Supernatural Fresh Meat - By Alice Henderson Page 0,57
told him.
It was the closest they would be able to get to where they’d left Dean. They had tried again to get through the roadblock with no success. Most of the guests had been evacuated from the Tahoe Summit Ski Resort, and absolutely no one was being allowed up the road to the trailhead where the Impala sat. Dean would not be happy that his baby was getting buried in feet upon feet of snow.
As the car jerked and lurched, Sam tried Dean’s cell again. Straight to voicemail. He tried Jason’s, too, with the same result.
The van jammed up against a boulder hidden under the snow, and Bobby had to reverse and try again. “Can’t make anything out in this storm!” he cursed.
“Just a little farther,” Sam said, consulting the map again. “There’s another road on the right in 0.2 miles.”
When they reached it, Bobby turned right, but the road ascended steeply and became even more washed out and treacherous.
“I don’t know how far we’re going to make it. This looks more like a fire break than a fire road.”
Branches scraped along the sides of the van as they climbed. A few times the vegetation grew so thick on either side that Sam thought the car might get wedged. But they pushed through.
“Not far now,” he assured Bobby. “The secondary trail should come into view in the next couple minutes.”
They rose higher, the tires spinning on patches of ice beneath the snow. They saw a large pullout, and Sam checked their GPS location against the map. “This is it, Bobby.”
Bobby parked in the wide gravel spot and they geared up in the warmth of the van. Sam donned a Capilene shirt, fleece pullover, and rainproof parka. On his bottom half he wore Capilene long johns and a pair of warm pile pants under waterproof rain paints. He slid on a warm black balaclava and a Turtle Fur hat. Then he stepped outside, his breath instantly sucked out by the sheer cold of the air.
He buckled on the snowshoes over his waterproof boots and cinched a pair of gaiters around his ankles and calves. No snow was getting in.
On the other side of the van, he could hear Bobby tightening up his snowshoes. Starting to feel warm despite the temperatures being in the low twenties, Sam strapped his rifle to his back, grabbed a handgun, the stingray whip, three bottles of the spice concoction, and stuffed them all in his parka pockets. In his pack he put food, water, an emergency blanket, map, compass, phone, phone charger, and extra batteries. On the bottom he lashed a waterproof bag with a tent and his sleeping bag.
“You ready?” Bobby asked from behind him.
Sam turned to his friend. Bobby was so thickly suited up in cold weather gear that he looked like the Michelin Man, if the Michelin Man walked around with an arsenal strapped to his back. Bobby placed four jars of the spice concoction into pockets in his parka, too.
“I’m ready,” Sam told him.
Side by side, they lowered their snow goggles in place, grabbed their trekking poles, and started off into the dark and the heart of the blizzard.
THIRTY-FIVE
Dean startled awake to a thunderous roar. He sat up in bed, unsure for a moment where he was. For a second he thought he’d fallen asleep in the car next to a freight train yard. Something loud was approaching. He propped his elbow behind him, his heart thumping wildly. Then he remembered where he was, in the bedroom of the cabin in the Tahoe National Forest. Exhaustion had claimed him some time in the early hours.
The roar grew louder, reminding him of the cacophony of funnel clouds he’d seen in Kansas. He swung his legs to the ground and peered up through the window above the bed. Only white swirled there.
He stood up, moving to the window and staring out. The higher viewpoint didn’t offer anything else. Only white fog met his eyes.
“Grace?” he called, walking quickly into the main room.
She wasn’t on the couch where he’d left her. The quilt over the broken window had billowed out, blowing over the chair.
He pulled on his boots and moved to the door. Outside, the roar intensified. He found the door unlocked and swung it open just as the ground began to shake. He gripped the doorjamb with both hands as the cabin started to vibrate and shudder. He could make out the vague, hazy outline of trees in the swirling white. The snow on