The Chaos Tree

Chapter 2

.

"Winchester!"

Dean grunted as he rolled his eyes. He was underneath the sweet body of one of the last great muscle cars to have rolled off the line: a 1971 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am, with a 455-cid V-8 engine. The Firebird featured the biggest engine ever put in a pony car, and Dean was in heaven.

Since owning his own garage, Dean had become known throughout the Midwest for his talent and love of working on vintage vehicles. He could fix them on a shoestring, and muscle car owners came from all over to have him work on their treasured cars. Still, the majority of his business was more modern vehicles, so this was a sweet moment. The owner had driven into his garage early this morning saying something was wrong with the engine, and that the car wouldn't get up to two hundred miles per hour. After taking time with the owner to admire the car, Dean had practically shoved him out the garage door in order to spend some quality time with the Firebird.

"Winchester!" came the insistent shout.

"What!" Dean yelled back.

"Phone!"

"Who?!"

"Lady! Said she needed to speak with you!"

Just then Dean's cell rang. "It's a conspiracy," Dean grumbled. "Someone just doesn't want me to work on this beauty." Rolling himself out from under the Pontiac, he jerked his cell from his pocket and barked, "What!"

"You're in a mood," Sam said.

Dean could hear his brother's smile through the phone. Grunting, he crawled up off the creeper and stood with a groan.

"Under a car, huh?"

"A 1971 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am."

Sam wasn't Dean's brother for nothin'. "Wow, a 1971 Pontiac, huh? It still in good shape?"

"Sam, this car is a thing of beauty. Been running for close to seventy years and still purrs like a kitten."

"Then why is it in your garage?"

Dean growled. "Even the good ones need tune ups."

Sam laughed.

"Winchester!"

"Who's that yelling?" Sam asked.

"Mark. Someone's on the phone."

"Oh, then call me back as soon as your done."

"Something up?"

Sam was silent a moment, then confessed, "I'm not sure."

Dean stopped walking toward the office. "You're not sure? You?"

"Just call me back," Sam said, and disconnected.

Dean stared at the blank phone a moment, then continued to his office. Mark wasn't anywhere in sight, which was a good thing, cause Dean hated being yelled at, and he might have given back as good as he'd gotten. Snatching up the phone receiver lying prone on the desk, he growled, "Yeah?"

"How professional."

Dean smiled. "Diana Ballard. You comin' to haul me back to Baltimore?"

"Like that ship didn't sail thirty years ago."

Dean chuckled. "How's the family? You're daughter still teaching at Johns Hopkins?"

"She received tenure last year. She's over the moon."

"And so are you," Dean smiled. "Congrats."

"Thanks. And how are your boys?"

"Good, Ben's working at Vanderbilt University Medical Center in Nashville, JT is currently working a photo shoot for Lifestyle Magazine, and Jimmy is conquering the world at Ames Industries."

"While getting his MBA, I take it," Diana commented.

"Master's of Technology and Entrepreneurship," Dean clarified. "Apparently the MBA has become too mundane."

"He needed more mountains to conquer, huh?"

Dean chuckled. "Something like that." Even though Diana knew of the supernatural and hunters, he didn't reveal James' real reason for opting out of an MBA; to spend more time hunting with his prospective Triad and training to develop his clairvoyant skills with Sam, Caleb and Onida, Caleb's significant other.

Caleb had met Onida almost a year ago when both Triads were on a hunt in Washington State. The hunt was centered near the Yakama Indian Reservation taking down two covens of ancient witches called the Tah-tah-kle'-ah, or Owl Witches. It was one of their toughest and most surprising hunts, and Caleb had met the woman he wanted to send his life with. That she manipulated energies, auras and magnetics made her a perfect fit for Caleb and the Brotherhood.

"So," Dean continued. "What's up?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm not sure I should have called," Diana confessed. "I spent the last couple of weeks talking to other cops who know about your kind of thing; Marina McBain of the NYPD, Ed Stoltz from St Louis, Daniel Gunderson from Rockford Illinois, other law enforcement, even Mara Daniels from Little Rock."

"How is Mara?"

Dean and Sam had met Public Defender Mara Daniels on one of their riskiest hunts when they were young; when they'd deliberately gotten themselves thrown into jail to help an old army buddy of their father's. The ghost of a sadistic, murdered prison nurse was killing inmates and when Mara had come to speak with Dean about the charge, he had surprised her by asking that she find out where Nurse Glockner was buried instead of discussing his own case. She'd ended up giving him and Sam the information as well as feeding Special Agent Victor Henriksen of the FBI the wrong graveyard location to lead him astray. Henriksen had been dogging the Winchesters, determined at that time to take them in, dead or alive. The law man later had a personal encounter with the supernatural that had made him a believer. Occasionally Dean still wondered whether Henriksen would have stayed with the FBI or become a hunter if he hadn't been killed by Lilith.

