Chapter 10 The Wichita Offensive
US-23 N, Michigan
Rufus tilted his head slightly, listening to the distant rising chorus of wolf music. They'd seen a few more around, especially up to the north. Without the farmers and ranchers, and with all the loose stock, he thought that the predator populations would keep increasing until the new balance was reached. Another reason to train everyone in shooting and hunting.
The little house was on the outskirts of a small town. They'd picked up all the parts and lubricants Dave had asked for, and had gone back to the pharmaceutical warehouse that Alex had visited before with Dean.
"What are you looking for?" he'd asked her as she'd gotten out of the truck, heading for the docks.
"Vaccinations," she'd told him, climbing the stairs and disappearing into the stacks of boxes.
"Why?" he'd called out softly, following her.
"Renee asked me to get the childhood ones, and I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to have as many as possible – the bacterial and viral vectors rarely disappear, even if there are no hosts available for a long time. It would be a shame to survive Lucifer and the Apocalypse and demons and monsters, only to lose half our people in a preventable epidemic, don't you think?"
He couldn't argue with that, and now the truck was loaded with boxes as well as agricultural parts. He wondered if Bobby or Dean or Emmett would've thought of the vaccinations and prevention of disease. He hadn't. Bobby might've considered it, he thought. But for the others, the list of problems they had right in front of them tended to take up all their free time, and problems for the future were all on the back burner.
The house was quiet enough to hear the soft moans when they started, and he got up and walked down the dark hall to the living room, seeing Alex moving restlessly on the couch. He shook her shoulder and she sat up immediately, wide eyes looking at him.
"Just a nightmare," he said softly.
"Yeah." She wiped a hand over her face and back through her hair. "Thanks."
He nodded and turned away, moving back down the hall to the back of the house. A few minutes later Alex came out, holding two cups.
"I can take over, if you want to get some sleep," she offered, sitting next to him.
"Nah, I don't need much," he said. He took the second cup she offered him.
They sat companionably enough together, listening to the night, the insects sounds and the breeze that quietly rustled the leaves in the trees that lined the street, drinking the coffee without feeling the need for conversation. Rufus glanced at Alex a couple of times, watching her profile as she stared into the darkness, sometimes watching the sky, sometimes the shadows pocking the buildings and yard in front of them, her face still.
When she put the cup down beside her, he turned to look at her. "You want to try for some more sleep?"
She shook her head. "Not really."
"You still dreaming about the ghoul attack?" he asked her, feeling both curiosity and concern.
"No," she said, not looking at him. "They make guest appearances in other dreams, sometimes, that's all."
As if sensing his next question, she forestalled it. "You have nightmares, Rufus?"
She caught the flash of his teeth in the darkness. "All the time, benefit of a lifetime full of crap, Alex."
"Reliving the good times, right?" she said lightly, and heard his low chuckle.
"Right," he said, deciding to change the subject. "Dave seems to be pretty good guy."
"Yeah," she said warily, not looking at him. "He seems to be a very good guy."
"No interest there?"
She sighed. "No, not really."
"Someone else you're thinking about?" he asked casually, setting his empty cup down beside him. He felt her gaze on him for a moment, resisting the impulse to meet her eyes.
"No," she said slowly, wondering at the questions. Rufus made observations about things occasionally, but he didn't ask personal questions. "Why?"
"Just wondered," Rufus said, glancing at her.
"Well, no." She picked up her cup, turning it around in her hands. "Things are too complicated already without trying to add more."
He laughed softly. "Doesn't have to be complicated, Alex."
"Are you hitting on me, Rufus?" she asked wryly, turning to look at him.
"You think I'm having a mid-life crisis, Alex? Making passes at women half my age?"
"I saw you looking at the Corvette, back in Grand Rapids," she said knowingly, hiding a smile as he played along.
"Yeah, you got me there," he admitted, his smile fading slightly.
"Don't worry about me, Rufus," she said softly, holding her hand out for his empty cup. "I'm fine."
He handed it to her and watched her get up, going back through the house. She wasn't fine, he thought prosaically. And she wouldn't talk. And he still couldn't tell if what he suspected was there. Dean stonewalled when he didn't want to talk about something, the not-talking as obvious an answer as an actual answer would've been, but Alex danced away through words, leaving him unsure if what he'd thought about her was there at all.
Camp Tawas, Lake Tawas, Michigan
Dean drove up the newly graded gravel road, the tyres popping and crunching loudly under him and looked around at Ellen's audible exhale.
"I can't believe they've done this so quickly," she said.
The perimeter wall was in place, a solid double barrier of upright logs, rolls of razor wire glinting in the sunlight at the top. They could see Liev and Boze standing on the narrow catwalk behind the … battlements, Dean guessed they'd have to call them, talking and gesturing toward the lake. Visible beyond its twenty-foot height were the top storeys of the buildings the compound contained, steeply pitched and roofed in iron, windows shining and reflecting sky, lake and forest.
The camp had only one gate, the road rising up to it. He nodded as he saw Boze look down at them from the top of the wall above the road, and the welded sheet iron rumbled back into the slot that held it when opened. Driving slowly through, he glanced at the edge, brows rising slightly as he realised that it was a foot thick, the iron strapped over a solid hardwood core.
Ahead, the road curved gently across the contour of the slope, buildings to either side, many no longer just the frames over the foundations, now clad and sealed, roofs and windows and doors all in place. More than half the buildings had been finished and he pulled up in front of the biggest, turning off the engine and getting out, meeting Boze at the bottom of the steps leading up to the wide veranda.
"Dean, Ellen," the big-framed blonde hunter said, grinning at them. "Whaddya think?"
"I think you guys have been working your asses off," Ellen said, climbing up the steps beside him and stopping at the top to pivot slowly on her heel, her gaze taking in the entire compound.
"That would be the understatement of the year," he agreed, gesturing to the open door. They walked inside, looking around.
"Walls are nearly two foot thick, packed with iron filings, salt and enough giant, economy-sized hex bags to ward off a battalion of ghosts," he said, stopping inside the two storey hall. "Liev carved the devil's traps into the ceilings and floors at every entrance and Caitlin's made panels for every window." He pointed to the tall, narrow windows to either side of the doorway, lead-light styled designs in the centre of them, sigils of ward and protection against angels with the Enochian characters, against demons, the designs from the Greater and Lesser Keys of Solomon, the Star of David, the Star of Solomon, pentacles and hexagrams and arcane circles, each wrought in salt-tempered glass and cold iron.
"Thought we'd keep her going on them and retrofit them to Chitaqua, as well as produce the new ones for the other camps."
The hall was austere, several high cupboards along the two longest walls and a large rug in the centre the only contents. Ellen followed Boze through the doorway to the right, to the living areas, and Dean turned left, walking into a long corridor that led to the kitchen and mess hall, offices, armoury and watch rooms. He stopped in the kitchen, the view across the wall and to the farms beyond, his eyes narrowing slightly as he saw the faded blue pickup in the farmyard of the closest, and the three people unloading the tray.
