Supernatural

by ALICE HENDERSON

  Steven nodded dreamily, showing signs of shock.

  Dean could hear Bill’s voice echoing down the hall. “Hey, dude. You seen my car? It was parked out in the lot. We’re probably going to go out later and cruise around.”

  Hank responded, his voice strained. “We’ll do that.”

  The equipment room lay at the end of a narrow corridor sparking with live wires. Before he went in, Dean searched for additional rooms, but didn’t see any other spaces where people could have survived the building’s collapse.

  Finally, he slunk down the hallway, keeping well away from the live wires. The equipment room lay in ruins. Splintered skis and snowboards stuck out from a collapsed ceiling that descended at an angle. Some of it still held, creating a triangular space.

  He saw two shapes moving in the gloom and crept closer. A man lay on the floor with a figure bent over him. Suddenly the man cried out in pain, and Dean recognized Jason’s voice. He crept closer and saw Grace stooping over him, her back to Dean. Blood soaked her hands and Jason’s chest. She bent her head low over him, and he screamed.

  Dean dug around in his pockets, his hand closing around the spice concoction. “Hey!” he shouted.

  Grace turned around, and Dean released a big splash of the mixture, hitting her squarely in the face.

  FIFTY

  Grace reached up and wiped the fluid from her face with one sleeve. “Jesus, Dean! What the hell are you doing?”

  Dean crept closer. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to stabilize him before he goes into shock.”

  Dean moved toward them at a crouch, still unable to stand. He could see now that Jason’s stomach had been torn up by something sharp. His shirt and jacket lay ripped open, and a bloody, ragged wound gaped in his abdomen. Next to Grace lay an open medical kit. She was in the middle of preparing a gauze pad to apply pressure.

  When she did, Jason cried out again in pain.

  “You’re more of a wuss than an incontinent kid at a summer camp,” she told him. “This is nothing. I bet you cry over paper cuts, too.”

  Dean knew Grace was lying to Jason, trying to force him to fight against the pain. It was no paper cut, and Dean was sure he’d seen the glistening white of Jason’s intestines before Grace covered them with the pad.

  “Anyone else need help?” she asked Dean.

  “There’s a guy back there with a pretty bad head wound.”

  “How many people are down here?”

  “Three others that I saw.”

  She frowned, leaning over Jason and applying tape to the gauze pad. “There have to be more. I saw at least seven people when I ran down here.”

  Dean glanced around. “They might be buried. I’m going back to double check.” He spoke to her back as she bent over Jason. “What about Jimmy?”

  “Who?”

  “That skinny guy who punched him out,” Dean said, pointing at Jason.

  Grace stared around, looking haunted. “God, I don’t know. It all came down so fast.”

  “Don’t be alone with Jimmy,” Dean told her.

  Dean heard a sizzling sound. He stared down at Grace’s arm. Some of the spice concoction was dripping from her sleeve. It fell on Jason’s exposed stomach, the flesh there sizzling and bubbling. He groaned, stirring, only partially aware of his surroundings.

  Jason is the aswang.

  “Grace.” Dean hooked his thumb out the door. “That guy back there with the bad head wound—I think you should come take a look now.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m almost done here.” She attached the bandage to the ragged cut, then stepped away. “He needs stitches,” she said to Dean. “How long, you think, till they can dig us out?”

  Dean ushered her past him and she started down the dangerous corridor.

  “It’s going to be a while,” he said. “With the road out, rescuers will have to come in on foot.” He thought of Sam and Bobby. “And we’ve got other problems.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at Jason, who grabbed his stomach and writhed in agony.

  “How long were you in there with him?” Dean asked as she started crawling out.

  She furrowed her brow. “Just a few minutes. He was unconscious when I found him. He hit his head pretty hard, too.”

  “I think we should give him some space.”

  “Space? That’s the last thing he needs.”

  “Listen, Grace, there’s something you don’t know about him.”

  They crouched down, moving down the destroyed hallway to the hole at the end. A scrambling sound behind them made Dean turn. Jason still lay on the ruined floor of the room, pretty out of it. But something moved in the wall above him. Debris rained down. A chunk of insulation tile fell into the room.

