Supernatural

by ALICE HENDERSON

  “I think I may be on to something. I contacted a hunter on the west coast at Point Reyes who found an account of a villager using a stingray barb on the end of a whip. But both the whip and the barb have to be treated with a variety of spices and an incantation was performed on top of that. It’s not something I could whip up here. The ingredients make quite an exotic shopping list.”

  “So what should we do?” Below him, Dean watched as Sam and Grace milled about the clearing, talking awkwardly. The wind sighed through the trees, and a gust buffeted his back.

  “This hunter has some of what we need. I can go out there and get her to make it, but it would save time if you helped gather the ingredients. We could be there and back in a day.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Find anything exciting out there?”

  “Not yet. Grace found us again.”

  “Well, you two should come back. I don’t like the idea of leaving one of you alone out there. Faster we get this weapon made, faster we can take care of this thing.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell Sam.” Dean hesitated. “Should we call Jason? He was good backup before.”

  “Slow backup.”

  “But he helped.”

  “Okay,” Bobby relented. “I guess that way one of you could stay out there, warn people off, and the other could come to Point Reyes.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I’ll come pick one of you up at the trailhead now,” Bobby told him, and hung up.

  Dean noticed he had a voicemail message on his phone and checked it. It was Jason, telling them to look him up if they were ever back that way. “Nice hunting with you,” he’d said, and hung up.

  Dean debated, worried that at best Jason might slow them down, and at worst, get himself killed. But finally he decided the extra help would be welcome, especially if they all had to split up. He called him, catching Jason at the Aces and Eights.

  “Yo, Dean,” Jason said.

  “Hey Jason. How’s it going?”

  “Can’t complain. Ribs better. You guys must be halfway across Utah by now. To what do I owe the honor?”

  “We’re actually back in the Tahoe National Forest.”

  “What?”

  “There have been more killings.”

  “Another wendigo? I thought they were solitary.”

  “So did we. But it’s not a wendigo. It’s something worse.”

  Jason sounded incredulous. “Something worse?”

  “Yeah. An aswang.”

  “An ass what?”

  “Something we don’t want to mess with lightly. Bobby knows a hunter in Point Reyes who can make a weapon for us.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Near the Finder Mountain Trailhead.”

  “I’m coming to meet you.”

  “Okay.” He looked at his watch. “When can you get here?”

  “Give me two hours, maybe a little more. Got to gear up and then I’ll leave.”

  “Thanks, man.” They agreed to meet at the trailhead and Dean hung up.

  He rejoined Sam and Grace in the clearing. “Agent Cash has a lead,” he told Sam.

  “Great. Does he want us back there?”

  “Yeah. A.s.a.p.”

  Grace smiled ruefully. “So I’m back to being on my own?”

  “Sorry, ranger. Looks like it,” Sam told her.

  “I’m used to it. Wouldn’t survive long in this gig if I didn’t like being alone.”

  “Call us if you run into any trouble,” Dean said. He handed her one of their fake F.B.I. business cards, though the number on it was accurate.

  “And you’ll come running?” she asked dubiously.

  Dean smiled. “Something like that.”

  “Well, good luck,” she told them, and set off again in the direction she’d been heading.

  “I don’t like the thought of her out here alone,” Sam said as they watched her go.

  “Me, either,” Dean agreed. “But she’s tough. Besides, we can’t force her back to town.”

  “Maybe we should level with her.”

  “Are you kidding me, Sam? Level with her? She’d laugh us out of the forest. And then probably lock us up.”

  “So what did Bobby say?”

  “He thinks he has a line on a weapon that might kill it. He wants one of us to go with him to the bay area. I called Jason for backup. He’s meeting us at the trailhead.”

  They started walking back, keeping an eye out for hikers. The trees grew thick in this area, broken only by large expanses of grey granite. They ducked and bent, moving through a particularly dense section of pines, and Dean heard something moving ahead of them. “Sam!” he whispered.