Liev came into the kitchen, walking over to him and waving his hand at the room expansively. "Well, what do you think?"
Dean glanced over his shoulder around the room. "It's awesome. Think it'll hold five hundred?"
"Easily," Liev said, his gaze following Dean's as the hunter turned back to the window. "Alex and Rufus came in this morning."
"Yeah," Dean said, turning away from the window as Boze and Ellen came into the kitchen.
"Ellen, Alex asked if you could tell Renee that she got the vaccinations," Liev said to her as she stopped beside the big, scrubbed pine table in the centre of the room. "She's leaving some with us, the rest will go to Chitaqua."
"Good," Ellen said abruptly, looking from him to Dean. "Pestilence is the next Horseman, and we have a lot of kids who haven't been vaccinated against the usual childhood diseases. With the close living quarters, it would be too easy for an epidemic to spread here."
Dean nodded. "Better hope we get some doctors from Wichita too."
He turned to look quizzically at Boze. "Rufus going to stay here as well?"
Boze shrugged. "I don't think so. Maurice is moving over, I think Rufus is worried about Bobby."
He was a little worried about Bobby himself, Dean thought. The old man didn't let it show it very often, hardly at all in fact, but it was eating at him, being in the chair, unable to move around, unable to be more than chief researcher. Didn't matter how many times he'd told him that what Bobby did for them was essential, that the rest of them were pretty much just cannon fodder. He caught Ellen's eye and she looked away, lips pursing slightly.
Camp Chitaqua, Lake Solitude, Michigan
"Okay," Boze said to Dean as they stood on the porch of the main house, looking over the long convoy of trucks, pickups, cars and wagons that stretched up the drive to the gate. "Got my people, we're all packed up."
"Who're you taking?" Bobby looked up at him, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Liev's already there," Boze said. "Tim and his family, Duncan and Alanna, now they're hitched and expecting, Therese and her kids, Rona, Mary, Russell, Clive, Doug, Jocelyn, Danielle, Stu, Carl and Michael. Alex's organised a cut of the supplies, and Dave's already dug out a decent sized truck garden between the fort and the farm."
Bobby nodded. "We'll need some of 'em back for Wichita, so get the civvies training hard to replace them while they're gone."
"Sure," Boze said, grinning down at him. "Got a ground floor room'd suit you, Bobby, if you're sick of seeing Dean's ugly mug every day?"
Bobby smiled dourly up at him. "I'll keep it in mind."
He shivered as he looked back at the vehicles, glancing back at the men standing there. "C'mon, we can finish this pow-wow in my office, where there's a damned fire."
Following the wheelchair, Dean wondered what was eating the old man. His temper seemed to be getting shorter. It could've been any one of a hundred things, he thought, a little bitterly, given what was happening, what they were planning to do, the responsibilities that lay on them. He didn't think it was the situation, though.
"Chuck said he'd give us a copy of that database he's been compiling," Boze said as they walked down the hall and into the office. "Haven't seen too many computers lyin' around in good shape, is that something we should be thinking of looking for?"
Dean stopped by the desk, leaning on one corner as Bobby continued to the hearth, turning the chair around in front of it.
"It wouldn't hurt," Bobby said, his face relaxing slightly under the shadow of his cap. "We got the gennies for power and we're not going to run out of fuel for a long time."
There were five major gas depots in the state, all of them with full storage capacity.
"Add it to Ellen's list," Dean suggested, and Boze nodded, mentally filing it away.
Rufus walked into the office as Boze walked out, and looked from Dean to Bobby, one brow raised. "Anything I need to know?"
"Boze is moving his people today," Dean said, dropping onto the sofa under the window and tipping his head back. "We'll have the hunters back for the attack, but in the meantime they'll be at Tawas."
"Terry said that they're ready to start framing at Camp Sable," Rufus remarked, crossing to the desk and sitting down in the chair in front of it.
"That was quick," Bobby said, wheeling himself around the desk. Reaching down to the drawer, he pulled out three glasses and poured and passed one to Rufus, doing the same for himself, and leaving the third on the edge of the desk for Dean. "Thought that'd take another month?"
"Everyone's working fit to bust, a lot of people are excited at the prospect of the population increase," Rufus said, tipping up the glass and swallowing a mouthful. He looked at Dean. "When do we go to Wichita?"
"One week," Dean told him as he reached across the arm of the sofa and snagged his glass. "We'll leave on Friday, everyone in four cars and the truck for the ordnance."
"Good, making me antsy havin' that hangin' over us," Rufus said, leaning back in the chair.
"How was Grand Rapids?" Dean asked casually.
"Empty, quiet," Rufus said. "Got everything Dave wanted and the vaccinations and extra antibiotics for Tawas as well."
"Whose idea was it to change the specs of the trip?" Dean looked at him, his face expressionless.
"Alex's," Rufus said, looking at him blandly, hiding his half-amused irritation at the edge in the younger man's voice. "We needed the extra drugs."
"That building could've been a trap," Dean said, ignoring the explanation. "You should've had another hunter with you to go in there."
Rufus tilted his head a little as he looked at him thoughtfully. "You went in with two."
"I hadn't eyeballed the place then," Dean countered. "And I wouldn't've if I'd known the layout."
"We were fine," Rufus said, shrugging. "The town's still empty."
For a moment he thought that Dean was going to argue with him about it, watched the conflicting emotions chase each other across the hunter's face, then he seemed to give up, looking down into his glass instead.
"Bin talkin' to Jerome," Bobby broke through the short, tense silence diplomatically. "He said that the order has a library, a secret one, stashed full of stuff we could use."
Dean looked over at him, one brow lifted. "Where?"
"Wouldn't say where, not yet," Bobby said. "He said it can't be found, not without a key, which he doesn't have. But he said he knows where the key is."
Dean glanced at Rufus, who rolled his eyes. "And again, that would be … where?"
"In Wichita," Bobby said dryly, swallowing a mouthful of whiskey. "Safe deposit box 4113, in the Bank of Kansas on Lawrence Street."
Both of the men facing him shifted in their seats. "So we got something else to do while we're rescuing these people?" Dean asked him incredulously. "On top of coordinating diversions, knocking out power substations, destroying demon strongholds, grabbing a thousand people and running?"
"Looks like," Bobby agreed.
"Awesome."
"Nothin's easy."
Dean shot him a dark look, and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Alright, we haven't got any extra people to handle this – so someone's going to have to double-up."
"You got Jo and Ty providing exits for Franklin and Mel," Rufus said slowly. "They could leave that to Maurice, skirt the south end of the city and keep out of the way of everything else, slip in, hopefully unnoticed?"
