Supernatural Fresh Meat - By Alice Henderson Page 0,18
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.
“There ain’t nothin’ there but a tree, Sam.”
Sam laughed, a sad, forced laugh. “I know.”
This wasn’t good. He was probably seeing Lucifer again. Bobby worried about the kid. He hated that Sam was suffering those visions of Hell. And it was dangerous going on a hunt when Sam wasn’t all there. Now that they’d stolen the wendigo’s food, tonight’s battle was going to be worse than fighting an enraged grizzly bear while wearing a jacket made of prime rib and bacon.
In the distance, a scream suddenly tore through the quiet. Sam jumped, and Dean spun in that direction.
“Here we go,” Bobby said, standing up.
Jason stood up too, with some difficulty, leaning against the tree.
Sam and Dean slung on their flamethrowers and stood back-to-back with Bobby. Jason pulled out a Molotov.
“Help me!” a woman’s voice pleaded. Then she screamed again.
“Are you sure?…” Jason started.
“Yes. It’s the wendigo.”
“Oh god!” she cried.
“But what if?…”
“It’s not human,” Bobby told Jason firmly. “Don’t leave the fire.”
“Stephen?” she called. “Are you out there? Help me!”
Jason stared in the direction of the voice. “Stephen? That’s pretty specific.”
“It’s just trying to fool us.”
Dean turned to Jason. “Bobby’s right. The one we fought in Colorado did the same thing. Just hold your ground.”
Jason hobbled over to them, gripping his Molotov. Together they formed a ring, each man facing outward.