Supernatural Fresh Meat - By Alice Henderson Page 0,19

woman’s voice cried out again, trailing off into an agonized scream.

“It’s taking everything in me not to go after her,” Jason said through gritted teeth.

“It’s not a her. It’s the damn wendigo,” Bobby told him.

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“No, but one thing we can be sure of—you go out there now, that thing’s going to rip you to shreds.”

They stood in tense silence. Bobby hoped to god he was right, that some woman wasn’t out there, dying an agonizing death while they stood by.

“Carol?” a man’s voice called. “Carol? Jesus, where are you?”

“Oh, god,” Jason said. “It is a couple.”

He started to move away and Bobby grabbed his shoulder. “No, it’s not. It wants you to think that, and it’s working.”

The man cried out in surprise, then screamed.

“Don’t buy into it,” Dean warned.

Jason almost broke away from them, but faltered, staying in place.

The man’s scream became a strangled cry, fading off into the forest as if he were being dragged away at tremendous speed.

Then they heard the woman begging for help, this time closer, her voice reduced to a whisper, but growing nearer. “Is someone out there?”

Bobby saw a shadow under the trees, a figure moving falteringly toward them.

“Hello? There’s something out here! It got my husband!”

The dark shape staggered forward, thin arms grabbing trees for support.

“Incoming,” Bobby whispered.

With Jason staying at Bobby’s back, Dean and Sam pivoted outward, staring into the dark.

“Please help me,” whispered the figure. Bobby held his ground, despite the urge to rush over and offer aid.

It crept toward them, glancing behind in fear.

Bobby took a step forward.

The wendigo rushed him, its open mouth full of needle teeth. He dodged to one side, lighting his Molotov, then flung it at the wendigo. The missile crashed over the thing’s spindly shoulders, fire raining over its torso. It howled in agony, darting away into the dark. They saw it fall to the ground and roll, the flames darkening until they were extinguished.

“Damn it!” Bobby cursed.

They watched that part of the dark forest. No one moved.

Then it dropped down on Sam from above. Sam jerked his shoulders violently, throwing it off. It fell in the dirt and Sam fired off the flamethrower, a tongue of flame billowing out just as the wendigo leapt up to avoid the blast.

It grabbed a tree branch and swung itself deftly upward, landing feet first on the limb. Its eyes narrowed and it glared down at them.

Dean blasted his flamethrower, but the wendigo leapt clear.

“Thing’s slipperier than a conger eel,” Bobby cursed. He lit another Molotov and launched it at the wendigo as it landed near the camp fire.

It roared with rage as its arm ignited. Slapping desperately, it smothered the flames and snarled. Dean crept toward it, ready to fire again.

Suddenly it sprang forward, growling, jaws open and ready to bite. It shot through the air toward Dean, but instead of backing away, Dean ran to meet it. It slashed an arm at him. Pulling out his Bowie knife, he thrust it upward, into the creature’s chest. Roaring, it landed in front of him. Dean shoved the flamethrower inside the gaping knife wound and pressed the trigger.

Fire lit up the wendigo’s insides. It howled in agony, spinning away from Dean and tripping into the camp fire. Seams of fire erupted inside its torso. Flames caught its legs. Brilliant white and gold filled the creature. It turned its head up, arms thrown out, flailing, giving out a deafening, shrill shriek of anguish. Ash began at its feet and billowed upward. Then suddenly the wendigo was made of dust, a grey whispering column in a skinny humanoid shape. A gust of mountain wind swept through the trees and hit it, scattering the ash in a hundred directions.

They’d got it.

The wendigo was toast.

Bobby let out a celebratory whoop and turned to the others.

He saw Dean falter, gripping his arm. Blood sprayed outward between his fingers as Dean tried to clamp down on the flow. Gritting his teeth, Dean toppled over into the dirt.

TEN

Sam gripped his brother’s shoulders, practically dragging him. “C’mon, Dean, just a little farther.”

The wendigo’s claws had ripped through Dean’s brachial artery, and he’d already lost too much blood.

“You said that half an hour ago, Sammy. I’m starting to not believe you.” Dean flashed his brother a half-hearted smile, then winced with pain.

They’d made a tourniquet out of Sam’s belt, but Dean had already lost a lot of blood. Despite the cold, his skin was slick with sweat. He was breathing way too