Awesome Beta by Sam's Folly.
Hunting for Christmas
Chapter Two – Flight of the Impala
She hated doing the laundry in the summertime, when the room was stifling hot and so humid she couldn't even sweat; but now, she didn't mind so much. The machines gave off moist heat that felt good against the dry cold of winter. The room smelled of bleach, wet cement and mold, but she was used to it. She hummed to herself as she pulled warm towels from the dryer, folding them and stacking them neatly on her linen cart. It was a comforting routine ingrained from years of repetition, a mindless job that left her imagination free to wander.
There was an almost imperceptible shift in the light when the man's body filled the doorway. A chill swept over her, like someone just stepped over her grave, as the old saying goes. She shivered and turned toward him. Her nose filled with the smell of sulfur, and her heart filled with dread. The look on his face was clear. She was about to die.
He lunged toward her. She ducked, grabbed a bottle of bleach, and threw it at him. He easily dodged it and smiled at her, raising his hands and shoulders in a mocking question. You think you can fight me? He stood between her and the door, her only way out. She tried to run, but he cut her off and laughed, a dark, joyless sound.
His black, emotionless eyes caught her and held her frozen with fear as she gazed into those twin pits of despair. She felt his bruising fingers gripping her arms, pulling her to him, holding her face to face. She gasped, and her throat burned with the acrid taste of sulfur as her body filled with blackness. She wanted to scream, but her voice was no longer her own. She was no longer herself. She sank into the blackness and was no more.
She rubbed her hands along her thighs, drying her sweaty palms against the pink polyester of her maid uniform. This was not a bad body to ride, a little older than she usually rode, but it was strong from years of labor. She ran her hands through her graying hair, pulling it tighter into the clasp at the nape of her neck, before she stepped over the lifeless meat suit at her feet and began pushing the linen cart toward the rooms. She'd burned through that body quickly, and she left it without a backward glance.
Even if she hadn't known which room, she would have found him. She was drawn to him. His tainted blood pulled her in like a magnet. She could feel the boy through the door, taste the demon blood pumping through his veins. Her body hummed with excitement. The hunter was gone. He'd left the boy vulnerable, an easy target. This time, she would take him.
The rumble of the V8 327 4 Barrel was hard to miss. She'd heard that sound for the past two days following the Impala from Erie. Damn this hunter and his great timing. She turned and watched as he pulled into the spot in front of his room. He jerked open the Impala's door, slamming it behind him as he made his way quickly to her.
Looming over her, he growled at her through clenched teeth, "I told the desk clerk no maid service."
She plastered an innocent smile on her face and answered him calmly. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't get that message."
He leaned in closer, glaring at her. "I put out the do-not-disturb sign."
If she were a human, the hunter would be intimidating. "I didn't see a sign." Her eyes fell to the doorknob and his eyes followed. There was no sign hanging from the door. "I'm sorry, sir." She finally managed to make herself look a little contrite, hiding the anger she felt. "Would you like towels or—"
"I have everything I need." He jammed the key in the door, swiftly unlocking it. Then he slipped inside the room and slammed the door behind him.
…...
...
John hesitated at the door, his eyes adjusting from the bright morning light outside to the dim interior of the motel room. "Dean?" His eyes fell on his sons. Dean was lying back on the bed, remote in hand, watching an old horror movie. Sam was bundled under the covers next to him, only the top of his head with his tousled brown hair sticking out.
"Yeah, Dad." Dean looked up from the TV. "You okay?"
"Did anything happen while I was gone?"
"No. Sammy's been asleep the whole time, and I was just watching a movie." His questioning eyes followed his dad across the room as John checked all the corners and the bathroom. "Everything all right, Dad?"
"Yeah, fine." John was certain that things were anything but all right. He'd only been gone an hour, maybe less, and it took just that short time for his sons to be in danger again. He'd been specific with the motel's desk clerk when he booked another night. He picked up clean towels himself, told the clerk no maid service, and left the do-not-disturb sign on the door. Yet, when he came back with supplies, there was the maid, lurking outside his room.
He wasn't sure. It could all be innocent, but this whole trip was beginning to put his hunter's nerves on edge way too often. Both the man yesterday and the maid today were too cool in the face of his anger. It wasn't how people usually reacted to him when he was obviously suspicious or angry. Something was wrong in this place. Something was very wrong.
…...
...