  They squatted behind a boulder. Footsteps drew nearer, something big and bipedal moving through the underbrush.

  They waited tensely and it grew closer. Dean stood up suddenly, bringing his .45 to bear.

  From around a bend in the trail, a hiker with a huge backcountry pack appeared, face lit up and grinning beneath a shock of blond hair.

  Dean stepped out, flashing his F.B.I. badge. “This area’s been closed off.”

  The hiker’s face fell. “What? I’ve been planning this trip for ages. Finally got the time off.”

  Sam emerged, showing his F.B.I. I.D. as well. “Sorry, sir. There’s a manhunt in progress.”

  The hiker’s eyes went wide, and he glanced around nervously. “Manhunt? Like, serial killer manhunt?”

  Sam took the man’s elbow and turned him around on the path. “The sooner you return to your vehicle and leave the area, the better.”

  Looking thoroughly spooked, the hiker did as he was told, moving at a quick pace back the way he’d come. Sam and Dean followed at a distance, making sure he got back to the trailhead safely. Soon they reached the parking area, and watched while the man loaded his pack into his car and drove off.

  While they waited, they turned away two couples and a guy with a dog.

  Soon they heard the rumble of Jason’s truck. He pulled in next to the Impala and got out, lifting a hand in greeting. Hefting a pack out of the passenger side, he slung it on his back.

  He strode over to them. “So, what kind of fight are we looking at?”

  “Big,” Dean said.

  “Mean,” Sam added. “Seriously bad news.”

  “So how do we fight it?”

  “Bobby’s figuring that out now,” Dean told him.

  Jason looked around the forest. “We can’t just wait around. People are hiking into these woods all the time. I made two people turn back on the road just now. Told them some crazy story about a pack of rabid dogs. I think they were more scared of me than my story.”

  “One of us has to go to the coast with Bobby to get what we need for a weapon.”

  “It’ll work?”

  “We’re not sure yet. But it’s the best lead we’ve got.”

  Jason sized up Dean. “You up for staying out here with me, fending that thing off?”

  Dean felt a slight pang of something within him. It felt good to be needed. “Sounds good. Sam, you go with Bobby. We’ll stay here and patrol, try to discourage people from spending the night out here until you two get back.”

  Sam shifted his weight. “You sure, Dean?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “All right. Sounds like a plan.”

  Some tiny part of himself that Dean was ashamed to admit was there felt a little hurt at Sam’s nonchalant answer. So Dean would stay out here, fighting this thing, while Sam headed off to the bay with Bobby. He could remember a time when Sam wouldn’t have left his side. Now it seemed like Dean was merely an afterthought, and sometimes not even that.

  “Okay,” Dean said. “That’s the plan.”

  A few minutes later, Bobby’s van pulled up in the trailhead lot, its tires crunching on the gravel. He stepped out. “Jason,” he said in greeting.

  “Good to see you again, Bobby,” the other hunter answered.

  Bobby eyed Dean. �
��You boys going to be okay out here on your own?”

  Dean nodded. “Someone’s got to keep people from entering this thing’s territory.”

  Sam put his gear into the backseat of Bobby’s van and rejoined them. “Be safe, Dean.”

  Bobby looked at his watch. “And check in every six hours. If we don’t hear from you, we’re coming back here pronto.”

  Sam and Bobby climbed into the van and Dean watched them drive off. Now only their car and Jason’s beat up pickup waited at the trailhead parking lot. At least that meant there weren’t other hikers out there right now, at least none from this access point. Now all Dean had to do was keep people safe until Bobby and Sam returned.

  He and Jason walked back into the forest, alert to every sound and any hint of movement, while Dean gave Jason the rundown on what they were hunting this time. They passed through a dense copse of trees and emerged from the other side, moving toward a trail on the map. Dean figured most hikers would move along that path. They walked for a couple of hours, not running into anyone or seeing any hint of the aswang.

  A sudden rain of pebbles from a nearby ridge snapped his attention in that direction. A gaunt figure stood on top of the rocks there, some three hundred feet away. It stared down at them, unmoving. “What the hell?” Jason asked.

