Supernatural Fresh Meat - By Alice Henderson Page 0,68
“Employees Only.”
“Great. My feet feel like blocks of ice.”
He frowned. “That’s not good. Oh, and food services is all shut down, of course, but you can help yourself to what’s in the fridge.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ve been here before. I remember where that is.” She looked up at Dean. “See you in a bit.” She headed off.
“It’s pretty bad out there, son,” Don told Dean. “You’re lucky you’re okay.”
Dean heartily agreed. He couldn’t wait to shuck off his boots and warm his toes up, but first he had to reach Sam and Bobby. “You got a place where I can recharge my phone?”
“Sure. You can use my office. I’ll show you the way.”
Dean followed the little man through the elegant ski lodge. Artful chandeliers decorated with pine tree and bear motifs hung from high cathedral ceilings. On the walls, old-fashioned skis and snowshoes hung next to watercolor paintings of mountain meadows filled with wildflowers. In the main foyer, a waterfall cascaded over stones, landing in a small pool.
They passed behind the front desk and entered a room marked “Private.”
“Here it is,” Don said. “Help yourself.” He pointed out an outlet next to his cluttered desk. “I have to see how the avalanche boys are doing.”
He left hurriedly.
Dean slipped off his pack, happy to be free of the weight. He got out his phone and plugged it in, pressed the power button and felt good just to see the boot-up screen. He called Sam.
His brother picked up on the second ring. “Dean?” He sounded amazed and relieved.
“Hey, Sammy. Good to hear you.” Dean could hear the wind howling on Sam’s end. The reception was terrible, cutting in and out.
“Where… been?”
Dean could barely make out his words. Then the call dropped.
“Damn it!” Dean cursed, and called Sam back. It went straight to voicemail. He remembered how terrible reception was out there. He would wait for Sam to climb up something high and call him back.
Dean paced in the small office, willing the phone to ring. Three minutes later it did.
“Sam?”
“Dean!”
“You okay?”
“As well as can be expected. Where have you been?”
“In snow up to my ass. Where are you?”
“Ditto. We’ve been trying to track you.”
“Is Bobby with you?”
“Yeah, he’s here.”
“What about Jason?”
Sam hesitated. “We thought he was with you.”
“We got separated. I think something may have taken him. I tracked him for a while, but lost the trail in the snow.” “Dean, listen.” The wind howled even louder, and for a second Dean thought he’d lost Sam again.
“Sam?”
The connection crackled, went silent, then came back on. “…not a ranger.”
“What?”
“… doesn’t work for…”
“I can’t hear you.”
“Hold on.”
Dean waited, hearing Sam breathe as he walked, probably climbing to a higher location.
“Can you hear me now?” Sam asked. The connection was much better.
“Yes.”
“Grace is not a ranger.”
“What?”
“We went to the ranger station. She doesn’t work for them.”
“Then who the hell is she?” Dean asked.
“The better question might be what.”
Dean couldn’t believe it. “But she just helped me get to this ski lodge.”
“Is that where you are now?”
“Yes. Tahoe Summit Ski Lodge.”
Sam relayed the information to Bobby. “We can backtrack to the car, try to get through the roadblock to reach you.”
“Won’t do you any good. The mountain manager here said the last avalanche took out the road.”
“Then we’ll hike to you. Is Grace with you now?”
“She’s here at the resort.”
“Don’t let her leave your sight.”
Too late. “Okay. Tell Bobby I found some aswang eggs.”
“You’re kidding. Did you destroy them?”
“I couldn’t. So I hid them.”
The phone crackled again, and Sam’s voice went in and out.
“Hang… be there soon.”
“Okay. Be careful. It’s hell out there.”
“You’re… me,” Sam said and gave a sad laugh.
Then the connection blinked out. Dean waited for the phone to ring again, but knew it wouldn’t. At least they each knew where the other was now. Just in case, Dean hid his phone behind Don’s file cabinet while it recharged.
Rummaging through his pack, he grabbed his Bowie knife and his bottle of the spice concoction. Then, leaving the small office, he stalked off to find Grace.
FORTY-THREE
Sliding the spice concoction into his jacket pocket, Dean descended the stairs toward the employee area and equipment room. In a small crew room with lockers, he found five men milling around, suiting up.
Dean stepped inside. “You guys seen a short woman with blonde hair?”
One of the men turned to him. His face was covered with exposure wounds. Strips of raw flesh were exposed on his nose and cheekbones. Bloody cracks covered his lips. “Sorry, man,” he said.