When the Man Comes Around
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, John and various OCs
Rating: FRT
Warnings: violence, rough language, blood and gore
Summary: Every man has a moment of doubt. How he lives his life is determined by what he does when the moment passes.
Many thanks to Sioux_Sioux for the beta and the great suggestions on the story.
The
whirlwind is in the thorn trees.
It's
hard to kick against the bricks.
In measured hundred weight and
penny pound,
When the man comes around
Johnny Cash
Myrtle, Texas
It was hot in the room, but his dad refused to keep the windows open, even though Dean had laid the salt lines and even taken the time to draw protection symbols on the walls above the windows with a thick black Sharpie marker. Dean rolled over onto his back, sweat was trickling down his spine, pooling in the waistband of his boxers, and he shuffled around. From across the room he could hear his father snoring softly.
John was snuffling in his sleep, and muttering. Dean lay back letting his father's soft night sounds wash over him. He was used to this, the heat and the close quarters and John stretched out on the bed next to his. It seemed like home.
Rolling over, he edged closer to side of the bed which was shoved in the corner of the cheapest hotel room they could find. John said something again, but Dean wasn't keen on figuring out if John was just having a bad dream or was complaining that Dean was making too much noise. With a grin he settled back just letting the familiarity lull him to sleep..
Monrovia, Texas
It was too hot to be doing this, Dan Taylor thought as he watched the old yellow and gray Texas DOT pick-up truck rumble to a halt just a few feet away from where he was working the skip loader. The smaller vehicle coughed and sputtered as he scooped up a bucket of loam from the road base and dumped it into a pile on the side of the graded out area.
Leaning back he glanced at the sky, at the red and purple clouds streaking the horizon as the sun dipped behind a low ridge of foothills. It was almost seven o'clock in the evening, two hours past quitting time and a lot of the guys were bitching about working overtime. Dan wasn't, he and his old lady had another kid on the way and he needed every dime he could bring in. Right now he and Jimmy Anderson were the only two left on the site.
The loader hit a bump and Dan was jostled around in the seat. With a growl he cut the engine and jumped down. The bump turned out to be a hard ridge of limestone under the sandy soil. Grunting Dan leaned down brushing his hands over the hardened soiled, the edges were smooth, as if eroded by the wind or water, but the limestone had been under the sand. Dan paused confused then pushed against the rim of the limestone tunnel. The rock gave and he scraped more of it away with his hands, opening a mouth leading into a tunnel down into the ground. Dan stooped down looking into the tunnel, but it was far too small for his bulky frame. From far off he could hear a rustling sound as if something was moving down under the ground. Backing up Dan turned to the other man on the site.
"Hey Jimmy, get your skinny butt over here."
The younger man jumped down from the back of the pick-up truck he was unloading and wandered over to where his friend stood. He glanced down at the opening then grinned at the larger man.
"Couldn't squeeze your fat ass in there?"
Dan smacked him on the shoulder.
"I don't know what the hell it is, but I think that I heard something moving inside. Maybe a coyote den or something."
"I don't want to get bit by some damn rabid coyote," Jimmy huffed, but he leaned over looking at the opening.
With a grim expression Jimmy thrust one arm into the tunnel then jumped back. When no rabid animals poured out he shrugged and bent over at the waist sticking his head in the hole. Suddenly his body jerked and Dan jumped back a little.
"Jimmy?" he queried.
A shrill scream rent the air, and Jimmy's body spasmed, bowels cutting loose. Dan gagged but grabbed the younger man. He got one arm wrapped around Jimmy's waist and jerked hard. The body tumbled out, knocking Dan on his ass. He shrieked when he realized that he had Jimmy's lower half in his hands. The body was ripped apart at the waist, blood spewing over the ground as the torso and legs emptied themselves out into the sand.
Muttering under his breath the big man crawled a few feet away, jerking around at the sound of movement in the tunnel's entrance. He looked over his shoulder as, what looked like a medium sized ape, scrabbled out of the hole. The red fur covering its face was matted with blood and bits of flesh; its eyes shone dull silver in the last rays of the sun.
The creature glared up at the sunset and ducked back into the tunnel. Dan didn't stay around to see if it decided to venture out again. He scrambled to his feet and flung the door open to the pick-up truck. Rolling up the window he fumbled his cell phone out of his pocket and called the highway patrol.
He cranked up the pick-up and pulled onto the road headed back toward the city. Dan remembered passing a small out of the way bar not too far down the road, in some little back-water town just off the road. In a few minutes the truck was skidding to a halt outside the rough wood structure.
Big Jim's was the only bar in Monrovia, a town of about two hundred residents. The bar was a two storey structure of rough wood beams with frosted plate glass windows in the front and a kitchen added on in the back. Most nights the bar was only half full at best, and on some nights only a dozen or so people would be gathered around the small round tables and the scarred wood bar.
Big Jim himself was behind the bar, his long black hair pulled back in a single braid that fell down the back of his blue chambray work shirt. His Stetson sat at a slight angle over his thick black brows, as he watched Carrie Utley, his solitary waitress, haul freshly washed glasses in from the kitchen.
They were the only two people in the bar when Dan shoved the door open. He glanced behind him at the setting sun and suddenly Dan was sure that he didn't want to be outside. With a shiver he whirled and gasped as he could just make out movement in the grassy lot across the street.
