Supernatural Fresh Meat (13 page)

“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 him 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.

“Yep.”

They were halfway up the stairs when the front door opened and a woman in her fifties stepped out. Her brown hair hung loose and wavy around her pretty face. Intelligent eyes twinkled at the sight of them. She grinned and threw her arms around Bobby. “Bobby Singer,” she said, giving him an affectionate hug.

“Marta,” Bobby said in greeting.

“And this must be Sam Winchester.” She grinned at him.

Sam held out his hand, taking an instant liking to her. “Good to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She gave Bobby another squeeze and Sam was amused to see him get a little bit shy and flustered.

“Come on in!”

They followed her inside the restaurant, and she locked the door behind them. Something smelled amazing, like freshly baked bread and exotic spices. “Getting ready for the dinner rush,” she explained, gesturing toward the kitchen. “We open in half an hour.”

“Get a lot of business here?” Sam asked her.

“Tourists mainly, but we have a few devoted locals. It’s a nice day job to have to support the other one,” she told them quietly. Sam knew she meant hunting. “Let’s go into my office.” They followed her through a set of swinging doors, down a hall, and through another door. Inside was a cozy office, with a large batik print of a whale hanging on one wall. A Tiffany art deco lamp cast soft light on the red walls. She shut and locked the door behind them, then gestured for them to sit down in the office chairs next to her desk.

“So you really think you’ve found an aswang?” she asked.

Bobby nodded. “Seems that way.”

“I’ve never known someone to hunt one.”

“Me, either. Were you able to dig anything else up?”

She unlocked a drawer in her desk and pulled out an old leather-bound book. A ribbon marked a particular page and she opened to it. “This legend says that to keep the aswang away, the villagers created a special weapon that could spear it and drag it down to the earth. But it needs to be steeped in special spices and have an enchantment cast upon it.”

“Can you do it?” Bobby asked.

“I think so. I’ll need to get together all of the ingredients, and some are pretty obscure.”

“Like what?” Sam asked.

“Like ajowan and screw pine.”

“Wow. I’ve never even heard of those spices. Screw pine? Really?” Sam agreed.

“It’s also called pandan spice. I can do the enchantment part with Bobby.” She looked at Sam. “Can you gather the spices we’ll need to soak the whip in and the stingray barb for the hook?”

Sam pulled out his small notebook and pen. “No problem. Just give me a list.”

She skimmed over the book and said, “Okay. Salt, ajowan, galangal, screw pine, tamarind, wattle seed, kokum, kaffir lime, and lovage.”

“Lovage?” Sam asked. “There’s really a spice called ‘lovage?’ Screw pine and lovage?”

“Yes. And the whip has to be made out of twine that is two parts hemp and one part seaweed.”