PART FIVE: Bugs on a Windshield
John Haddox was buried in a private family cemetery somewhere near the original Haddox homestead. The exact location of the original Haddox homestead was not recorded anywhere in any of the documents Sam had access to, nor did anyone in town seem to know anything about its location. Sam worried that he would have to go back to the library basement and search the old archives once again - something he particularly did not want to do following his sexual encounter with Ellen. He was also afraid of failure. If torching John Haddox's remains didn't stop the curse of Deadman's Curve, it was very possible they would have to do the same to the bodies of every person who had ever died there.
While Sam fretted about the end of their task, Dean's concerns were more focused on the beginning. He was quick to voice his fear that they would have to spend countless man hours hiking all over the county in the sweltering heat looking for a needle in a haystack. This fear was well founded because that was exactly what they ended up doing.
Dean also had this "thing" about ticks and mosquitos, which he made sure Sam was aware of as they pushed their way through the overgrown yard of an old house. The house had looked like it might hold potential. Upon closer inspection, however, it was revealed to be the remains of recent tornado victim and much too modern. Still, they made a thorough search of the area before declaring it a bust.
Sam had carefully mapped out the parcels of land once owned by the Haddox family prior to Gregory's dispersement. Over all he'd drawn a grid of squares each equal to five acres of land. He didn't reveal to Dean that there were over two hundred and fifty squares to be searched. After they scoped out the tornado wrecked house and the lot upon which it sat, he marked off one square. It had taken them nearly an hour to make their investigation.
"There has to be an easier way to do this," Dean panted, pouring the remains of a bottled water down over his head. "There was nothing in the records? Nothing at all?"
Sam leaned back against the Impala's front fender, inhaling deeply after a long draw from his own water bottle. "We went through everything, Dean. There were no references at all to where the house used to be."
"Maybe you missed something."
"I told you already, we didn't miss anything!"
Dean stared at him in silence for a good long minute. "I'm sensing hostility." he said finally.
"I'm tired of you asking about it."
Crossing around the Impala's long hood toward the driver's door, Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "Personally, I don't think you even bothered to look."
Sam turned and shot him a nasty look. "Why would you say that?"
"Because," Dean stopped and leaned his elbows on the car's roof, regarding his brother with a cool expression. "You've been acting weird all evening, ever since you came back from the library. I'm thinkin' something went awry with Ms. Perfect."
Sam's response was a sullen silence, and he should have known better because Dean immediately took it as confirmation.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
"That's crap. Come on, Sammy, what happened?"
Annoyed, Sam pulled open the car door and got inside. "Let's go. We've got a lot more ground to cover."
"Which we might not have to do," Dean said, ducking in behind the wheel. "If you went back to the library records and found the house."
"I searched the records and I found nothing regarding the house. If you don't fucking believe me you can go to the library your damn self, Dean! I'm not going back there!"
Sam's angry outburst rolled off Dean's back like water off a duck. He smiled and shook his head as he started the car, shooting Sam a wry look as he drove the big Chevy carefully around the ruts and pot holes in the old farm road they'd been following.
"I figure one of two things happened. One - she pulled a Glenn Close. Or two - you had sex with her."
"You're an asshole," Sam growled.
"Uh-huh. It was sex." Dean laughed. "Sammy you sly devil..."
"Shut up, Dean. Whatever went on between me and Ellen has nothing to do with this. Between the two of us we went over everything with a fine toothed comb. If there ever was a record of the Haddox family's homestead, it's gone now. We're just going to have to do this the hard way, all right, so get over it."
"Was it good?"
Sam wanted to strangle him. Dean might not be psychic, but he could be freakishly acute at times. He was also as tenacious as a pit bull. Sam sensed him waiting for a response. It took a while, but Sam finally answered.
"No," he admitted. "I got in a hurry." He wasn't going to confess to that without an excuse, so following the truth, he added a lie. "I was afraid we were going to get caught."
In the next instant Sam had to reach out a hand to keep himself from slamming into the dashboard as Dean hit the brakes and brought the Impala to a screeching halt. The two of them looked at each other.
"Sam," Dean said incredulously. "You didn't!"
