January 16, 2008
Kansas City, Missouri
Dean's good foot pressed heavily on the accelerator as the Impala sailed down I-35 towards Kansas City without passing a single car. In part, Dean just wanted to get to Bobby's as fast as possible. The cell phones had crapped out and they hadn't yet been able to get Bobby on the CB radio.
He also laid on the gas just because he could. There were no cops to pull him over and nothing but zombies to hit. The world was collapsing around them and they didn't know why, hell, they couldn't even find anyone left to save. They had been so caught up in the media hype about the Green Flu that they hadn't read the writing on the wall. It was pretty damn obvious that the demons had been behind this from the start.
Now they needed to get their asses into gear more than ever and after one rookie screw up, Dean couldn't walk, and he sure as hell couldn't fight. Speeding down the highway was all he had left to blow off steam.
Though he also wanted music blaring from the speakers, he instead left the radio off and tried to lose himself in the soothing rumble of the Impala's engine. His weary eyes stared out the windshield and into the seemingly endless darkness that spanned out before them.
After turning off the interstate, they had driven through suburbia and were approaching downtown. The skyline was pitch black. There was only the twinkle of impossibly bright stars and the occasional rogue flicker of a bonfire. It was better than what they'd seen back east where the skies had glowed orange from the fires. From what they'd been able to tell, all of Pennsylvania had been ablaze.
Dean should be focusing on trying to figure this all out, but it was too big, too surreal. Instead his focus kept drifting to the seat beside him.
Sam was slumped against the passenger side door. Flopping around in a fevered sleep had left his long limbs flung all over the place. Dean grimaced at the raspy sound of his brother's breathing. Listening to it only put Dean further on edge, but he felt like he had to listen to make sure Sam was still breathing.
His brother was just sick. It wasn't anything more than that. At least that's what Dean kept telling himself while his own sweaty palms gripped the steering wheel all the tighter. He only let up on the gas when they neared where he thought his target should be.
The change in speed was enough to stir Sam, who jolted awake with a ragged cough. Dean looked over at him and watched as his brother's eyes flickered open. Rigidly, Sam twisted in his seat so he was sitting up straight in it. He looked dazed as he stared out into the night.
Dean reluctantly returned his own eyes to the road, keeping an eye out for any zombies big enough to dent his car. They might not technically be zombies, but they sure as hell acted close enough for the title to fit.
"Where are we?" Sam's voice was scratchy, and by the sounds he made after he finished talking, he was futilely trying to clear a gallon of mucus from his throat.
Instantly, Dean's mind went to a time when his kid brother had gone into hysterics about being sick. A little sniffle had tickled Sam's nose and it had been as if he was terminal. More than a couple of times, he almost had been because Dean had wanted to kill him. Or so he had claimed.
There was no way Dean would ever fess up to the girly notion that he actually liked taking care of his brother, even when Sam was a whiney pain in the ass. But those times were long gone. Sammy wasn't four anymore, and Dean would be hard-pressed to imagine Sam griping about Ebola, let alone some damn cold.
"I'm picking the room tonight."
Dean was too busy swallowing down his concern to say anything else. He craned his neck as he tried to make out the buildings in the darkness.
It was a toss up whether they'd be better off in an abandoned hotel with no heat, or in a theoretically zombie free area in the middle of the woods next to a campfire. The answer didn't really matter. Neither of them was up to tending a fire and the whole theoretical thing wasn't flying with Sam. If they were wrong, and they weren't alone in the woods, the fire would attract those things like moths to a flame.
For once, Dean aimed for the nicest hotel he could find. They had driven past this Hyatt Regency a couple of months ago on the way to a case and had opted for sleeping in the car. Now they didn't have to worry about being noticed by the FBI and every room was free.
Dean turned into the massive parking lot that lay empty aside from some overturned garbage cans and smashed up debris. He was about to cut the engine when his eyes narrowed in on something in the distance.
"What the hell?"
Out the back window, Dean caught a glimpse of moving lights from the direction they had just come. It had been a couple of weeks since they had last seen the glow from anything but their own headlights. Or Gordon's.
"That son of a bitch," Dean muttered beneath his breath.
"What?" Sam's hand reached for his gun as he followed Dean's stare.
With a sharp jolt, Dean hit the accelerator and surged the Impala into the cover of the parking garage. Dean's seat belt dug into his thighs as the car flew over the speed bump. The instant they were far enough in to be out of view from the street, Dean flipped off the headlights and cut the engine.
