The Rapture
Chapter 7 – Urban warfare Winchester style
27 Main Street
Opposite Municipal Library, Lancaster.
Wednesday April 9th 10:45 am
ooooooo
Mackenzie scanned the road on the opposite side of the street from the window, and nibbled nervously at the dry skin at the edge of his thumbnail. He couldn't shake the memory of the events of the last few days and they were ruining his concentration; it was hard to think of anything else. Especially now that Sam had left him on his own. Images of Nancy drifted into his mind tinged with overwhelming guilt and shame. He'd betrayed her. She'd always loved and respected him and he'd led her straight into the lions den. And if that wasn't bad enough, he'd then crept his way out the back door, leaving her there at the mercy of that so called priest.
Well at least he was being offered the chance to do something about it, although he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt quite this much out of his depth. He didn't consider himself a nervous man, couldn't say he remembered being truly frightened in his life either…until now that is.
Sam had been gone for less than half an hour, taking with him all the money Mackenzie had, and leaving him with strict instructions not to take his eyes off the library and to make sure he recorded how many people entered or left – especially by the side door. Mackenzie had no intention of disappointing that young man; the feral look in his eyes as he'd stalked out of the room had convinced him it would be a very bad idea to 'disappoint' Sam Winchester right now.
His teeth tugged again at the loose slither of skin, sending a sharp stab of pain into his thumb and he winced, just as he heard the faint squeak of a floorboard outside the door. He'd no time to move from his place by the window before the door was kicked open and Sam stormed in like a full force of nature, his arms weighed down with a whole collection of carriers and holdalls. He didn't acknowledge the professor, just dumped the bags in the middle of the floor and sat down cross-legged, decanting what looked like groceries.
"I have a job for you." Sam withdrew a large block candles with three wicks twisted together and placed it on the floor in front of him. He lit it, gesturing to Mackenzie to join him. "You know much about chemistry, professor?"
"I know enough to get by – what do you have in mind?" Mackenzie walked over and sat opposite Sam, mirroring his position and feeling more than a little insecure.
"I'm going to teach you how to make a smoke bomb. I'm going to show you first so pay attention, you'll need to watch carefully." As he spoke Sam reached for the bag; this time grabbing a sachet of cane sugar, a roll of aluminium foil and a small bag of 'saltpetre' fertilizer additive.
Mackenzie frowned, this was only basic chemistry but it'd been an age since he'd played with a Bunsen burner, and the more he tried to cast his mind back to his school years, the more the memory sunk back into the mists of time.
He watched intently as Sam's deft fingers worked with the ingredients. "Make sure you get the ratio right; too much sugar and it'll be a waste of time; to much potassium and it'll burn too quick, it won't give us enough time to get out…" He looked up at the older man, sternly. "Are you getting this?"
The professor tried to sound confident but the tremor in his voce was more revealing than he would have liked. "Yes – the ratio has to be right…"
Sam stared up at him with a harsh look and no hint of pity. He spoke more slowly, enunciating every word. "Three parts potassium to two parts sugar. This is important. Then hold it over the heat and stir gently, wait for the sugar to melt then pour it into the foil cup and add a wick – then get on with the next one. Have you got all that?"
Mackenzie nodded furiously; he certainly had no intention of arguing. This soldier sitting in front of him bore no relation to that inquisitive young man who'd walked into his home to ask about a relic. This was a man whose very presence projected danger, a man who was clearly prepared to do whatever was necessary to achieve his aim, and this was a man who was pissed. He looked older, more mature and more focused. So focussed that Mackenzie felt a slight shudder run through him as Sam looked up and locked eyes with him from his place on the floor.
"I need to see you do it."
Again Mackenzie nodded and immediately got to work, recreating the process he'd watched just a moment ago. Sam watched him till he was satisfied, and then got up and moved to the window taking a good long look at the library. Then he went back to the floor and once again sat cross legged.
This time he took out the 'Ready to Eat' meals he'd bought from the camping shop.
