Chapter 7 Hungry
Camp Chitaqua, Lake Solitude, Michigan
The morning started at six, with the high-pitched whine of an electric plane splitting the peaceful silence as the cabin crews started work. Dean opened an eye resentfully, rolling it to look at the clock beside him. Four hours. For the first time in a long time, he could've done another four with no problems whatsoever, he thought. But along with the plane, the band-saw was howling and the thump and clack of nail guns added an arrhythmic beat to the morning's cacophonous dawn chorus.
He pushed himself onto one elbow and looked across to Lisa, sleeping soundly through the noise, dark hair in a long spill over the pillow, the covers following the rise and fall of her body from shoulder down to waist and rising again to her hip. He waited for a moment for that sight to bring a feeling, a response inside, but it didn't and he sighed, rolling over and sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands over his face tiredly.
Two of the six cabins were already up, logs trimmed and de-barked, set into the frames and chinked with lake mud mixed up with concrete, roofs on and stone chimneys built. The new designs were bigger than the old ones, having two separate bedrooms, living and cooking space, rudimentary bathrooms installed with plumbing extended out from the main house.
Liev had taken charge of the project enthusiastically and Dean had handed it over to him with a feeling of relief. The man was a skilled carpenter by trade, and Matt and Terry, another two of the survivors who'd come in with Emmett, were both builders. Between them, the work was progressing fast and a lot of the camp people were learning to build and handle the tools, revelling in the feeling of doing something useful again, and the satisfaction of seeing their labour produce something tangible.
Rona and Maggie had gone out separately last week to look discreetly around. Both had reported that the country, at least as far south as the outskirts of Detroit, was empty. They'd also reported that a lot of the crops left standing the previous year were re-seeding. He wondered if there was anyone in camp who knew how to drive a combine, or if he'd be sitting on one come summer, harvesting grain and making hay.
He got up, pulling on a pair of jeans from the crumpled pile of clothes beside the bed, and walking down the hall to the bathroom. Stripping down, he turned on the taps in the shower. For the next couple of weeks, a hot shower would be a distant and unattainable dream. He stepped under the steaming spray and tipped his head back as it hit his back, luxuriating in the heat and pressure.
Bobby and Ellen would run the place. Ellen had told him that Alex had already suggested four new supply checks, having marked off and noted the farms they'd already tried, what was there and what had been left. He pushed aside the brief spasm of regret that she'd gone through Ellen to let him know as he rinsed the soap off, turned off the taps and grabbed a towel from the rail. Whatever was going on, it hadn't improved and he didn't know how to push it.
Franklin and Mel were not only teaching the principles of demolition and explosives but had begun to teach their respective students how to build them, everything from basic household ingredients to fuses and timing and wiring up remote detonators that they could still use radio signals to set off. He wrapped the towel around his hips and wiped off the mirror, scratching at the longish stubble that covered his jaw and throat and cheeks. The weather had been getting muggier in the last week, and he picked up a can of shaving cream and a razor, deciding he could do without the additional heat along his face if Kansas proved to be warmer than Michigan.
Taking Cas was going to hold up the lessons for all the people here on protection and warding but it couldn't be helped. Even almost human, Cas saw things that a person wouldn't, felt things that a person couldn't and for this op, he wanted the angel around, to feel the vibes of the small city, let them know where the concentration of demons were before they walked into them.
He drew the razor over the flat plane of one cheek, wondering absently who could take over. He'd have to ask Cas if there was anyone who'd been particularly good at understanding the basics, who could keep teaching while he was gone. Rinsing the blade in the running water and tapping it clean, he thought through what else had to be sorted out before they could leave.
In addition to the hunters, there were a few civilians who had the skills to keep going with the hunting trips into the forest, teaching as many as possible how to track and follow prey and keep out of sight and hit a moving target, and in the self-defence classes that had gained in attendance over the last four weeks. Depending on how many teams were needed for the supply runs, they should be able to keep those going. He was only taking six altogether, including himself, to Kansas. He watched his hand move slowly as the razor cut through the white foam and hair over the long stretch of his throat, fingers stretching out the skin there to make it smooth, the blade sharp enough to glide over it, not tugging at the stubble.
With Rufus, Cas and himself going into the state from the north, through Nebraska, he'd decided that Maurice, Jo and Ty could go south, into Oklahoma and check out the area around McAlester on their way up. If it didn't look too bad, they could grab a few things from there on the way, and be able to take out the planes at the airforce base in Wichita at the same time. The actual attack on Wichita was going to require a lot of planning, primarily to get the timing right. But that's what the recce was for anyway.
He cleaned the blade in the water, and ran a hand down one cheek. Smooth enough. Washing the rest of the foam off, he turned off the taps and dried his face, picking up his jeans and pulling them back on, leaving the towel over the shower rail to dry. They'd be gone for two weeks, maybe less. Things would be fine here until he got back.
"You're not going," Ellen said tightly, looking at her daughter. "I didn't bleed and sweat to get you here only to have you take off right into the heart of Lucifer's territory!"
"It's not your decision," Jo snapped back, uncaring of who in the big room heard them. "This is what I do, it's who I am now, and you don't get a say in it!"
Ellen stared at her, lips pursed, and turned on her heel, striding fast to Bobby's office. The door was partially open and Dean and Bobby looked up as she entered, both knowing what she was here for.
"Jo's not going," she said, gripping the door and slamming behind her as she walked to the desk and stared at Dean. "She's staying here."
Dean straightened up, looking at her steadily. "I didn't conscript her, Ellen. This is a volunteer-only job."
"I don't care!" She pulled a deep breath into her lungs, forcing herself to unclench her fists. "Find someone else. Risa's dying to go. Or Max."
"Risa doesn't have the experience or self-control to do this," Dean argued mildly, looking past her as the door swung open and Jo stormed into the room, slamming it shut behind her.
"Take it easy on the damned door, it didn't do anything," Bobby muttered, watching the pictures shudder against the wall.
"I'm going."
"No. You're not!" Ellen flicked a glance at her and back to Dean. "I mean it."
"You know what? This isn't my problem," Dean said, slouching onto the corner of the desk behind him. "Jo's competent, and she volunteered. You two want to fight about it, take it somewhere else."
Ellen glared at him. "She's not experienced enough –"
"How am I going to get experienced if you won't –" Jo shouted over the top of her.
"Seems to me that Jo's done growing up, Ellen," Bobby said, his voice firm, cutting across the young woman's protest. "It's her decision, right or wrong."
"Right!" Jo snapped, staring at her mother. Ellen looked at her, eyes narrowed, deciding the time had come to fight dirty.