Dean looked at Bobby. "How important is this library likely to be? I don't want to risk people if it's all flash and no gold."
"Well, the man does like to make a big thing about the order," Bobby allowed, pushing his cap back slightly as he looked at him. "But … I'd say this could be the difference between having nothing to figure out a way of dealing with Lucifer, and, mebbe, having something. They've been collecting information from every culture, every age since about nine hundred A.D. And he said there're weapons in there; spells, lots of stuff we wouldn't be able to get hold of now, even if we could move around freely."
"Okay." Dean chewed on the corner of his lip as he ran through the timing and locations he, Bobby, Rufus and Franklin had worked out for the attack again. "I'll talk to Jo and Ty about adding to their duties," he said, looking up. "Nobody tells Ellen about this."
"Absolutely not," Rufus agreed with a smile.
"No, no need to worry her unnecessarily," Bobby said, finishing the whiskey in his glass.
"Hey," Lisa said, walking out onto the porch and sitting down next to Dean on the settle against the wall. She handed him a beer and smoothed her top down over the barely visible bump.
"Hey. Thanks," he said, looking at her. "Everything alright?"
"Yep, gardens are already producing; we'll have fresh greens tonight with dinner."
She glanced at him and looked across the railing to the lake. "Thought we might think about names."
"Names?"
"For the baby," she clarified, half-smiling at him. "Have you got any you like?"
He looked away. He hadn't even thought of that. Or any of it, really.
"Uh …"
"I was thinking of Mary, if it's a girl," she said. "And I like Andrew for a boy, Andy for short."
Dean frowned, his nose wrinkling up. "Andy's the scrawny kid who gets beaten up for his lunch money at school."
"Open to suggestions?"
"Give me some time," he hedged. "I'll think of something before we go."
"Sure. Got another four months to decide." She glanced at the drive, watching a white pickup crawling down it. "Who's that?"
He looked over, his attention sharpening slightly as he recalled seeing the truck over at Camp Tawas. "Dave Patterson, I think. Boze's resident farmer."
"Oh, right, yeah," Lisa said, leaning against him as she watched the truck pull up in front of the church. "The one with the crush on Alex."
Dean looked at her in surprise. "He has a crush on Alex?"
"Renee and Michelle said he does." She shrugged. "I haven't seen them together, so I wouldn't know."
Alex came out of the church and walked down the path toward the truck, her smile easily visible.
"She looks happy to see him," Lisa remarked. Dean nodded, glancing back into the house.
"You seen Jo around today?" he asked her. "I was looking for her earlier."
"Yeah, she's in the back room with Ellen and Chuck," she said. "Why?"
"I need to check with her and Ty about Wichita," he said. "You mind letting her know I want to see her in a few minutes?"
"No, sure," she agreed, getting up. "I'll let her know."
"Thanks," he said, lifting the bottle. "And thanks for the beer."
She smiled as she left and he got to his feet, walking over to the porch railing and leaning against it, watching the scene in front of him as he absently lifted the bottle to his lips and swallowed a mouthful.
Yep, working up the nerve to ask something, he thought, watching Dave take off his cap and smooth a hand over his thick, blond hair as Alex walked up to him. Okay, playing it cool, asking general questions … throw in a joke to lighten the mood …and there it was.
He saw Dave's hands clench slightly around the cap he held in them, his head tilt to one side as he looked down at the woman in front of him. He saw Alex smile as she ducked her head, the smile still lingering as she looked up at him again, the gentle head shake and the half-step backward. Crash and burn. Purple Heart for you, Dave.
Alex reached out, touching his hand with her fingers lightly, her face serious, her eyes shadowed. Not the right time or place, Dean thought, looking at her expression. Not you, it's me. Dean watched Dave nod understandingly, one shoulder lifting in a small shrug. Maybe some other time? Some other place? Some other universe where everything was different, the thought a little bleak, watching Dave stand there, staring after her when Alex turned away and walked back up to the church. After a moment, the farmer got back into his truck and started the engine, swinging the wheel around and turning in the width of the drive, heading back up to the gate.
And another one bites the dust. He could understand her not wanting to be involved with Michael, the young hunter could be a douche. She'd turned down Ty and Hank and Stu, at various times that he'd happened to witness, possibly a few more that he hadn't been around to see. But Dave seemed like a straight shooter, he wasn't bad looking, had skills that were important, had made her laugh, picked her flowers. Of course, he considered, it wasn't all that long since Jake. Maybe that was it.
Pushing himself off the rail, he finished the beer, turning to go into the house as Jo came out, looking around for him.
"You wanted to talk about Wichita?" she asked. He gestured to the steps.
"Someplace your mom isn't going to hear," he said, starting down them. "There's another job that we need to do in the town, preferably without anyone noticing what we're doing."
One Week Later
They were leaving the camps thin, Dean thought as he idled the black car over the gate track and onto the road, lifting a hand to Risa who stared back at him mulishly from the tower, obviously still disgruntled at being left out. But if they got lucky, nothing would happen and they'd be back in five or six days, or, he corrected himself as he thought of the numbers of civilians they were pulling out, at least the hunters would be.
He sighed as he put his foot down and accelerated on reaching the gravel. When were they ever lucky?
The drive to Kansas would take two days, going the back roads into the state and everyone pulling a shift at the wheel. There were twenty five of them, enough, he hoped, to cover every possible requirement. He and Rufus and Cas would be first in, shutting down the demon barracks while Maggie, Rona, Vincent and Michael secured the buses and got the drivers on and ready. It would work, he thought. The rest of the timing wasn't nearly as critical.
It was already muggy; the summer was turning out to be as hot as the winter had been cold. Opening his window, the car's speed provided a light breeze and Dean wondered if the weather was something that Lucifer was controlling, or just a natural fluctuation. The crops – in the truck gardens they'd planted, in the abandoned gardens of the farms, in the fields around the camps and the ones further away – were all growing well. Food wouldn't be an issue, even with the extra people, for another year at least, Alex had told Ellen.
Provided that they were left alone when it came time to harvest it all, he amended silently to himself. There was that.
He glanced in the mirror, seeing the three other cars following him steadily four car lengths behind, and the army truck behind them. After Wichita, there was Boulder. And then Austin or Vegas. Best not to get too far ahead of yourself, he thought sourly, since it was hardly a sure thing that they'd actually succeed and get out of Kansas all in one piece.
His thoughts strayed back to the conversation he'd had with Lisa before he'd gone. He'd been terrified and filled with a restless yearning back when he'd thought Ben might've been his, the contradictory feelings ricocheting through him the entire time he'd spent with them in Cicero in '08.
Now … now he didn't know what the hell he was feeling, the child she was carrying was his, and he couldn't get his head around it, couldn't make it real to himself. She was warm and welcoming, and there wasn't any one thing he felt wasn't right about her … but there wasn't anything he felt that there was either. They didn't have much in common, he'd realised, a while ago. And he was doing a piss-poor job of hiding that feeling from her, of pretending to feel the things that he wasn't.