  “Is the place coming down again?” Grace asked, and for the first time Dean heard real fear in her voice.

  Then an air duct panel banged open and a hand came out.

  “Help!” a man said.

  Jason stirred on the floor, sitting up.

  “Hold on!” Dean said to the guy. “We’re coming.” He put a hand on Grace’s shoulder. “Stay here.”

  Dean squeezed back down the hallway, moving as quickly as he could, placing and extracting his feet among all the wiring and exposed foundations.

  The man in the air vent started slithering out, his arms and face covered in blood.

  Jason jumped to his feet so lightning-fast that Dean hardly saw him move. One moment he was lying down, the next he was at the air vent. He grabbed the man’s arms, wrenching him down out of the hole.

  “What the—” the man said. He slammed down onto the floor, and Dean recognized him from the locker room earlier.

  “Jason!” Dean shouted, but Jason didn’t even turn around as he bent over the man. Dean jumped over debris as a long, snaking tongue extruded from Jason’s lips. Jason flipped him over and the tube attached itself to the man’s back. As Dean reached the doorway, he heard a horrific sucking sound, seeing organs pumping up the proboscis into Jason’s mouth. He chewed, eyes rolling back in his head with delight.

  Dean pulled out the concoction, spraying Jason with it. It sizzled and burned his skin, and Jason screeched.

  He turned on Dean, eyes narrowing in the darkness. That familiar coppery glow erupted in the gloom. Jason swallowed and Dean watched, horrified, as the wound Grace had treated sealed up instantly. Wings ripped free of the parka.

  Dean doused the aswang with the mixture. His victim lay motionless on the floor, and Dean could hear someone else moving through the vent. “Stay back!” he shouted at them. “There’s a fire on this side!”

  “What?” a voice asked, muffled by all the ductwork.

  “Dean, what’s going on?” He heard Grace’s voice behind him.

  “Go back!” he shouted at her. He glanced over his shoulder, saw her emerging from the narrow passageway. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her around, shoving her backward.

  An agonizing pain erupted in his side. He looked down to see the proboscis attached below his ribs. He poured the spices on it, and it detached. A hot, searing pain burned in the wound. Jason stared at him, keeping his distance.

  Dean tried to grip the jar with the spices, but no matter how tightly he held it, it wasn’t tight enough. It kept slipping. Jason wavered in the corner over the man. Dean’s body listed to one side, and he grabbed part of the wall to steady himself. A sweeping dizziness overcame him, and his legs felt rubbery and uncertain under him. He fell to his knees, head bobbing under an incredible weight. He tried to focus on Jason in the dim light, but the creature swayed and loomed and all his features became blurred and mixed together.

  “Dean!” he heard Grace call behind him. “What’s wrong?” But her voice was muffled and muted, and he could barely make out the words.

  He opened his mouth to tell her to stay away, but found he couldn’t speak. His tongue weighed too much and filled up too much of his mouth.

  Dean slumped forward, over a broken
snowboard. He felt his hands go heavy and useless, falling down inside the debris of wiring and plaster. He blinked, trying to breathe. Jason stepped forward and took the concoction out of Dean’s useless fingers. Dean tried to resist, but his limbs wouldn’t obey him. He lay there, feeling heavy and useless, his mind going numb.

  Jason stepped over him toward the door. Dean heard Grace screaming in the dark. Then blackness stole over him, sweeping him away into oblivion.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Sam knew he couldn’t do anything for Bobby until he got to the top of the ridge.

  Climbing as quickly as he dared, he dragged himself over the top as the vampires kicked at him. He endured blow after blow, his only thought to climb safely off the rock face. He dug the axe in at the top, hauling himself up over the edge. Wiping blood away from his eyes, Sam stood up. The two vampires advanced and he swung the axe out defensively. The male vampire leapt back, his black jacket flapping in the wind.