Mackenzie glanced up from his 'smoke bomb' making activities and for a split second actually thought they were going to eat, but watched in amazement as Sam split the pack open and took out the heater bag, wiping it off before gently slicing it open. He took out the dark block inside and crunched it between his fingers, dropping the dust onto another sheet of foil. Then from another brown paper bag he took out what looked to be an empty plastic water bottle, but old, like he'd found it in a dumpster. As he carefully lifted the foil and slid the powder into the empty, dry bottle, he looked up and caught Mackenzie's eye, making the professor shift uncomfortably.
"So, is that another smoke bomb?"
Sam returned his attention to his work, starting on the next ready meal. "No – this is something else".
"…right…" Mackenzie swallowed; his dry throat trying to suck the moisture from the air and dragged his eyes away from the young man preparing to wage urban warfare on the local library. But no matter what he did, he couldn't shake the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that the war zone he was now sitting in, was of his own making.
oOo
The residence of Father Karl Gustav
The Bastion, Lancaster.
Wednesday April 9th 10:00am
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Dean still lay flat on his back, unmoving and placid on the small bed and continued to stare blankly at some undefined image in front of his face with dry, sore eyes…still breathed softly, almost imperceptibly…and he remembered.
He remembered everything.
Although his body wouldn't respond to his commands, his mind was racing, slotting together the jigsaw of events as the images fell into his thoughts. He may not have been able to coerce his body to move, may not have been able to force air past his vocal chords… but he could remember.
In his mind's eye, he watched the nightmares he'd been forced to reveal to Gustav, over and over like a reel of film stuck on a perpetual loop. But there was no pain this time, no fear…just awareness. This was his memory, and he was in control. Even the knowledge of what had been done to him…of the space within his mind that had been invaded in the most intimate of ways, caused him little concern.
His focus was on the space he'd been able to protect – the thing he'd been able to hide. His focus was on Sam.
He'd no doubt that Sam wasn't in Gustav's hands, that he hadn't really been tortured; just like he hadn't really been there to help fortify Dean's mind. And even the image of his brother was safe for now, concealed behind that hard built wall and no-one was getting through that. Not while Dean still had breath in his body, fire in his belly and devotion in his heart. No-one was getting through that again.
ooooooo
He remembered seeing John. He observed his father from a distance as he went about his day to day work. Like a child watching his one true hero, Dean watched with wide innocent eyes and such a crushing desire to follow in his footsteps, that the pain of his own inadequacy nearly overwhelmed him.
…until he saw the priest.
Gustav stood calmly, watching the display of childish emotion with a plaintive smile. He looked almost kind, almost compassionate…almost human. The memory shifted, and for a moment Dean swam in the whirlpool of his past, nausea making him latch on to any image he could, anything to calm the maelstrom.
He was back in Laurence, in Sammy's room. There was no sign of John and the cot was empty, but the room burned with a brilliance that could only come from an inhumane fire. Dean knew this memory. Knew that even as a child, his imagination had filled in the gaps of the most profound and life changing event of his young existence.
He watched Gustav, just as the priest watched Mary. Her body spread-eagled across the ceiling; mouth open in silent anguish, eyes wide and staring in confused terror.
Dean didn't look up once. He didn't need to see the horror of his mother burning on the ceiling. He'd watched that scene play out in every nightmare he'd ever had, and he knew every stage direction by heart. The nightmares were always different but always the same…maybe an engulfing sea of fire, showering imaginary tongues of molten flame down on his head, as he strained to reach for his mother with blackened scorched fingers… or perhaps the tide of pure white heat would engulf and swell, and then rupture her delicate flesh before the fire even had a chance to steal the life from her.
Every single one of Dean's imagined rendition had vividly outdone the last…and he'd had a lifetime of them. So what could there be to see here? No…he didn't need to watch his mother burn…so he kept his eyes glued to Gustav as the priest took in the show…And he watched as the tiniest of smiles played across the priests mouth, looking for all intents and purposes like a man happy to be entertained.
