Supernatural Fresh Meat - By Alice Henderson Page 0,26
snapped it together again, the creature had vanished in the darkness. He and Sam waited, braced, staring into the sky. The wing beats grew louder and Dean aimed the muzzle of his shotgun at the sky, searching the surrounding trees, waiting for the telltale silhouette to block out the stars. The whoosh of air sounded louder and louder. Dean knew it was on top of them, somewhere, waiting to swoop in for another attack.
Then the sound stopped.
He got out his flashlight and shone it at the tops of the trees. But the thing hadn’t landed, at least not that he could see.
They waited, moving closer, till they stood back to back.
“Nothing hurt it,” Sam said. “Not bullets, not iron, not fire.”
“Or rock salt.” Dean pointed in the direction it had disappeared. “What the hell was that? A friggin’ pterodactyl? It sure as hell wasn’t a wendigo.”
Blood seeped down Sam’s chest and back. He could feel it soaking through his shirt. “That thing could fly, Dean.”
“I noticed! It was ready to carry your ass off to feed its little dinosaur babies.”
“What the hell was it?” Sam sounded a little shaken. “I’ve never heard of something that could do that. Have you? It had talons and leathery wings. And it didn’t make a sound. Even when I stabbed it, and you shot it.”
“And you set it on fire.”
Dean rested the butt of his rifle on the ground. “Whatever it is, we’re going to find out how to kill it and finish this job.” He pulled out his cell to call Bobby, but couldn’t get any reception.
“I think I might need some stitches this time,” Sam said.
“Let’s go. I can’t reach Bobby. We need to figure out what this thing is.” Dean checked his .45, then slung the rifle onto his back. Sam winced as he gathered his gear up. Then they hiked into the darkness, searching the sky.
FOURTEEN
Bobby and Grace finally reached her truck, parked at the Finder Mountain Trailhead. The man still hadn’t said anything.
They had to fight to get him into the cab of the truck. He only wanted to walk forward. Finally, Bobby bound his legs together and hefted him onto the bench seat. The man stared forward, eyes blank, his legs continuing to move as if he were walking. He kicked the gearshift and kept shuffling his legs. Grace hurried around to the driver side and Bobby squeezed in next to the man. They had draped Grace’s jacket over him, but because he refused to stay still, that was all they could do. He reeked of old blood and something else, a chemical smell Bobby couldn’t place.
“Can you hear me?” Bobby asked him for the tenth time as Grace fired up the truck. She pulled out onto the gravel road. “What’s wrong with him? I mean, other than shock?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it—those cuts all over him.”
“They’re not cuts, they’re puncture wounds.”
The truck jostled over a pothole, but the man seemed oblivious. He kicked the gearshift again, knocking it into neutral, and Grace cursed. “This is taking too long. We need to get him medical attention a.s.a.p.”
The gravel road ended at a county highway and she turned toward Truckee, accelerating quickly. Bobby studied her face as she drove. Her chin stuck out defiantly and her cheek held a smear of mud. Her hands on the steering wheel were sticky with the man’s blood.
She drove faster. Soon the lights of Truckee gleamed on the horizon. A few minutes later they pulled into the ambulance entrance of the E.R. Bobby stepped out and called to two nearby paramedics. “A man’s been hurt.”
They rushed over, gently pulling the man from the cab of the truck. “What happened?” one asked.
Grace stepped around to join them. “We don’t know. Found him like this up on Finder Mountain Trail.”
“Why are his legs tied together?” one of the paramedics asked, eyeing them suspiciously.
“He wouldn’t stop walking,” she told him. “We had to do that to get him in the truck.”
One paramedic rushed off and returned with a gurney. They lifted him onto the stretcher and he kicked, trying to walk. His eyes stared upward, glassy and blank.
Grace and Bobby followed them in, watching while an E.R. doctor took over. He wheeled the man into an examination area and pulled a blue sheet across for privacy. Bobby and Grace stood waiting tensely on the other side.
They didn’t wait long. The doctor threw open the blue curtain and called, “Code Blue! Crash cart,