  Dean pulled out his binoculars, but before he could train them on the person, he had vanished.

  “Did you see him?” Dean asked.

  Jason nodded. “Skinny son of a bitch.”

  Dean pulled out his handgun and ran toward the bottom of the ridge. A steep but do-able slope of granite rose up to the top. Dean ran up the rock, aiming his gun in front of him as he drew near the crest. After a few feet, he’d reach the tree where the man had stood. Dean ducked low, hurrying toward it. He couldn’t see over the other side of the rock from there. He reached the top and pointed his gun down, scanning the other side of the ridge. A lot of open country stretched out before him. All he could see were more mountains, valleys, brush, and the ski resorts in the distance. Whoever had been standing there had lit out fast. Maybe too fast to be human.

  He moved along the top of the ridge, checking the area. No one. When he looked down, Jason stood at the base of the slope with his rifle out. He was using the scope to scan the hill.

  “Anything?” Dean called down.

  “Nope.”

  Dean descended, keeping his .45 out. They joined up at the bottom.

  “What was it?” Jason asked.

  “I have no idea. Dude was gone.”

  They hiked for another half an hour, moving through trees. In the distance they thought they heard human voices, a long way off. They started moving in that direction, wanting to turn away any new hikers.

  A sudden flash of movement brought Dean’s attention to the remains of a massive rockslide that had swept down the mountain in antiquity. Huge granite boulders piled up to a small level area with few trees. Standing next to one of the pines was the same thin figure they’d seen earlier. It looked human, lean and tall. Dean stared harder. Shifting his rifle from his shoulder, he pointed its scope to the spot. Standing next to the tree was a rail-thin man, one hand on the trunk. He was too far away to make out any features. He darted away, dropping out of sight as soon as Dean focused on him.

  “Jason! There’s someone up there. I think it’s the same person we saw before.”

  Jason trained his scope on the ridge, too. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “He’s fast.” Dean lowered his rifle. He scanned the ridge one more time for the strange figure, but didn’t see anyone. Dude was used to hiding, whoever or whatever he was.

  They continued on, but now they couldn’t hear the voices. Sound had a strange way of carrying in the forest. Things that were far away sounded close—voices, waterfalls—as they bounced off the granite walls. Dean wondered if they were walking near another trail.

  As he paused to check the map, he suddenly felt eyes burning into him. Pivoting, he saw the figure again, only this time he stood only a hundred feet away. He’d crept up on them, moving with no sound. A dark hood was pulled around his head, obscuring the face. Dean snapped up his rifle, ready to fire.

  EIGHTEEN

  As Bobby’s van rumbled over the rough road back to the main drag, its familiar scent surrounded Sam. The smell of Bobby’s cars, a mixture of oil and the comforting scent of sun-warmed flannel, instantly transported Sam back to his childhood. How many times had he driven around with Bobby while his dad was out on a case? A lot of the time Dean and his dad worked together, leaving Sam alone. It had created a distance between Sam and his father and brother. But Bobby had always been there. He had a way of making Sam feel at home.

  They hit Highway 80 and drove west. Passing through Emigrant Gap, Sam watched the now-familiar edifices of smooth grey granite on both sides of the highway. In cracks in the granite, pine trees grew. Sam flipped the sun visor down as the afternoon wore on. The canyon of the Yuba River soon yawned before them, carving deep trenches in the granite. Fire scars marked the forest here and there, creating a swath of bare trees, many scorched black.

  They descended, entering the foothills. Pine trees covered rounded slopes and the sun streamed through the branches. Soon the foothills leveled out, and they entered the Central Valley. In the distance, Sam could see the outline of Sacramento’s downtown cluster of buildings. The wide, flat plain of the American River stretched before them.