And then his memory shifted again. This time he faced Sam, wiping the soot from his hair and the tears from his eyes as both brothers stood and watched the apartment in Palo Alto burn… taking with it Sam's best chance for happy and normal. Dean looked deep into his brother's face and read the need for consolation. The pleading for answers and the all consuming grief that threatened to swallow his brother whole was displayed there for all to see. And then over Sam's shoulder, he saw Gustav.
Dean riled at the sight. This…he would not see, this…he would not tarnish…
With every ounce of strength he possessed, Dean searched through a lifetime of confusion and self-doubt and sent it hurtling towards the priest …regret for random conversations that had ended before he'd said what he really meant…painful one night stands that deep down he'd thought could have turned into so much more…a whole catalogue of hunts; all of them ending badly with injury or failure or death. Dean threw them all at the priest, every random thought and feeling…and slowly but surely it had the desired effect.
Memory after memory assaulted Gustav, making him stumble backwards, a look of amazement gradually colouring his features. He strained to see through the layers of all consuming mist, swiping at the gossamer with his hand but the movement achieved nothing…
ooooooo
Dean had stopped him; he'd hidden Sam and with that knowledge, came power and dogged determination. And he was becoming more aware by the second.
Although he still couldn't move, he could feel, and he was aware of a soft draught coming from the open door that was cool on his skin, just as the stream of sun coming through the window was warm.
And then there were voices…someone telling someone else to 'get them up and get them ready', and then pressure on his arm as someone pulled him from the comfort of the bed. He found himself standing as his body responded to the manipulation as though under a hypnotic trance, blindly following the will of the person leading him – and he didn't like it.
Slowly, Dean worked on making his fingers respond to his commands, gradually curling and flexing, focusing on nothing but regaining that small amount of control. Only small movements to start with, but growing in intensity all the time…until he could feel his hand forming a perfect fist. Although he couldn't show it, on the inside Dean smiled.
oOo
27 Main Street
Opposite Municipal Library.
Wednesday April 9th 12 pm Midday.
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Mackenzie looked at Sam as though he'd just been slapped in the face. He couldn't be serious, there was no way on God's green earth anyone would consider that a plan. He straightened his back and took a calming breath before speaking. "Now, I know I'm not knowledgeable about this sort of thing but I have to say, this plan appears reckless to say the least…"
"It'll work."
"And I think I must disagree…I can't see how you expect this to work, and you haven't really explained what you'll be doing while I'm… "
Sam held up a hand, quietening the professor before turning to face him from his look-out by the window. "All you need to remember is to do your part, leave the rest to me."
"Well…I have to say I still don't understand why we can't get the police invol…" Mackenzie halted quickly at the seething look thrown his way. He swallowed thickly. "Or, maybe…you have some friends you could call upon? Someone in the same...um…line of work, so to speak?"
"We stick to the plan…You go in, make some noise; I follow and make a whole lot more."
Sam went back to examining the view through the dirty slatted window, his eyes glued to the building opposite, waiting impatiently for any sign of his brother. As if on cue, his patience paid off and a large blue car arrived and turned down the alley, parking up just shy of the side door.
He watched through half closed eyes as Nancy was dragged from the car by her elbow, closely followed by Gustav who looped one arm around her waist in a protective gesture that would have been nurturing under any other circumstances. And then he saw Dean, unceremoniously dragged out of the car by the collar of his shirt, his whole demeanour, one of passive non-resistance. It didn't stop Wayne from pulling him along by a handful of hair though, and Sam put another mentally tick in the box of Winchester style payback that was about to rain down on that man's head.
His voice had deepened by degrees; his face, an emotionless mask of complete focus. He didn't look at Mackenzie when he spoke, but then he didn't have to. He could taste the man's fear crackling in the air between them. So when he did speak, he kept it short.
"Its time."
oOo
TBC