A head appeared above the tall weeds, followed by another one. The gleaming silver eyes followed his every movement and Dan stumbled through the door, screaming for the girl at the bar to shut the windows.
She jerked around dropping the tray of glasses that she was carrying, with a shriek. The tall middle-aged man behind the bar glared at the girl then at the man standing in the door.
"Bar's closed," he huffed, "Come back at seven."
"Jim it's five till I think that's close enough," the girl said, with a long suffering sigh.
"You don't own the place, girl," Jim replied, with a more pronounced frown but he grabbed a broom out of the corner of the room and began sweeping up the shards of glass. "Do you know how much these glasses cost, Carrie?"
The girl aborted her dash across the room to the side windows, and snapped,
"You can bill me for them."
Jim grunted, "On what I pay you, you'd never get 'em paid for."
Dan turned and regarded the mass of furry bodies descending on the bar with malicious intent. He shoved the door closed behind him.
"I'm not kidding. There's some kind of animals out here, and they look like they're coming over here."
"Animals," Jim said gruffly, "So close the door. How much problem could they be anyway?"
"They just ripped one of my guys in half. That's how much trouble they could be."
Jim came around the bar and helped Carrie slam the smaller side windows closed looking at the pale, washed-out face of the big man by the door. He frowned again then looked past the man as a small bus of some kind pulled off the road into the parking lot.
There was a hiss of compressed air as the doors of the bus opened, and then voices. The two men stood in the doorway watching as several groups of people began piling off the bus. The first group was half way across the parking lot when a tight little mass of red furred bodies erupted out of the grass and swarmed into the lot. They surrounded the bus striking at the few people coming out of the doors.
The driver was waiting at the door when two of the beasts hit him mid chest. His scream was cut off as one of the creatures raked its claws across his throat opening the artery. Blood jetted into the air. The larger group of people were milling around the parking lot in dazed confusion until two of the things jumped off the bus and headed toward the humans at a run.
The women screamed, several of them grabbing at children. They scattered, running toward the bar. Dan stepped back as the first three people made it to the door. They slipped past him squatting at the bar and staring mutely at the door.
Three more men were high-tailing it across the asphalt, but the last one in the line was slammed to the ground by one of the larger creatures and he screamed as it tore at his face with sharp-clawed fingers. His skin shredded, blood welling over the thing's blackened nails as it gibbered, gobbling large hunks of flesh. Two more of the creatures jumped on the body and began tearing strips of flesh away from the very fresh corpse.
Big Jim reached behind the bar and grabbed his shotgun running for the parking lot. He shoved the bigger man aside and slid across the porch onto the asphalt. By the time Jim made it to the bus the creatures had massed in the parking lot and were swarming around one of the women and her husband. Jim raised the gun snapping off a shot.
His first shot took out the street lamp at the far end of the parking lot and he hissed out a curse. Three of the things were standing on the top of the bus and Jim aimed the gun again. This time he managed to hit one of them. It fell heavily to the ground. Immediately the other two jumped down ripping it to shreds.
With a grim smile Jim loaded two more shells in the gun and fired quickly. But his aim was off and all he managed to hit was the phone box on the side walk at the parking lot's entrance. It exploded in a shower of white sparks and ozone. The creatures shrieked and jumped back when the box flared and Jim thought they were probably afraid of fire or maybe the light. He never got to give this valuable bit of information to the others in the bar. He re-loaded and fired, but his aim was never good and he took out two more street lights, casting the parking lot into darkness.
Jim turned toward the sound of gibbering behind him. Setting his sight on one of the things sitting on the ground, he hit it squarely in the chest; its torn body flew ten feet in the air hitting the asphalt with a thud. Several of the creatures fled the body of the human they were ripping apart and began tearing at the corpse of their fallen pack-mate. Jim grimaced, the goddamn things were cannibals. He turned back to the door and ran, but his long loping strides brought him into the middle of small knot the creatures. The things jumped at him, far quicker than he had thought they could move. They dragged him down before he could re-load the shotgun.
Dan slammed the double doors behind the last man off the bus to make it to the bar. Of the twenty people on the small bus, four were scattered in pieces over the parking lot, along with Big Jim. From the window he could see darker patches of blood and tissue, the blood reflecting a sticky yellow image of the streetlamps Jim hadn't taken out in his wild shooting spree.
With a grimace the big man turned to the rest of the group in the bar.
"We've got to board up the windows and block the rear door. See if there's anything in the back that we can use to hold this door closed. They're busy now, but they'll come after us."
"Maybe they'll just go away," Carrie said.
One of the men from the bus shrugged.
"Can we be sure of that? We need to do like he says, barricade the place and call the cops."
Hurriedly they began breaking down the tables. Carrie ran into the kitchen slamming the back door shut, and throwing the deadbolt. At least the door was solid wood, a fire door, and reasonably strong. She hauled out the shovel that Jim had used to tamp down the garbage dumpster back into the bar.
"Here put this through the door, it'll hold it closed."
Dan nodded running the handle through the double handles on the front door. They were tough, hard wood with only tiny windows at the top. At least the things couldn't get in that way. But the front of the bar had two huge plate glass windows these were vulnerable. He motioned the three other men over.
