Supernatural Fresh Meat - By Alice Henderson Page 0,17

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