"Jobeth, you should know this isn't the way to get his attention, he's not going to –"
Jo's mouth dropped open as a deep red flush rose up her neck. "MOM!"
"I'm just saying, that you're not going to get –"
Jo wheeled around to Bobby, her eyes flicking past Dean's. "I'm going. I'll be ready in the morning," she said loudly, drowning out her mother and spinning around. She marched to the door, yanking it open and closing it – gently this time - behind her.
"That was mean, Ellen," Bobby said softly. "Didn't do much good either."
Ellen stared at the closed door in frustration for a long moment and turned around. "You were supposed to back me up."
Dean shrugged, his face expressionless. "Not our department, Ellen. She's an adult. She can make her own decisions, whether you like them or not."
"If she dies on one of your missions, Dean, you going to tell me that you had nothing to do with it?" she asked him quietly, blinking back the tears that were pricking at the back of her eyes.
"No," he said, his face hardening a little. "But I've been watching her and I don't think she'll screw up, Ellen. I wouldn't have agreed to her coming along if I did."
"You don't think, there's a Winchesterism for you," she snapped, turning away. "Fuck you and your father, and you too, Bobby Singer."
They watched her walk out of the office.
"She's upset," Bobby offered when the silence had gone on a little too long.
"She's probably right to be," Dean said, shrugging and standing again.
"Jo'll be fine," Bobby said, looking down at the map. "You didn't make a mistake about that."
"None of us are fine, Bobby," he said, turning back to the map and looking at it. "And if I did or not, we'll have to wait and see, right?"
Rufus stood in the drive, looking over the contents of the trunk of the black car.
"Hi," the voice was warm and deep, the single word rich with nuance and he peered out from behind the car, looking at the tall, slender woman who leaned casually against the rear panel, smiling at him.
"Hi," he said warily, picking up his kit, dropping it into the trunk and closing the lid. "Help you?"
"I'm sure you can," she said, lifting one brow slightly. "You're about to leave though, aren't you?"
"In an hour or so," he confirmed, leaning on the trunk and feeling twenty years drop off as he took in the interest in the dark eyes. "It's Dominique, isn't it?"
She smiled and held out her hand. "In the flesh."
Taking her hand, he was slightly surprised by the strength in the long fingers that curled around his own.
"Rufus Turner, pleasure to meet you," he said, smiling back and letting go. "What can I do for you?"
"Bobby asked me to give you this before you left," she said, pulling out a note from her pocket and handing it to him.
He took it, opening it and reading through it. "Thanks, let him know I will."
"I'll be sure to do that," Dominique said, turning away and walking back up to the house.
He watched her go, knowing that she knew he was watching, feeling a flicker of possibilities he'd more or less put behind him flux through him and vanish. She'd come in on Emmett's boat, he remembered, skinny, shivering with the cold, clutching a man's pea-coat around her and staring at everything with huge, dark eyes, the brands on her arms pale pink against the darkness of her skin.
Amazing what some food and security did for a person. Somewhere in her thirties, he guessed, filled out in all the right places and pretty sure of herself now. He wondered if the flirting had meant anything or just been an ice-breaker. The question sent a frisson down his nerves and he smiled at himself self-deprecatingly. If he made it back, he could find out.
Dean swore under his breath as he searched through the drawer, turning over the clothing in it, looking for the small leather drawstring bag. He heard a noise behind him and glanced over his shoulder, seeing Lisa push the door wide and walk in.
"Have you seen a small leather bag?" he asked, slamming the drawer shut as he turned around.
"It's in the drawer in the nightstand," she said, gesturing to it.
He stood still for a moment, recognition dawning that she not only knew about it, but that she'd moved it from where he'd left it. Looked through it as well? He pushed the thought aside and walked to the nightstand, jerking out the drawer and pulling it out, untying the rawhide string and pulling it open.
"What time are you going?" Lisa asked, walking to the bed and sitting down on the edge.
"Now," he said, tipping the contents of the bag onto his palm. There were only a few things he'd kept, things that meant something to him. One thing he wanted to take with him. He picked out his mother's ring and put it in his pocket, tipping the rest back into the bag and pulling the string tight again. Replacing the bag in the drawer, he shut it and turned to look down at her.
"Were you going to say goodbye?" Lisa asked lightly, looking up at him.
"Yeah, of course," he said, brows drawing together a little. "I won't be that long."
He sat next to her, slipping an arm around and pulling her close, his mouth brushing over hers as she tilted her face to him. She slid her arms around him, deepening the kiss until he drew away a little.
"Keep everyone occupied, okay?" he said, getting up. She nodded and he turned away, going to the door.
"Dean?"
He stopped, looking back at her.
"I'll miss you," Lisa said, looking at him. "I love you."
His gaze cut away, and he nodded, not knowing what to say to that. He couldn't say it back. He'd never said it back. Not to any woman he'd been with. Was it worse to say something else, as if he hadn't heard, or to just leave without saying anything at all? He didn't know. He didn't have time to get into a conversation about it either.
He looked back at her, nodding again as he turned away, going through the door and down the stairs. The timing of women had always astounded him. Conversations were opened precisely when he couldn't deal with them, couldn't ignore what he had to do. Months of time passed by where every discussion was ordinary, day-to-day, then the exact moment he had no time, had to be in the car and going, she dropped that bombshell.
He acknowledged the slight feeling of relief that was threaded through his exasperation, relief that he couldn't stop, didn't have to face that talk about her feelings and his lack of reciprocation for them.
Something to look forward to, he told himself sourly, going out through the front door and closing it behind him. Rufus sat in the passenger seat and Cas was staring morosely out the back window and he pushed the entire mess out of his head and thought instead of the route he'd take once they were through Grand Rapids and skirting Lake Michigan and whatever remained of Chicago.
Concordia, Kansas
Dean lowered the glasses and looked across the small clearing to Rufus who was crouched six yards away behind another tree.
Rufus tucked his glasses in his bag and shrugged. He couldn't see anything either.
"Cas?" Dean whispered, turning to look over his shoulder at the angel who was kneeling behind him, eyes closed.
"I can't feel a demon presence here, Dean," Castiel said softly, opening his eyes and looking at the hunter. "It feels completely empty."
"Good," Dean said, putting the binoculars in the small pack and straightening up.
Every town they'd passed through had been the same. They'd parked on the outskirts, walked in and had a look around before going back to get the car and drive through, Cas making notes in the back of the car on what supplies, if any, were there, what state the town was in.
Rufus straightened up as well. "We staying here for the night or do you want to keep going?"
"We'll stay," Dean said, heading back toward the car. "Probably be the last night of solid sleep we'll get for a few days."
