Supernatural: Carved in Flesh

by Tim Waggoner

  He was on his own, trapped in a magic artifact, his energy to be used to pave the way for an ancient Norse goddess of death to enter the world of the living. There was nothing he could do but wait and hope the Winchesters found a way to succeed where he had failed. Which didn’t do anything to improve his mood.

  * * *

  Dean drove past Catherine Luss’s house, then pulled the car off the side of the road onto the shoulder. Catherine lived out in the country. There were no sidewalks, and he didn’t want to park in her driveway. The last thing the brothers wanted to do was announce their presence. Dean turned off the engine.

  Then he looked at Sam. “What did you do?”

  “I-don’t-know-what-you-mean,” Sam answered quickly, speaking so fast his words ran together.

  “Yeah, you do. Ever since we stopped at that gas station so you could hit the head and get rid of all that coffee you’ve been drinking, you’ve been suspiciously wide awake and full of energy.”

  Sam shrugged.

  Dean noted his brother’s bouncing leg and tapping fingers.

  “Maybe-the-caffeine-finally-kicked-in,” Sam offered in his too-rapid voice.

  “Something kicked in,” Dean said, “but it sure as hell isn’t caffeine. What did you do? Steal some pick-me-up pills from the med kit?”

  Hunters tended to get banged up pretty good on the job, and even if there was a hospital in the area, they preferred to patch their own wounds whenever possible. Fewer questions that way. So every hunter had a fully stocked medical kit with its own mini-pharmacy. Dean figured that while he’d been busy buying some snacks—extra-hot jalapeno tortilla chips and crème-filled chocolate snack cakes—Sam had grabbed some stimulants from the kit and taken them in the restroom.

  At first Sam looked as if he intended to deny it, but then he sighed.

  “You know the weird black veiny marks on my leg? They’ve spread.”

  Dean didn’t like where this was going. “How far?”

  “Basically, my whole leg is covered now. I can still walk, but it’s numb all over. If there’s any chance of fixing whatever’s wrong with me, it lies with Dippel. I can’t afford to sit this one out, Dean. Not if I want to survive.”

  “I could—”

  “And I’m not letting you face the real-world equivalent of Dr. Frankenstein on your own.”

  Dean didn’t like it. In fact, it pissed him off something fierce. It didn’t help that he knew he would have done the same thing if their situations had been reversed.

  “How large a dose did you take?” Dean asked.

  “Large enough. Let’s go before it starts wearing off.”

  Sam got out of the car before Dean could say anything else. He sat there for a moment, struggling to deal with his anger.

  “Sam, if you die because of this, I’m going to force Dippel to teach me how to resurrect the dead, and then I’m going to bring you back so I can kill you myself!”

  He let out a long sigh of frustration and got out of the car. Sam already had the car’s trunk open and was gearing up. Dean joined him, nose wrinkling at the stink of their plastic-bagged clothes. Was there any substance on the planet that could contain the Frankenstench?

  They selected the same weapons they’d carried during the hunt for the Double-Header. Dean armed himself with his Colt and the Winchester shotgun, and Sam chose his Beretta and the sawed-off double barrel. They each took a pair of KA-BAR knives and some flares. They hadn’t had a chance to use the latter against the Double-Header, but they could still come in handy. This time, they brought something new, one of their standard pieces of equipment that they rarely got to use: a homemade flamethrower constructed from a container of kerosene, various lengths of pipe, and a control button to regulate the release of fuel. It was capable of producing a flame about fifteen feet long, but the kerosene wouldn’t last forever, so you had to make sure every blast counted.

  Sam started to speak, but Dean cut him off.

  “Given your condition, there’s no way I’m letting you use this thing, so don’t even ask.”

  Sam scowled, but he didn’t protest.

  Dean slipped the flamethrower’s straps over his shoulders, then stood for a moment to get a feel for the weight. Carrying the flamethrower always made him feel as if he had a bomb on his back that was ready to go off at any time. Fun, fun, fun!

  “Once more into the breach, eh?” Dean said.