"Her firm is still raking it in," Diana stated. "Damn private practice. She should have stayed in public service."

"You know that doesn't pay," Dean said with a smile.

"True enough. Anyway, the general consensus is there's nothing here…"

"But your gut says something else," Dean finished.

"Yeah," Diana confirmed softly.

"Tell me everything."

Twenty minutes later Diana finished. "I'm just saying, violence like that just doesn't stop on a dime, not ever. Yes, I admit; some riots seem to stop as quickly as they began. But what many view as quick is actually a petering out, not an instant stop like this appears to have been."

"So this was out of control violence…"

"Like I haven't seen in almost forty years on the job."

"Then it just stops…"

"As though someone flipped a switch."

Dean frowned. It was true, that violence could seemingly end as abruptly as it started. Irrationality drove a mob; people got caught up in a mob mentality and just started punching. But that moment could be over in a second if just one person stepped away. But Diana would know that even better than he would. She'd been a cop for decades, and she'd seen something different here.

"Okay, let me see what I can find out. Maybe there have been other instances like this."

There was a moment of silence, before Diana asked, "There isn't another Apocalypse, is there?"

"No," Dean said firmly. "Those days are over."

"Good," Diana breathed. Then she muttered, "I knew I should have retired two years ago."

Dean laughed. "You would have missed the action."

"Maybe," Diana admitted. "Thank you, and thanks for not dismissing my suspicions."

"I trust your gut," Dean stated. "I'll call when I find something out."

"Talk soon," Diana finished, and hung up.

Dean drummed his fingers on the desk for a few minutes, frowning. Diana wouldn't have called unless she was certain something odd was happening, his kind of odd. Abruptly he pulled out his cell and redialed Sam.

"Took you long enough," Sam groused.

"The call was from Diana."

"Really? Last time we talked with her was, what, twelve years ago?"

"Something like that; the killings in Alleghany National Forest."

"Right, Pennsylvania. How's she doing?"

"Wishing she'd retired two years ago."

Sam chuckled. "Why did she call?"

Dean explained the violence in Baltimore and Diana's reason for calling. "So," he said when he finished, "what are your thoughts?"

"Well," Sam said slowly, "that's kind of the reason I'm calling."

"You're calling about Baltimore too?"

"No, Stillwater."

"Minnesota? Donna Hanscum?"

"Donna called this morning, told me the same type of thing happened in Stillwater. Started fast and ended on a dime. She said Jody and Mark are in town, taking a look around."

"You gonna look into this?"

Sam smiled. "You mean so you don't have to?"

"You are the Scholar of the Brotherhood," Dean stated, trying hard to sound serious and not eager to get back to the Trans Am.

"Yeah, yeah, I see right through you," Sam declared. "I'll check through some historical records, see if anything like sudden bursts of violence have happened before. You … get back under the car."

Dean grinned. "Thanks Sammy. Talk to you later." Snapping the cell closed, he quickly ran back to the Pontiac only to find another pair of boots sticking out from under the car. Growling, he barked, "Get your ass out from under that car, Mark."

Houston, Texas

Elijah walked into Rice Coffeehouse located near the Houston Police Department. It was early, before seven in the morning, so the place wasn't yet filled with college students dosing themselves with caffeine after a long night. Still, there were several business men and women standing in line or sitting at the Coffeehouse's wood-like plastic tables. It took him a moment to find his brother seated near the front windows, chin resting on his palm, eyes closed.

"Hey."

Elijah smiled as he sat down. Ethan hadn't needed to open his eyes to know he was there. "Hey, big brother." He picked up the coffee waiting for him and sipped while watching his twin. Both of their dark heads had gone gray years ago, though Ethan's hair remained somewhat longer than his own. Like Sam, the other man had cut his hair when he'd accepted his promotion to Captain, saying his new position demanded some dignity. Both their faces had leaned out with age; the jaw squaring up and new lines appearing around the eyes and mouth. Right now, however, Ethan looked worn and tired, darkness etching new lines of fatigue and weariness around his eyes. "I know it's been a tough few weeks for the police. The news is full of it. You all right?"