Bobby sipped on his coffee and turned the pages of the ancient book he'd dug out of his library. He hadn't read this book yet. It was one he ran across in a quaint book store in Baltimore while he was on a hunt. His library was filled with old finds he didn't need at the time he bought them but thought he might have use for in the future. It seemed the future was now, and John Winchester was the one that was bringing it on.
He'd only known John for a couple of years. They'd met, like most everybody else Bobby knew, through hunting circles. Travis brought him by one day when the two of them were investigating what turned out to be a Kappa, a Japanese water goblin.
It was several months later before John came by with his boys in tow for the first time. He was looking for some help researching a particularly old and nasty demon he called Dever. Bobby had to admit he hadn't been particularly thrilled about John bringing the kids along. Hunting seemed an odd career choice for a single parent. Bobby himself had made the choice not to have kids because...well, that was a different story altogether. But after Karen died and he was drawn into hunting, he was thankful he didn't have kids. Unlike Bobby, John already had kids when he was lured into hunting by the death of his wife.
In all fairness, the boys were well behaved and mostly quiet. Bobby wondered if he'd do the same thing if he was in John's shoes. When you lose your wife, the love of your life to the supernatural, something cold and hard takes root inside you, and it drives you. It kind of makes you want to settle the score with things.
John was like most hunters Bobby knew. Most were men, and John was a man's man. He was ex-military, well disciplined, and driven—all common threads in the hunting community. John hunted the usual vamps, werewolves, ghosts and a host of other murderous creatures, but John had an obsession with demons that other hunters didn't.
The occasional demon would rear its ugly head, but they weren't common. In fact, they were rare. Demons had always been few and far between, but John was convinced they were out there and that it was a demon that killed his wife. It was John's obsession that had Bobby digging into his ancient books and reading up on demons.
Bobby took another gulp from his coffee mug, glanced at the clock and sighed. It was too early to crack open a bottle yet. His fingers trembled as he traced along the words on the faded page. Nasty creatures, these demons. He shook his head. Nasty.
…...
...
By early afternoon, cops were crawling all over the motel. They stopped at every room to question the guests. When they came to question John, he flashed his FBI ID and radiated the confidence he'd honed over the past few years. He managed to glean information from the investigating officers, and when he saw the bodies, it was all he could do to keep the near panic that swam inside him from showing on his face.
He berated himself and cursed softly when he returned to his room. He should have followed his instincts. He should have packed the kids up, sick Sammy and all, and hightailed it out of this place when he had the chance.
…...
...
"John?" Bobby answered his phone, a little surprised. "I thought you would be here by this evening. Where are you?"
"Lafayette, Indiana." John's deep voice hummed over the wire.
"Lafayette? What the hell are you doing in Lafayette? That's not exactly on the way here from Erie."
"Well, I took the scenic route. I don't like toll roads, and I'm not too fond of the major highways either."
Bobby nodded, uh-huh'd and paced as he listened to John tell him what had happened. "Well, that's the scenic route all right." Bobby scrubbed his hand across the stubble on his jaw. "You say a body was found near the motel where you stayed in Erie and now two bodies in Lafayette?"
"Yes. The man whose body they found in the laundry room tried to corner my boys in the restaurant next door last night."
"You sure it was the same man?"
"Yes. And the maid they found dead—I came back from a supply run and found her lurking outside my room." Bobby could hear the frustration in John's voice. "Sam's sick, Bobby—real sick. That's why I stayed an extra day in Lafayette. I felt like he was too sick to travel, now I'm thinking it wasn't such a good idea."
"Well, it could be a shape-shifter."
"Not if it's the same thing that killed the woman in Erie."
"Yeah. Shifters tend to hole up in one place and wreak havoc. I've never known one to travel like that."
"Yeah. And when they shift, the bodies they shed are a mess. These aren't like that. They just look like normal, dead bodies." There was a breath of silence before John sighed into the phone. "I think it's a demon, and it's after my boys."
"But why? What would a demon want with the boys?" Several possibilities passed through Bobby's head and he didn't like any of them. "Listen, you pack up those boys, sick or not, and shag ass up to my place. I've been studying on demons and I got a few new tricks."
"It's about fourteen hours from here, and that's just drive time." Bobby could hear the worry in John's voice. "I should be there tomorrow afternoon."
"Be careful, John. Don't let the boys out of your sight."
"They're my boys, Bobby. I'll be careful." The following moment of silence between the two men spoke loudly of sympathy, understanding, and worry.