  “Unto,” Sam said. “The correct quote is ‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.’ It’s from Shakespeare’s Henry V.”

  Dean sighed. He should’ve known better that to try and get literary on Sam.

  “How about this? Let’s go kick some Frankenass.”

  “That’ll work,” Sam said with a smile, and together they headed for the house.

  * * *

  Catherine had attached the electrodes of the automated external defibrillator to Marshall’s chest. Normally the sensors in the electrodes sent data to the AED’s computer, which would determine whether someone was experiencing sudden cardiac arrest and required an electric shock. The computer would then use voice prompts to guide whoever was using the device, but Catherine had deactivated that function, as it was for people without medical training. Besides, at the moment Marshall had no heartbeat, and therefore there was no data for the computer to pick up. In a normal situation, this would mean the device wouldn’t deliver a charge, but she’d paid a local computer repairman a sizeable sum to bypass those safety features for her, and to keep his mouth shut about it. This AED was one of the early models and was capable of delivering a shock of up to four hundred joules. More recent models gave two sequential shocks of only one-twenty to two hundred joules, as that was now considered safer for the patient, but Catherine didn’t need safe. She needed a strong enough charge to, as Conrad had put it, “galvanize the chemical admixture.” Four hundred joules had been sufficient to do that for the dog. She prayed it would be enough for Marshall.

  “I believe the moment is at hand,” Conrad said. He stood by the cart containing the IV bottles, monitoring the amount of chemicals that had passed into Marshall’s body.

  Catherine nodded. She had gone through this procedure a number of times, first with rats and then with the dog. The rats hadn’t lasted long, decaying in less than a day. The dog had been more successful, but it too had succumbed to tissue degradation in the end. She hoped that Conrad’s magic stone would make the difference, but there was only one way to find out.

  Each time she’d gone through this, she was amazed at how unremarkable it all was. No Van de Graaff generators crackling with electricity, no crazed hunchbacked assistant’s mad cackling, no spooky gothic music swelling in the background, just a few chemicals quietly entering the bloodstream and then a single button to push. Bringing the dead back to life should be a spectacular, monumental moment. Instead, it was no more dramatic than any other medical procedure. Of course, the results were a different story.

  She stepped over to the defibrillator, said, “Clear,” more as a precaution than from any real worry that Conrad might be in physical contact with Marshall’s body, and pushed the button.

  Marshall’s muscles tightened and his spine arced as electricity coursed through his body. She’d inserted a plastic mouth guard between his teeth to make sure he didn’t bite his new tongue. After all the work she’d put in to attaching the organ, she didn’t want anything to happen to it. The Lapis Occultus was dislodged from his forehead, but before it could tumble to the floor, Conrad’s hand shot out and snatched it from the air, moving with inhuman speed. As far as she could see, the stone hadn’t done anything special, but Conrad held it close to his eyes, examined it, then nodded as if satisfied.

  Once the charge had been delivered, Marshall’s body collapsed back onto the table and lay still once more. Catherine knew that what she had witnessed was a reflex action, not any sign of life, but she still couldn’t help being encouraged. Just to see him move again after all these months, even
if it was just a reflex, filled her heart with joy.

  “Check the defibrillator’s battery,” Conrad said. “We need to make sure there’s enough charge remaining for Bekah.”

  Catherine didn’t want to take her eyes off Marshall, but she did as Conrad said. If he was right about the two men who were coming, they didn’t have any time to waste. She checked the readout and saw there was enough power remaining for at least one more charge, maybe two.

  “It’s fine,” she said.

  She turned back just in time to hear Marshall draw in a gasping breath of air, his first in months.

  “Remove the bandages!” Conrad said.

  They each grabbed a pair of surgical scissors and began cutting the cloth strips away from Marshall, Conrad cutting those around his chest, Catherine those around his head. When the bandages fell away from his face, she saw that his eyes were open and looking up at her. She had been afraid she would see the same glassy expression that the dog’s eyes had held—dead eyes with no hint of life or recognition in them—but his eyes were alive and intelligence shone in them. He mumbled something, trying to speak around the mouth guard. She gently removed it, and Marshall said, “Caff... rinn?”