Ethan opened blood shot eyes. "Yeah. I'm heading home to get some sleep after we talk. I need you to look into something for me."

"Me?" Elijah said, his eyes widening. "About the violence in the city?"

"Sort of." Ethan took a bracing gulp of coffee and slowly lowered the cup back down onto the plastic table. "I think something made the violence happen."

Elijah frowned. "Made it happen," he repeated. "How?"

"I don't know."

Nodding slowly, Elijah took another couple of sips from his cup. "Okay."

Ethan stared at his brother a moment, then smiled. He hadn't realized until just this minute that he'd needed someone to just accept his gut instinct. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For not questioning me or telling me I'm crazy."

"I'm a professor of Ancient Studies and a member of the Brotherhood. I'm used to weird." Elijah studied his brother's face a moment more, then asked, "What happened?"

Ethan told Elijah about the violence in the city, how it was much more erratic and uncontrolled than the news stations had made it sound. "From listening to the news, you would have thought the outbreaks were a political riot or a gang war." He shook his head. "It was so much worse than that."

Elijah felt guilty that Ethan had been going through all this for the last couple of weeks, and he hadn't offered any support or help.

"In addition to the general mayhem, we had perps confessing to everything they'd ever done in their entire lives." Ethan snorted softly. "Talk about the need for a confessional."

"Couldn't you have just sent them to church?" Elijah joked, though the question was somewhat serious.

"Believe me, I thought about it," Ethan said with a derisive snort. "But these were crimes, not sleeping with your wife's sister and stealing fifty bucks from your mom's purse. We were forced to deal with the confessions as best we could with our limited manpower. Needless to say, it's been exhausting." Leaning forward into the table, he asked, "Have you heard about anything like this?"

Elijah frowned. Taking another pull from his coffee, he said, "No, and yes. I've heard of spells and magics that can make people do crazy things. But that's usually done on a much smaller scale. For something to affect an entire city, especially one as large as Houston…" he shook his head, "It will take some looking into." Eyeing his brother he asked, "Did you call Caleb?"

Ethan shook his head. "No, not yet. I'm exhausted, haven't been able to think it all through yet. I need some time to sort through the facts, put some flesh on the bones of my instincts. Right now all I got is a feeling."

"That's something right there," Elijah stated. "We've both been around long enough to trust our instincts."

"Yeah, but the violence is only one part of the equation. On the flip side, people were coming out of the woodwork to help the soup kitchens, the homeless shelters, donating to local clinics, even bringing food to the police station. The shelters have enough food stockpiled to last through a three-month hurricane."

"You know," Elijah mused, frowning, "the University has been getting large donations from alumni and businesses for the past couple of weeks."

Ethan leaned into the table again. "Exactly. These have been over the top donations, for the shelters, the fire department, police department, suicide hotline, even the churches have been raking it in."

"How did you find out about all this?" Elijah asked.

"At first you just hear things. Someone has a relative working for St. Paul's and they mentioned the donations, someone else has a cousin in the fire department, and they tell of some huge windfall. I started getting a little suspicious a few days ago and gave a cursory look into other acts of generosity," Ethan smiled, "in my spare time."

"I'll see if I can find more."

"Thanks. And there's one more thing. Last night I got a call about an officer down at Viceroy's Cabaret…"

"On Richmond?"

Ethan looked startled, and not pleasantly so. "How do you know about that place?"

"Students, Ethan, I've got students."

"Oh. Anyway, we go down there and it's another case of all out warfare. We use the Acoustic weapon and it does nothing to stop anyone from throwing a punch. We try tear gas, and nothing. I'm about to use sleeping gas when all of a sudden … it just stops. Everyone stops in their tracks looking stunned and confused."

Elijah shook his head. "What do you mean, they just stopped…?"

"Like someone turned off the oven or the coach yelled time out."

"You think it's a chemical attack of some kind?"

"I don't know. We triaged on site, then everyone was carted off to the Convention Center for further assessment. We're getting people some counseling and taking blood. We'll have it analyzed, see if some sort of timed chemical weapon is in play."

"A chemical weapon with a timed duration in the body?" Elijah asked. "Is that possible?"

"Probably," Ethan said, shrugging. "Drugs have always had a runtime; dosages that last certain lengths of time before you need another pill; administering drugs with a hard run time like two hours, four hours. There have been medical leaps in the last ten years to more precisely regulate dosage methodology to prevent overdosing. Why not create an hallucinogen that lasts two or three hours then stops?"