  They drove past the skyscrapers and over the river. The sun dipped lower and Sam shifted in his seat, worried about Dean. He didn’t like leaving him out there. He knew that joining Bobby would make assembling the weapon go a hell of a lot faster, but he was still uneasy. Dean hadn’t been the same since Sam got his soul back. Sam had watched his brother wandering around only partly engaged. Disillusionment and weariness kept creeping closer to Dean.

  “Bobby,” Sam said, squinting in the sun to face him. “I’m worried about Dean.”

  Bobby regarded him out of the corner of his eye. “And he’s worried about you. Some things never change. You two spend more time worrying about each other than you do breathing in and out.”

  “I’m serious. This feels different.”

  Bobby sighed. “All right, how does it feel different?”

  “It feels like Dean wants to give up.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed that, too,” Bobby conceded reluctantly. “Not a safe way to be in this game. The last thing a hunter needs is to be distracted.”

  “Or disillusioned.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you talk to him?”

  “I will.”

  As they drove across the Yolo Wildlife Area, Sam stared out at the birds gathering in the wetlands just off the highway. He thought about his brother, about the strange distance that had arisen between them. He remembered a time, not so long ago, when they had an almost telepathic understanding of each other. Back then they shared an unquestioning trust when it came to hunting together. But he didn’t feel that now.

  Sam knew he’d been distracted, too, fighting off images of Lucifer and flashbacks of agony from his time spent in the cage. Sometimes it felt like his head was tearing in two, with one part back in that terrible place, and the other part here, fighting monsters just like he’d always done. With each day he felt those two parts separate more, and constantly had to remind himself that he was out of the cage. That was no longer his existence, no matter how much his hallucinations of Lucifer wanted to convince him otherwise. The scar in his hand where Dean had stabbed him served as a reminder of how real this world was. It still ached and Sam was glad for it. He drove his thumb into the scar any time his mind doubted the reality of this world.

  He missed Dean. He missed himself, his old self. Sometimes he thought of his time at Stanford before he resumed the life of a hunter. Life had seemed full of hope then. He had been starting a future with Jess and attending college like he’d always wanted. Then everything had changed that night Dean showed up and told hi
m their dad had gone missing. Sam had rejoined the hunt and his life had never been the same again. Maybe it never had the chance of being normal. He was a Winchester, after all.

  “Awfully deep in thought over there,” Bobby said, breaking into his reverie. “You still worrying about Dean?”

  “Just thinking about the road not taken.”

  Bobby looked thoughtful, almost wistful. “Yeah, I know how that goes.”

  Sam knew Bobby had also seen his share of grief, that his chance at a normal life had been taken away, too.

  In the distance the coastal mountains came into view, fog gathering around the peaks. They climbed over them and suddenly Sam could see the sparkling waters of San Pablo Bay. They cut over to Highway 37, passing through miles of wetlands. White egrets fished, and dozens of ducks gathered in the late-afternoon sun. The sky reflected in the water, making the wetlands appear like little pools of sky themselves.

  “Think Jason is going to hold up out there?” Sam asked.

  “He’s taken a licking, but doesn’t seem to let it stop him.”

  The rolling hills of Marin County rose into view as 37 joined Highway 101. Bobby took it north and exited in the city of Novato, taking a road out toward the sea. “Almost there,” he told Sam.

  Cows milled in fields as they wound their way west. Oaks dotted the hillsides and vultures circled overhead. The sun hung low above the hills as they arrived in the small town of Point Reyes Station.

  It didn’t look much different than it must have decades before. Buildings from the late 1800s lined the main street, and a few pedestrians strolled along the street in the dusk.

  “Where do we find this hunter?” Sam asked.

  Bobby glanced around at the buildings. “She runs a little restaurant off the main drag called The Pelican’s Nest.”

  They passed through the central part of town and turned off onto a side street. The Pelican’s Nest stood halfway down the block. A sign sporting a white pelican sitting on a cluster of eggs hung above the door. The building was old, probably from the turn of the last century. Bobby found a parking spot around the side.

  “Is she expecting us?” Sam asked, climbing out of the van.