Supernatural Fresh Meat - By Alice Henderson Page 0,49

sprinkled the spice concoction on one of the eggs. Again, nothing. No sizzling, no puckering. He tried rock salt. Same result. He pulled out his .45 and fired a round point-blank at the shell. The bullet ricocheted off the egg, then the fireplace, then lodged in the wooden wall of the cabin.

He stared at the eggs, realizing that what killed the parent would probably be the only thing to destroy the eggs. He needed the stingray barb.

In the meantime, he could at least get the eggs away from the aswang. He would hide them.

Using the carpet like a giant sack, Dean gathered up the loose ends and tied it shut with a piece of cord he found in a kitchen drawer. Donning his boots again, he hefted the sack over his shoulder and left the cabin. He had to move far away and hide the eggs.

Outside, the wind was still gusting, throwing up so much dry snow that Dean was instantly gripped in a complete whiteout. He stood his ground as the gale pushed at his back. He couldn’t tell where the ground ended and the sky began. As soon as the wind eased a bit, he set off.

He only hoped he could find his way back to the cabin. He would need to hole up until the storm blew through. The aswang wouldn’t be happy when it found its eggs gone, but maybe it wouldn’t be back that night. Besides, he might not be able to kill it, but he could sure as hell douse it with the spice concoction and drive it away.

Dean continued into the cold whiteness.

TWENTY-NINE

Barreling east along I-80, Bobby looked over at Sam, who placed his phone dejectedly in his lap. They’d been on the road for hours, with no further vampire incidents.

“Any luck?”

Sam shook his head. “Going straight to voicemail.”

“I still say the battery might be dead.”

Sam shrugged. “Then why wouldn’t he recharge it at the Impala?”

“Hot on the trail?”

“I hope that’s what it is.”

Sam dialed another number, then hung up. “Jason isn’t answering his, either.”

“We’ll be there soon. Dean will be fine.”

Sam looked over at him. “What about Dean’s head not being in the game?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Bobby insisted, but Sam could feel the weight of that white lie.

“I don’t like this.”

“Well, neither do I, but bitchin’ about it isn’t going to get us there any faster.”

They had left Point Reyes Station two hours ago, and were now passing through Sacramento. The American River sparkled in the sunlight as they passed over it, barges and a paddleboat lining its banks. The drive felt four times longer than it had on their way out.

They climbed into the foothills. As the elevation increased, they passed a sign that warned that snow chains were required on all vehicles heading east into the Sierra Nevadas. Bobby assured Sam he had chains in the back of the van.

Flurries started as they reached the historic town of Auburn. The snowfall increased as they got higher, and soon it was snowing so hard they could hardly see the road. A layer of ground fog hung thickly just above the highway, and Bobby slowed to a crawl behind a line of cars trying to reach Lake Tahoe and Reno beyond.

“This is terrible,” Sam said as they slowed down to five miles per hour.

A yellow road hazard sign glowed through the mist, warning them that the chain checkpoint was just a mile ahead. Bobby pulled over on the side of the highway and he and Sam quickly fitted the van with chains, tightening them down over the wheels. In five minutes they were back in the car, rattling toward the checkpoint.

As they neared the checkpoint agent, they crept ahead, a few feet at a time. The agent waved them ahead, seeing the chains on the van.

“How heavy is it snowing at Truckee?” Bobby asked.

“Highway might be closed by the time you get there. This is a whopper of a storm. You might have to spend the night there, or at the very least kill a few hours in a restaurant.”

“Thanks,” Bobby said, his mouth pulled into a colorless slit.

He pulled clear of the agent and picked up some speed, though the cars in front of them were only moving about twenty miles an hour. Still, it was better than the agonizing inching along they had been doing.

“Do you think Dean’s out in this?”

“He’s a smart kid. He can handle himself.”

Suddenly, the silver Escort in front lost control, skidding dangerously close to