The older man nodded and waited for the angel, taking rear automatically. Cas could shoot, his hand-eye coordination extraordinary for someone who'd never done it before, but he wasn't used to skulking around, as he'd called it two days ago, and it seemed to Rufus that the angel still felt that the power that had been his, that had gone, should have still been there, relying on the gun he carried only after he'd attempted to reach out for that missing power first. It'd resulted in a couple of near-misses for all of them.
They were eighty miles from Wichita and so far the trip had been more or less uneventful. A couple of groups of croaties, on both sides of the mostly burned out ruins of Chicago, three demons obviously scouting a military base in northern Indiana and a small nest of vampires in Nebraska had been all they'd come across.
Just over three hundred million people in the US before May 2010. He thought that maybe ten million of those might've survived the virus and the Horsemen and the devil's scourges and a record cold winter since then. And they were either in one of the five cities that Lucifer held, or hiding somewhere in the country, too shocked and afraid to find others, too aware of how quickly death came for the unwary now. It was a number that would drop further, he thought, remembering Bobby's explanation of the seals and the omens that signalled the end of days.
He looked up as the throaty rumble of the Impala's engine broke through his depressing musings and lengthened his stride, reaching the car as the angel opened the rear door, opening the passenger door and sliding in.
Dean drove into the town, cruising slowly in and out of the abandoned and broken vehicles, now rusting hulks, most of them, that littered the street. Near the end of the main street, a low, single-storey motel remained intact, only two cars in the slots in the parking lot, and he pulled in, driving around to the rear rooms and parking the car parallel to the rooms instead of nose in.
They checked through the place methodically and chose a family room, salting all the possible entrances and bringing their gear in. Dinner was from the box of c-rations, carried around and heated up on a small camping stove, followed by thick, black coffee brewed in a pot on the stove until it was practically syrup.
"Start with the base tomorrow?" Rufus asked Dean as they checked over their gear.
He nodded absently as he looked at the loads in each of the guns laid on the bed. "Maurice should be there tomorrow or the day after. Camps are in the industrial area on the other side of the airport. We can take a look at the western side after that."
McAlester, Oklahoma
"Looks quiet," Ty murmured, lying prone on the small rise above the plant.
"Not empty," Jo said from beside him, the binoculars held to her face moving slightly to the right.
"No," Maurice agreed on the other side of her as he picked up the movement in his own glasses and adjusted the focus. "Skeleton crew."
Jo lowered her glasses, thinking of the layout of the place, the buildings that they needed, the possibilities inherent in the situation, chewing lightly at her bottom lip as she looked across the wide aprons of concrete parking lots to the big, prefabricated and brick buildings beyond.
"We'll have to split up," she said slowly. "Run a diversion on the other side, two of us going in this way to get what we need."
"Are we supposed to blow up this place when we've got everything?" Ty looked across at her.
"No," Maurice answered, lowering his glasses as well. "No, Dean wants to take another run at it just before the big push." He turned his head to look at Jo. "Short straw takes the hit and run."
She nodded, lifting her glasses again. "We need a head count."
Another five minutes before they made their round, Jo thought, lying flat next to the fence on the other side of the plant. She'd have twenty minutes before they came around again to draw out the trap and get into position.
"Jobeth, you should know this isn't the way to get his attention, he's not going to –"
Jo felt heat rise up across her chest, up her neck and over her face again, the memory of her mother's mortifyingly embarrassing words ringing in her mind. He hadn't seemed to notice, or at least, she thought, trying to shove the memory aside, he'd acted as if he hadn't noticed, treating her the same as always as they'd prepared to go the following morning.
A part of her had wanted him to raise it, she thought. To acknowledge it. But only a small part. The part that was still mostly teenager, still mostly a romantic.
She hadn't spoken to her mother from the moment she'd walked out of the office, not to say goodbye or anything. It was protectiveness, she knew, that's all, but it was long past time that Ellen Harvelle accepted that her daughter was an adult, with an adult's capabilities and responsibilities. And she should've known that her mother would play dirty if she felt pushed. It was one of her less appealing character traits.
Her attention sharpened as she saw the movement at the corner of the building and she thrust the personal musings aside, focussing on the two guards who sauntered across the concrete, looking around in a haphazard manner, clearly not worried about being attacked here.
They hugged the building and she saw where the best place would be to set the trap, where they would react and follow instead of looking around cautiously. Watching them continue around the lower buildings until they were out of sight again, she thought she had a very good chance of getting this done right and walking away afterward.
Easing herself up, she rolled onto her knees and picked up the light pack from beside her, slinging it over one shoulder and moving carefully down the gentle slope to the fence.
Six hours later, Jo sat on the broad bench seat of the M939 truck next to Ty, stripping and cleaning her guns. The traps had worked, the demons had been exorcised and behind her, in the five-ton cargo bed, they'd loaded everything that had been on Franklin's list and had room for extras.
"Where do you want to hide this load when we get near Wichita?" Ty glanced across at her.
"Blackwell, just before the state line," she told him, wiping down the gun and reassembling it. "We're supposed to be sneaking around, we'll sneak back out that way and go home through Illinois, the long, long way."
He nodded. Four cases of Stingers, twenty cases of the 70mm missiles that the MANPADs fired. Ten cases of grenades. Ten cases of mines and detonators. Thirty cases of ammunition. The truck was loaded and heavy to drive, but the small back roads were mostly clear and they'd seen no one on the way up north.
"You ever think of joining the army, back when, you know, things were normal?" Ty asked her, looking at the road ahead of them.
Jo shook her head. "No, too regimented for me. Hunting was what I wanted to do from the moment I first realised it's what my Dad did." She pushed a strand of hair back from her face, lifting her head to look at him. "You?"
"I thought about it," he said. "Didn't want to die in some foreign desert with my guts full of lead."
She smiled. "Much better to die on home soil with your guts ripped out by a demon, right?"
He laughed.
Wichita, Kansas
The rendezvous point was a farmhouse four miles south-east from McConnell Air Force Base. Dean faded back into the deep, black shadows of the barn as he heard the engine on the still night air. It was the dark of the moon and a thin cloud cover hid the stars, making what little light there was from the loom of the city to the west murky.
The car bumped its way over the pot-holed drive, and stopped next to the house. Whoever was driving had the sense to keep the lights off and if it hadn't been for the slight rise of the drive from the county road to the homestead, they would've been able to coast in, silent and dark. But that'd been the reason he'd chosen it.
He held the shotgun loosely, watching as three people got out, shadows against the darker shape of the house and walked slowly toward them, calling out softly as another two shadows came around the corner of the house.
"Maurice?"
"Yep, it's us, Dean," Maurice turned around, his hands held high and empty.