  His voice was a deep phlegmy rumble, unlike his normal tenor, and his mouth couldn’t form the syllables quite right, the sounds too soft and mushy, but it was Marshall speaking. The first word he’d said had been her name.

  She felt tears trickling down her face and realized she was crying. “Yes, sweetheart. It’s me.” She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. At first his hand remained limp, and she feared something was wrong, but then he squeezed back, his grip strong—even stronger than she remembered.

  “I’m genuinely sorry I have to do this. I’d prefer to give the two of you more time to enjoy your reunion, but as the British say, ‘Needs must when the devil drives.’”

  She looked at Conrad in time to see him hold a small envelope over Marshall’s mouth. Yellowish powder drifted out and floated down to cover his face in a light coating. Without thinking, she lashed out and smacked the envelope out of Conrad’s hand, but it was too late. Whatever he’d intended to do was done.

  Though Conrad’s eyes flashed with anger at having been struck by her, his voice was icily calm as he spoke. “His mind will most likely be confused during the post-regeneration period, and even if he was at his peak mentally, it would take too long to explain the current situation to him. The powder I used will make him obey me without question. I assure you the effect is only temporary.”

  Catherine didn’t like it, not one bit. She especially didn’t like Conrad’s use of the word obey, as if he were the master and Marshall nothing more than his slave. She forced herself to think practically instead of emotionally, though. It had taken the dog almost a full day to recover from the effects of being reborn. During that time, it had slept, mostly. Perhaps Marshall would recover more swiftly, especially since they’d used the Lapis Occultus with him, but they couldn’t afford to wait and find out.

  “Very well,” she said. “But I expect you to make sure he’s as safe as possible.”

  Conrad smiled. “Of course. Take heart. If he is damaged, we’ll just repair him.”

  He looked at Marshall, and his smile fell away. He removed the defibrillator’s electrodes from his chest and handed them to Catherine.

  “Get off the table.”

  Marshall did as Conrad commanded, not bothering to wipe the residue of yellow powder from his face. His movements were stiff and uncoordinated, but Catherine knew from previous experiments that he’d soon adjust to his new body. She hoped it would be soon enough to help him fight off the two killers Conrad assured her were coming. She did wish there was time to put some clothes on him, though. She didn’t like the idea of sending him out to fight naked, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

  Maybe it won’t matter to him, she thought. Maybe he is like a newborn child, innocent and without shame.

  “Stand over there.” Conrad pointed to the basement steps. After a second’s hesitation, Marshall lurched over to the steps and stood there, a blank expression on his face.

  Catherine couldn’t stand seeing him look like that. She hadn’t brought her husband back to life to become a mindless automaton.

  Before she could protest, Conrad said, “Quickly. We must make Bekah ready. I fear you’ll have to perform the procedure by yourself, my dear, but I believe you’re more than capable.”

  Catherine wasn’t certain about that, but if it was a choice between bringing Bekah back by herself or watching as her daughter’s body was destroyed by these so-called hunters, then it was really no choice at all.

  “Let’s get her on the table,” she said.

  * * *

  Sam wasn’t sure taking the stimulants had been a good idea. His heart was racing, and his skin was slick with sweat. Worse, his pulse felt erratic, black spots danced in his vision, and he couldn’t feel his right leg at all. It wasn’t even numb; it just felt like it wasn’t there. He had to concentrate extra hard with every step he took to make sure he didn’t fall over. The hell of it was, he still felt tired. Not sleepy-tired, but physically exhausted, as if his body was on the verge of collapse. To make matters even worse, he’d started hallucinating. Nothing major yet, just ghostly half-images of strange shapes he couldn’t identify, but he knew from experience that the hallucinations would soon intensify, and when that happened, he wouldn’t be able to tell what was real from what wasn’t. Which would be liable to get both him and his brother killed.

  Come on, Sam, he told himself. Just try to hold it together a little longer...