"What time do you want to hit the building?" Rufus asked, his voice breaking through the uncomfortable thoughts.
Pushing them aside with a sense of relief, Dean shrugged. "About an hour or so before dawn," he said. "Maggie and her crew'll take out the bus drivers at the same time."
"Gonna be tight," Rufus remarked.
Dean glanced at him. "Yeah, well tight's our middle name, right?"
Wichita, Kansas
There were two tanks on the roof of the two storey building, one at either end, to provide the gravity-fed sprinkler system with water in case of fire. Dean crouched at the corner of the building, in a cleft of shadow, waiting for the second guard to come around the corner. On the other side of the cut wire mesh fence, Rufus and Cas were waiting in the darkness of a noisome drainage ditch for his signal.
They heard the tick-tock of the guard's shoes before they saw him, the new leather soles on the concrete apron that surrounded the building loud in the night's silence. Dean rose smoothly and stepped out behind him as he passed, one hand whipping around his head and covering his mouth, the other plunging the knife through the ribs into the heart. The wild flashing of the demon light inside the body lasted a few seconds, then he eased the man to the ground and pushed him into the shadow of the wall. Turning around, he whistled softly, then turned back to the ladder bolted to the side of the building and began to climb.
Iron chain and lines of salt would hold the demons inside the building. Every door and window would have to be salted while Dean made his way inside. Rufus passed a bag to Cas and they split up at the corner, each taking a different direction, wrapping the chains they carried through the door handles and padlocking them, spilling the thick lines of salt crystals along thresholds and windows embrasures.
Dean glanced into a second storey window, relieved to see the lights off and no movement inside. The building had been the command centre for the air force base, and the tower controls, equipment and emergency systems were all on the second floor. The lower floor had been given over to barracks for the bulk of the demon-possessed humans who handled the slave camp and had guard duty over the city. He kept climbing to the roof, and walked alongside the low parapet to the first tank, unbolting the cover and easing it aside as he read the blessing prayer that Father Michael had given him, dropping the rosary and cross inside at the conclusion. Crouching in the darkness beside the tank, he waited and watched the open span of roof for five minutes, then began to move silently along the long edge toward the other tank.
They hadn't seen guards on the roof, but it wasn't a surprise when he heard the scrape of a boot over the asphalt surface, dropping and turning as the man's arm swept over his head, the shoulder spring bringing him back to his feet with a flickering motion just to one side and slightly behind the guard. His knife, Ruby's knife, was gripped in one hand and he drove the thick blade into the abdomen just above the pelvis, slicing upwards until the crossguard hit the lower edge of the ribs. He managed to clamp his hand over the demon's mouth as it shook and shuddered on the blade, the backwash of light reflecting on his skin and in his eyes, then he lowered the guard silently and stepped back, wiping the knife on the guard's jacket and looking carefully around the rooftop in case the demon'd had a partner.
The roof was empty and he slipped into the shadows beside the tank, climbing to the domed top and unbolting the cover. The second rosary went in, and Dean crossed himself with a cold smile, finishing the benediction and climbing down. He headed for the stair entrance to take him down into the building.
Rufus reached the far corner of the building and looked around it, waiting for a minute then slipping around to continue down the wall. He glanced at his watch as he met Cas coming the other way. Five minutes. Dean would be inside now, if he hadn't had any trouble.
He dropped the salt bag and shifted the duffle over his shoulder, leaning close to the angel.
"We'll get started on the planes."
Cas nodded, lifting his own bag higher and following the hunter across the pale concrete field. The planes were lined up, tied down to the ground, out in the open, but easily accessible. The angel reviewed what Franklin had told him once more. Fuel tanks in the wings. One fist-sized lump per wing. One detonator per lump. Timing was fixed at ten minutes, once the primer was pressed. It seemed simple enough. He missed his power, though. Everything took so long the way humans did it.
Dean opened the fire door carefully, easing it shut behind him and listening to the silence of the big open plan floor. On the western side of the building, the control panels were lit up, power lights flashing steadily in the darkness. He wondered remotely if Lucifer had found any pilots yet. There were too many bases across the country to get rid of all of them. Too many bases of every kind, filled with weapons they couldn't counter. They would just have to hope that the angel would prefer the fire and brimstone approach more than the easy lure of modern technology.
Satisfied he was alone on the floor, he unzipped the bag and pulled out a canister of salt, running a line in front of the doorway, and moving fast along the walls, salting the windowsills and doorways as he came to them. He needed to be uninterrupted for the next bit. The whole wall of the west facing side of the building was practically all windows, and he dropped the empty canisters as he went, pulling out a new one and pouring out the lines until he'd reached the fire door again. Walking quickly across the room, he looked along the banks of computers, panels, monitors and desks that lined the west wall for what he needed. It would be there, somewhere, he thought, frustration rising as he walked past the endless arrays of equipment. It had to be. Every base – hell, every airport had an intercom system.
It was there, down near the north west corner. He saw the mike first and let out a long exhale of relief, putting the bag on top of the desk and pulling out the CD they'd recorded, finding the player and slipping it in. He dragged out the thin plastic drop sheet from the bag, unfolding it and throwing it over the entire panel, then grabbed the duffel and pulled his lighter from his jacket pocket as he hit Play. One more thing and he could get out of here.
The flame flickered and then steadied as he climbed onto the desk and held it up to the metal flower near the ceiling. It took a minute to warm the sensors enough, then every sprinkler came on, the fire alarms flashing red over the exit doors at the same time as the angel's voice suddenly filled the building with Latin.
The exorcism ritual was the same one he'd used in Emporia. Castiel's gravelly voice spoke the Latin fluidly. Dean grinned to himself as he jumped off the table and picked up the bag, running to the roof access stairs, remembering Cas' arguments. An exorcism read by an angel might or might not've had more impact than one read by a man, but the bottom line was that it couldn't hurt.
Rufus froze as the booming voice rang out over the apron, hearing it resound across the open ground above shrieks and screams from the building behind them. He turned around and looked at the roof line, seeing a single blip of a flashlight, lit then doused and smiled dryly. Through the windows of the lower level, he could see flashes and pulses of light, gold and purple and blue and red, as if the room held a trapped storm cloud. He turned back and slapped another hunk of the Semtex onto the metal wing, inserting the pen detonator and clicking the primer then moving fast and low to the next plane.
On the other side of the airport, Maggie watched the air force base. There were no signs of any of the demons who should've been here to start the buses and drive to the slave camp. It looked like Dean and Rufus and the angel had done their jobs. She nodded to the darkness behind her, lifting her arm and walking across the street to the bus station.
