Supernatural Fresh Meat - By Alice Henderson Page 0,75
rope.
His searching left foot found a tiny lip of rock and stepped over to it while his left hand gripped the tiny crevice with everything in him. Only his fingers and sheer will held him to the cliff face. He felt like his grip would slip off as he swung the axe out again, this time finding a bigger crevice to sink into. He felt the axe catch and shuffled his right foot closer to his left.
Now he was just out of reach of the vampires on the ledge to his upper right. His hold felt a little more secure.
“Okay, Bobby. Swing!” he shouted.
He prepared himself for the movement, his heart racing, then he felt Bobby start to move back and forth, building up momentum.
When he looked down, he saw the challenge facing his old friend. Up near the top, where Sam clung, the rock face was littered with holes, albeit tiny, to cram fingers and toes in, but where Bobby hung was only smooth granite, weathered away by a glacier in the distant past.
The vampires moved up the cliff face, returning to the top, and started searching for another way down. Bobby swung heavily on the rope below, and Sam felt the weight jerk as he hit the cliff face.
“God damn it!” Bobby cursed, his grasping hands not finding anything to hang onto.
He swung out again, fingers and feet scraping along the granite for any hint of a crevice. Sam gritted his teeth against the weight, feeling his left fingers start to slip. He couldn’t readjust with Bobby swinging like a pendulum below him. It would tear them right off the rock. He had to hang tight, hope that Bobby could grab hold of something.
Bobby swung back and forth three more times, each time colliding with the rock and not finding purchase.
“I have to adjust,” Sam called down, straining against the pull of the rope.
Bobby slowed the swinging, and when Sam felt the back-and-forth reduce to a straight-down weight, he readjusted his fingers in the little crevice.
Small rocks rained down on his face, and he looked up to see Black Overcoat lowering his partner over a sheer section of rock. In another second, she’d be in range to kick Sam squarely in the face again, knocking him clear off the rock face.
FORTY-SEVEN
With what felt like infuriating slowness, Dean shoveled out snow from around his waist and hips with his hands.
He shouted up to Susan near the lodge building. “There’s another one here!” But she didn’t turn. He waved at her, but she was busily digging someone else out and couldn’t hear him. Dean looked around for anyone else, but Susan was the only person he could see out and moving. It was up to him to save this guy.
The bare fingers flexed, grasping for help.
“Hold on,” Dean shouted, not even sure if the guy could hear him.
He dug down to the tops of his thighs, throwing up snow around himself. He reached his left knee, and suddenly he was able to lift his leg. He tore it free from the snow, then used the resulting hole to pull out his other leg. He heaved himself up and out and staggered over to the clasping hand.
He squeezed the fingers to let the buried man know he was there, and started digging. But doing it by hand was just too slow. He had to find a shovel, fast. Throwing off his parka to mark the spot, Dean ran toward Susan, who was crouched over a foot sticking out of the snow.
“I need a shovel,” he told her.
She dug hurriedly, trying to find the victim’s head to get them some air. She pointed to her left without looking up.
“Try that pack there.”
A blue avalanche control pack lay on its side above the snow. He grabbed the shovel lashed to the outside. As he straightened up, he spotted Jason, digging in the snow a few feet away in the gale.
Dean turned around, locating his coat’s color in all the white. When he saw the expanse of the slide, he was grateful he’d thought to mark the spot, or he might not have been able to find the guy again.
He ran back, squeezing the guy’s fingers again to let him know to hold on. But this time, the fingers didn’t grip back. Dean estimated where the guy’s head should be, and started digging down. He found another hand, and worked upward from it. Throwing shovel after shovel over his shoulder, Dean dug as fast