  Sam gauged his situation. They stood on the narrow strip of flat rock at the top of the ridge. Both sides dropped away steeply. Sam faced back the way he and Bobby had originally come. To his right, the fall was likely fatal. To his left, the way they’d scrambled up, a fall could still end in some serious broken bones. He had to be careful not to let the vampires close enough to throw him off balance.

  He squared off, steadying his feet on the three-foot-wide trail, then he started moving backward carefully, trying to lure them off the ridge and into the trees beyond. But they moved in too quickly, darting closer to him.

  “You killed our friends at Point Reyes,” the female said to him angrily, “and now we’re going to finish you.”

  Sam sighed. What the hell was up with that kind of mentality? It’s okay if we kill you, but don’t dare defend yourself, or we’ll get even.

  He continued to back up slowly, glancing down every few seconds to be sure he had rock to step on to.

  Blue Spikes darted in and Sam swung the axe, connecting with her shoulder. She howled in pain as the toothed edge bit into the meat there. She staggered backward. For a hopeful second, Sam thought she would tumble off the cliff, but she regained her balance and backed away.

  Now Black Overcoat closed in, sneering, cocky. Sam continued to step backward. The vampire leapt, trying to dive-tackle Sam like he’d done to Bobby, but Sam moved to one side at the last moment, the vampire landing only a glancing blow. Sam grabbed him in a headlock and brought the axe down on the back of his neck. He shoved the axe head in, feeling the grinding of bone against metal. The vampire struggled, arms thrashing, trying to pull out of Sam’s grip.

  Clutching her shoulder, the female watched warily. Sam continued to dig the axe into her partner’s neck. It bit through bone, then tore through the remaining flesh. The vampire’s head swung by a strip of skin. His body went limp in Sam’s arms and he flung the vampire over the edge. Blue Spikes screamed in anger as he tumbled down the rock face, landing in a heap at the bottom.

  “I’ll kill you!” she shouted, barreling toward Sam.

  He braced himself, and when she got close enough, he readied to take a swing with the axe. At the last minute, she jumped to one side, bounding down across some rocks just below the summit, moving like a spider. She came up behind him, shoving him before he had a chance to spin around. For one dizzying moment he leaned out over the steep edge that had taken Bobby. His arms windmilled, trying to regain his balance, and she shoved at his back again, sending him over the edge.

  He clung to the ice axe, flipping in mid-air and striking out with it.

  It caught on the top edge. Without pausing, he scrambled his feet up and heaved himself over the top again. There was no way he was going back down that rock face again.

  The vampire moved forward, kicking at his axe’s hold on the rock. Sam grabbed a ledge with his left hand and gripped tightly while he lifted the axe lightning fast and slammed it down again, this time through the toe of her boot. She cried out, trying to rip her foot backward, but Sam held it firmly. He used this new perch to swing his body back up, then lay belly flat on the top.

  She stomped on his hands and landed another kick to his head with her free boot. He felt a surge of nausea and knew he’d suffered too many blows to the head. He wrenched the axe out of her foot and swung it upward, feeling it sink into soft flesh. Blood leaked down his arm. Head spinning, he flipped over onto his back. The axe was embedded in her stomach.

  Kicking out with his boot, he knocked her on to her back. His vision started to tunnel, blood rushing to his head. He struggled to his feet, wrenched the axe free, then took aim for her neck and drove it down hard. The dizziness threw him off balance and he missed. He took a backswing and connected. Blood sprayed the granite as he went in for a second and third blow. It was a messy decapitation instrument, but Sam swung down again, thinking of Bobby falling. A final blow finished her. Her detached head rolled onto its cheek.

  Sam breathed deeply, leaning over, hands on his knees. Gore dripped from the axe, staining the snow and rock beneath. His vision grew darker and darker. The adrenaline leeched from his system, the pain of his battered head and hands sweeping over him. He fell to his knees, then collapsed onto the granite, still gripping the axe. His cheek rested against the cool stone.