"Arms out," Rufus said shortly, holding a bottle and a couple of knives in his hands. Dean and Cas covered the three while they licked at the salt spilled on their arms, swallowed a mouthful of holy water and stood still for Rufus to lay the silver and iron blades on them. The tension between the two groups disappeared as none showed any reactions to any of it.
"Completely weird to drive at night and see the city lights, man," Maurice said quietly to Rufus, rolling down his sleeve. "How long have you been here?"
"Since this morning, had a pretty clear run in from the north," Rufus said, gesturing to the house.
"You get to McAlester?" Dean asked, following them up the porch steps, gun uncocked now and Castiel beside him.
"Yeah, piece of cake," Jo said, walking into the dark hallway and ducking under the thick blanket nailed to the doorway. Beyond it, the old-fashioned living room was lit by kerosene lanterns, a dozen candles standing on the bureau against one wall. She felt herself relax finally, putting her gun down on the table and stretching a little.
"We got a load, borrowed a five-ton truck and stashed it in Blackwell," she continued, turning around to look at him. "We can pick it up and go back through Illinois, same way we came down."
He nodded. "Everything on Franklin's list?"
Ty grinned at him. "And more. We really should take a couple of teams before they re-garrison that place."
"Probably won't need too much more," Dean said, setting the shotgun down and moving across the room. The windows and doors had all been blacked out. Cas and Rufus had already gone back to their posts, at the front and rear of the house.
"Not soldiering here, Ty," he continued. "Just picking the battles we can win."
Ty nodded, a little abashed at the mild rebuke. "Anything to eat?"
Dean gestured to the camping stove on a cupboard. "Help yourselves. Plenty of rooms but no lights anywhere but here."
"You want us to give us shifts tonight?" Maurice looked around the room.
"No," Dean said. "We got it. Get a good night's sleep, you'll need it."
Watching them, Dean thought of the load they'd commandeered from the ammunitions plant. If they had the ability to set off a good diversion on the other side of the city, and take out the planes that were still tied down at the air force base, they would be able to get most, if not all, of the slaves out of the city. Relatively speaking, that would be the easy part.
Hank had estimated the numbers between one and two thousand. He didn't yet have a plan of how to get that many across country to Michigan, or where to put them when they got there. There was the town, of course, but it was undefended and it would be difficult to set up really effective defences around it, despite being wedged between two lakes.
Figure it out later, he told himself, picking up the shotgun and walking out of the lit room. He crossed the dark kitchen, whistling softly to let Cas know he was coming, hearing the angel's attempt to whistle back with a slight smile. Letting himself out the back door, he moved slowly along the side of the house and into the shadows of the barn, walking around the perimeter of the farmyard.
Adjusting the field of the glasses slightly, Dean looked across the pale expanse of concrete. He could see people moving, chained together for the most part, in the thin, grey pre-dawn light. They were being loaded onto buses, shifted to wherever the day's work was, he guessed.
It put a time on the possibility of rescue. Either before dawn or after dark, when they were all brought back to the camps again. He chewed on the corner of his lip as he ran through the pros and cons of those two times. In daylight, they'd be hard-pressed to hide, but at night, the lights of their vehicles would give them away even more easily and with so many to get out, it wasn't like they couldn't use them. Even a good bright moon would invite accidents on a convoy that big.
He glanced sideways, careful not to move the glasses as Jo wriggled up beside him. The roof of the building on which they lay was the highest he'd been able to find, that was still a safe distance from the base and the airport beyond it. They had another hour, maybe, before the rising sun would warm the surface too much and they'd be too easy to see.
"The main offices of the base are where the demons are concentrated," she said, very quietly. "Looks like they're not using any of the other buildings."
"How many?"
"At least a hundred quartered there." She turned her head slightly, bright hair covered by a black cap. "All demons. No civilians, no slaves."
That would make it tricky, he thought sourly. And more through the rest of the city. They would need a hell of a diversion to drag them all away. He looked back through the glasses, brows drawing together as he watched the buses pulling out of the airport's lot and begin to disperse. The buses would be the easiest thing to use to get them out, he thought. They'd need drivers, good ones, but they could split up once they were clear of the city, send them out along the back roads.
"And how many aircraft?"
"Sixty-eight on the apron, possibly another twenty in the hangars."
Looking back at the air force buildings, he dragged in a shallow breath. This would only work if there was a way to really neutralise the demons, all of them, at the same time. At the back of his mind, a very faint memory stirred, and he reached for it, feeling it dissolve under his searching.
Sleep on it, he told himself. It'll come.
There would be ways to do this, he only had to think of them. The numbers were difficult but not impossible, not by a long shot. And they had, or could get, whatever they needed, he thought.
He eased back from the binoculars and folded the small stand on them, shifting slowly around to put them back into the bag that lay beside him. Turning to look at Jo, he jerked his head slightly in the direction of the edge and she nodded, wriggling backwards as low as possible to avoid notice.
They slid off the edge of the roof, climbing down the metal gantry to the ground, keeping to the sides of the big industrial buildings as the sun rose higher. At the corner, Dean slid down with his back against the wall, watching the open lot around them for fifteen minutes before he rose again and crossed the bare ground at a run.
The cars were another mile away, on the outskirts of Augusta and Jo followed Dean through the tangle of small streets, houses, stores, back yards and alleys until they reached them. Rufus and Castiel were already there, she realised, seeing a dark hand against the curtain that twitched slightly in the house next to the two vehicles.
The door opened as they walked up, and Rufus closed it behind them when they'd entered.
"Going to be a tricky job," Rufus said to Dean without preamble, passing them a couple of bottles of water. Dean unscrewed the lid and swallowed half of the bottle's contents before he answered.
"Yep, but doable."
"Where's Maurice and Ty?" Jo asked, looking around and wiping her mouth with her hand as she screwed the lid back on her bottle.
"They were the furthest north," Castiel said. "It will take them longest to get back."
"We'll stay here today, and get around to the western side tonight," Dean said. "The free civilians and the higher up demons are supposed to be there."
"I think it will take more than one diversion to clear the area on this side, Dean," Cas remarked, looking down at the map that lay on the formica table in the small kitchen.
He nodded. "Probably three, but all on the other side," Dean agreed, looking past him at the map. "We'll know more about that when we can see what they're doing over there."
"Jo, you can take watch with Cas," he turned and said to her and she nodded, moving out of the kitchen and following the hall to a bedroom on the northern side of the house. Castiel returned to the small parlour between the kitchen and living room where he could see the street outside and the two cars.
Looking at the map, Dean thought of how many they would need. Franklin, probably Mel and Boze on the MANPADs to the west. The range was three miles but they'd need height to be able to see their targets.