"We need to board up these windows fast. Let's tear the planking out of the bar and nail it across the windows."
Carrie frowned.
"Jim won't like you ripping up his bar."
Dan turned to her.
"Look, honey, your boss is beyond caring what we do to his bar now."
"All right," she said breath hitching in her chest. "I know where Jim keeps his tools."
A few minutes later she was back dragging a big old metal box behind her. Dan pulled it over and hauled out a crowbar. He slipped it under the planking on the bar top and began breaking out the boards. With everyone working it took less time than he had thought it would. Dan surveyed their handiwork with satisfaction. It wasn't shop standard, but it'd hold for a while.
They tore apart as many of the small wooden tables as they could and shoved them into the hallway leading to the kitchen. It effectively blocked the rear door, and Dan decided not to say that while it might keep the things from getting in, it would also keep the group from getting out. Glancing at the front of the room he prayed that the boards on the windows held.
"One of the women pulled out a cell phone, "I'm going to call the police, maybe they can come get rid of them."
She frowned down at the small device in her hands.
"It says that I have no signal."
After a few minutes everyone who had a cell phone had tried to call out. No one could get a signal, and the phones in the building were dead. Dan told them Jim had wiped them out with a single shot gun blast.
"Well," one of the men said, "Maybe we can sit tight, and wait them out. If they can't get in maybe they'll just go away."
Dan headed up the stairs to look out of one of the upstairs windows.
The creatures had massed in the parking lot in a single large group. They were staring intently at the building, almost as if they were looking for weaknesses in the barricades. He didn't think that the things were that intelligent. Suddenly one of the larger creatures picked up the gun. He toyed with it for a few seconds then flung it at the window. The shot gun hit the glass with a resounding crash. The window didn't shatter completely but it cracked, and Dan could see the thing assessing the damage. Somehow he didn't think it would be too long before they figured out how to get inside.
John was sitting at the table in their hotel room when he heard a call come over the police scanner he habitually kept tuned to the highway patrol. He flipped the volume up and scribbled the location down on a page in his journal. He hurriedly tossed his remaining unpacked belongings into his duffle bag glancing at the door to the bathroom. He could still hear the thin drizzle of water from the shower. Stomping over to the door John banged on the flimsy plywood rattling to door in its frame.
"Hey Dean, I picked up the trail on those damn gremlins again. We lost them three years ago. I figured they went underground, but it sounds like something flushed them out."
Dean hurriedly cut the water and grabbed a limp towel hanging off the vanity. He rubbed it over his chest wincing as the washed out fabric barely sopped the water off his skin. With a sigh he wrestled his briefs and jeans on before kicking the door open. He didn't even know why he bothered closing it; it wasn't like his father hadn't seen him naked before. Still John was meticulous about Dean having some sense of common decency. Even if John maintained that his son had never been properly socialized as a child. Dean never missed the opportunity to remind John that, if that was the case, he had no one to blame but himself.
John was tossing Dean's stuff into his bag, searching through the drawers methodically making sure not to miss anything. Dean snagged a t-shirt from his father's hand and slung it over his head. Collapsing on the bed he tugged his hiking boots out and dug through the bag for clean socks. Dean grinned, looking over at his father, despite the heat John was dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt with a heavy cotton work shirt over it. It seemed like his father never wore less that three layers. With a frown he recalled that Sammy had picked up that habit from their dad as well. But he and John didn't talk about Sam right now. In a few minutes he was dressed and they were loading their stuff in their respective vehicles.
John shoved a duffle bag containing his Glock 19 and an AK-47 in it over to the passenger side seat. The bag sagged with the weight of the guns and ten boxes of shells. He frowned it wasn't like him to leave that much firepower laying around for just anybody to see, but it had been almost two am when they pulled in the parking lot, and not a soul in sight.
Dean cranked up the Impala and John could see him toss his cell phone on the dashboard. John fished his own phone out of his jacket pocket and dumped the crumpled denim over the duffle bag of weapons. He hauled the door to the truck open and climbed inside, not bothering to check to be sure if Dean had the location written down, the younger man would follow him without fail.
When the Impala and John's big, old red-neck truck hauled ass into the bar's parking lot about thirty minutes later they could see it looked like a war zone. The gremlins were gathered around, staring at the building.
John pulled his truck up to the bar as close to the door as he could. It was going to be tight, and he and Dean needed to move fast. He had no idea how many people were in the place, or if the gremlins had gotten in. The bar was dark, but John could make out thin slivers of light between what appeared to be hastily nailed boards. At least one of them inside had half a brain.
The gremlins had scattered when the vehicles pulled into the parking lot, frightened by the headlights, but John knew they'd be back. Gremlins couldn't survive the light of the sun, and artificial light scared them, but not for long. While they weren't sentient they were clever. And they had some skill at solving problems particularly how to get inside a building where their prey was hiding. It wouldn't be long before they got around to attacking the windows.
He glanced at the rearview mirror. They were moving toward the truck. John would have to choose between moving around the cab and getting the duffle bag with the guns or getting out of the cab and covering Dean with the .45 he had tucked in the waistband of his jeans.
Dean took the choice away from John when he flung open the door of the Impala and stepped outside. Cursing under his breath John kicked the truck's door open and dropped to the ground. He got off a shot as the largest of the gremlins nearest to him launched itself at his son.