"Listen, I know a couple of hunters in the area. I'll put a tail on you. Get on I-80 as soon as you can and head west. The Impala'll be easy to pick up." Bobby shuffled through some papers. "Travis should be checking in with me soon. You know his van, and Caleb's in the area. He's a young fella, but he was raised in the life. Red-headed son-of-a-bitch drives a bright blue Chevy 3500 diesel. Keep an eye out for them. They'll watch your back.
John's voice was soft when he answered. "Thanks, Bobby."
"Just get yourself and those boys here ASAP . . . and call me whenever you stop. Don't leave me worrying over your ass."
Bobby hung up his phone and stopped his pacing. It was a damn good thing he'd bought all those old books he'd thought he'd never use. There was a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach—just a quick moment—and it felt like something in the world had turned, something that centered around John Winchester. He brushed the thought off quickly. He had some painting to do and some Latin to learn.
…...
...
John packed up while the boys slept. It was two a.m. when he bundled Sam in a blanket and carried him to the car, herding Dean in front of him. He stuffed a pillow under Sam's head and tucked the blanket snugly around the sleeping boy.
"You ride up front with me, Dean." John pulled a map out of the glove compartment and handed it to Dean. "You're my co-pilot." Dean took the map, unfolded it and quickly followed the red line John had drawn on it. "We're driving straight through to Sioux Falls. You know what that means."
"That's a long trip." Dean's lips pursed in concentration and he studied the map intently.
"It'll take us all night and most of the next day." John watched his son carefully. "Keep an eye on Sammy for me. Make sure he gets his meds and fluids."
"Okay, dad. I got it covered."
John smiled, patting Dean on the shoulder. "That's my boy."
John didn't need a co-pilot, and it wasn't long before Dean crawled over the seat back and snuggled up with Sam, his head pillowed on Sam's bony little hips, both sleeping peacefully. As he checked in the rearview mirror, the sight should have warmed his heart, but John felt the cold, hard grip of anger. The son-of-a-bitch that killed Mary was after his boys now. He could feel it in his bones. It had to be a demon. What else could it be? Nothing else fit the profile, nothing that he knew, nothing that Bobby knew.
Part of John wanted to stop, hole up somewhere and wait for the damn thing to show up. He wanted to fight. The dark anger that had festered in him for the past five years was burning to catch this thing and kill it. For the first time since this nightmare started, he felt like he was close to the demon, so close he could taste revenge. He was thirsty for it, and he couldn't get the bitter taste of it out of his mouth. While his sons slept, he gnawed on his anger like a dog on a bone.
After three hours, John stopped at a Pump 'n' Go south of Joliet where he would get on I-80 heading west. He needed gas, they needed food, and he wanted to talk to Bobby.
"Dean?" John reached over the seat back and rubbed his hand across Dean's head. He glanced at Sam and saw two owlish hazel eyes blinking at him. "Hey, Sammy." John's voice softened as he looked over the small face flushed with fever, lips dry and chapped. "Feeling any better?"
Sam sighed and seemed to think about John's question for a moment. Perhaps he wanted to please his dad and say yes, but truth won out, and he closed his eyes and scrubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "Uh-uh."
"It's okay, son."
By now, Dean was sitting up looking out of the window. "Where are we?"
"Just outside of Joliet. I'm gonna gas up and then we're all going inside together." John opened his door, placed one foot on the pavement and paused. He eyed Dean in the rearview mirror. "You hungry?"
"Uh-uh," Sam whined and turned his face into the pillow.
"Yeah," Dean answered. "I'll take Sammy. We can go ahead to the bathroom—"
"No, Dean. I want us to stay together. I wanna keep my eye on both of you."
"Why? What's the matter, Dad?"
Dean was obviously confused, but John didn't have time or patience for explanations. "Dean!" John's voice was sharp, and Dean's confusion was immediately replaced with obedience.
"Yes, sir," he replied in crisp military fashion.
After John filled the Impala's tank, he pulled the car closer to the store entrance and waited while Dean coaxed Sam out of the car. Sam followed Dean on weak, wobbly legs, blinking against the bright lights and holding tightly to the back of his brother's jacket.
John herded the boys in front of him, eyeing everyone in the store. They all looked suspicious. The man ringing the Salvation Army bell practically leered at the boys. John gave him a glare that was sure to knock a normal human flat, but the man only smiled, nodded, and rang his bell at John as he passed.
