Supernatural Fresh Meat (7 page)

“First one in’s a rotten egg,” Bobby said, wrinkling his nose.

Jason stopped, slinging his pack off his back. “This is it,” he said. He pulled out a bottle of gasoline and jammed a rag down its neck.

Bobby followed suit and Sam and Dean checked their flamethrowers.

“You’ll want to turn those off all the way,” Bobby told them.

Sam raised his eyebrows.

“Methane. If this mine has any pent-up gas, you’ll send us all to high heaven.”

Dean nodded and the two of them extinguished the pilot lights.

“You see any sign of the family?” Sam asked.

Bobby searched the ground, looking for footprints or drag marks. He didn’t see any. The thing probably took them screaming from tree to tree.

In the distance a chickaree cursed at them, trilling near an old stump. They were the most cantankerous damn squirrels Bobby had ever met. Once, in Whitefish, they’d tried to make off with his cereal while he unloaded groceries, and when he took it away, they cursed at him.

He drew closer to the mine entrance, gripping the Molotov, ready to light it. Still no prints. Then, right at the mouth, he found a disturbed patch in the dirt where something heavy had been placed down and then dragged. Two clear imprints of tremendous bare feet with long claws marked the spot where the thing had landed, leaping down from the trees.

“This is it,” Bobby told them. They entered the mine, darkness swallowing them.

Inside the air felt warm. Cut off from the wind, Bobby started to thaw out. His ribs ached as he pulled out his flashlight.

The light penetrated the blackness, illuminating old wooden support beams and hooks where lanterns had once hung. The stench of decay was almost unbearable, and Bobby swallowed back his lunch.

From somewhere in the bowels of the mine, a low, anguished moan drifted through the passages.

“They’re still alive,” Jason said, rushing forward.

Bobby grabbed his arm. “Maybe.”

Bobby took the lead, aiming the flashlight down to the drag marks. They followed them down the first passageway and veered right at the first intersection. Another smell hung in the air, he realized with alarm, the sewer-gas stink of methane. “Nobody flick your lighters or fire guns. There’s a methane leak in here.”

“Any thoughts on how we’re supposed to kill this thing in here?” Jason asked.

Sam stopped. “We’re going to have to lure it out.”

Dean looked concerned. “What if it doesn’t want to come out? If that family’s in here, it’s got enough food to last for days.”

“We’ll have to tempt it out.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “How? These suckers are smarter than us.”

Jason stepped into the glow of Bobby’s flashlight. “I’ll be the bait. Maybe it’ll want to finish me off.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Bobby said. “I’m sure it wants to finish off all of us.”

He continued down the narrow passageway, the stench of methane growing stronger. “Remember… no flames.”

At the next intersection, he took a right, following the tracks. Bobby could feel the weight of the mountain above him, and an almost claustrophobic feeling pressed down on him.

Up ahead they heard a strangled mewling, the voice of a child. Jason rushed forward, but Bobby put out an arm to hold him back. “We go slow.”

At the next intersection, drag marks moved off in both directions. Maybe the thing was separating its victims, fresher meat with fresher meat, or maybe according to size and tenderness. Bobby pushed those thoughts away and chose a direction.

The decay hung thickly in the air, so bad Bobby felt it coating his tongue and the inside of his nose. Sam lifted his sleeve in a vain attempt to filter it out.

They heard the tiny cry again, coming from the passage they’d selected. They were close. The floor dipped down, timbers above them raining dirt. Bobby’s flashlight picked up a million motes of dust sifting through the air.

His eyes streaming from the stink of methane and decay, Bobby stepped into a larger room. Three bodies hung from the rafters, a man, a woman, and someone who’d been dead for a while. Only the backbone and skull remained, with the odd piece of tissue glistening in the beam of light.

In a distant dark corner, the mewling rose into a terrified scream. Bobby shot the flashlight beam at the sound. A tall, gaunt form stood up, eyes ablaze in the darkness. A small girl hung from its spindly fingers, her shoulder bleeding badly from a bite wound. The wendigo growled, needle teeth shimmering with saliva.