He caught the thing in the neck, shattering half its head. The others scattered, turning to hiss at the humans. John thought he might be clear, until one of them hurled itself over the truck's cab and hit him in the back. The gun skittered out of John's hand and slid across the ground.
Dean managed to pick it up firing a single shot above his father head, afraid of hitting John if the gremlin moved. John jerked around and the shot went wide. He staggered back a step fetching up against the bumper of the truck. The gremlin slid down his arm, reaching for John's face. He jammed an elbow into its side knocking the creature back, and then got his left hand on its throat.
With a grunt John mashed the creature's body between his shoulder and the truck's hood. Jerking his left hand up, he got an elbow in the gremlins throat and snapped its neck, but not before it dug three long scratches down the length of his arm from the shoulder to the elbow. John was fairly certain that the cuts went all the way to the bone.
Dean caught John around the waist as the gremlin fell to the ground, and slid his arm under his father's armpit, hoisting him up. They staggered to the door of the bar.
Dean stumbled through the door, with John's arm slung around his shoulder. The older man was all but out on his feet and Dean counted it a miracle that his father hadn't dropped flat on his face in the parking lot. He watched at the two women slammed the door closed behind then working the shovel handle back through the double handles securing the door in place.
Dean hurried to a table and pushed John down into a chair. Looking around the younger man waved one of the women over, "Do you have a first aid kit? Anything I can clean his arm with?"
Carrie nodded mutely and hurried behind the bar pulling out Big Jim's emergency supplies box. The dog-eared tattered cardboard box held some tin-foil packets of freeze dried food, bottles of water, a couple of flashlights and a large white plastic box with a red cross on the front. Dean took the box from her sitting it on the table beside the older man. Flipping the switchblade out of his pocket he used it to slice through his father's shirt sleeve.
"Dad, you still with me?" he hissed as the blood soaked cloth parted under the razor sharp blade. Laying one hand on the back of his father's neck Dean squeezed gently. John reached up with his good hand and patted the back of Dean's hand. Two of the kids sitting in the floor rose and edged closer, but Dean stilled them with a glance. John raised his head coughing.
Once the sleeve was gone Dean could clearly see the deep gashes running the length of his father's upper arm. Two were shallow enough that they were crusting over already, but the third was bleeding profusely. He upended one of the bottles of water over John's arm and flinched when his father couldn't hold in a hiss of pain. With the surface blood washed away Dean was relieved to see the two longer cuts were no longer bleeding, just puffy and raw looking deep scratches, but the third cut kept leaking a steady stream of blood onto the tabletop.
"Dad, I'm going to have to stitch this up," he said, waiting for his father to make some sort of sign he was coherent enough to understand. John nodded. Dean finished pouring the water over the wounds on his father's arm then rummaged through the first aid kit for antiseptic. Flushing the wounds a second time Dean picked up a packet of pre-threaded needles and tore it open with his teeth. John braced his arm on the tabletop, and Dean set to work stitching the largest gash closed. John flinched a couple of times and that actually made the younger man feel better, at least his father hadn't lost any of the feeling in his arm. When he was finished Dean wiped a thick layer of antiseptic salve over the stitches and bandaged the arm. John watched carefully, and then bent his elbow experimentally to be sure he still had some use of the limb. He grunted in satisfaction as his son sat back eyeing him critically.
"Okay?" Dean asked and John smiled.
One of the men sitting at the bar, big and bluff-faced, wearing an orange t-shit that Dean belatedly recognized as belonging to the Department of Transportation. He backed off the stool, coming to stand in front of John and Dean.
"There weren't as many of those things here before you two got here," he snapped. "Why'd you bring them here?"
One of the other women frowned.
"Shut up, Dan. They were out there before theses guys got here. We all know that. We've seen five people die, and these guys made it in here alive."
Dan shook his finger in her face.
"Maybe those things followed them here, you ever think of that?"
"We followed them," John said quietly.
The others all looked at him. The woman who was arguing with Dan made a face at John.
"Why would you do that?"
"It's what we do," Dean answered. "We hunt and kill things like that."
Dan snorted. "It looks like they almost killed your friend there."
With a sigh John pushed the chair back and slid around facing the group.
"Do you have any guns in this place, at all?"
Carrie shook her head.
"Big Jim always kept a shotgun behind the bar, but when he went out earlier, they got him, and he had the gun with him. We've looked, there's not a single other gun in the place. Nodding John motioned to Dean.
"How many rounds we got left in the .45, Dean?"
"About a half a clip in the gun and another clip in my pocket. Not enough to get us anywhere."
John took a deep breath.
"I've got my Glock, the AK-47 and ten boxes of cartridges in a duffle bag in the front seat of my truck. We need to get it."
Dean handed his father the .45, but John waved him back. "I'll go."
"Dad, I'm a lot faster than you. And your arm is racked up."
"All the more reason why I need to go. You need to cover me with the .45. If it was my Glock I could handle it left handed, but not the .45, too much recoil."
Dean grunted. John could tell that his son really didn't like the idea, but he had to agree. With John's right arm out of commission, he was seriously limited in what weapons he could use.
