Tastes Like Trophies
Thanks as always for the kind reviews. Generous souls, every one of you…Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this little yarn. We're close to the finish now…
Chapter Six
Smedley led the way through the massive hotel toward the walled garden, half-stumbling, half-walking in a daze.
"Dean, do we have a plan?" Sam asked.
His brother shook his head. "Since when do we need a plan? We go in. We shoot or burn anything that needs to be shot or burnt. Other than that, we wing it."
"Dean," Sam said irritably, refusing to let him shrug it off. "I like plans because it tends to keep your injuries to a manageable level."
"Speak for yourself. You're the one who looks like he's been used for a scratching post," Dean cocked his head to one side, looking meaningfully at the gouges on Sam's arms.
"Yeah, I've got a few nicks, but you," Sam insisted, "You're like the Titanic of ghost hunting."
Dean gave him a wide grin. "Just call me the unsinkable Dean Winchester."
"I'll remind you of that in a few hours," Sam frowned, noting his brother's increasingly pronounced limp.
"In a few hours, I plan to be tucked into the cheapest, crappiest bed in the cheapest, crappiest hotel I can find. How's that for a plan?"
Sam nodded, but didn't say anything. Right now that sounded awfully good, but since when was anything ever that easy?
"Don't look so depressed," Dean shrugged. "At least we don't have to dig the guy up. I know how much you love doing that."
"About as much as you love those flying monkeys," Sam raised an eyebrow. "I always wondered why you avoided the Curious George books when we were little."
Dean pursed his lips. "I knew I never should have told you about that."
"That's what happens when you don't plan," Sam observed wryly. "Brothers get damning information that can and will be used against you."
"You bring up the monkeys again," his brother muttered, "and your next girlfriend gets a picture of you kissing that cow."
"I explained that!"
"Uh huh."
They arrived at the doors to the garden and halted, looking out. Smedley hit a switch and floodlights bathed the garden in a harsh florescent glow.
"The mausoleum is in the far corner," he pointed.
"Anything else he was buried with we need to know about?" Dean asked. "Cougar paw? Lemur teeth? Hippo… whatever hippos have?"
"Just his favorite shotgun."
Sam let a breath out slowly. "Should have guessed."
Dean physically turned Smedley around and pushed him toward the front of the house. "Fire department. Go call or the whole hotel will go up."
The manager nodded distantly, still in shock and walked back toward the lobby.
"Ok, let's make this quick," Dean opened the door and stepped out.
The shrubs were just shrubs now that the collection was burning, but Sam and Dean still gave them a wide berth as they hurried toward the farthest corner.
Sam thought he saw movement to his left though it was difficult to tell with all the tall, leafy statues blocking them in every direction. He felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck with the distinct sensation of being the hunted rather than the hunter.
"I saw it too," Dean whispered. "Let me worry about it. Your only job is to get into that mausoleum."
The walled garden was not overly large and they quickly approached the stone tomb. It looked like a tiny stone house set in the corner of the yard with short steps leading up to a small covered landing. The entrance was an oversized wooden door behind a heavy, intricately decorated wrought iron door.
Sam walked up the short steps while Dean turned his back to him and positioned himself as a guard. Deciding this was no time for finesse, Sam set his shotgun aside and pulled out the handgun he'd tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He shot open the lock on the wrought iron door and jerked it open. He leaned closer to examine the wooden door, which was obviously thick, heavy, and meant to keep out people just like him.
"Hey, Dean?" he said. "I'm gonna need your help to break this open."
Dean turned to come up the steps. Simultaneously, Sam heard a roar. He watched helplessly as the massive topiary lion sprang out from among the surrounding shrubs and pounced, knocking Dean off his feet. His brother landed flat on his back and the lion stood, both front paws firmly on Dean's chest.
Sam snatched up his shotgun and started down, firing into the huge lion before his foot had even hit the second step. Dean had managed to hold on to his own shotgun and fired point blank into the lion's face, leaves falling in a rain as Dean scrambled out from under the paws and stood several feet back.
"Sam, move your ass before it eats me!"
"Just stay away from it, Dean!" Sam ordered. "I only need a minute!" He gave his brother a stern look. "You hear me? Just stay away from it!"
Dean screamed and fell to his knees, though Sam couldn't see anything wrong. He ran down the last of the mausoleum's short steps. The lion was quickly repairing itself and Sam fired again into the lion's face to give them more time.
Dean fell forward on all fours. "Stop… Sam, stop," he said, breathing hard, raising a hand to keep him back. "Hunti… He's got a knife."
Sam was close enough he could see a shallow slicing wound across Dean's lower back, blood spilling over Dean's side onto the ground, but also a deeper matching wound across the back of both legs. The bastard had cut his legs out from under him, just like he'd tried to hobble an animal.
Sam fought not to swear. The man must have been buried with his hunting knife as well as his shotgun. Sam turned in a circle trying to locate their attacker, but he couldn't see anything. Worse, Sam realized, his shotgun was empty and the extra ammo was sitting on the landing to the mausoleum.
Sam moved again to go to his brother, but stopped as Dean was abruptly forced back to sit on his knees. Huntington appeared behind him, kneeling, one arm tight around Dean's throat. Huntington raised his other hand high, a vicious looking hunting knife in hand and brought it down fiercely, the knife plunging into Dean's thigh, then through it into his calf. He ripped the knife out, a sucking, tearing noise accompanying it as the flesh released the blade.
Huntington raised the knife for another attack, but before he could, Dean snapped his head back, connecting with Huntington's nose. Dean simultaneously twisted out of the man's grip as he released him and fell back.
Dean took in a shuddering breath and pushed himself to his feet, turning to face Huntington who was now standing behind him, bloody knife in hand.
"You wanted to see my collection, did you? Had me lead you to it so you could destroy it," he hissed. "I'm going to gut you like a wild boar, my boy."
"Sam?" Dean barely turned in his direction, his breathing ragged. "Don't you… have something… to do? I can keep him busy… for a minute…"
"Don't go far, lad," Huntington pointed the bloody knife at him. "You're next."
Without warning, the lion pounced, knocking Huntington to the ground, its repaired jaws already ripping into the man's unprotected belly. Huntington stabbed at the lion furiously, but to no avail.
Dean spun and pointed. Sam needed no other hint and ran toward the mausoleum. He barreled into the wooden door putting every ounce of force into it he could, breaking it open. Only one stone bier stood in the center. Dean entered a few seconds behind him and together they pushed the heavy lid to the floor, the stone breaking into several heavy pieces.
Dean stumbled back and sank to the ground near the door. Sam wasted no time with the salt and lighter fluid. In only seconds the desiccated remains and the lion's claws, worn like a necklace around the corpse's neck, burst into flame as Sam touched his lighter to it.
Sam walked to the door and Dean twisted to look out just in time to see a gutted Huntington and the leafy lion devouring him vanish in a burst of flame. Only a few fiery embers remained to float to the ground and die out.
Sam mercilessly hauled Dean to his feet and pulled one of his arms across his shoulders. Barely pausing to gather Dean's shotgun and throw it into the bag of supplies, Sam half-ran, half-dragged him through the garden into the house, which already had a vague haze of smoke hovering in the air.
He left Dean leaning against a wall while he sprinted to their room and got their things. They had precious little and couldn't afford to leave anything behind.
One bag of clothes. Check. One bag of weapons. Check. One injured brother. Check. Business as usual. Time to head for the hills before the cavalry arrived and started asking questions.
Righto… Here's hoping that kept you vaguely entertained for a while… Just a little epilogue tomorrow to tie it all up…