Supernatural Fresh Meat

by ALICE HENDERSON

  “This is going to be tough, Bobby.”

  Bobby didn’t respond, just stared at the storm with a grey slash of a mouth.

  FORTY

  Dean felt a primal wave of self-preservation sweep over him. “Is that another avalanche?”

  Grace trained her ears toward the sound. As they listened, the ground beneath their feet started rumbling. Snow shook, moving in shifting drifts around their boots. Adrenaline kicked up the pace of Dean’s heart.

  “Yes. But we should be safe in the trees,” Grace told him.

  Dean wasn’t convinced. “Did you see the section of forest the last one took out?”

  She hesitated. “Yes.”

  “And you think that won’t happen here?”

  “We’re higher up on the slope, in denser trees.”

  The mountain really started to shake beneath them, and Dean grabbed onto a tree trunk to steady himself. “Where is it?”

  Grace tried to see upslope, past the trees. “Must be on the slope to our left.” She waited. “I think it’ll pass us by.”

  The mist was so dense that Dean couldn’t see past the edge of the trees. For all he knew, the avalanche could be speeding their way. It was humbling to think that a wall of snow could just wipe them off the mountain. He listened for the crunching of wood, the splitting of trunks, anything that would give away the direction of the avalanche or if it were taking out another swath of trees.

  “Maybe we should move in the other direction, or go upslope?”

  Grace stood still, listening. Beneath them the snow had shifted so much from the vibrations that their boots were completely covered. Then the quaking lessened.

  “I think it’s ending,” she said finally.

  The rumbling stopped, the roar in the distance fading away as the snow settled.

  “So we’re safe?” Dean asked.

  “For now.”

  “That doesn’t instill a lot of confidence. We need to get to the ski resort.”

  Dean started upslope again, winding between the trees. Grace followed, occasionally glancing nervously in the direction of the avalanche noise.

  The low cloud layer was almost claustrophobic at times. Their stalker could be following them and Dean would never see him. In fact, he was pretty sure he was still following them. He could feel eyes staring into his back.

  FORTY-ONE

  Dean and Grace slowly worked their way toward the ski resort through the driving snow. At least, Dean hoped that’s where they were going. He estimated they’d walked four of the six miles and made about half of the one thousand foot elevation gain.

  He could certainly feel the five hundred feet they’d climbed. While that was nothing to him on a regular hike, slogging in the snow took a lot more energy.

  They reached a large meadow, and Grace stopped, checking her map. She pointed out a meadow that ran alongside a slope. “This is Seven Boulder Meadow. Once we cross this, it’ll be up a rockslide on the far side, and then we’ll be within range of the resort.”

  Dean looked up from her map. The visibility was so poor, he couldn’t even see the edge of the meadow. It just looked like a flat expanse of deep snow ending in a sky of white.

  She followed his gaze. “If it were clear and sunny, we’d be able to see the ski runs of the resort by now.” She stared out over the field. “We’re close.”

  On the map, she pointed out the resort in relation to the meadow, and she was right. They were close.

  She started across the flat expanse of snow. The wind created a hypnotic effect on the ground, like snow snakes winding in and out of each other.

  Dean followed in Grace’s trail, keeping an eye on their six. But he hadn’t seen their pursuer since he shot him.

  Grace reached the center of the expanse. Dean didn’t like being so out in the open, but he did appreciate finally moving on a level surface, and felt some of his energy returning. He hadn’t eaten anything but a few strips ofjerky in over twenty-four hours.

  He slowed, getting his water bottle out of his pack and taking a long drink. The cold dry air sucked the moisture right out of him, making him constantly thirsty. As he paused to put the bottle back, he heard a loud cracking noise.

  At first, he glanced upward, afraid it was another avalanche. Then Grace cried out. He turned just in time to see her apparently fall into the snow. There was another tremendous cracking sound, and suddenly the ground around her tipped upward. Water sprayed up and she disappeared.

  “Grace!” Dean yelled, hurrying in her direction.

  Then he saw their terrible mistake. They weren’t on a meadow, but on a frozen lake. He dropped to his stomach and crawled forward to the hole where she’d gone in. He didn’t see her at all, just a dark hole in the ice, sloshing with turbulent water.

  He felt something thump under him, and realized she’d been sucked under the ice sheet. She was pounding on the ice beneath him, trying to find her way out.

  Dean knew the icy water would almost instantly paralyze her lungs and body. He had seconds to get her out. He pulled his glove off, slid to the edge of the hole, and thrust his hand into the water.