"Did all the other acts of violence have an instant stop?"

"I don't know, I don't think so. Usually we stopped them." Giving his face a vigorous rub with his hands, Ethan said, "Maybe I'm running in the wrong direction with this being supernatural."

"Even if a timed dose of medication or a hallucinogen were possible, it wouldn't stop in every single person at the same time," Elijah said. "People have different metabolisms. Some will metabolize food, drink, even drugs at different rates than others. In any group, even if it's only a group of two, both people will probably metabolize a timed drug differently."

Ethan shrugged. "That's the rumor from Narcotics; this type of drug would hard-stop regardless of individual metabolism."

"Wow," Elijah murmured.

Ethan felt the tension that had been burrowed in his shoulders and neck for the last few hours ebb away. "So you think there might be something here…"

"I think we should trust your instincts. But there's a lot more data we'll need to compile. I'll start checking historical records for random madness and violence in large crowds, and you're going to head home, take a long hot shower, and get some sleep."

Ethan huffed out a tired laugh. "Yeah." He rose. "I spent the last three hours looking through surveillance footage of Viceroy's last night, hoping to see something."

"Did you?" Elijah asked, walking with his brother to the front door.

"To tell you the truth, I don't know. I'm so tired I'm not sure what I was looking at." Ethan rubbed at his eyes again. "I'll go through the footage again once I've had some sleep."

"Then head home. I'll get started and let you know if I find anything."

Ethan smiled. "Thanks, and say hi to Jane for me, will you?"

Elijah watched for a moment as his brother walk slowly away, then he turned and headed to the nearby parking structure to retrieve his car. He was tempted to give Sam a call, but Ethan hadn't wanted to contact Caleb yet, so he would do some digging on his own first. Random acts of mass scale violence – he'd never heard of the like. But he had access to some very ancient texts. He would see what he could uncover.

Caleb rolled over and yawned. A glance at the clock told him it was close to eleven in the morning. However, he didn't feel guilty about sleeping late, as he and Onida hadn't gotten back from their hunt until four.

"Time is it?" came a soft question.

Turning back onto his side, Caleb smiled at Onida, who was curled in close. "Eleven."

"Why are you awake?" she groused.

"Got to get going, let Dean and Sam know what happened with the Banshees."

Onida yawned and stretched. She'd been on enough hunts over the last year to know the protocol. "All right." Slowly she rolled over and climbed to her feet.

Caleb smiled and watched as she disappeared into their bathroom before shifting onto his back.

He was surprised about how easily he'd gotten used to sharing his bed, his room, his home and his life with someone. He loved coming home from a hunt to find Onida there, cooking some Native American dish, or botching some new recipe that had interested her. He loved how she'd drop him like a hot potato the moment they stepped into Dean and Juliet's home, rushing off to spend time chatting with her newfound friend. He loved their flights to Washington where she would pass on her guardian knowledge to Lomasi and Jacy, two children that had survive their kidnapping by the Tah-tah-kle'-ah and had been born with gifts like Onida. Sure, there were moments when he was caught off guard, like when Onida had shifted his things in the bathroom without telling him, like when he'd come home from a hunt and she'd rearranged the dining room so that dishes could be brought in from the kitchen more easily. But he'd learned long ago that things could be changed, rearranged or disposed of. What he couldn't lose in his life were his people.

Of course, that didn't mean they hadn't had their fights. Getting used to being in one another's space was challenging, especially when they'd both spent decades living on their own. But Caleb, far more than Onida, was used to sharing his life. He'd spent years taking care of Dean and Sam when they were kids; they'd been a triad long before they took on the official positions within the Brotherhood. Conversely, Onida had spent years alone in her house protecting her people from the Owl Witches. He tried to be sensitive when she needed time on her own, when she needed to be away.

A couple months ago she'd chosen to take their usual trip to Washington on her own. Despite his head's rationalization, his heart had been hurt by her suggestion. Secretly he'd been worried she would decide to remain there, would return to her life on the Yakama Reservation. While she'd been gone, he'd expended an enormous amount of energy and strength refraining from calling her every hour, giving her the space she needed. Dean knew his best friend's state of mind, and he and Juliet had insisted he come over for dinner every night she'd been gone. Juliet had even demanded he spend the night once, offering solace and soothing words: "She's going to be fine; she just needs to find her way." But Caleb had been worried.

Though Onida was supposed to have been gone a week, she'd returned in three days, surprising Caleb as he was attempting to distract himself by training with Max. Their reunion had been a sweet balm to his frayed nerves.