The small knot of people gathered in the center of the room watched mutely as John rose from the table. Dean followed the older man to the door, glancing out of the small window in the upper half of the door. He could see that there were about a dozen of the gremlins left in the parking lot itself, but another dozen more were in the field across the street. He could hold these few at bay for awhile, give John the chance to duck around the truck and get the bag. But if they waited, and the others made it across the street there would be too many gremlins out there.
Sighing he looked at his father.
"We better do it now. There's an even dozen that I see, maybe more but more coming across the way."
John shook his head.
"Okay, I'm ready."
Dean pulled the shovel out of the door handles and kicked the door. The noise startled the few gremlins feeding on the remains of their earlier kills. They scattered shrieking in anger and fear.
John hit the porch at a dead run, skidded across the wood and leapt onto the asphalt. The few creatures closest to the door raised their head, sensing fresh meat. Gibbering, the largest of the three gremlins close to the truck made a move for the human. Dean stepped out of the door and brought up the gun.
The shot rang out in the still night air, and the gremlin jerked as the bullet slammed into its chest. Dark blood spewed over the ground. The two other gremlins abandoned their flight toward John in favor of just settling for tearing into the corpse of their pack-mate.
John slid around the hood of the truck and jerked the door open. He got the strap of the duffle bag over one shoulder and stood. The bag jammed against the front of the seat for a few seconds. One of the gremlins hit the hood of the truck sliding across. John ducked and a second gun-shot rang out. The gremlin jerked in mid-air and spun away hitting the windshield with a dull whump. The body slid down the glass and John frowned, but the windshield was not cracked. He shoved the gremlin's body across the hood and watched in satisfaction as it tumbled to the ground. Taking a deep breath he turned away from the parking lot, back to the creatures and ran for the door.
Dean fired the gun three more times before John hit the porch then stepped back inside as his father got to the door. Quickly John dumped the bag at his feet and slammed the doors behind him. Dan was at his side in a minute and helped the older man cram the shovel through the door handles securing them again.
Panting John winced as he slid the duffle bag off his shoulder and thumped it on the table. He slid into a chair, winded, and breathing hard. His arm ached. Sighing he glanced at the young woman standing by the bar.
"You don't happen to have any coffee do you?"
She nodded vacantly, and John wasn't sure if he was annoyed or flattered at the awe on her face.
"It ain't real fresh, but it's still hot." Carrie asked, "You want cream and sugar in it?"
"Honey, if I wanted a cup of cream and sugar I would have asked for a cup of cream and sugar. Just black is fine."
John smiled grimly as she blushed. Dean laughed quietly settling into a chair beside his father.
Carrie sat a cup of coffee down on the table beside John then smiled tentatively at Dean. John grinned as he raised the cup to his lips, watching his son out of the corner of his eye. Although John couldn't quite grasp Dean's fascination for waitresses he had never interfered in Dean's pursuit of the opposite sex. In fact he felt relieved that Dean chased a few skirts now and again. But today Dean was having none of it. They were working after all. He offered her a grim smile, but moved away putting some space between them.
The girl apparently wasn't buying it.
"I'm Carrie I work as a waitress here."
"Dean Harrison," he said quietly and John snickered under his breath. Dean shot him a look and then turned back to the girl. She was frowning down at the older man, and then she edged closer to Dean again.
"You said that you hunt these things? The two of you together?" she asked.
Dean sighed then nodded.
"Yeah," Dean said, "Just two of us, no others need to apply, get it?"
John looked up from the table, sliding the coffee cup away as he stood. He moved to the tiny window in the door glancing out. Even in the dim light of the remaining street lamps John could see the huddle masses of small furry bodies; they were gathering. Where there had been maybe a dozen of the things earlier when John had made his inelegant dash to the truck while Dean plowed through the critters with the .45 there were more now, a lot more.
Dean looked at his father from the other side of the window. His expression mirrored John's own. The creatures were massing for an attack. No two ways about it. When they got into the building, and they would get into the building, all these people would die. Sighing John motioned Dean closer.
"We've got to get these people out of here. None of them will make it until morning if we don't move 'em out. I figure the best bet is to get to the bus. The driver's dead, but one of us can drive the damn thing. We just need to get the bus moving fast enough to outrun 'em," John said. Dean frowned.
"We don't know how much gas in the bus, and there's an awful lot of glass on the thing. We could lose some of them if we can't get loaded fast enough," he objected.
John shook his head.
"We're gonna lose some of them anyway, no matter how fast we move. The kids'll slow us down."
Dean motioned at the bus through the window. Finally he said, "So one of us goes out and opens the doors, the other stays back with the group to lay down covering fire while we move out of the building. Whoever is in the bus can lay down fire too, keep the little bastards at arm's length."
"Maybe," John said casting a glance at his son. "You can mow a lot of 'em down with the Kalashnikov, but not from the bus. You need to cover the group. Cover me while I get the doors open."
"I'm a hell of a lot faster than you," Dean objected as if he had not just had this argument with his father less than half an hour ago. John held up his bandaged arm yet again.
"I can't use the AK-47; you need two good arms. I can mange the Glock just fine with my left hand. Just cover me from the door and if I go down button this place up tight."
Dean was checking over the weapons that John had brought in from his truck. Turning away from his son he glanced at the shattered faces of the people in the room. Even with the five deaths among them there were still about a dozen people left alive, people who were looking at John like he was some kind of a savior. He wanted to scream at them to help themselves, that he and his son were battered, bruised and weary beyond believe, but he didn't.