  As unconsciousness swept over him, he relived the painfully clear memory of the weight vanishing off that rope as Bobby plummeted from the cliff.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Dean’s head bobbed down, jerking him awake. He tried to open his eyes, but they were crusty, as if he’d been asleep for days. He meant to bring a hand up to wipe the sleep away, but it wouldn’t move. He forced his lids apart. Dim light filtered into his world. A red exit sign glowed above him. He was sitting against a wall. His gaze traveled down his body, expecting to find his hands bound, but they hung limply at his sides. His feet weren’t tied, but he couldn’t move them, either.

  He looked around for Grace, but couldn’t see her. In one corner, the man still lay under the hole of the air duct. Now two other people lay next to him, Bill and Steven, heaped together in a pile.

  “Hey,” he tried to say, but his mouth wouldn’t work.

  He couldn’t see Jason. His ears heard nothing but the roaring of blood through his veins. He didn’t know if he had gone temporarily deaf, or if it was just that quiet down there. No one whimpered for help now. The naked wires that had sparked before now hung dead and black below the exit sign.

  Realization dawned. Something in Jason’s saliva had paralyzed him. Dean willed his little finger on his right hand to move, just a little bit. He stared down at the pinkie intently, begging it to move.

  It didn’t.

  The sound of shuffling in the narrow hallway outside brought Dean’s attention to the ragged doorway. Relief flooded through him that he could still hear.

  Ragged, labored breathing rose and fell above the shuffling sound. Jason appeared in the doorway, pulling something through after him. Dean closed his eyes, not wanting to tip Jason off that he was awake.

  He watched through barely opened eyelids as Jason backed into the room. The aswang had abandoned his human form completely. Dean saw the familiar clawed feet, the leathery skin.

  Jason dragged a body into the room. He hefted the body up as if it were a pillow and threw it down with the others. It was Don, the mountain manager. His open eyes stared at Dean, his mouth parted. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, and Dean knew that, like him, Don was conscious but couldn’t move.

  Dean wondered where Grace was. Had she been able to get away? Fear pushed in on him. Even if she had, she was trapped under here with everyone else.

  Jason labored over to the air duct, pushing aside broken skis and poles. He peered inside, then pulled out a flashlight to check it. Dean could see that a ragged wound ran the length of his back. The collapse of the building had done a number on him. Blood and bile seeped down the aswang’s back.

  He stooped over the ski patrol guy, elongated snout emerging once again
.

  Dean tried to shout, willed his body to jump up and fight. His eyes darted over the room and fell on the container of spices, but it lay on its side, empty.

  Jason ripped off the man’s parka and the slithery proboscis attached itself to his back. As a sucking sound filled the room, Dean’s eyes met the mountain manager’s in the gloom. Fear gleamed in Don’s eyes. Dean blinked at him. It was all he could do.

  As slurping filled the confines of the room, Dean looked back at the aswang. The bulky shapes of organs slithered up the slender feeding tube and Jason swallowed eagerly. The snout detached, probed along the man’s naked back to another spot. Dean heard Jason sniffing in the darkness. Then the circle of teeth at the end bit down. As the aswang sucked down another organ, Dean heard something that made cold sweep up his back. The man was still breathing. His puncture wounds glistened in the dim light, sealed up by the adhesive saliva Bobby had described. Dean saw the unmistakable rise and fall of his breathing. Jason was taking his time, harvesting only those organs humans don’t immediately need to survive. He’d do the same to all of them, and then move on to the ones they did need.

  Dean blinked furiously. He had to get the hell out of there.

  Jason stood up, apparently sated, for now. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to let him know he was conscious.

  Don let out a tiny mewl, and Dean had to look. Jason wheeled on Don. The snout whipped out, attaching to the side of Don’s face. Something pumped out from Jason’s mouth, down the tube, passing into Don’s flesh. His terrified eyes went wide, and then they closed. Jason jerked the snout back, leaving a ring of needle teeth holes in Don’s cheek.

  Dean shut his eyes as Jason stepped over the men and entered the narrow hallway leading out of the room. After, he sat in the gloom, listening to the sound of the others breathing raggedly around him, trying to make out as much as he could, but he couldn’t see the faces of anyone except Don, who was now unconscious.