Later, when they were in their bedroom, Onida had said, "I'm sorry."

"What…?" Caleb panted as he tried to get a fresh breath of air through Onida's frantic kisses.

"I'm sorry I wigged out a little."

Caleb chuckled as he returned her kisses. "I … understand…"

Onida pulled back, her face serious. Pushing against Caleb's chest, she said, "How can you say that? I insisted on going to Washington without you."

Caleb pushed himself up into a sitting position. Smiling, he said, "I do understand. During your first years as guardian, you had interaction with the tribe, and of course, your parents when they were alive. But you were on your own for a lot of years. It may appear as though I've lived on my own," he swept a hand out to indicate his home, "but the truth is, I'm rarely alone; haven't been since I was thirteen. I've had Mac, John and Pastor Jim, and always Dean and Sam. And now Joshua, Max, Ben, Johnny and James, Ryker; so many others. So while yeah, I'm getting used to changes here in our home, I've always been ready for you."

Onida felt a radiance in her heart that was hard to contain. Smiling, she cupped Caleb's face. "Thank you for understanding. I may have moments when I need to step away and center myself, but know without a shadow of a doubt, that I am yours for always. I will not ever go back to being alone."

Their night together had been a memorable one, with neither of them getting much sleep.

Caleb was pulled from his revere of the past when Onida stepped from the bathroom completely naked except for the towel around her head. Frowning, she said, "I thought you had to call Dean and Sam?"

Caleb grinned. "Maybe later."

It was almost one o'clock and Dean had just rolled beneath the Pontiac when his cell buzzed again. "Damn it," he muttered.

It had taken nearly ten minutes before he'd convinced Mark to crawl out from under the Trans Am. Just as he was about to get back under, two local clients brought their cars in for emergency repairs. Then the morning was gone, and he'd met up with Juliet for a short lunch. Now he was finally able to get back under this gem of a car, and his cell rings again. It was a conspiracy!

Jerking out his cell, he practically yelled, "What?!"

"You must have just climbed under some vintage muscle car," Caleb stated.

Dean sighed. Caleb and Sam knew him far too well. "Been trying to work on a '71 Firebird."

"A Trans Am? It's still alive?"

"It's alive because of people like me," Dean stated with a harrumph. "What's up?"

"Touching base, letting you know the Banshees are taken care of."

"I thought you were sending Max on that one."

"Was planning to, but Onida's never seen a Banshee, so…"

"She wanted to see one," Dean finished. Onida was a natural at hunting. Considering her background as the Guardian of the Yakama people, she would be. She was curious about everything, and went on as many hunts as she could between helping to train James on clairvoyance, working with Lomasi and Jacy in Washington, and having fun with the first true friends she'd ever had in her life; Juliet, Carolyn and Margaret, Adam's wife. "How'd she like the hunt?"

"She thought they needed some serious hair care, but after Owl Witches, they weren't much of a challenge."

Dean grinned. "I guess not."

"We still heading out to take care of those Rugarus in Kanarraville, Utah tomorrow?"

"Planning on it," Dean said, picking up a wrench again. "We leaving at dawn?"

"Flight doesn't take off until ten."

Dean froze. "Flight?"

"It's a twenty-five hour drive," Caleb stated. "It's faster if we fly."

"Since when do we fly everywhere?" Dean groused. "What's wrong with driving?"

"It's Wednesday. Juliet's cook out is on Saturday. You want to tell her you're missing it because you needed to drive to Utah and back?"

Dean rolled out from under the car and sat up. "You planned this so you wouldn't have to drive," he accused.

Caleb grinned, but quickly straightened his features because he knew Dean would detect the smile even though they weren't face to face. "You're the one who found the hunt; you're the one who wanted to leave tomorrow. And I don't need to point out that you're the one shacking up with Juliet."

Dean made a frustrated face before grumbling, "What airline and when?"

"Boarding the Ames jet is set at nine-thirty, takeoff at ten."

Dean frowned. "You can't keep commandeering the Ames jet to shuttle us around. We can fly commercial."

Caleb grimaced. He hated traveling commercial. "Ames Industries has three jets now. They won't miss one." Fact was, they wouldn't be flying on any of the official Ames jets. He hadn't told Dean or Sam that he'd bought a Hawker 1000 jetliner so he, Onida, Joshua, Carolyn and Nicholas could all go back and forth to Washington whenever they wanted. Even Adam had flown to Washington with his two adopted children. The jet would also be available for Brotherhood business and could seat up to twelve people if both Triads were needed on another hunt. Aside from Onida, the only other person who knew about the purchase was Joshua.