They got in the buses, starting them up and closing the doors, and Vincent pulled out slowly, leading the convoy down the street toward the civilian airport terminals. Rufus' report had said that there were two demons who'd brought the slaves out of the building in the morning, allocating them to the buses. They would need to work fast when they'd pulled up. Maggie had taken the last bus in the line. If she could draw out the trap fast enough, they could take them both when they brought the last group down to her ride.
Dean dropped to the ground and ran along the side of the administration building, ducking into the first hangar and pulling out the orange cake of plastic explosive as he skidded across the slick concrete floor. The hangar held five planes, and he broke the cake into three, pressing it into the metal columns in between the bays, shoving in the detonators and setting the primers and moving on with barely a pause for each one.
Four hangars in total. In his head, seconds ticked away. The planes in the long line on the apron would go off first. That would be the signal for Franklin, Mel and Boze to start targeting their buildings, to the north and west. By the time the hangars went up, Maggie and the drivers should be on their way out of the city.
He set the detonator of the third explosive and raced out, ducking into the next hangar to repeat the process. In his peripheral vision, he saw the movement of the hunter and angel across the apron, getting close to the end of their line, and he sped up.
Rufus slapped the malleable substance onto the wing and set the detonator, clicking the primer and ducking to see under the wing. Castiel was running toward him, the empty bag on his shoulder flapping slightly.
"Last one?"
The angel nodded and gestured across the field to the runways of the civilian airport beyond.
"The buses are loading the slaves."
"Good, because the first of these is going to go off any second –"
The plane at the far end of the apron vaporised in a brilliant flash of light, the sound hitting them a fraction of a second later.
"– now," Rufus finished, with a cold grin. He turned and ran for the eastern fence, as the planes along the row went up, one after another, filling the field with light and flame, the air with the sharp scent of burning aviation fuel and the roar of the explosions.
"What the FUCK!" The demon spun around and stared past the buildings to the base five hundred yards away. Maggie swung the iron poker hard at the back of its head, knocking it sideways into the trap spray-painted on the tar next to the bus. Behind the second demon, Vincent loomed out of the darkness, slamming a fist into the side of its head and knocking it the ground, Michael appearing beside him and both leaning over to pick it up and throw it into the trap with its partner.
"Make sure everyone's okay," Maggie said, stepping into the trap and pulling the ring of keys from the first demon's belt, tossing it back to Michael. "Get them settled and get out, east and north."
Michael nodded and ran down the line of buses, Vincent hesitating as he looked at Maggie. "You alright with this?"
"Boy, I was performing exorcisms before you were an itch in your daddy's pants, get on with you, and get out of here," Maggie snapped at him, pulling a small leather-bound book from her pocket, the pages marked by an ornate silver and ivory rosary.
She turned back to the trap and opened the book. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii ..."
Dean had just finished planting the last wad against the base of the column when he heard the noise behind him, instinct sending him sideways and rolling across the floor, the retort of the gun loud against the hard floor and walls of the hangar, the bullet sending chips and shards of concrete outward as it hit.
Outside the hangar the planes began to blow up and Dean saw the demon's head snap around, rolling onto his feet and launching himself at it while its attention was off him, one hand closing around the wrist of the hand holding the gun to swing it wide of his body, the other driving up into the demon's face, the heel hitting the underside of the nose precisely and pushing the bone and cartilage back into the brain.
The demon flew backwards, finger jerking on the trigger and Dean followed it down, his fingers closing around the hilt of his knife and pulling it free of his belt, driving it down into the chest with his weight over it.
He had no idea what alerted him to the second demon, he was rolling over the dead vessel's chest, dragging out the knife as the first bullet hit the face of the man under him, the second tearing through the sleeve of his jacket. Reversing the clumsy, heavy blade, his wrist flicked underhand as the third bullet punched into his side, leaving a stinging pain and then a spreading feeling of cold.
The demon dropped, the hilt of Ruby's knife jutting from the juncture of neck and shoulders, above the points of the collarbones. Dean wiped a hand over his face and rolled onto his knees, pushing his jacket back and looking at the burned hole in his shirt with a grimace.
He lifted the edge of the shirt gingerly, pulling in a deep breath, and let it out as he saw the entrance hole, an inch from his side, the blood flowing sluggishly out. Feeling under his jacket and shirt at the back, he felt the exit, not much larger since it hadn't much time to expand, flinching as his fingers touched the raw flesh. Not too bad, he told himself, reaching out for his bag and getting to his feet, one hand pressed over the wound.
Another three minutes and the hangar would be history. He had to move.
To the north, the missiles found their targets, buildings collapsing as their foundations were hit. Franklin stood on the hillside, looking through the scope expressionlessly as Maurice reloaded and he chose another target, firing the Stinger and watching as the building exploded satisfactorily.
"Two more minutes," Maurice said in his ear. "Then we're gone."
In two more minutes, half of the area would be nothing but rubble and smoke, Franklin thought distantly, moving the barrel incrementally to take in another block. He was vaguely aware of Boze and Mel, in positions several hundred yards to either side of him, the whoomf and backfire of their weapons rhythmic in his ears. He'd seen the planes go up to the east and the substation near the turnpike had been blown less than a minute ago, pitching most of the city into darkness, Emmett and Max hopefully burning rubber and heading south out of town by now. As diversions went, they'd brought the city to a state of confusion and chaos that he thought would give them at least three or four days of clear travel with little or no pursuit.
"Time, let's go," Maurice said and Franklin nodded, swinging the Stinger from his shoulder and picking up the big canvas duffel at his feet. The cars were a short walk on the western side of the hill. Maurice would be picking up Mel and Boze. Jo and Ty had already left for the city's centre and their add-on mission.
Pulling in a deep breath, the smell of the accelerant like a old, familiar friend, Franklin smiled a little as he followed Maurice down the hill.
"There it is," Jo murmured, pointing to the street on their right. Ty turned into the narrow cross street, pulling over in front of the dark bank. The substation had serviced this area and every light was out, the buildings dark and silent.
"Won't have to worry about bridging an alarm," he muttered as he stopped the engine and swung out of the car.
"No," Jo said shortly, crossing the sidewalk and crouching in front of the door, her hand digging for the set of lock picks in her pocket. The smash of glass to her left snapped her head around to see Ty grinning at her as he stepped through the broken window.
"Old habits," she acknowledged wryly, following him inside.
They risked the flashlights, the interior stygian, and saw the old-fashioned signs directing customers to various services that the bank had to offer, walking down the wide, carpeted stairs to the safety deposit box room silently, shielding the lights as much as possible with their hands. It wasn't all that likely that any demons would be patrolling this largely unused neighbourhood while so much was going on elsewhere in the city, but there was no point at all to attracting anyone's attention unnecessarily. And luck favoured the prudent.
"What was the number?" Ty asked her, as he walked down the wall of shiny metal doors.
"4113," Jo said, taking the other wall. "Here."