Loud sounds and bright lights were dinner bells for these zombies. With a bright flash of light, the things went from mindlessly lumbering to attacking in seconds, and where there was one, there were twenty of them. Dean's busted to hell ankle could attest to that.
The darkened, swollen tissue was out of sight now, buried beneath the layers of gauze Sam had wrapped it in after applying a field splint. Immobilizing it helped, but it didn't help that much.
Dean leaned forward and slipped his hand beneath the seat. The disembodying blackness that had swallowed them was disorienting, but not enough that he didn't know exactly where he'd left his whiskey. He put the bottle on the seat between his legs and dug into his pocket to fish out the new bottle of the highest strength painkillers the gas station had to offer.
After a swig of whiskey, Dean grabbed the other pill bottle and shook out a couple of Tylenol capsules. "Here." He blindly reached out for Sam. His fingers felt down his brother's arm until they brushed the bare skin of his hand. "Take these."
"Dean, I'm fine."
"And I'm the Easter Bunny. Shut up and take the damn pills."
Even if they weren't being followed by any humans, they still had to stay put for a few minutes to make sure that any zombies that had caught their position lost it before they got out of the car.
"How's the foot?" Sam rasped.
"As awesome as your throat. Maybe you and I should..." Dean threw his arm over his eyes as a stream of bright light from behind them flooded the darkness. "Oh, come on!"
Beside him, he heard the rustle of Sam shifting on his seat. Nearly simultaneously, they both clicked off their pistols' safeties.
Sam cleared his throat and pulled in an awkward breath. "Can you see who it is?"
"I can't see crap." Dean squinted in the direction of the lights and gave a frustrated shake of his head. "But I'm going to take a wild ass guess and say it's not the hotel welcoming committee sending out our complimentary stripper."
As his eyes adjusted, Dean threw another look over his shoulder, but he still couldn't make out the driver beyond the blare of headlights. The other car was just idling outside of the parking garage.
"Okay, wait here."
The insane words didn't fully register until Dean heard the creak of the passenger side door opening. "Sam!" Dean's hand shot out and latched around Sam's forearm. "Did that fever fry your brain? It's a freakin' trap!"
With a quick tug, Sam pulled free of Dean's grip. "Or it's someone who needs our help."
"Someone who's stalking us," Dean hissed. "We haven't exactly had lottery winning luck lately."
"So your plan is to just sit here?"
He sneered at Sam, mostly because sitting here was the only thing he could do and as much as he didn't want to admit it, Sam was right.
Either it was someone who needed help, someone who wanted to help or it was Gordon. Whoever it was, they couldn't just wait until those damn headlights and rumbling engine rallied every zombie in Kansas City. Even as sick as he was, Sam was more capable of investigating the situation than Dean.
Dean plopped back into his seat with a huff. It was the closest thing to a confirmation Sam was going to get, and Dean was pretty sure his brother knew it.
"I'll be right back," Sam promised as he climbed out of the car.
Dean tried to keep and eye on Sam, but his brother disappeared from sight. For a whole ten seconds Dean sat still aside from the impatient tapping of his finger against the seat's leather. When he still didn't see or hear anything, he pushed the door open.
"This is ridiculous."
The muttered words barely escaped his lips before an arm constricted around his throat. A strong tug jerked him to the side so that he still sat on the seat, but his back was pressed firmly against the man who held him. He choked against the suffocating grip, grimacing as he felt a hot breath against his ear.
"So damn predictable, Dean." With the harsh whisper, the chill of a knife's blade brushed against Dean's cheek. It played just over his freckles before the flat side rested against his jaw. "No need to make a fuss now. Just drop that gun and keep real quiet like."
It didn't take looking behind him to know who it was. "Blow me you sick..."
Dean's gasped words cut off as Gordon tightened the pressure on his windpipe. Lacking options, Dean let the pistol slip from his fingers and Gordon pulled the knife away.
"Dean, the car's empty," Sam called back. "Dean?"
From where he sat, Dean couldn't see Sam and he knew Gordon was hunkered low enough beside him to use the Impala to hide himself. Dean tilted his head back, but he still couldn't see what Gordon was waiting for.
"Almost there," Gordon spoke beneath his breath.
Twisting harder in Gordon's hold, Dean caught sight of Gordon's gun out of the corner of his eye. It was leveled on Sam. There wasn't enough air remaining in Dean's lungs to shout and Gordon had him pinned. Desperately, Dean's eyes searched for anything he could use.