"Didn't what?"
"You...didn't...Sam! In the public library?"
"Phfft. Jess and I did it all the time at Stanford."
"Dude!"
"What?"
"You're joking!"
"No, Dean," Sam said, his amusement at Dean's reaction beginning to grow. "I'm not joking. Haven't you ever had sex in public?"
Dean appeared scandalized at first, but it quickly turned into what Sam interpreted as annoyance - annoyance at himself for being out-done by baby brother. "No," he said sheepishly. "We usually go back to her place."
Sam twisted the knife a little. "Pity," he said, and made sure to put a patronizing spin upon his tone.
"Now who's an asshole," Dean growled, putting the car back in motion. "And a pervert." The look on his face indicated his intent to engage in covert public sex at the very next opportunity. He ignored Sam's chuckle, and much to Sam's relief, finally dropped the subject.
They pulled back onto the paved road. Sam consulted his map.
"Left," he said. "We'll start to the south and work our way back toward town. The road pretty much bisects the original parcel so we can use it as a center point and sweep back and forth from east to west."
"This is gonna to take forever."
"Maybe we'll get lucky."
"Hope so," Dean muttered. "But somethin' tells me we have a better chance of winning the Powerball lottery." He reached up to the dash to where he'd thrown a can of Deep Woods Off. After shaking its contents he threw it back up into the window. "We need more bug spray."
Sam laughed. "You're such a wuss."
"Yeah, call me that when you come down with malaria."
"Malaria? Dean, you get malaria in tropical climates, and the last time I checked, Indiana is far north of the equator."
"Shut up, smart ass," And Sam heard him add, "Nasty blood-sucking bastards," under his breath.
Distracted by his parasitic insect angst, Dean apparently didn't see the car coming. Or perhaps, because it was dark and the driver was speeding, he misjudged its distance. Regardless, the next thing Sam knew he was being thrown forward yet again as Dean hit the brakes hard to avoid what could have been a nasty accident.
The Chevy skidded on the dirt farm road, her front wheels stopping just barely over the dividing line between it and the paved road before her. Sam flinched at the blaring wail of a horn and was startled to see the sleek, aerodynamic shape of a more modern vehicle streak by just inches from the Impala's front bumper. Beside him Dean cursed.
"Idiot." As if Dean himself didn't break one hundred and one traffic laws and then some on a daily basis.
Sam watched the tail lights of the other vehicle grow smaller in the distance. They disappeared around a curve and a sense of dread filled him.
"Oh my God. Dean!"
"What?"
"Go after him!"
"What?"
"He's heading straight for Chesterville." Sam waved impatiently in the direction of the road as Dean stopped to stare at him. "Go, go! We've got to stop him before he hits the Curve!"
"Okay, okay. I'm going!"
The Impala's rear tires spun, churning up dirt and gravel as Dean hit the gas and the car surged out onto the road. For one heart-stopping moment she fishtailed before he regained control, but within seconds Dean had righted her and they were roaring down the highway. They gained speed quickly. It was not long before Sam could once again see a trio of red taillights ahead. The lights vanished as the car slipped down a rather steep incline, but reappeared even closer when it came up the hill on the other side. Sam felt the dizzying sensation of momentary weightlessness as the Impala dropped down the hill in pursuit.
Another hill, and a curve, and they began closing in on the other driver. They were also closing in on the long, flat straightaway the locals knew as Dead Man's Curve. Sam resisted the temptation to laugh once again at the incongruous appellation. If they didn't stop, or at least slow down the driver in front of them, the results would be no laughing matter.
"Dean, we've got to pass him," Sam urged. "Or at least get up beside him."
"I know, I know!"
"Dean..."
"Shut up, Sam! I'm going as fast as I can!"
They were shouting to be heard. All four windows were rolled down, and rushing wind roared through the interior of the car, making conversation difficult. Sam felt the humidity in the air and he caught the unmistakable scent of impending rain. A flash of lightning against the dark backdrop of the horizon confirmed that a major thunderstorm was on its way. He heard a rumble of thunder harmonize with the throaty growl of the Chevy's engine. Great. Not only was the road cursed, it would soon be rain-slicked and doubly dangerous.