She slowed as she hit the four thousands, running a finger lightly along the numbered boxes. "Got it."
Ty turned and lifted the crow bar, forcing it into the narrow gap between the locked door and the metal rim. A sharp yank and the lock snapped. He moved back and Jo lifted the long, slender box out and set it on the table, pulling out her picks. She gentled them through the lock slowly and was rewarded a minute later by a soft click.
Lifting the lid, she looked inside, Ty leaning over her shoulder.
"That's it?"
"Looks like," Jo said, picking up the small carved box and tucking it into her jacket pocket. "Let's go, this place gives me the creeps."
CR 16, Kansas
Maggie slowed down and took the corner gently, glancing into the mirror at the men and women seated packed into the bus behind her. They'd had to squeeze twice as many in as the buses were designed to carry, and it was only due to several of the slaves having bus experience that they'd gotten everyone out.
The bus wasn't showing any lights and the thin moonlight lit their faces to pale and ghastly shades, emphasising the hollows and the scars mercilessly. For the moment, she thought, they were still in shock, the rush of getting out of the city, the explosions behind them, the strangeness of their rescuers were keeping them quiet and dumbed down. By morning, it might be a different story.
Right now, though, they were easy to manage. She'd watched the other buses split off along the way, everyone taking the back routes they knew best, heading east via a dozen different roads. She was heading north into Nebraska and then east above the eighty. There was a caravan park in northern Indiana that she thought would provide enough additional vehicles to ease her load somewhat.
Wichita, Kansas
"What the hell happened to you?" Rufus frowned at Dean's awkwardly doubled up gait as he met them at the fence.
"A little ventilation," Dean said, gesturing at the fence. "Let's get out of here."
"Cas," Rufus said, turning around to the angel. "Get him in the back seat and get it patched up."
"I'm not really –"
"Yeah, well, you can't drive, so you'll have to learn to do something useful," Rufus snapped, cutting him off.
"Relax, Cas, I'll tell you what to do," Dean said, ducking under the wire link as the angel held it apart. "Nothing to it."
Sliding into the back seat, he watched Cas take the first aid box from Rufus and set it down between them, lifting his clothes higher above the two holes, glad that the angel didn't need a flashlight to see what he was doing. They'd been lucky with the moonlight, and Rufus peeled away from the sidewalk, heading east through a different neighbourhood than the one they'd come in on, the black car little more than a shadow.
Leaning away from Cas, Dean looked over his shoulder. "Bullet probably dragged a bit of the shirt in with it," he said, ignoring the throbbing that seemed to be getting stronger, shaking through his bones. "There's a bottle in the kit marked saline solution, squirt it through from back to front, until you're pretty sure there's nothing left inside."
The angel found the bottle and irrigated the wound thoroughly, glancing up as Dean's breath hissed through his teeth.
"Is it clean?"
"I can't perceive any further debris inside the wound."
"A simple yes or no is usually enough," Dean said, sweat dripping down his face. "Pass me something to wipe this off."
Cas passed him a cloth and he nodded. "Alright, I'm gonna need a bit of help for the next bit."
He gestured to the duffel sitting on the floor. "Flask in there somewhere."
"For the wound?"
Rufus glanced in the rear view mirror, meeting Dean's eyes and smiling. "No, for your patient. Eighty-proof painkiller, Cas."
"Is this it?" The angel held up the silver flask. Dean nodded and held out his hand for it, taking it and unscrewing the lid with his teeth. He swallowed half the contents in two gulps and looked back at Cas.
"The other bottle in there is pure alcohol, you need to squirt some through, it'll kill anything the saline missed."
"This might sting," Castiel said, reading the label on the squeeze bottle in the dark. He squeezed the clear liquid into the wound and Dean bit down hard against the sudden agonising burning sensation that rippled up and down from the wound, flooding his nervous system and making the throbbing ache seem insignificant.
"Might sting," he muttered dazedly, finishing the contents of the flask as he felt Cas pack the thick gauze dressings to either side, and tape them down firmly. "You need more experience with pain, Cas."
"I'm sure I'll get it," the angel said dryly, shutting the box and setting it on the floor.
CR 8, Missouri
Rona let the bus coast gently to a halt under the deep shadows of the copse of trees on the right shoulder, her eyes fixed to the headlights moving up the road ahead of her. Five, no, six cars were travelling along the highway, moving fast.
"Are they looking for us?" A woman asked behind her, her voice rising a little as panic filled her.
"No," the man who answered stood near the driver's seat, looking back, his voice deep and certain. "We're fine."
"No. No," the woman moaned softly. "They'll come and they'll find us, and they'll punish us –"
"Shut up, Marcie," another woman hissed furiously. "Just shut up and we'll be okay."
Rona glanced back. "All of you shut up."
"No! We shouldn't have tried to escape, they're going to come and they'll find –"
There was an odd thump, followed by silence. Rona twisted around in the seat, looking back. Marcie was slumped against the seat.
"Sorry, just didn't think it was the time for hysteria," a small man said, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his handkerchief.
"Hear, hear," the man beside Rona said quietly.
"All right," she said, turning around and standing up. "Do you people know each other – at all?"
"Some of us do," the small man said. "The others …"
"Introduce yourselves, right now," Rona said firmly. "Keep your voices down, but take a good look at each other, and say something about yourselves. We've got two days in this heap, and I want you to feel like you can trust each other, a little anyway."
She turned back to the front and sat down.
"Good advice," the man beside her said, holding out his hand. "Paulo Gutierrez, I was a paramedic in Toledo."
Rona looked at his hand and took it. "Glad to meet you, Paulo. I'm Rona Marsh. I used to teach martial arts." She glanced back. "Could you take a look at that woman and make sure she hasn't got a concussion?"
"No problem."
Camp Chitaqua, Lake Solitude, Michigan
Hank held two screwdrivers and a half dozen screws in his mouth as his legs locked tighter around the branch and he leaned out a little further.
"How's that?" he said. In the truck below the tree, Therese relayed the question to Bobby.
"Good, I can see about thirty yards clear now," Bobby replied, looking at the black and white monitor on the table to one side of the hall in the main house.
"Thirty yards now," Therese called up to Hank.
He nodded and tightened the bracket, carefully spitting out two screws and catching the second screwdriver as it seemed about to fall.
"That's the last one for this approach," he said to Therese. "Get the truck started and we'll do the Camp Tawas roads."
"We're done here, Bobby, going over to install them at Camp Tawas," Therese said into the mike, sliding into the driver's seat.
"Tell Hank, good job. Where'd he get 'em anyway?"
"He said he saw a whole box in the back room of the Gadgets to Go place in East Tawas," Therese said. "Just grabbed them thinking they'd be good for us."
"Well, tell him he was right, much more comfy watching the damned road this way," Bobby said.