Instead he let his gaze travel over the crudely boarded windows, the pile of chairs and broken table-tops that barricaded the door to the back rooms. Then John turned a mute gaze back to the people huddled in the floor in a small group. Three men, five women and four children. The kids were a liability, frightened and possibly uncooperative. One of them was about twelve and maybe he could stand on his own two feet, but the three others were little ones. They'd slow the group down. Well, there was bound to be collateral damage, no getting around it.
John held his bandaged arm against his chest. He sighed watching as Dean methodically slipped 39 millimeter rounds into the spare clips for the Kalashnikov. The look of intense concentration on Dean's face almost made John's stomach roll. How come he could not remember when his son had become such an efficient killing machine? John shuddered and Dean glanced up at his father smiling. Finally, Dean set the clips aside, apparently satisfied that he had enough ammo to keep the AK-47 going for a while.
John glanced down at the Glock in his own hand. He had three thirty-three round clips in his pockets and another in the gun. They were armed to kill a lot of bodies, living or otherwise. His arm ached and John let his eyes drift close. He jerked when a hand fell on his good shoulder.
Dean was standing beside him, closer than John had though and berated himself for not hearing his son approach. What kind of father was he? John had lost sight of that a long time ago. Possibly the first time he sent his son into a dark building alone, to flush out a hellhound while John laid in wait, knowing Dean was a faster runner than himself.
Dean's eyes were soft, staring at his father, and John flinched.
"I can't do this any more," he hissed and Dean flinched.
"I don't get you, Dad."
"I mean I can't do this…" John waved his hand in the air. "All this Dean, between the two of us we have enough ordinance to take out half a city. Maybe Sam was right, maybe we should chuck it in and go somewhere quiet…."
Dean pushed his father back a step, mouth twisting into an angry grimace.
"And do what, Dad?" he whispered glancing around to make sure that no one overheard him.
John shot him a warning look to mind his manners, but Dean's back was up and he pressed closer to the older man.
"Find a nice girl, settle down. It's what any man wants for his sons. Any normal man," John snapped, trying to put some room between the two of them. "It's what you should want…"
"That's so much shit. What would I do? Get married, squeeze out a litter, and work the old nine to five?" Laughing bitterly Dean propped the gun against his hip. "I don't want that. I want the life we have. Do you know how many people would be dead if it wasn't for us?"
"And how many of them even remember our names after we're gone?" John snapped.
Dean stepped forward again closing the space between them not giving John a chance to pull back. He stared at his father's grim face.
"Yeah, but at least they're still alive after we leave."
Suddenly there was a thump against one on the plate glass windows and the tinkling of shattering glass. John moved away, casting a glance behind him. Squaring his shoulders he took a deep breath. John glanced down at his watch and grimaced.
"It's barely midnight that leaves us six more hours of darkness, and they're moving in for an attack all ready. We can't stay here, and we can't depend on sunrise to drive 'em back underground. These things are smart enough to figure out how to get in here. They'll work the windows and eventually they get through the barricades. We need to get out of here," he said.
Dean glanced at his father again and sighed. He moved back to the waitress.
Carrie looked up, wide-eyed with fear. She turned on Dean, although he was much larger than her. Swallowing hard she said, "Your friend went out there earlier and he almost got killed. You and him are used to doing this, but we're not. These little ones won't make it across the porch let alone the parking lot."
Dean stalked across the room gently taking her arm. He pulled her around turning her face toward the front windows. She could see the ragged edges of glass where the window had fallen in.
"They'll get in, then how long do you think these little ones will survive?"
John sighed letting his eyes slip closed for a second.
"That's why I'm going to go out there and open the doors on the bus. I'll move the bus around so that the doors are facing the front of the bar; all you have to do is get them out the door and onto the bus. Dean'll cover you with the AK-47. I'll lay down covering fire from the front of the bus. Just move 'em across the damn parking lot fast, got it?"
She nodded, and John turned away dismissing her as if she wasn't even there. He moved to the big guy in the DOT t-shirt.
"Uh…Dan, you know how to handle a gun."
He nodded and John moved to Dean. He pulled the .45 out of the waistband of his son's jeans and checked the clip. With a grim look John handed the gun to Dan.
"You got about half a clip left. You take point; I don't give a shit if you hit anything, just fire that thing dry and run like hell while you're doing it," he said.
Dan stared at the older man, and then took the gun. His hand was shaking and he grinned at John, flushing red. John pressed his fingers against the younger man's wrist steadying him. Dan took a deep breath and nodded.
Dean watched the interplay between his father and the other man, took note of when Dan got a hold on himself and was satisfied that he would do what John had asked. The two younger men followed John to the door; he jerked the shovel out of the door handles. Dan moved up to the double doors, standing just behind him.
Dean moved across the room motioning the waitress to get the people into a small group. He looked at the older boy then bent down.
"Hey, guy, we need to run hard and fast, and you've got to stay on your feet. Are you up to it on your own or do you need one of the men to carry you?"
"I play soccer, I'm pretty fast and I can turn quick. I'll be okay," the boy replied looking at Dean with raw admiration on his face. "You and him, you really hunt these things?"
