The creature took no notice of them. Battened firmly on the neck of the dead steer, its white flesh took on a faintly reddish tint as it fed.
"What the hell is it?" Dean asked, perplexed.
"Some kind of vamp slug?" Sam shrugged. "Maybe a tick?"
"Gross." Dean grimaced with distaste. "Don't think bullets are gonna do it for this one, dude."
Sam pulled out a flamethrower. "Good thing I brought this, then." He offered it to Dean. "You want to do the honors?"
The creature gave a wet, fragrant belch.
Dean reached for the flamethrower. "You bet your ass."