The woman behind the counter, incessantly smacking and popping her gum, followed their every move as they made their way to the bathroom. Her eyes were still on the door when the three of them exited ten minutes later.
John pulled water and Gatorade out of the cooler. He glanced down at Dean next to him pulling out a container of chocolate milk.
"For Sam," Dean answered his dad's questioning look. John stared at Dean in horror. Dean's face morphed into a mask of panic. They both looked frantically around. No Sam . . . Sammy was gone.
John widened his frenzied search until his eyes fell on Sam. His son, his small, sick little Sammy stood before the Christmas tree at the front of the store. John and Dean moved immediately to get to Sam's side. Sam was mesmerized by the brightly lit tree, staring up at it with unblinking eyes. His small hand trembled as he reached up to touch a shiny red ball
A dark-haired woman next to him cooed at Sam. "Poor baby," she told him. "You don't feel so good?"
John nearly pulled his gun when she reached to stroke Sam's head, but she only gave John a sympathetic look, unfazed by his anger.
He pulled Sam away from the overly friendly woman and the tree, picked up some sandwiches and chips, and he nearly snarled at the cashier, thoroughly convinced she was still leering at his sons. She only popped her gum and swiped his credit card.
They couldn't all be demons, could they?
As they walked back out to the car, John carried Sam, legs wrapped around John's waist, his arms draped across his dad's shoulders and his head buried in John's neck.
"Can we get a Christmas tree?" Sam whispered in his dad's ear.
John took a deep breath and steeled himself. He had to get a grip. "I'll try my best, son."
He felt better when the boys were in the back seat of the Impala. Dean scrambled around to lock all the doors. Somehow John felt they were safer within the steel walls of his pride and joy, his baby. Once he got inside her and back on the road, he would feel better too, but he needed to call Bobby first.
"I'm just south of Joliet. I'll be getting on I-80 here," John told a sleepy-sounding Bobby. He kept his eyes on the Impala as he leaned against the clear wall of the phone booth. He hated calling from this isolated booth at the far edge of the parking lot. He was a sitting duck here—wide open for the demon to see. But he had to keep the boys in sight and he couldn't do that from the pay phone inside the store. He supposed he was lucky the ancient relic was still functional.
"All right. Good. Looks like you're still about twelve hours or so out from here. You doing okay?"
"No. I just made a pit stop, and I swear, Bobby, everybody in this place is leering at my boys and me." John's voice was shaking with rage. "You think maybe there's more than one demon? Jesus, Bobby. I don't even know how to fight these things. Beheading? You think silver might work? You find anything on killing the bastards yet? Tell me what you know. If one of them gets hold of my boys—"
"John, hold on, man. It sounds like you're gettin' a little paranoid, jumping to conclusions. You need to calm down." He paused, giving his words a moment to sink in. "I don't think there's more than one. If there were a bunch of 'em, they'd have rushed you by now."
John took a deep breath. Bobby had a calming effect on him, thank God, and he didn't feel like he was in this fight alone. "I almost smoked some lady for being sympathetic to Sam," John confessed.
"Well, almost don't count, so it looks like you have some control. That's good."
"It's not much control. Part of me thinks I should stand and fight, meet this bastard head on."
"No, John. You want to fight that thing, that's your business, but you get those boys out of harm's way first. Don't you use those kids for bait!"
Bait. The word hung ominously in the air, and John swallowed hard. That's exactly what he'd been thinking. A blush of shame crawled across his face. "I wouldn't do that, Bobby. I just wish I knew how to defend them."
"I'm working on it, John. I've found some things we can use to defend ourselves but no way to kill the demon. Anyway, once you get on the highway, you should be meeting up with Travis and Caleb. They'll caravan with you 'til you get here. There's safety in numbers."
"Yeah, I hope so."
John felt better after talking with Bobby. As he headed for the Impala, he could feel the comforting calm begin to flow through his body. It didn't last long. When he came around the back of the car, he saw a man walking straight toward him, and John's calm flew right out of him.
He was a young man. He looked to be about twenty, with closely-trimmed, dark-red hair and a golden stubble of a beard. He was big, broad-shouldered, and he walked purposefully toward John. John glared a warning at the boy-man, every nerve in him on edge, his hand reaching to draw his gun.
"John Winchester?" The young man flashed him a toothy grin. "I'm Caleb. Bobby asked me to meet you. I understand you need someone to watch your back."