"Affirmative," Therese said, smiling as Hank got in beside her. "Bobby says good work."
Hank grinned. "I put the solar panel up the top, it should get enough charge to keep the battery going until we need to replace it."
"How many more?"
"Twelve, but we'll save some for the approaches to Camp Sable. I thought six for Tawas and six for Sable. They'll be here in a few days."
CR 19, Missouri
Rufus pulled off onto the shoulder as Dean shifted uncomfortably in the corner between the door and the back of the seat again.
"What?"
"Get in the back," Rufus said. "Cas, you move up here."
"I'm fine," Dean said, two vertical creases appearing between his brows.
"You're aggravating the wound, you can't rest, and the constant muttering is gettin' on my nerves," Rufus said. "Get in the back and get some sleep."
Dean looked at him for a long moment, then opened the passenger door, muttering under his breath as he got out.
"What? Didn't quite catch that?" Rufus said, watching him walk past Cas on the way to the back.
Cas got in the front and Dean crawled into the back, shutting the back door, still muttering as he stretched out along the seat.
"Yeah, still not getting it," Rufus said, putting the car into gear and pulling out. "Quit griping and sleep."
Dean rolled onto his left side, and closed his eyes.
Cas had watched the exchange with wide eyes. He didn't think he'd ever seen Dean give up that readily, or take being ordered around that easily.
The angel looked over at Rufus. "You two must have quite a history?"
Rufus glanced at him, frowning and shaking his head. "Nah, met him first time 'bout three years ago. He just reminds me of me when I was that age."
The corner of Dean's mouth lifted slightly as he hunched down a bit further. He wasn't going to admit that stretched out took a lot of the pain out of his wound.
US-23, Michigan
"Not far now, folks," Vincent said, looking in the big rear view mirror of the bus. "Another couple of hours and there'll be food and beds and hot showers and you can relax."
There was a ragged cheer from the people on the bus. The last two days had been an unending nightmare of trying to share the water and food supplies that were scrounged from the towns they'd passed near, from farms and houses that seemed empty and deserted, crowded together, free but still afraid.
The sky was paling to the east, and Vincent put his foot down a little harder, the road familiar, the lake to their right fish-scaled in pink and silver as the dawn light strengthened.
CR 14, Ann Arbor, Michigan
Evelyn stared at the lights in her mirrors, her heart thudding against her chest as they kept get brighter.
She put her foot down and looked at the road ahead, trying to remember if there were any places she could turn off, anywhere she could hide. Fragments of advice from Maggie drifted in and out of her thoughts … but she couldn't hold onto them, couldn't remember the details.
The cars behind accelerated and she bit back a scream as they shot up to either side of the bus, the people in the bus staring down at them, silent and terrified as the bus' engine lifted to a higher note.
"Ev, watch out!"
She jerked her gaze from the mirrors to the windshield, seeing the dog-leg left ahead, rusted and weathered barricades fallen to one side where the concrete road hadn't been finished, nothing beyond the drop off at the end. Hauling at the wheel, her foot pressed down on the accelerator instead of the brake and the bus lifted onto two wheels as the torque wrenched at the long axis.
Screams filled her ears. The screams of the people she'd been carrying to safety and the higher pitched screams of metal on metal as the bus caught the cars beside her, crushing them beneath it. The turn caught the outer cars as well, the first shooting off the edge and falling to the road below, the fuel tank ignited by the sudden compression and the trail of sparks as it hit the construction machines. The bus fell onto its side and flew off the uncompleted end of the freeway after it, dragging the cars along underneath.
A moment of clarity and darkness, the noise receded away from her as she gripped the wheel and stared through the expanse of glass in front of her. Then they hit the rusted, yellow bulldozer, brilliant for a moment in the bus' headlights and the world disappeared in sound and fury and flame.
Atlanta, Georgia
Lucifer stepped through the French doors onto the paved stone terrace, leaving the charred and smoking heaps of ash behind him and crossing the dewy lawn.
"What exactly am I going to do about your brother, Sammy?" he asked softly.
The alligator shoes and the silk cuffs of the trousers were soaked by the time he'd reached the vine-engulfed gazebo, but the fallen angel was unaware of the moisture.
"I can't see him, can't see their little nest," he continued, his voice getting harder, sharper, hands closing into fists. Two Horsemen dead or so close to it they may as well as been, useless in any case. Wichita would take months to get back to running functionally again. He didn't know where Pestilence was, the Horseman off on his demented crusade of vengeance against the one man who was derailing everything, hiding himself thoroughly from the angel holding his bonds.
Dean would come for his brother, that he knew. From Sam's memories, and from the little he'd seen of his brother, that was a guarantee. How much damage would he do in the meantime?
Thunder rumbled above the white city, a manifestation of the frustrated fury that coiled and uncoiled inside of him. The greatest of all angels, the most powerful and he couldn't kill one man. And in a place he hadn't acknowledged, hadn't been able to look at, a thin thread of fear was growing. They'd always assumed that the prophecy referred to the Second War, to a battle with Michael and the defeat of Heaven, casting down the pillars and burning the whole thing down, laying waste to the creation of their Father. But it could read another way, he knew.
No, Sammy, he thought coldly, feeling the hot, distant squirm of hope from within the prison of his vessel's soul. Do not hope. Do not dare to hope that he will somehow succeed. It is not possible.
Michael was moving again. He'd felt the raising, felt his brother on this plane, taking the only other vessel that was available. The sixth seal would be opened soon and she would roam, her creations multiplying and spreading, her temptations sending ever more souls down to the pit, their souls empowering him. He drew in a deep breath, calming himself, forcing his fingers to uncurl.
In the meantime, he still had the most powerful of the Four bound and obedient. The pale rider could wreak a little havoc on his behalf.
Camp Chitaqua, Lake Solitude, Michigan
The garden was a jungle of a million shades of green, every possible leaf shape and texture, the broad, elephant-ear leaves of the pumpkins; tall, dark, wrinkled silverbeet; the more relaxed and brighter green spinach; cascading tomatoes and peas covering the trellises, sharp spears of the clumps of onions and garlic bulbs, the darker hedges of basil, intermingled with the small, heart-shaped leaves of the ground-creeping oregano; rosemary, sage, feathery-topped carrots … Alex picked her way through the beds, the big basket over her arm and four chattering children trailing her, as she pointed out what to pick and why.
She'd spent the last two days at Camp Tawas, going through their supplies as the new people had settled in, helping with the long and tedious process of going through their skills and sorting out schedules for training, for work crews, for the next big supply run.
In total, the hunters had rescued eight hundred and sixty-eight people from Wichita. One of the buses hadn't shown up and the reluctant conclusion had been that they hadn't made it. There was no way to be sure of that, no way to find out what had happened, but a memorial service had been held anyway, down by the lake shore.