It dropped the child, racing toward them. Bobby dove to one side and ran to the back of the room. “Run!” he shouted at the others.

While the wendigo tore after Sam and Dean, Bobby grabbed the child in one hand, pulled out his hunting knife with the other and cut the parents free.

“It got my brother!” the man shouted. Bobby shushed him and pushed against their backs, ushering them out of the room.

“It ate him!” the man continued to shout.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Bobby said. “But you have to shut up or that thing’s going to come back.”

Carrying the girl in one arm, he hurried them up the passageways he’d come down. Ahead he could see Sam’s fading flashlight. They were well out in front, and hopefully the wendigo was taking the bait.

They sped around corners, the man struggling to keep up because of a huge gash in his thigh. When Bobby saw the amount of blood soaked into the guy’s jeans, he knew it was a miracle he was still alive.

They ran, Bobby feeling the agony of his bruised ribs, until they saw the dim light of the mine opening. “Keep going!” he encouraged them.

“Did you see his skull? That’s all that was left!” the man shouted.

And a spine,
Bobby thought.
Let’s not forget the spine. Hell, I’ve turned into a cynical old fart.

The dim glow grew brighter, and the turn put them on the final stretch. “We’re almost out!” the woman cried with relief.

They sprinted toward the exit as a barrage of gunfire opened up outside. Bobby saw flames as they burst through the mine opening.

“Get down!” he yelled, worried the family would get hit in the crossfire. The man and woman threw themselves into the dirt and Bobby laid the girl next to them. She stared quietly at the scene around her.

Sam and Dean stood on the far side of the clearing, firing into the trees. Jason crouched nearby, taking cover behind a huge granite boulder. He held his lighter, ready to strike it.

“Now!” Sam yelled to Dean. They both fired up their flamethrowers.

The wendigo howled, leaping down from the trees. It ran at them full-tilt, hitting Dean so hard he flew fifteen feet and landed in a heap. Sam blasted the flamethrower again, but the creature cleared the fire with ease.

Bobby dropped his flashlight and pulled out his Zippo. The wendigo started circling Sam, baring its teeth. Bobby crept up behind it, lit the Molotov, and flung it. Lightning fast, it turned, as if it could hear the projectile whistling through the air, and sidestepped it. Barreling toward Bobby, it lifted arms tipped with serrated claws.

“Bobby!” Dean shouted, struggling to his feet. He fired the flamethrower, but the wendigo was too fast, clearing the distance to Bobby in less than a second.

It slashed Bobby’s stomach, tearing through his down vest, flannel shirt, and T-shirt to his bare skin. Bobby felt the searing heat of its claws and cried out in surprise and pain.

Jason ran forward from the boulder, the Molotov lit and leaving his hand. It arced through the air and once again the wendigo spun around, saw the incoming fire, and dodged to one side. Bobby craned his neck up in alarm as the fiery missile hissed through the air toward him. He dove, landing behind a boulder as the Molotov exploded all over the meadow.

The couple screamed, picking up the child and running further away to safety.

Bobby rummaged through his pack for another Molotov, sweat beading on his forehead and his hands shaking with adrenalin. The thing was right behind him. He knew it was. He heard Jason shouting and another Molotov exploded on the far side of Bobby’s boulder. He leapt up, a new Molotov in hand. This time Jason had landed his closer, lighting up the ground under the wendigo. It howled in agony and Sam advanced, firing his flamethrower. Fire licked up the wendigo’s arm. Screaming in pain, it launched into the air, landing in the trees above.

They could hear branches snapping and see trees swaying as it vanished into the distance. Then it was gone.

“Goddamn it!” Bobby shouted.

“You okay?” Sam asked, rushing to him.