"Yeah, and more. Stay close I'm putting you right behind Dan there in front of the women, you watch out for them."
"I won't let you down, mister."
For a minute the boy reminded Dean of Sam so much that it hurt, and he winced. Then Dean smiled at him slapping his shoulder firmly. The boy grinned ear to ear. Dean moved down the line getting the four women in-between the boy and the three grown men. He looked at the kids, and tried matching them up, the littlest kid with Carrie, who was barely bigger than the boy, and the two slightly older kids with grown women. Behind them he moved the three men into place.
"I'll stand on the porch and cover my dad; after he gets the bus doors open you all hit that door and don't stop for anything. Stay in a line and get on the bus. Dad'll cover you from the front of the bus, but we can only keep them back for a little while."
John watched, assessing the faces on the people. The women would do as they were told, not because they were women but because they had charge of the kids. And that would occupy their minds enough that they'd run for the bus with trying anything stupid. Dan was a company man and used to following orders. He'd be okay. The ones that John was worried about were the three in the rear; one was young and arrogant looking. A real asshole. Well, if they had to lose one, he'd be no great loss.
John jerked his chin at the guy and Dean read the unspoken 'scapegoat' written all over his father's face. He pulled the guy out of the line and shoved him in the back. John's nod was all but invisible, and Dean felt like shit. But that was that, and if his dad thought the guy would endanger the rest of the group Dean wasn't about to argue. Somebody had to make the tough calls.
Dean slid past the group and leaned against the door jamb. Without a second look back John kicked the door open. It caromed off the outside wall with a resounding bang. The creatures in the lot shrieked and jumped, but looked intently at the man barreling across the porch.
One of the gremlins leapt toward John and he jerked the Glock up snapping off a shot. The bullet hit the thing dead-center of the chest, ripping through its body and scattering its innards over the ground. The closest knot of gremlins scattered, snarling at the human.
Dean stepped out of the doors and sprayed the asphalt with gun fire. The AK-47 jerked in his hands as the rounds ripped out of the barrel. One of the women screamed, but the creatures scattered, as bits and pieces of the gremlins closest to the porch sprayed over the asphalt.
John took advantage of the distraction that Dean's appearance made and slid to a halt by the ravaged corpse of the bus driver. He groped through the guy's pockets and nearly missed the gremlin that launched itself at his head from the top of his truck. Dropping to his knees John brought the Glock up and hit the creature just as it reached out for him. The thing dropped heavily to the ground, snapping at him, and he shoved the gun into its face and fired again. The back of the gremlin's skull blew out scattering blood and tissue over the ground. His questing fingers found the keys, and John rolled to his feet, loping across the asphalt.
There were five or six of the things on the bus itself. Dean stepped forward, raking the Kalashnikov above his father's head. He managed to take out four of them, and the other two thought the better of sitting out in the open and fled, screeching angrily. John got to the bus, and slid the key home in the lock.
Dean let out the pent up breath that he hadn't been aware that he was holding when his father shoved through the bus doors. The sound of the engine turning over was one of the sweetest things he had ever heard. The bus jerked forward as his father got a feel for driving it, then made a slow arc in the parking lot. John turned the headlights on and that seemed to drive the gremlins away from the bus. Sliding out of the seat John stepped down the stairs waving to Dean.
He tugged Dan out the door and motioned the rest of the group to follow. The big man hit the boards at a dead run and raised the .45. The gun jumped in his hands. He managed to actually take out one of the gremlins and the others milling around scattered shrieking and gibbering. With a grim smile Dan fired the gun until the clip clicked empty. Then he was on the bus, moving out of the way so that the boy behind him could slide inside.
Dan turned, watching, as John methodically picked off the creatures with the Glock and Dean fired the big gun from the porch. Then he didn't have time to think as the first of the three women made it to the door shoving the baby she was carrying into his arms. Dan all but slung the child into a seat then whirled as a small furry body hit the window on the opposite side of the bus. Cursing himself for not saving some of the rounds in the .45 he leaned around the door screaming at John,
"They're trying to break the windows in on this side."
John nodded, and slid further up the front of the bus turning his back to the lot.
Dean would keep them off of him, while he was facing the wrong way. John took out the gremlin at the window then shouted at Dan.
"Keep 'em in the floor in the aisle until I can get the bus moving."
Nodding Dan shoved the boy and the woman down on the floor, stepping over them. Two more of the women and the other two kids made it to the bus and Dan jerked them inside, shoving them down the aisle. Another gremlin hit the rear window, but Dean was able to scare it off by firing over the bus.
John watched as two of the three men scrambled onto the bus and Dean vacated the porch moving across the lot. He watched in horror as one of the gremlins jumped from the truck toward his son, the young man John had been sure was going to be trouble skidded to a halt and shouted at his son. Dean whirled firing at the gremlin and it exploded into shreds. The young man grabbed at Dean's arm, but he shook him off and jerked the gun.
"Get on the bus."
Face pale the other man nodded faintly and hit the doors of the bus running. He tripped briefly but Dan hauled his ass inside. Dean was right behind the guy. Dean pushed the guy further in and Dan reached out to pull the younger man onto the bus. John fired a few more shots to discourage the gremlins from following too closely and clambered inside the door. Glancing at the grim faced huddle mass of humanity on the bus floor he smiled. The young man John had singled out was cautiously raising his head looking up at John. The older man smiled briefly.