He stopped clawing at Gordon's arm long enough to slam his fist against the Impala's horn. In the next moment, he used his good leg to shove himself off the seat and back into Gordon. Dean toppled out of the car, nearly taking Gordon down with him.
His splint banged against the car's doorsill on the way down, tearing a ragged gasp from his throat. Dean instinctively pulled his knee to his chest, curling into himself at the blinding shot of pain. He blinked away the moisture in his eyes and locked his sight on Gordon's fallen gun.
Before Dean could crawl to retrieve the pistol, Gordon hauled him up. With an unsteady hop Dean struggled to keep as much of his weight on his uninjured left foot as possible while Gordon clutched him tightly to his chest. A moment later, he felt the steel of the knife against his throat.
This time the cutting edge sliced lightly over the tender skin, pulling a grimace to Dean's face and spilling a trickle of hot blood. Dean gritted his teeth and scanned the headlight-lit concrete pillars for the one Sam hid behind.
"Come on out," Gordon coaxed. "It's over."
"Gordon, let him go!"
The shout came from behind them. Gordon jerked Dean around with him so quickly that Dean lost his footing completely, flailing his arms to steady himself. Sam held a gun fixed on Gordon. Dean knew Sam wouldn't take the shot with Gordon swinging him around and there was no question that Gordon knew it too.
"I plan to...just as soon as we end this." It wasn't enough to get him an opening, but Dean felt Gordon's grip on him falter when Sam stepped into full view. A question laced his tone when he spoke again. "You don't look so good, Sammy. Must be exhausting massacring the whole damn North American continent."
"What the hell kind of crystal ball are you pulling this crap out of?" Dean gave a defiant tug to Gordon's grasp. "He's sick, you stupid son of a bitch. The only thing he's been massacring is boxes of tissues and the living dead."
Dean exchanged a wary look with Sam as Gordon chuckled.
"Nice try, Dean. But, I've been keeping tabs on you two. That's right. I got my sources and I know you were at ground zero right before all these freaks were unleashed."
The headlights from Gordon's car reflected off the sheen of cold sweat coating Sam's skin. "Ground zero?" Sam's eyes shifted to Dean for an explanation, but he could only shrug in reply.
"You'd make one hell of an actor," Gordon told Sam. "See, I almost half near believed that you're as stupid as you look." He jutted a thumb towards himself. "But me, I'm not as stupid as I look. You can flash those big doe-eyes at your brother here and make him believe the world's flat, but I know the truth. I know you were in Pennsylvania."
Dean furrowed his brow at the declaration. "We were working a case in Pittsburgh, not unleashing a zombie apocalypse. Did you hunt down every one of the other twelve million poor bastards that were in Pennsylvania with us?"
"Those millions of people are now monsters because you couldn't do the right thing when you had the chance."
Gordon again sliced the knife over Dean's throat, drawing a fresh crimson trail. Dean winced and by the time he opened his eyes, Sam had raised his hands in surrender.
"Toss it aside real slow now," Gordon told Sam with a nod towards the pistol. "That's right." Despite Sam having put aside the gun, Gordon tightened his grip around Dean's chest. "Come on, Dean, you can't really expect me to believe it's coincidence that you two walked away immune."
"You can believe whatever...what the hell was that?"
The three of them stood in frozen silence when another cackle echoed from somewhere not far beyond the parking garage. Gordon's grip on Dean tensed an instant before he shoved him aside. With a hollow thud, Dean hit the side of the Impala and slid down to the concrete.
He rode through the wave of pain and opened his eyes in time to see a grotesquely distorted thing leap from the shadows and land on Sam's back. At first, the bloody, hunched-over creature looked like the lovechild of a spider monkey and a chupacabra. It was only after a moment of watching it that Dean realized its face was almost human.
The creature gripped Sam's head in its claw-like hands while Sam struggled to buck it off him. All the while, the thing cackled like a maniac. Dean had seen a hell of a lot of crap in his days, but this one left even him momentarily frozen in shock.
When Dean pulled it together enough to scramble for the fallen pistol, he couldn't find it. His startled eyes looked up to see that Gordon had retrieved the gun and held it aimed at Sam's back as the creature somehow steered Sam towards the parking garage's exit.
"Gordon, no!"
Gordon hesitated, looking down to meet Dean's eyes with a strangely contemplative expression that Dean couldn't make heads or tails of. All Dean really saw was Gordon steadying himself to take the shot.