“Fine.” He felt anything but.
Goddamn wendigo.
He glanced down at the claw marks in his stomach. Thankfully his clothes had taken the brunt of the blow, and the scratches were only superficial.

He looked around the meadow. “Where the hell did that family go?”

“They hightailed it,” Jason said, pointing in the direction they’d gone.

“The idjits,” Bobby cursed. “We’ll have to go after them.”

“There’s a backcountry ranger’s station not too far from here,” Jason said. “We could just escort them there, let the forest service get them out.”

“Sounds good,” Bobby agreed. “We need to stay and finish this thing.”

He stamped out the remaining flames in the meadow.

They caught up with the injured family a few minutes later, the man still shouting about what the creature had done to his brother. At least they’d saved three of them. Bobby felt bad about the brother, but they always seemed to have losses in their line of work. And if they hadn’t been there, the whole family would be dead, especially the little sprout.

She stared up at Bobby, blood seeping through the shoulder of her shirt. “You got it,” she said quietly to him.

“Yep,” he told her, rubbing her head, even though they hadn’t yet. She didn’t need to be kept up nights wondering. And tonight they were going to finish that thing off or he was going to take up macramé at the local community center. He was getting too old for this carnival sideshow.

At the backcountry station, the four hunters departed before the ranger came out, leaving the family to explain. The last thing they needed was another ranger on their asses. Bobby watched from a distance as the man took in the family. He retrieved his med kit, did some emergency triage, and then they hiked off in the direction of town. Still the man shouted about his brother’s skull. Poor guy. Losing family was the worst.

Bobby had certainly lost his fair share of loved ones. His stomach tightened at a sudden, unwelcome flashback of the night he’d had to kill his possessed wife. God, he’d loved her. No one should have to lose someone like that. That night would haunt him till the day he died, and probably well beyond that.

He forced the image to go away, ordered the lump in his throat to subside. In the west, the sunset glow was almost entirely gone. They had to make camp, or they were dead meat out in the open. He turned to the others. “Let’s get a fire going, set up a watch.”

Sam and Dean nodded. Jason stared in the direction the family had hiked off with the ranger. “I feel bad just leaving them.”

“They’ll be okay,” Bobby said.

“But what if the wendigo gets them again? And that ranger, too?”

“It won’t. Because we’re going to get it first.”

NINE

Bobby finished laying the logs for the fire and used his flint and steel to get the flames going. The kindling caught immediately, and he blew on the fire to make it billow outward. Pine caught and crackled, warming his face and hands.

He sat back on his bed roll, grateful for a moment of peace. His ribs were killing him, but he probably felt better than Jason. The young hunter leaned against a tree a few feet away, his head down. A branch broke and Bobby whirled around with his shotgun to see Sam and Dean coming through the brush, their arms full of more fallen wood.

Sam dumped his pile next to Bobby and sat down crosslegged. “It’s quiet out there.”

“Thing’s probably pissed off as hell we took its lunch away,” Bobby answered.

Dean spilled his pile of wood down and joined them. He nodded toward Jason. “He asleep?”

“Nah. Just recovering. That was a hell of a fight.”

“Who could sleep in the middle of this?” Jason asked, not even lifting his head.

Sam laughed. “Good point.”

Bobby rearranged one of the burning logs with his foot. “At least we have a ready supply of fire now.”

Dean held out his hands to warm them. The night was cold, in the lower thirties, Bobby guessed.

“Just try not to fall into the fire when that thing comes back, you idjits.”

Sam smiled.

Jason glanced around, suddenly alert. “So we just wait for this thing to show up?”

Dean turned to him. “It’ll want to draw us out. Separate us. It’ll probably call to us again, sounding like someone who’s wounded. Just don’t fall for it.”

They waited tensely. Bobby idly poked at the fire with a stick. Sam kept staring at a tree opposite the fire. He flinched, then brought his hand up, driving his thumb into the scar in his palm.

“You okay?” Bobby asked.

Sam flinched. “Huh?” He tore his gaze away from the trees.