"The Stingers are infrared targeted, aren't they?" Rufus asked diffidently as he stood on the other side of the table, looking down.
Dean nodded.
"Take out the power station, or at least give it a world of hurt, and they probably won't follow so readily."
"That's a good point," he said, looking at the power station marked on the map. It would also be a target that would draw most of them from one side of the city to the other. And it was in reach of the cover on the western side.
"We'll check the approaches tomorrow."
"Get some shut-eye," Rufus said. "Nothing's happening until Maurice and Ty get back."
Camp Chitaqua, Lake Solitude, Michigan
Ellen walked into the room behind the kitchen, seeing Chuck bent over the laptop at one end of the table, and Alex going through the ledger of supplies at the other, chewing absently on the end of the pen in her hand.
"How's it looking?" she asked, walking to the table and sitting down.
"Four teams went out over the last two days," the younger woman said, looking at the map next to her. "Rona said that on both farms hers checked, the crops that weren't harvested last year have reseeded and are growing again." She looked at Ellen. "We'll probably be able to get away with that for another year, according to the books I've been looking at, after that, those fields will need fertilising and resting, and we'll have to put some sweat into seeding others to get the same sorts of yields."
"Well, we'll worry about that after harvest-time," Ellen said, looking at the maps. "How much further do we need to go out to find our ready-made staples?"
"Not sure," Alex said. "Those things will be out there, I have no doubts about that, but finding them, bringing them back …" She shrugged slightly. "I think it would be more efficient to send out two or three of the trucks, with a few of the hunters, in one team and send them right around the state to bring back what they can find in bulk. These shorter runs are heavy on time and our people for the amount they can find."
Ellen caught her lip between her teeth as she nodded. She'd thought that as well, watching the goods come in through the last week. She had Boze and Tim, both ready to work again, Rona, Risa, Emmett and Max, Vincent and Michael and probably a dozen of the civvies who were good shots, strong and ready to work hard.
"I'll check with Bobby, but I think you're right. We'll send out a big team by the end of the week."
Glancing briefly down the table at Chuck, Ellen turned back to Alex. "How are you doing?"
Alex looked at the open ledger in front of her. "I'm fine, Ellen."
At least she never wasted time pretending not to know what I mean, Ellen thought dourly. "Alex, I don't mean to press you –"
Alex looked up at her with a tight smile. "Sure you do, Ellen."
Ellen's eyes narrowed slightly. "We need you," she said bluntly.
"No. You don't," Alex said, closing the ledger and getting to her feet. "You just don't like having someone you can't predict around, someone who might go off the rails." She looked down at the older woman steadily. "I'm not going off the rails but I'm not like you."
Turning away, she walked out of the room, heading for the basement. From the other end of the table, Ellen heard Chuck's deep sigh.
"You keep pushing, Ellen, and you'll drive her into doing something stupid," he said quietly.
"She's wrong, Chuck," Ellen replied, turning in the chair to look at him. "We do need her, and I'm not going to just let that go. What happened could've happened to any one of us."
"But it didn't," Chuck said reasonably. "And we're both pretty sure that it's not the first time something like that happened to her."
Ellen leaned back in the chair. "Did she tell you anything else?"
Chuck shook his head. He was here most of the time, working on the journals. He'd gotten Alex to talk a little about herself, her past. Not much though.
"I think she came out here because she was running, Ellen. She had a plan for the place, but the real reason was to get away from Grand Rapids and to get away from people," he said. "And whatever it was driving her is still working its way through."
Alex crossed the basement floor, glancing at the rooms as she passed them, and started up the back stairs. At the top of the flight, she opened the door and checked the hall, slipping across it to her room when she saw it was empty, closing the door behind her and leaning against it.
Her heart was pounding and her mouth was dry, the usual results of a conversation with Ellen lately. No matter how well-meaning the woman was, she couldn't help trying to push for the result she wanted to see and Alex couldn't help reacting against that.
She pushed off the door and walked to the small desk under the window, sitting down in front of it and letting her head drop into her hands. The injuries had healed up, for the most part, the bruises barely visible, yellow fading out to a pale grey at the edges now. Renee had tut-tutted over her back, but she hadn't peed blood and the ex-nurse told her that was the main thing. It was still stiff and a bit sore in the mornings, but that was all.
Renee had also given her a bottle of pills, to take at night to get enough sleep. The nightmares had kept coming, a conglomeration of the various incidents, mixed in with her past and guaranteeing not more than a couple hours sleep at a stretch. The pills had worked, but they left her feeling deadened and dull in the morning and she didn't think it was worth it.
She could understand Ellen's concerns, she thought tiredly. The setup here was delicate, really, and a morose, withdrawn woman lurking around in the shadows didn't do much to inspire confidence in anyone. Lifting her head, she looked out the window, seeing the new, green grass pushing through, the mist of pale green leaves over the big deciduous trees between the cabins and the lake. It was spring and a time for hope, of a better future, a new life, and she couldn't fight her way free of the old one.
It might be better, she considered, if she left. Worked her way northward through the national forest and found someplace isolated to lick her wounds on her own, without worrying the people here, taking up their time, feeling their pity in every quickly-averted look, every whisper that followed her when she walked through the house.
Looking around the room, she wondered what she would need to take with her, what she could realistically carry with her. Not much food. She would have to hunt and fish and gather. Maybe north wasn't such a great direction, maybe west would be better, follow the roads through the farm land until she found a good place to settle down, perhaps on the shores of Lake Michigan.
Running away. Again.
It's what it came down to, she knew. She'd told herself that the camp was going to be new future but she'd known that it wasn't, not really. It was a place far from anyone she'd known, anyone who'd known her, where she could hide and be on her own and not have to think about any of it.
It was slightly ironic that running had saved her life, she thought now. Had she stayed in the city to the west, she'd probably have died months ago. She'd run because she couldn't stand the looks. The looks that had said if you'd tried harder, it never would've happened. If you'd been different. The look in the prosecutor's eyes when the woman had stared at her across the courtroom that said it was all your fault.
Rubbing a hand over her face, she tried to repress the shudder that rippled through her. Maybe it had been. She'd gone over things so many times now that she knew her memories weren't clear anymore.
It was all a lot easier to deal with when she was on her own.
Wichita, Kansas
"No go on the power plant, Dean," Maurice said as he poured a cup of thick black coffee from the pot on the stove.
"Why not?"
"We can take out the sub-stations easy, they're just across the turnpike, but the power generation comes from Wolf Creek, out at Coffey. It's a nuclear plant."
Dean smiled wryly. "What about cutting the power from there to here?"
"The sub-stations will do that anyway," Rufus confirmed. "No wonder Lucifer picked this town. Damned plant was probably just in safe mode the whole time."