Dean couldn't even make it the six feet to tackle Gordon before he pulled the trigger. Horror twisted Dean's features at the reverberating sound of the bullet being fired and the sight of gore exploding over his brother's collapsing body.
"You goddamn son of a bitch!"
With his pain forgotten, Dean tried to hurl himself at Gordon. The man easily stepped back to avoid him, letting Dean tumble back to the ground.
"You're welcome," Gordon replied smugly.
Dean's hand clenched into a fist as he lay on his stomach with his nose pressed against the rough pavement. All conscious thought had shut down by the time he looked up at Gordon with pure venom in his moisture rimmed eyes. There weren't words for what Dean planned to do to him.
"Dean, are you okay?"
At the cough-ridden question, Dean quickly rolled onto his back and sat up. Sam ran up behind Gordon and rushed past him to Dean's side. Blood and chunks of flesh coated Sam's shoulders and hair, but Dean quickly realized that none of it belonged to his brother.
Gordon shrugged at Dean's questioning look. "Like I said, I'm not stupid. And Sammy, even he ain't that good of an actor."
While Dean sat in stunned silence, Sam stripped off his flannel with a disgusted grimace. Sam used the material to swipe some of the larger chunks from his tangled hair before tossing it aside.
"What was that thing?" Sam asked.
"A jockey." At Gordon's reply, Dean glanced to Sam who looked equally confused. Gordon looked at them both like they were idiots. "A back humper?" Gordon offered like it made anymore sense.
Dean cringed. "You mean that thing was... Awesome. You always did know how to pick them, Sam." Dean ignored Sam's glare as he wrapped his arms around his very much alive brother so Sam could haul him to his feet. "Like it's not enough that we have the zombie apocalypse, we also need horny little monsters jumping out of the shadows."
"You guys really don't have a damn clue do you?"
With Sam's help, Dean leaned back against the Impala and glared at Gordon. "That's what we've been trying to tell you for the last five hundred miles."
"You've got the Antichrist holding your chain, Dean. It's not exactly a stretch to think he started this plague." Gordon said the words casually as he glanced beyond the parking garage entrance while checking his gun. "Everyone makes mistakes."
"You mistakenly freeze up a computer on a bad porn site. You don't mistakenly almost murder my brother half a dozen times!"
The only thing that stopped Dean from throwing himself at Gordon wasn't his excruciatingly painful foot, but Sam's hand pressed firmly to his chest. "Dean, he saved my life."
"Oh yeah, he's a freakin' hero. Another inch to the left and it would've been your brains splattered over the pavement."
"I don't usually miss," Gordon replied. "Look, we don't got a lot of time here, so let's get a few things straight. Just because Sammy here didn't start this, doesn't mean he's not still a monster. He's just moved down in priority on the killing list. Those things out there, they're not zombies and that thing wasn't trying to get your brother to third base. It was trying to lead him into the horde."
It wasn't until the words left Gordon's mouth that Dean heard the pounding of feet down the pavement not far beyond the parking garage. Sam pulled Dean aside so that he could open the car door and ease him into the backseat.
By the time Sam jumped into the driver's seat, the horde of zombies had already surrounded Gordon's empty car. There was nothing slow and lumbering about these things. They weren't impossible to outrun for those who had two working feet and they died easy enough, but they moved in fast enough to seem to come out of nowhere.
"Get in," Sam told Gordon.
Dean sat bolt upright in the backseat and glared at his brother. "Are you nuts?"
"Dean, he knows what's going on, and we don't know crap."
"Yeah, well, ignorance is bliss."
"Dean..."
While Dean tried to think of a way to beat into Sam's head how stupid this plan was, Gordon looked between his gun and the swarmed car. He was obviously counting bullets in his head. Somehow the fact that Gordon didn't want to come with them was a minor reassurance.
"Or don't get in," Dean added with a quick hushed whisper to Gordon. "I got no problem with you getting your ass turned into zombie chow."
Gordon shot a distrusting look towards Sam, but still slipped into the backseat with Dean as Sam fired up the engine. When the headlights flared on, Dean got a quick glance at large red letters spray painted on the parking garage wall.
'There is no Safe Zone.'
There was no time to contemplate how much gang graffiti had changed before Sam swerved the Impala around and slammed on the gas. Dean braced himself against the side door when the car screeched around the corner towards the back exit. He looked out the rear window to see the horde of sprinting zombies losing ground as the Impala skidded back out onto the street.