Most of them were now quartered at Tawas, in crowded conditions, but all seemed to be relieved to be free. She wondered at how long that relief would last. If they could get the camp finished and Sable as well, it would ease the situation; give the people a sense of having a life, rather than just a short term sanctuary. There were a lot more people whose skills were useful now, including two doctors and three nurses, two of whom had more than sixty years experience between them, the third who'd been a theatre nurse in a large hospital. She'd felt her own relief at finding them, putting the medicinal stores into their hands gratefully and talking to all of them about what else might be needed.
With the one of the doctors and a nurse moving into Chitaqua, Renee had taken Alice and Cody and gone to Tawas, moving in with Boze. The relationship had been conducted with the utmost discretion and everyone but she and Ellen had been surprised. The corners of her mouth tucked in slightly as she remembered Maurice's shocked expression.
"Thought you'd be down at the barn," the deep voice was behind her, and she turned around, seeing Dean standing a few feet away, a faint wince crossing his features as he leaned against the trellis post.
"You should be giving that a chance to heal up," she said, looking pointedly at his side. "Ben and Faith are looking after the animals mostly now."
He nodded. "Ben told me."
He looked around at the rioting beds, one brow lifted. "Looks healthy."
"It is," she said, shifting the rapidly filling basket on her arm, the children gathering vegetables and depositing them as she waited for him to come to the point.
He watched her shift her weight and looked down. "Hard to catch up with you, thought you might be avoiding me."
Alex sighed inwardly. She had been, but there was nothing to be gained from telling him that. The old easiness between them had been broken with Jake's attack. And the little that had remained had dissipated when Lisa had told everyone. She'd known that his partner hadn't been comfortable with her, Lisa hadn't concealed her irritability with the time Dean had spent talking to her. She didn't see the point in trying to hold onto something that hadn't been much to begin with.
"No, just a lot to do with the new people," she said lightly, turning to nod as Prudence and Maddie came up with big bunches of dirt-encrusted onions, adjusting the basket's balance as they dropped them in. "Was there something you wanted to talk about?"
Dean gestured vaguely, his gaze dropping uncomfortably. "No, not really. Just wanted your take on the new people and how they're settling in."
"They seem to be doing alright," Alex said, taking the comment at face value. "Terry seems confident that Sable will be ready to move into in a few weeks, and that'll help with the crowding." She looked around for the children, catching sight of them through the greenery. "Merrin's taken over the medical supplies and Bernice is happy to move to Sable once Emmett and Max have got the main building habitable. At least we don't have to worry so much about injuries and sickness now."
He nodded. "Have you talked to Dave about the farm situation?"
"Yesterday," she confirmed, shifting her grip on the basket again. "They'll start harvesting the wheat in two weeks, then the rest as it matures. We'll need nearly everyone to handle the fruit as it comes ripe, but Sable should be almost finished by then."
"Are you okay?" he asked abruptly, not knowing how to bring the conversation around to the things he wanted to know more circumspectly.
Alex looked at him. For a very brief moment, she was tempted to be completely honest, to get past this habit they'd fallen into of half-truth and evasions, of talking around things. She caught herself before she did, instinctively knowing that it would only make him more uncomfortable.
"Yeah, I've got plenty to do."
Not much of an answer, he thought, looking at her. "That's not … I spoke to Father Michael," he said, hoping that would make it plainer.
"Oh," Alex said, nodding. "You want to know if I'm still a flight risk?"
Dean looked away, mouth twisting up at the bluntness of the answer. The damned conversation had turned into a minefield and he wasn't sure how that had happened or why.
"No," she said. "I'm not."
"Good." He exhaled audibly. There was a second as the word and its implications hung in the air between them, then his belated realisation of how it had sounded kicked in, and he opened his mouth to add something less incendiary but she beat him to it.
"Yeah, you can cross off that your list of concerns," she said, the derisive smile not concealing the edge in her voice.
"That's not what –"
"It's fine," she cut him off, shrugging and turning away. "Kids, we've got enough!"
He stepped aside as she walked past him, the full basket balanced against one hip, the four children trooping out behind her. Good job, he thought, walking slowly out of the garden after them.
Toledo, Ohio
Jake stood at the street corner, swaying slightly as the world sparkled and throbbed around him, bulging in and out with the staggered rhythm of his heart beat. He was in bad shape, he thought vaguely, looking down at the blistering pustules that covered his visible skin, feeling the press of his glands against his windpipe. His head had been pounding for four days, he thought he had a fever but he couldn't be sure because the sunlight had been so bright it had cut through his eyes, leaving him almost blind, and he couldn't differentiate between the heat in his hands and the heat he could feel in his face, his neck … everywhere. He turned his head a little as bile rose up his throat, weakly ejecting it onto the sidewalk, wiping at the dribbles that dripped off his chin with one filthy hand.
Bad shape. The thought floated against the fuzzy grey cloud that filled his mind. The cuts and slashes that the demon had inflicted were bright red, swollen and angry-looking. Infected-looking. His clothes were stiff with blood and the fluids that leaked from the pustules every time he moved and they broke open, the smell stomach-turning and making him wonder if this was a dream because he couldn't be on his feet if it was all real, all happening. He'd have fallen long ago.
A vague memory rose up behind his eyes, stumbling through a wood, the growls and snarls of a pack of dogs filling his ears. He'd stopped, leaning against a tree and had waited for them to attack. The direction of the wind had turned and they'd gone, just like that, disappearing into the dark. He'd wondered if the smell had driven them off.
The noise beside him was unexpected and he opened his eyes, turning his head stiffly against the pain to look at the man standing on the sidewalk nearby. Croatie, he thought, the knowledge raising no interest whatsoever. He was supposed to meet them, a distant, distant thought reminded him. Supposed to meet them here. In this city. On this corner.
More and more crept along the street, out from the shadows of the buildings, and the rusting hulks of the overturned and smashed cars that littered the street, until he was surrounded by them, unable to see past them. A lot of croaties.
The leader might have been a tall man once. He was a little bent now, his greyish skin sagging over the big frame. Matted, blond hair fell down his back and over his brow, shadowing the deep-set, glittering dark eyes. Jake watched blankly as the lips drew back from pointed, snaggled teeth, black and bleeding in the gums. He saw the man lift his hand and drop it abruptly.
The crowd surged forward, falling on the man, knocking him to the ground. Jake disappeared under the mass of grunting, snarling grey bodies, unable to scream, dying quickly and painfully as they ripped the meat from his body, devouring it and fighting each other for more.
On the wire above the street, a crow sat and looked down as the croaties slowly moved away. There was nothing to be seen of the man who'd been standing there, on the corner, just a few bones, picked clean and cracked open. The crow chirruped to itself and spread its wings, gaining altitude over the city. Beneath, along the cluttered and burned out streets, the mass of creatures moved northwards, heading for the shores of the lake, driven by a compulsion to keep going north, along the water.