"Have we got target coordinates for the sub-stations?"
"Yep," Maurice nodded, sitting down and cradling the cup between his hands. "And six targets to the north and across the river to light their fires and get them scuttling out of here when we need it."
"Good job," Dean said. "Mostly civilians at those locations?"
"Yeah," Ty said, nodding. "But the targets aren't homes. They moved a lot of the businesses to the same areas, save on gas, I guess, and it looks like we'll be able to hit them at dawn with a minimum of casualties."
"All the maps marked up?"
Jo nodded. "Finished transferring everything this morning," she said. "What do you want to do about McConnell?"
"Nothing right now," Dean said slowly. "This'll take a couple of weeks to put together, mainly the getting out of Dodge part. When we get back, we'll put it out of action."
He looked at Maurice. "How long were you thinking to get back to Michigan?"
"A week, thereabouts," Maurice said. "We have to pick up the truck, and we'll take nothing but back roads until we're through Illinois at least."
"We'll be going more direct," Dean said with a sideways glance at Rufus. "And straight through. Stay away from Chicago."
Maurice snorted. "Have all my life."
Emporia, Kansas
The turnpike had been blocked for miles and Dean had turned onto the smaller county roads as they'd left Wichita, heading north and east. He glanced at the sign by the side of the road, seeing that they were four miles out of Emporia, and swore as his gaze returned to the road in front of him as he took the bend and saw the mess of cars across the narrow blacktop, his foot stamping on the brake.
"What the –" Rufus picked up the shotgun from the seat beside him and cocked it.
"Blockade?" Dean asked no one in particular as he eased the car slowly toward the piles of rusting metal.
"Could be," Rufus agreed. "You want to go around?"
"Looks like we can get through there," Dean said, peering ahead. "Next turn off is ten miles back."
"Do we want to see what these people were trying to keep out … or in?"
"Cas, you getting any vibes about demons here?" Dean glanced in the mirror to look at the angel in the backseat.
"Yes," Castiel said slowly, his eyes closed. "A small concentration to the north."
"In the town?"
"I can't tell with that much precision, Dean," the angel said, opening his eyes again.
The black car slowed to a stop and Dean drummed his fingers against the leather-covered wheel, working through the pros and cons of going in or going around.
Beside him, Rufus licked his lips, looking down at his hands as he felt a faint tremble in his fingers. He swallowed slightly. In the back, Castiel looked out the window, wondering when they'd last eaten.
"We'll go through," Dean decided, and the car moved forward, weaving its way in between the two piles of smashed up vehicles.
"Not sure that's such a great idea," Rufus said, a thread of tension in his voice.
Dean glanced at him curiously. Rufus was a hard man to shake, but he'd heard something in his voice, some edge.
"What?"
"I don't know," Rufus said, shaking his head a little. "Just feels … wrong."
Dean's brows drew together slightly as he continued to drive along the narrow road. "Like a trap?"
Rufus shook his head. "No. Not really."
He pulled out the small silver flask he carried around, and unscrewed the lid, tipping the contents down his throat.
"The power appears to be on here too," Cas remarked from the back, looking up as the streetlights came on along the road.
Dean looked around, the back of his neck beginning to prickle slightly. "Probably on in a few of the towns around Coffey."
Aside from the original blockade, the streets were relatively clear, wrecks had been pushed to the sides of the road, a few sitting on the front lawns of the houses they passed. He turned from the residential road onto a larger one, and they saw the lit signs of a few businesses glowing in the thick, mauve dusk.
Pulling over, Dean stopped the engine. "We'll take a look around. Maybe there're a few survivors here as well."
"The demons are along there," Cas said, pointing across the front seat and up the road they were on. He frowned. "Not many, perhaps six or seven."
Dean's fingers slid inside his jacket, touching the bone handle of the knife sheathed there as he nodded. "Well, let's see what we can see."
Getting out of the car, they looked along the street. "Rufus, take that side. Cas, you're with me."
The man and angel nodded, Rufus crossing to the other side of the street. Dean moved to the inside of the sidewalk, looking into the lit stores that lined the road. There was no movement in them. He stopped in front of a shoe store, inside lights on and the green glow of the digital cash register shining innocuously, and turned the handle of the front door. It opened easily. He couldn't hear anything from inside.
With demons in the town, he thought that any croaties would have been pushed out already, but it didn't pay to make assumptions about the situation. He closed the door and turned back to the street, glimpsing Rufus moving slowly and steadily along the other side.
The diner was a few doors up, as empty and silent as the rest, overhead fluorescent lights illuminating the long red countertop, the empty tables and leather-upholstered booths along the walls. Behind the counter, a neon sign flickered slightly, advertising a well-known brand of soda.
But there were no people and no sound to indicate that anyone was hiding inside.
He'd gone another forty yards up the street when he realised that Cas was no longer following him, turning around and looking down the empty street behind him with a muttered curse.
Backtracking down the street, the shotgun in his hands swinging both ways along the street, he stopped when he came to the open diner doorway, hearing a clanking sound from inside.
He looked up and down the street again and backed into the diner, closing the door and locking it behind him and turning to the restaurant's kitchen, following the banging noises back behind the counter and through a swinging door.
The kitchen was lit up brightly and Dean stopped in the doorway, staring down at the floor in front of him. Cas was on his knees, pots and pans and commercial-sized cans of ketchup and barbecue sauce strewn around him, ripping into plastic, vacuum-sealed bags of meat, pulled out from the softly humming freezers, digging his fingers inside and sucking the ground beef from them furiously.
"Whoa, Cas … what the hell are you doing?"
Was the meat even edible after all this time, he wondered uncomfortably?
"I don't know," Cas said between mouthfuls, looking up at him with wide, worried eyes. "I just … I just need this."
Camp Chitaqua, Lake Solitude, Michigan
"And then will come Famine, riding on a black steed. He will ride into the land of plenty ... and great will be the Horseman's hunger, for he is hunger. His hunger will seep out and poison the air."
Boze looked up from the book he was reading and looked at Bobby. "You're kidding, right? A Horseman of the Apocalypse? We even got any lore on how to kill a Horseman?"
Bobby shook his head. "Nope."
"How are we supposed to stop this?"
"I'm not sure that we can," Bobby said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "Ellen and Rufus ran into the Horseman, War, in Colorado, before the virus was released. Rufus called in Dean and Sam, and they somehow managed to cut off War's ring. The ring seems to be the key to their power. Without it, War crumpled up and kind of went into a coma."
"Alright, but how do you get close enough to a fucking Horseman to do that?" Boze stared at him, gesturing at the thick, old book in front of him. "I mean, if he's able to influence the air around him, how far does that influence spread?"