As they rounded the last curve before the road began running straight and flat, they caught up with the other car. It was a Toyota with out-of-state tags and a V-6 engine no match for the old muscle car's big V-8. Dean swung out from behind the Toyota into the wrong lane and was soon pacing it. The driver turned to look out at them with a horrified look on his face and Sam gestured for him to roll down his window.
"Hey! Stop! We just want to talk to you," he bellowed. "Stop!"
Dean echoed him from the driver's seat, alternating his attention back and forth from the road to the other car as he shouted. "Hey buddy, come on! You've got to listen to us!"
Like evenly matched drag racers, the two cars flew down the road at an ever increasing speed. The driver of the Toyota was scared, Sam could see it in his face. Trouble was, he was afraid of them, and not what might await him on the cursed length of highway ahead. Sam did everything he could to get the man to listen but he quickly realized he was fighting a loosing battle.
After one last shout and a series of frantic hand gestures, Sam was ready to throw in the towel and just let the fool kill himself. He glared out the window at him. "Slow down you moron!"
It was then that he saw the man's expression change. His head snapped up and away from Sam's direction, his eyes widened, and suddenly the Toyota dropped back out of the race as he hit the brakes. It was still moving, but had slowed down so radically the speeding Chevy ripped past it as if it were standing perfectly still.
"Oh, shhhhhit!" Dean's voice held an unmistakable note of panic. "SAM!"
Sam whipped his head around to look out the windshield.
There, just a few yards in front of them, was a swirling mass of round white lights - orbs - dancing and weaving back and forth over the roadway from one side to the other, just as they had done the night before. That whole section of road was lit up with an eerie light both beautiful and frightening. Sam noticed something else, too.
It hadn't been apparent from the roadside, nor standing among them, but from a little way down the road the formation the orbs had taken strongly resembled a barrier.
In modern America, crossing through a funeral procession was illegal in most states. Some people believed this was because to do so would create a traffic problem. Others simply took it as something one avoided doing out of respect for the dead. In truth the law had its origins in legend. In many cultures it was considered bad luck to cross a funeral procession. One did not interrupt the dead as they made their journey to the afterlife, to do so would bring about horrible consequences.
Sam suddenly knew without a doubt, if they broke through the barrier of spirit orbs they would be killed.
"STOP! Dean! Stop the car!"
He braced himself as Dean hit the brakes. The Impala started to skid, tires scraping across the pavement with a squeal and the stink of burning rubber. Her weight and her momentum continued to carry her forward, closer and closer to the orbs hovering above the roadway. Dean struggled with the wheel, trying to keep the car under control and away from the barrier of light. At the last minute he jerked the wheel and the Impala's nose swung away from the orbs as she presented her flank to them.
For a second Sam thought they were safe. He felt the car slow radically when Dean turned her sideways and expected them to come to a tidy stop just short of the spirit barrier. The Chevy's momentum, however, carried her just a bit too far, and when Dean turned her, her back end whipped around to punch a hole through the orbs.
Instantly the car began spinning like a dog chasing its tail. Sam squinted into the light swirling around them and what he saw made him gasp.
He could see them. They were no longer manifesting as spheres of light, but as ghostly human figures who surrounded the car with outstretched hands. There were dozens of them and they all cried out pleadingly to Sam for help. Frightened faces flashed by each window as the car spun wildly out of control down the road. Ethereal hands pushed against the vehicle. Some reached in through the open windows to pluck at Sam's clothing.
Help us...free us...
It all happened in a split second. He remembered glancing over toward Dean, who had his jaw set and his hands clenched around the steering wheel. If Dean could see what surrounded them, he didn't give any indication of it and Sam had no time to ask. The dizzying spin in which they'd been caught flung the Chevy sideways off the road and nose first into a drainage ditch. There ensued an abrupt cessation of movement...
Of the car, anyway. Her occupants were not as lucky.
Sam's body was slammed into the dashboard. There was a horrible cracking sound when his forehead became intimate friends with the Impala's windshield. A flash of light exploded before his eyes, almost instantly fading, as he was bitch slapped into complete and utter darkness.
