. I tracked him for a while, but lost the trail in the snow.” “Dean, listen.” The wind howled even louder, and for a second Dean thought he’d lost Sam again.

“Sam?”

The connection crackled, went silent, then came back on. “…not a ranger.”

“What?”

“… doesn’t work for…”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Hold on.”

Dean waited, hearing Sam breathe as he walked, probably climbing to a higher location.

“Can you hear me now?” Sam asked. The connection was much better.

“Yes.”

“Grace is not a ranger.”

“What?”

“We went to the ranger station. She doesn’t work for them.”

“Then who the hell is she?” Dean asked.

“The better question might be what.”

Dean couldn’t believe it. “But she just helped me get to this ski lodge.”

“Is that where you are now?”

“Yes. Tahoe Summit Ski Lodge.”

Sam relayed the information to Bobby. “We can backtrack to the car, try to get through the roadblock to reach you.”

“Won’t do you any good. The mountain manager here said the last avalanche took out the road.”

“Then we’ll hike to you. Is Grace with you now?”

“She’s here at the resort.”

“Don’t let her leave your sight.”

Too late.
“Okay. Tell Bobby I found some aswang eggs.”

“You’re kidding. Did you destroy them?”

“I couldn’t. So I hid them.”

The phone crackled again, and Sam’s voice went in and out.

“Hang… be there soon.”

“Okay. Be careful. It’s hell out there.”

“You’re… me,” Sam said and gave a sad laugh.

Then the connection blinked out. Dean waited for the phone to ring again, but knew it wouldn’t. At least they each knew where the other was now. Just in case, Dean hid his phone behind Don’s file cabinet while it recharged.

Rummaging through his pack, he grabbed his Bowie knife and his bottle of the spice concoction. Then, leaving the small office, he stalked off to find Grace.

FORTY-THREE

Sliding the spice concoction into his jacket pocket, Dean descended the stairs toward the employee area and equipment room. In a small crew room with lockers, he found five men milling around, suiting up.

Dean stepped inside. “You guys seen a short woman with blonde hair?”

One of the men turned to him. His face was covered with exposure wounds. Strips of raw flesh were exposed on his nose and cheekbones. Bloody cracks covered his lips. “Sorry, man,” he said.

“Anyone else?” Dean prompted.

Distracted, they looked at him briefly and a murmur of “no” went through the rest of the group. Dean left them getting their gear on and made a circuit of the entire understory of the lodge. Except for the crew room, the place was abandoned, most of the lights shut off.

Dean ascended the lodge’s stairs to the upper level, which held a kitchen and food court. He grabbed a couple of sandwiches out of the fridge and stuffed them in his pocket. Wide patios opened up onto balconies with vistas of the mountain and ski lifts. All Dean could see through the windows was blowing snow and hazy white.

Grace was not in the kitchen or the dining area. While he ate a sandwich, Dean searched through the pantries, meat lockers, and larders.