  One benefit of the Luss residence being located outside town was that there were no nearby neighbors to call the police and report a pair of armed men sneaking around to the back of the house. One disadvantage was the amount of trees in the Luss’s yard, or rather, all the leaves that had fallen from them. It seemed Dr. Luss had been too busy playing mad scientist to do any yard work, and her property was covered with brown, yellow, red and—above all—crunchy leaves. Sam and Dean had to move carefully to make sure they didn’t make too much noise, but a certain amount was unavoidable. They’d have to hope that whoever was inside was either too busy to pay attention to any sounds outside, or if they did hear some leaves crunch, would put it down to squirrels or deer. It was dusk, and the fading light would help to conceal them somewhat, but not as much as if it was full night. They’d debated waiting until dark to approach the house, but given the fact that Dippel might be preparing to leave town as soon as possible, they’d decided they couldn’t afford to. They would have to rely on a hunter’s two best friends: surprise and one hell of a lot of luck.

  Sam began shivering, but although the air was chilly, he knew the cold came from inside. If he could examine himself unclothed in front of a full-length mirror right now, how far would he see the infection had spread? Onto his stomach? Maybe up to his chest? How much longer did he have until the dark taint inside him had spread to the point where his body could no longer function? He had no idea, but if he was going to be taking an eternal dirt nap after this hunt, he at least wanted to see it through to the end. He owed Dean far more than that, more than he could ever repay, but it would have to be good enough, for it might be all he had left.

  The Luss family had a deck at the rear of their house, with a picnic table on one end and a gas grill set next to a patio door. Sam wondered when the last time was that all three of them—Catherine, her husband, and her daughter—had sat out there and had a meal, talking, laughing, enjoying being in one another’s presence. What had it been like for Catherine to come home to an empty house after a long day of seeing patients? Had she looked through the patio window at the picnic table, maybe even stepped outside and sat down at it for a few minutes, crying and remembering? No wonder Conrad Dippel had chosen her to be his ultimate Igor. With the sorrow she carried, she would have been ripe for his psychological manipulation.

  The brothers walked
side by side, close enough that when Dean whispered, Sam had no trouble hearing him. “I’ll go in through the patio door. You stay outside in case anyone tries to get away.”

  “I don’t think so,” Sam whispered back. “I’m perfectly capable of going in with you, and since we don’t know if there are any more Frankenmutts or Double-Header juniors in there, you’re going to need back-up.”

  Dean didn’t look happy about it. “Fine. But you’re not in the best shape right now, and you know it. So if—”

  Dean was cut off by the sound of shattering glass as a naked man crashed through the patio door. Glass shards scattered across the deck, and blood from fresh cuts on the man’s hands and forearms pattered to the wood in thick droplets.

  Dean looked at Sam. “He might be naked, but at least he doesn’t have any extra body parts.”

  “True.”

  Dippel, dressed formally in a gray suit and tie, stepped through the opening in the patio door and onto the deck.

  “My apologies,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of a German accent. “It appears Mr. Luss hasn’t yet remembered the proper way to open a patio door.”

  “The naked guy is the doctor’s husband,” Sam said.

  “And it looks like we managed to get here before Dippel skipped town,” Dean replied.

  Luss stood on the deck, looking at them without expression. He seemed more like a classic voodoo zombie—the kind that was resurrected to serve as a mindless servant of a houngan—than a Frankensteinian creation. Then again, as Sam looked closer, he could see the scar lines where NuFlesh had been used to attach various body parts together, and although they were close matches, they weren’t exact. The right leg was slightly longer than the other and had more body hair, while the left arm was thinner than the right, its skin a shade or two darker. As Sam watched, dark energy gathered around Luss’s arms, just as he had seen with the Double-Header.

  “Do you see that?” he asked Dean.

  “See what? The guy’s Frankendork hanging out? And by the way, if his wife put him back together, you’d think she’d have given him a little extra in that department, you know what I mean?” Dean looked toward the resurrected Mr. Luss. “Nothing personal!” he called out.