John eyed the man warily. "Son-of-a-bitch," he hissed. "I almost shot you."
"I know." Caleb's grin got impossibly bigger and he slapped his chest. "Body armor. Plus, I was ready to duck."
"You can't duck a bullet, boy."
"I can try." Caleb's laugh echoed across the empty parking lot, rich and deep—and strangely comforting. "My truck's over there." He nodded toward a big, bright blue monster of a truck.
"Be hard to miss that one," John commented wryly. There was something about the young man. He was easy going, easy to trust.
"Yeah, I know," Caleb said, smiling proudly. "Ready to hit the road? It's a long trip."
The Impala had an engine that was made to fly. She ate up miles as John pushed her to her limit, sucking gas through her powerful engine like fine champagne. It didn't bother John much when his speed drifted down and his eyes got a little heavy that the big blue Chevy pulled alongside the Impala. Caleb's big, boyish grin shone down through the window as he pulled ahead. John gunned the Impala in order to pull back in front of the other hunter.
The second time they played leapfrog like that, Dean's face was in the window, grinning back at Caleb, wide and boyish. Caleb tapped his horn twice as he pulled ahead, and Dean laughed.
They stopped for a late breakfast around ten in Newton, Iowa. Both vehicles were ready for a fill-up. Dean was restless, and Sam had been sitting up sipping on Gatorade for the past thirty minutes. John thought that was a good sign, but Sam still looked pale. He sniffled and coughed a bit, but the cough wasn't as deep and he was less flushed from fever.
They all sat together in a booth at the Biggerson's next to the gas station. John sat next to Sammy, blocking him from view and shielding him from prying eyes. Caleb followed John's lead and waited for Dean to climb into the booth before sitting next to him.
"Boys, this is Caleb," John said, introducing the man to his sons.
"We already met," Dean said, and the two of them flashed their wide, boyish grins at each other as if they'd been friends forever.
"I'm hungry as hell," Caleb told Dean. "How 'bout you?"
"Yeah." Dean giggled a little and cut his eyes at John. John didn't say anything, but he gave Dean a look that let the boy know he heard the profanity and not to try anything. John's rule for his sons concerning profanity was that they could hear it, but they better not repeat it. He didn't want to hear cussing coming from his children's mouths, even if he himself cussed on occasion.
Caleb blushed and cleared his throat. Apparently, he understood the silent conversation between father and son. "I'm gonna have this 'Country Breakfast.'" He pointed to a picture on the glossy, plastic-covered menu. "Eggs, bacon, hash browns and pancakes. Mmm." He looked down at Dean. "What do you think?"
"Yeah. That's what I want, too," Dean answered.
"Okay," John nodded. "How about you, Sammy? You see anything you think you can eat?"
Sam scanned the pictures of the different breakfasts on the menu. He turned even paler than he already was and looked up at John, then closed his eyes and sighed. He looked as if he was trying to hold down his stomach, but John knew there was nothing in his stomach but Gatorade and water. Sam looked small and weak. His shoulders trembled and he opened his eyes again, staring up at John.
"Eggs." Sam's weak little voice was just a whisper as he forced the word out.
"Want some milk?" John asked. He needed to get some calories into the boy. It had been too long since he'd eaten anything.
Sam nodded his agreement.
"Hey, little guy." Caleb's voice was uncharacteristically soft, and he toned down his wide smile. "You been sick, huh?"
Sam turned toward the big man and nodded.
"Feeling a little better now?"
Sam nodded again and leaned against John.
"That's good," said Caleb.
Sam turned and buried his face into John's sleeve, his small hands clutching at the leather. John scrubbed his hand through his son's tousled, golden-brown hair.
"'S tough when the little ones get sick," said Caleb, turning a sympathetic eye to John.
When the waitress came to take their order, she flirted shamelessly with Caleb. His bright smile and knowing looks made her blush. She fluttered around the table, bringing extra butter and syrup, keeping coffee cups filled, offering extra of anything and everything.
For his part, Caleb flirted just as much, calling her sweetheart and watching her every move. He smiled and winked at her from across the room so many times, she became flustered and could hardly do her job—except at their table, where everything was perfect and abundant. She practically hovered over them, smiling and giggling at Caleb's winks and cooing over the boys. "Aw," she said to Sammy. She reached to touch his face, but he sank back into the seat, hiding behind John.