"Thanks for helping my son out there," he said quickly.
John handed the Glock to Dan and motioned to one of the windows.
"Open that and shoot at anything that moves. Dean hit the back."
"Already on the way," Dean said.
He kicked at the window in the rear door of the bus and it fell out. Shoving the barrel of the AK-47 out of the window he let go with a burst of gun fire. A smile painted his face at the outraged screaming from the creatures in the parking lot.
The bus spun tires on the loose gravel in the lot then jumped a curb and hit the road. John glanced down at the dashboard. There was half a tank of gas, but the engine was overheating. One of them had probably hit the radiator. He'd push the bus until the engine seized if he had to, but looking in the rearview mirror it didn't seem as if the gremlins were following. He breathed a sigh of relief, smiling as he glanced back at his son, slouched against the rear door gun propped on one hip.
They made it all the way to greater metropolitan Monrovia but the bus was smoking and steam was leaking out of the hood when they did. John didn't bother looking for the sheriff's sub-station, just pulled the bus into the parking lot of a Motel Six. The dazed and confused passengers debussed and disappeared inside the building.
Dean got them a room on the second floor and they dragged the guns inside when no-one was in the parking lot. He didn't want to be around when the sheriff's deputy showed up, but he and Dean were too exhausted to do anything but hole up and wait for morning. They'd go back and pick up the tracks of the things in daylight, when the little bastards couldn't come out. John had a couple of blocks of C-4 in his truck and that would take out the nest or at least a big chunk of it, and seal the tunnel closed.
John upended a bottle of water and sucked it down like it was Champaign. He was sweating and stank, but he was alive and Dean was too. They showered, re-dressed in dirty clothes and slid into bed for a few hours of sleep. It was going to be a long walk back to the bar and John wanted to get back as soon as daylight hit. He settled back on the bed, listening to Dean's harsh indrawn breath and smiled. They hadn't lost one of them.
Sunrise came at six a.m. and by six fifteen John and Dean were on the road. John was limping, his arm ached, but he had left the first aid kit in the truck, and didn't have anything to take for the pain. Dean looked tired, even with almost four hours of sleep, and John decided that they'd find a small out of the way hotel and hole up for a few days after they took out the gremlin nest.
It took them almost two hours to walk to the bar, Dean hampered by the gun he had wrapped in John's cotton work shirt. But they couldn't leave it in the motel room. They made good time and didn't run across anyone on the road.
The bar was dark, the doors hanging loose on the hinges, and all the windows were shattered. The parking lot was curiously empty of remains, but the gremlins were cannibals and the live ones had torn the human remains and the dead gremlins apart. There were scraps of clothes and flesh littering the asphalt but nothing recognizable as a body.
John picked up the gremlins' trail on the other side of the road, and followed it to the DOT construction site. The battered and torn remains of a man's lower torso was dragged, half-way into a small limestone rimmed tunnel and John knew this was the nest. He looked at Dean.
"This is it. I'll rig the C-4 just inside the tunnel."
"Dad, don't get to far inside. Stay in the light as much as possible."
"I can't get too far inside anyway. It's too small. I'm just going to hit the fuse and toss it as far in as I can. We'll use the rest to close the tunnel."
John pulled the ignition tab on the jury-rigged bomb in his hand and tossed it as far down the tunnel as he could. As soon as his shoulders cleared the limestone rim, he pulled the ignition tab on the second block of C-4 and slammed it against the limestone rim. He and Dean bolted across the site and slid behind the skip-loader.
The explosives blew with a muffled whump and dirt splattered the loader. John looked around satisfied that the tunnel was collapsed a good thirty feet down. He wasn't sure how many of the gremlins he had killed with the first bomb but maybe enough. The entrance to the tunnel was caved in and they wouldn't be getting out that way any time soon.
It wasn't the best solution, the gremlins might resurface, but if he got enough of them they'd think twice about coming out again, at least for a while. If John heard of them surfacing he'd come back.
They walked back to the bar, Dean sliding into the Impala as John pulled the weapons box out of the false bottom under the flatbed and stored the AK-47 and his Glock in their proper places in the gun rack.
He walked around the truck and leaned against the side of the car looking down at his son. Dean smiled.
"Dad. I've been thinking…"
John grunted. "Why don't I like the sound of that?"
With a grin Dean tapped his hands against the steering wheel.
"I want to go to Palo Alto and check on Sammy."
Just when he was sure that his father wasn't going to respond Dean heard the faint wail of sirens in the distance. The sheriff's department had finally gotten their asses in gear or somebody had reported the explosions. Either way they had to high-tail it out of there.
John looked at the shattered remains of the bar, then back at his older son. He had been wrong about the young man at the bar. The kid had saved Dean's life in the end. And John wondered if he had been willing to write the kid off because he remained John of Sammy so much. And if he had been wrong about that maybe he was wrong about other things as well. He smiled.
"You do huh? I got to thinking myself. I ain't been to California for a while. Weather's real nice out there this time of year."
"Yeah, it is. Hey, maybe we can spend a few days, take up surfing or something."
"Something," John echoed. "We can hit old Route 66 just outside of Amarillo. It runs all the way in."
He patted Dean on the shoulder and walked back to his truck.
The End