The Rez Dawg rolled slow enough that Henry could hop out of the driver's seat and stuff the stock blocks behind her tires to bring her to a stop.
Dean grumbled as he exited the passenger seat, "I don't care if your Rez Dawg handles the rough country better then my Baby, I am never riding in her again." From the bed of the truck, Sam snickered and hopped out.
Henry chuckled and patted his battered, multicolored pick-up. "When we get back into town, I will introduce you to Lola. She is a '69 Thunderbird and far too nice of a lady to drive through rough country as well." Turning to his oldest friend, he greeted, "Hello, Walt."
"Henry." Walt nodded at the brothers in greeting but didn't get up. "How'd we do?"
"Deputy Moretti has a moderate to severe concussion and is being held in the hospital for observation. Judging from the amount of swearing involved, she will be fine. Deputy Ferguson is with her and will call if anything changes. Dog is at the veterinarian's office, having received stitches for his wounds, and is expected to recover fully. Cady is with him." Henry reported.
"How's your head, Dean?" Walt turned to take in the elder Winchester.
"Not the first time a monster threw me through a wall," Dean shrugged.
"He's a walking mess of bruises and a mild concussion," Sam reported. "He'll be fine with a little bit of rest before we hit the road."
Walt nodded, accepting the news. "How'd you find me?"
Henry Standing Bear smirked. "The brothers Winchester activated the GPS on your new cellphone. It lead us right to you."
Walt blinked like he just remembered something important, and dug into his pocket. There, in his palm, sat the little electronic device. If he had remembered the thing, he wouldn't have had to walk anywhere. He could have called for help. "I still hate these things," Walt muttered.
But his friend was no longer listening to him. Henry, having delivered the news, turned his attention to the body behind Walt. "So. That is a monster."
"Hmmm," Walt grunted, not really sure what to make of the events of last night.
Dean offered "If anyone cares, its called a Tiki Bong-"
"Tikbalang," Sam corrected.
"-and just to be sure the thing stays all the way dead we should salt and burn the body." Dean continued as though his brother hadn't said a word.
"It could come back?" Henry demanded.
"Not likely, but better safe then sorry," Sam told them. "It's what we usually do."
"Why?" Walt asked.
"Salt and fire are purifying forces..." Sam began.
Walt shook his head, "Why Echo 2-1?" he clarified.
"Its the vengeful spirit of a Vietnamese killed in the war. By your unit," Dean explained. "Spirits take time to get pissed enough to take form. Best we can figure, Maxwell took a trip with his wife and walked down the same path where this guy died, giving it the last little push to turn into that," he gestured at the man-horse. "Then it came after everyone else." None of the three men added the the dead man had actually been an unborn child. Henry knew, and the Winchesters guessed, that Walt wouldn't take the news well.
"If it had killed me, would it have stopped?" Walt had to ask. Old guilts and survivor's guilt were stirring up in his mind, making him wonder if this should have ended differently.
"Probably not," Sam answered. "Most spirits keep going until they are stopped or contained. After Echo 2-1, maybe it would have gone after any Vietnam vet or even after any American soldier."
"This thing doesn't deserve vengeance, Walt. This thing, this guy, deserves rest. He's been pissed off for a long time. A salt and burn will give him that, let him move on." Dean held Walt's gaze until the older man understood and agreed.
The Winchesters came prepared with a canister of gasoline and a five pound bag of road salt. The four men stayed by the bonfire to make sure it didn't burn out of control.
"So." Walt grunted, not taking his eyes off the flames. "This is what you do."
"Yep," Dean agreed.
Walt let his brain process for a few minutes listening to the crackling fire. The other men kept quiet and let him. "What killed Johnny?"
"Not a heart attack," Sam answered, his voice low and soft.
Suddenly, in the midst of gloom and introspection, Dean chuckled. "Dad let you get away with calling him Johnny?"
Walt huffed a laugh of his own. "At nineteen, we were both bigger than him."