"I don't know," Bobby admitted. "The crap we don't know about this stuff would fill the Library of Congress."
"What do we do then?"
"Wait, I guess." Bobby looked down at the book. "Famine is supposed to cross the land, sooner or later, I would think he'll turn up here."
"Oh, that's great," Boze said, shaking his head. "Jesus, that's just fucking great."
Bobby smiled at him wryly. "Go tell the others we need to hit the books. Now."
The tall hunter nodded, getting up and leaving the office.
Picking up the bottle of whiskey on the desk, he poured a generous amount into his glass. Hunger. For food? People were already hungry for food, their intake vastly reduced from the cornucopia of processed and sweetened and packaged food that had been available before.
Maybe not just hunger, though, he thought, looking at the whiskey in his glass. People hungered for many things.
Blackwell, Oklahoma
The truck was where they'd left it, almost invisible from the street in the dim, cavernous shadows of the chop-shop. Ty pushed the sliding door all the way, flinching a little at the noise it made as it rumbled along its track.
Jo climbed into the cab and started the engine, watching the side-mirrors as she backed it carefully out and stopped on the wide concrete lot in front of the building. Maurice walked up to the cab and grabbed the arm of the mirror, pulling himself up.
"Straight east to Missouri and Indiana then north?"
She nodded, biting her lower lip. "All back roads, we'll follow you."
"We'll have to stop every night," he said, watching as Ty closed the door again and walked around to the other side of the truck.
"Yeah, but the moon will be rising full in a few nights, and if there's no cloud we can pick up some time then."
"Alright, channel eight?" He looked into the cab at the CB radio sitting below the dash.
Jo reached out and turned it on, flicking through the channels until she reached eight. The line was silent and she looked back at Maurice with a small smile.
"Keep the chatter to a minimum," she warned him.
"Yep. Just let me know when you're ready to call it a day."
He climbed down and walked back to the mustard car parked to one side. They could rotate the driving as they went, but he was comfortable with taking point, and he thought that Jo and Ty got on well enough to manage the long haul in the truck.
Pulling out of the lot, he turned right and began the process of threading their way out of the town and onto the back roads that riddled the country, quiet and unused much of the time, hopefully clear now.
Emporia, Kansas
"Cas, not a good idea to eat that," Dean said, crouching beside him.
"I know," the angel said, stuffing another handful into his mouth and chewing furiously. "I can't help it."
"Is this a spell?" Dean asked him, looking around the kitchen uneasily.
"I don't …" Cas started to say then put another handful into his mouth, chewing and swallowing rapidly. "… think so. I'm so hungry, Dean."
"Hungry?" He looked at the mess of meat on the floor for a moment, a memory of a phrase the angel had used teasing his mind. Bobby had said it too, he thought. He closed his eyes, pushing at it hard.
His hunger will seep out and poison the air.
"Crap, Cas, come on," Dean got to his feet fast, grabbing the angel's arm and pulling him up. "Famine. This is Famine."
Castiel looked down at the bloody remnants of the meat on the floor at his feet, nodding slightly in agreement. "Yes, I think you're right."
"Let's go," the hunter snapped, tugging at Cas' arm and pulling him back out of the kitchen.
"But I haven't finished –" Cas moaned, looking back at the kitchen as he stumbled after Dean through the diner.
"You've finished," Dean said, unlocking the door and shoving Cas out onto the street.
Famine. A Horseman. He could feel his pulse speeding up at the thought. Cas was useless, he thought, the entity's influence was too strong over his vessel, overriding everything. He looked around, suddenly remembering Rufus as he pushed the angel down the street.
On the other side of the road, a winking sign caught his attention and his jaw tightened, remembering the flask in the car, the uneasiness of the older hunter as they'd driven into town. Goddamn it.
He got Castiel back to the car and opened the trunk, pushing the protesting angel inside and slamming the lid shut. Running across the street, his senses were on high alert as he tried to watch the darkness between the pools of light from the streetlamps, tried to listen for footfalls or calls or any goddamned thing that would give him some warning of an imminent attack, heading for the neon sign that he was sure had been Rufus' destination.
What had happened to the people here? Had they gone before the Horseman had arrived, he wondered, or had the poison of Famine's hunger driven them all insane?
The bar was as empty as the diner, and Rufus was lying on the floor, an empty bottle next to him.
Hunger took many forms, he thought, kneeling beside the man and pressing the pad of his finger against the artery in his neck. There was a heart beat, slow, but steady, against his finger. He pulled the unconscious hunter up, letting his limp form fold over his shoulder, then straightened, the shotgun held in one hand as his arm curled over Rufus' legs.
Think, goddammit, he told himself. He could dump Rufus in the car, and get the hell out of there. That would probably be the easiest way. He didn't want to tackle the damned Horseman on his own with nothing but the knife to take to the fight. Even with it, six or seven demons to get through before he could even reach Famine were bad odds.
On the other hand, he thought grimly, opening the rear door of the Impala and sliding Rufus from his shoulder into the backseat, ignoring the thumps from the trunk, it seemed likely that the Horseman and demons weren't aware of them …yet, anyway.
The idea coalesced slowly as he shut the rear door, and he leaned into the car, pulling the map of the city across the seat toward him, searching for what had to be there.
Why wasn't he feeling anything, he wondered an hour later. Cas was trammelling the inside of the trunk, screaming at him to let him out. Rufus was sweating, hands cuffed together behind him, dark eyes furious, a steady stream of vicious invective flowing from the older hunter as he parked the car in a dark side street.
"Take it easy," Dean said to him as he pulled out the keys and got out.
Both hunter and angel had become more agitated as he'd gotten close to the business district of the town and he'd seen the movement after fifteen minutes of watching, in a small, glass-fronted restaurant between a bank and a modern office building.
The detour hadn't taken much time, once he'd found the pumping station. The county offices had been harder, but the recording equipment had all been there, at least.
I got a plan. I'm not saying it's a good one. I'm not even saying that it'll work. But it sure as hell beats killing a virgin.
The memory had been of a police station in Colorado. It'd worked there, it would work here. He hoped.
He walked down the street toward the restaurant, wiping his hands on his jeans, not bothering to look around, hearing the stealthy footfalls behind him as he got close to the glass doors.
"Winchester." The voice behind him said.
Bolting toward the doors, shoving them open and stumbling through, he risked a fast glance back as the demons behind him were left standing on the sidewalk, belatedly realising they needed to give chase. He needed to keep two things, and as he came through the foyer into the restaurant room, he let them catch up, stopping as if in shock, staring at the interior of the room.