  He waved it around, thrashing it so she’d see the movement. Too many seconds passed. Suddenly, something brushed his fingers. It was her pack. Dean grabbed it, heaving upward with all his strength. For a second the pack caught on the edge of the ice, and he worried she’d slip out of it. Then he saw her head emerge, sagging forward. He pulled hard, slithering backward on the ice. His snowshoes dug in and he managed to pull her partially out, then grab her shoulders and tug her all the way out of the water. She collapsed on the ice next to him, shuddering. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and Dean knew he had to get her warm and dry as quickly as possible.

  Continuing to lie on the ice, he elbowed his way to the edge of the hidden lake, dragging Grace along with him.

  When they entered the trees again, he stood up and threw her over his shoulder. After carrying her a few feet to safety, he set her down against a tree and shucked off her wet pack. Her teeth chattered, her lips already blue. He shrugged his own pack off and left it next to her.

  Dean replaced his glove and looked around for kindling that wasn’t soaked through with snow. Quickly, he moved through the denser undergrowth. He found a few logs that didn’t look too bad and carried them back to her. She remained silent, shuddering, teeth chattering.

  Good. As long as she kept shivering, she wasn’t going hypothermic. But she wasn’t cognizant, either.

  Dean clustered some pine needles and kindling around the logs and pulled out his Zippo. But when he tried to light them, they wouldn’t catch. He tried again and again, but everything was just too wet. Some of the pine needles caught, but it wasn’t enough heat to even catch the kindling on fire. He tried for a few more minutes, then knew it was futile.

  He had to get Grace out of her wet clothes.

  Dean rummaged through his pack, pulling out his tent and sleeping bag. He set the tent up in the snow, efficiently snapping the poles together and sliding them through the nylon sleeves. When it was up, he tossed his sleeping bag inside and unrolled it.

  Grace hadn’t moved or said anything. He picked her up and slid her into the tent, laying her next to the bag. He grabbed a pair of pants and a flannel shirt from his pack and laid them out.

  Then he quickly stripped her out of her wet clothes and dressed her in the dry ones. Crawling into the tent with her, he zipped up the tent fly, blocking out the wind. He folded her inside the sleeping bag and then got in himself. Wrapping his arms around her, he warmed her with his body heat. She continued to shiver, and pressed in close to him. Even her breath on his neck was icy cold, and he pulled the sleeping bag tightly around her.

  “You’re going to be okay, Grace.”

  She shuddered against him, her wet hair cold against his face, and muttered unintelligibly.

  Dean stared up at the tent ceiling, feeling a tinge of fear in his gut. One thing was clear. They’d somehow gone off cour
se. There was no lake on the map where they thought they were. They could be miles from the resort.

  Dean listened to the wind as it made the tent flutter and quake.

  They were lost, and Grace could die out there.

  FORTY-TWO

  Dean kept talking to Grace, jostling her when she started to fall asleep. If she lost consciousness, she would be at even greater risk of hypothermia.

  Her body was starting to warm up. Her wet hair had at first frozen into spiky strands, but the tent grew slowly warmer with their body heat, and finally they thawed out.

  She started talking a little bit. Dean had asked her trivial questions at first, trying to get her to stay awake, but those hadn’t worked well, so now he asked her tough ones that made her stir.

  “What’s your family like?”

  That one had earned him a jab to his ribs. She didn’t answer, just shifted around, trying to shove him away, drifting in and out. He held on to her. The light outside dimmed and night set in, the temperature lowering. But with the thick cloud cover, it only felt a few degrees cooler.

  Dean wondered where Sam and Bobby were. They must be out there looking for him. He had to get to a phone or electricity.

  Grace was warming up; at least that was going well. If she had fallen into unconsciousness or hypothermia, he would have had to hike out and get her help.

  It had been dark for a couple of hours when she stirred next to him and spoke. “Dean?”

  He looked down, meeting her blue eyes. “Grace.”

  “What happened?”

  “The meadow turned out to be a lake. You fell in.”

  She brought a hand up, rubbing her forehead. “My head’s killing me.”

  “I’m not surprised. It was pretty dicey for a while there.”

  “Good thinking with the sleeping bag.”

  He smiled.

  “So where are we, then?” she asked. She tried to focus on his face, but her head tilted to the side.

  “That’s a good question. Figured we could look at the map once you were compos mentis.”

  She looked at him groggily. “So where is it?”

  Dean reached his hand out of the sleeping bag, and felt around in his pack until he grabbed the map. He picked up his headlamp and switched it on so they could see.

  Staying hunkered down in the warm bag, Grace took the light and examined the map. “Damn.”

  “Don’t tell me. We’re in an avalanche area.”

  “No.” Her voice trailed off. Then she said, “I’m just mad I got us off course.”

  “Frankly, I’m impressed you could get us anywhere without seeing any landmarks.”

  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 su
pported 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.