Sam picked at his eggs, eating only a spoonful, but managed to drink his milk. John was glad of that, at least, but Sam couldn't seem to keep his eyes open. He shoved his plate away and cradled his head in his arm on the table. Tears ran down his flushed cheeks, and a little hand fisted in his shirt, clutching at his chest. "I don't feel good," he whispered.
Caleb picked up the bill. "I got this. You get Sammy to the car." He stood, his eyes on John. "Dean, you come with me."
John jumped up quickly and squared off with Caleb. The two men stood at the end of the booth, eye to eye. "You can take care of the bill," said John. "I'll owe you, but both boys stay with me."
Caleb's eyes softened. "All right. I understand. 'S not a problem. I'll meet you at the car."
John hoisted Sam up in his arms and nodded for Dean to lead the way. Dean gave Caleb a forlorn look as they passed him at the cashier's counter. Caleb only smiled at the boy and gave him a little wink. John could see Dean's disappointment. Dean liked the young man, but John thought he was a little too friendly, too at ease. He'd come too close to separating him from Dean, and it put John's nerves on edge.
John got Sammy settled in the backseat, medicated and tucked in. He lingered at the Impala's back door gazing at his son, already sleeping, cheeks once again flushed with fever. John had thought the boy was getting better. He'd looked better before they went into the diner, but Sam was getting sicker again. In just that brief moment, things had turned around.
John looked up to see Caleb approaching. He tensed as the two of them once again stood eye to eye.
Caleb's face seemed earnest. "Listen, man—"
"Sir!" The waitress's voice cut through the tension and both men turned toward her. She was running after them, a swan-shaped aluminum container in her hand. "You should take this with you."
John sighed and looked back at Caleb. Honestly, this girl was a little overboard. Caleb had a strange, unreadable look on his face. Before John had time to consider what Caleb might be thinking, the waitress had reached them, holding out the swan to them like a prize.
"Ah, darling," Caleb drawled. "Not smart." He slugged her with a right hook and quickly followed by pulling her arms behind her to restrain her. "Not smart at all." He grinned the words into her ear.
John saw no innocence in her face as she snarled a devilish look. Bucking back against the massive man that held her tiny figure, she flipped him over her head in an impossible move, back to front, until he was laid out at her feet, stunned. "Stupid red-neck," she growled.
When she lifted her eyes, John was ready, machete drawn and moments from separating her head from her body. He gazed into the dead, black eyes of the demon and was stunned to inaction when her mouth flew open as if to scream. Black smoke poured out of her, coiling and rolling into the sky above them in a long snake. The acrid smell of sulfur filled his nostrils, and the girl dropped to the ground beside a speechless Caleb.
The two men stared dumbfounded at the billowing snake of smoke making its way across the sky. It was Caleb who found his voice first. "What the hell was that?" He tore his eyes away from the sky and stared at John. "Is that what's been chasing you? I never saw anything like that. Damn!"
John looked into the young hunter's wide, blue eyes. "It's a demon."
"A demon?" Caleb drew back as if John had some kind of crazy that would rub off on him. "A goddamn demon? You got to be kidding me. A demon was after you?"
"Stop it." John shifted his eyes meaningfully toward the car. "You'll scare the boys."
Caleb lowered his voice. "Damn, man. I'm sorry. It's just . . . I've never run across a demon. Don't know anybody that has. I mean . . . I thought all the demon possession crap was just stuff the Catholics made up to keep people in line." Caleb shook his head. "Shit, what'd you do to get a demon on your ass?"
John responded to Caleb's questions with a pointed look.
"Okay, okay." Caleb raised his hands in surrender and picked himself up from the ground. "Did you kill it? Is it gone for good, or is it just retreating to come at you from some other poor, unfortunate . . . " He looked down at the dead body of the waitress he'd flirted with for the last hour. His face suddenly paled and he stumbled over his words. "Was she a demon? Just how does this work?"
"Damn, son." John scrubbed his hand through his beard. "You ask a lot of questions."
"Yeah, but they're good questions." Caleb found his grin once again, flashing it at John.
"There's a lot I don't know, but I know we need to get back on the road and make tracks toward Bobby's. I don't think we're free of this thing yet." John hesitated, clearing his throat. "Um . . . thanks, Caleb. I owe you one."
"Hell, you owe me more than one." Caleb's loud laughter rang out over the parking lot, and he winked at the boy whose big green eyes stared out of the Impala's back window.
TBC