Four demons stood around a wheelchair in the centre of the room, tables and chairs shoved aside. In front of the chair, three bodies lay, sprawled over each other, their faces slack and unmarked. In the chair, an old, old man sat, bent and twisted up to one side, his pale skin almost translucent against the black suit he wore, fine, whispy hair barely covering the spotted and wrinkled scalp. The Horseman lifted his head and looked at him.
The eyes were filled with life, Dean saw. An avaricious, glittering life that he could feel reaching out for him. After a moment, the old man smiled, lips stretching loosely and revealing a set of poorly-fitting cheap dentures.
"The other Mr Winchester," Famine said, his voice cracked and reedy.
"So this is your big trick? Making people cuckoo for cocoa puffs?" Dean asked, looking at him, one brow raised mockingly, as the demons behind him took the gun from his hand, the other from his jacket pocket.
"Doesn't take much – hardly a push," the Horseman said with a modest smile. "Oh, America – all-you-can-eat, all the time. Consume, consume. A swarm of locusts in stretch pants. And yet, all still starving because hunger doesn't just come from the body, it also comes from the soul."
Dean looked at him carefully. "Funny, it doesn't seem to be coming from mine."
"Yes. I noticed that," Famine said, staring thoughtfully at him. "Have you wondered why that is? How you could even walk in my presence?"
"Well, I like to think it's because of my strength of character," Dean said lightly, gesturing vaguely around the room as he took in the layout and the minutes ticked away in his head.
"I disagree," the Horseman replied, the humour gone from his face completely.
The demon behind him pushed the chair closer to Dean, and Famine looked up at him, head twisted to one side as he reached out and pressed his fingertips against Dean's abdomen.
"Yes. I see. That's one deep, dark nothing you got there, Dean. Can't fill it, can you? Not with food or drink. Not even with sex."
Even through his clothes, the touch of the Horseman was cold, reaching into him, through him, a long worm from the depths of the abyss. He felt his muscles clench under it, his heart falter. Fuck you, he thought, trying to drag up sufficient anger to drown out his fear. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.
"You're so full of crap."
Famine lifted his hand, his eyes brightening in the gloom. "Oh, you can smirk and joke and lie to your friends, to those you claim to be protecting, you can lie to yourself, but not to me!"
His eyes widened slightly at he stared at him, and Dean felt the alien touch of those eyes on him, crawling inside of him, fingering his memories, the feel of it filling him with disgust, with shame, with a deep fear that sent an icy shiver up his spine.
"I can see inside you, Dean. I can see how broken you are, how defeated. You can't win, and you know it. But you just keep fighting. Just keep ... going through the motions," the Horseman's voice dropped, rasping in the silence as his face filled with an ill-placed compassion, a pity that tore at Dean more powerfully than the entity's anger had. "You're not hungry, Dean, because inside, you're already ... dead."
The words bit into him like razors and he struggled to push them aside. Not true, not – true. His hand was in pocket, the countdown in his mind had almost reached its end and he fought against the Horseman's assertions as he looked up, narrowing his focus to what he had to do, to what was about to happen.
"If that's true, then I have nothing to lose, do I?" he said, looking back down at Famine for a moment before he dropped his weight and twisted away from the demons holding his arms. Taking a long stride to a table that was still on its feet, he pulled the lighter out, the flame leaping into life as he jumped onto the tabletop and lifted his arm.
The restaurant's sprinklers came on with a hiss, and immediately every demon screamed, dropping to their knees as the water burned into them, smoke rising from their blackening skin into the misted air.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii ... Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, ergo, draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adjuramus te, cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis, humiliare sub potenti manu dei ..."
The town's emergency broadcast system kicked in on time, Dean's voice blaring from every speaker, from the corners of every major cross street, the volume set to full, the words clear and distinct even inside the restaurant. Turning around, Dean watched the demons convulsing as they dropped to the floor and he looked down at Famine, the Horseman's pale eyes wide as he looked around, his hand fumbling with the motorised control of the wheelchair.
Cut off the ring to take the power, he thought, sliding off the wet table and skidding across the slick floor to the being in the chair, his concentration fully locked onto the hand that rested along one narrow arm of the chair, the ring gleaming on the fourth finger. Famine's mouth opened wide as he struggled to get the now-soaked control to move the chair backward and away from the man.
Dean brought the knife down savagely, the tip penetrating the join between bone and joint, going through the tendon and flesh and deep into the plastic beneath. Famine's head snapped around, his mouth opening wide in a shrill scream that rose rapidly from sound to a frequency that was close to angelic. Feeling blood burst from his nose, fill up his eyes and trickle down the side of his neck from his ears, Dean worked the knife blade through the few tags of flesh still holding the finger to the Horseman's hand.
It fell free, landing on the floor and the scream stopped, Famine's head falling limply forward, the eyes open and staring, but the glittering light that had filled them gone. Wiping his eyes and under his nose with his arm, Dean looked down and picked up the severed finger. He slid the heavy ring off and dropped the digit.
He looked around the room, the still-spraying water washing the blood from his face, soaking through his clothes. The demon's vessels were scattered around the room, motionless and graceless in death. The exorcism droned on over the loudspeakers set around the town. Putting the ring in his pocket, he turned wearily, stepping over the bodies and wiping a hand over his face as he walked out of the restaurant and onto the street.
In the car, Rufus was sitting up and there was finally silence from the trunk. The older hunter looked at Dean as he opened the rear door, turning away. Dean undid the 'cuffs, tossing them onto the seat as Rufus turned back.
"What'd I miss?" Rufus asked sourly.
Dean's mouth lifted at one corner as he shook his head. "Not that much."
He pulled the Horseman's ring from his pocket and handed it to Rufus, straightening up and closing the door. Walking around to the rear, he unlocked the trunk. The angel looked up at him, the stains of the meat and blood still coating his mouth and cheeks and jaw. Taking the offered hand, Cas sat up, climbing out of the trunk and looking up at the speaker on the nearest cross street, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the exorcism looping on and on.
"You killed the Horseman?"
Dean nodded, shutting the trunk and gesturing to the car door. "Not sure if he's dead, but I got the ring."
Rufus got out, handing the ring back to Dean as the angel got into the car behind him. The hunters walked around the car, opening the front doors and getting in.
"Bet there's a story to go with this," Rufus said softly as he closed the passenger door and looked over at Dean.
Dean shook his head. "No."
He started the car and pulled out from the kerb, feeling Rufus' speculative gaze on him, ignoring it as he watched the road ahead.
Inside … you're already … dead.
The words played through his mind and he tried to push them aside, tried to shove them back behind the walls of his mind where every bad memory was stockpiled, locked away when he was conscious. The crowding behind those walls was getting bad.
Dead.
He wasn't, he told himself forcefully. He wasn't.