Sighing, Dean said, "Yeah, okay."

"Pick me up at eight," Caleb said, and hung up.

Dean stared at his phone. "Why am I suddenly your chauffer," he muttered, shoving the phone back into his pocket. Blowing out a frustrated breath, he leaned back onto the creeper and tilted his head back so he could view the Trans Am's polished chrome bumper. "You'd never make me fly, would you?"

"You say something, boss?"

"No!" Dean barked, rolling himself back under the car. Picking up his wrench for perhaps the ninth time, he stared at the undercarriage once more. "Looks like today's all we got, kid."

Jody and Mark walked along the main street of Downtown Stillwater. They had opted to question people casually without Donna Hanscum in tow. No matter how long they'd known her, asking questions accompanied by the local sheriff tended to put people on their guard. The pair had been to some of the bars and eateries down Main Street, and because Mark had insisted, Gasthaus Bavarian Hunter.

"We don't need to hit every single bar," Jody muttered.

"You're just mad because the beer was better at a place named Hunter," Mark smirked.

"You're drunk."

"Am not," Mark protested. "Hey, we already questioned people at the churches. We needed to check the bars. That's where the majority of the violence took place."

Jody sighed. "Yeah, I know."

Mark eyed the older woman. He could tell Jody was frustrated and tired. After a long drive yesterday, they'd spent several hours with Donna going over the police reports before finally turning in far after midnight. And now they'd been questioning the Stillwater residents for hours. Interviewing people took patience, time and skill, especially if one wanted to be casual about it. They'd already trolled the riverfront for information, visited several churches, and were now going through the many bars and pubs. Maybe they needed a break. "There are two medical facilities here. Why don't I check out Lakeview Hospital, and you take the Stillwater Medical Group. Then let's get dinner at Brick and Bourbon. We can check out Whiteys Saloon and the Velveteen Speakeasy before calling it a night."

"Yeah," Jody ran a hand over her face.

"We don't need to hit every bar and dive here. We've already check out five. If we do three more tonight, we don't need to go to any more. The accounts we've heard already have been similar."

"I know. It's just … there's something missing here."

"Like?"

Jody made a frustrated sound. "I'm not sure. There are gaps in people's recollection of the events."

"Like the violence just starting with no true inciting event or action."

Nodding, Jody said, "It's like two men are drinking amicably at the bar, and one suddenly turns and punches the other. It doesn't make sense."

"You think the town was drugged somehow? Something put in the water, maybe?"

"No. If that were the case there would be a ramping up period, where people were more irritable, then arguments everywhere, then possible violence. There would also be some people who would have gotten sick from whatever they'd ingested. This was exactly like Donna said; a sudden outbreak of violence, then an equally sudden cessation."

Mark nodded slowly. "Maybe we're asking the wrong questions."

Jody looked over and frowned.

"We've been asking what happened, who started the violence, how it started. Maybe we should ask who was watching."

Jody's eyes widened. "We need to head back to the station, see how much surveillance footage Donna's collected."

"Let's go, then," Mark stated.

Shaking her head, Jody said, "After we check out the hospital and medical center. There could be as much information there as anywhere else, maybe more."

"All right, then we're having dinner before we head back to the station house. I'm hungry."

Jody smiled. "Yeah, me too."

"Then let's get to it."

A thick mist rolled into Carthage, Mississippi. It covered the small town in misty whiteness, obscuring buildings and homes. The town wasn't known for fog at any time during the year. However, if it were going to present, it would not be this time of year.

Carthage was a small town with a little over five thousand people. But the residents had learned to stay inside, especially at night. Odd happenings had become commonplace over the last three months; eerie sounds in the night, sightings of glowing eyes, freak electrical storms despite the lack of rain or any storm clouds, and two people had gone missing. No one was tempted to test the boundaries of their fortune. Those odd happenings were what brought Joel Neubridge and Daniel Rios to town.

Joel's truck moved slowly up the darkened streets toward the outer edges of town. "You see anything?"

"Nada," Daniel murmured, his eyes sweeping the streets and the forest just ahead.

"There's not one person on the streets at…"

"Nine o'clock."

"That's not natural, even in a small town."

"Someone would be out, even if it's only the town drunk," Daniel agreed.

Joel applied the brakes and the truck slowed to a stop. He stared around, frowning. "This isn't the time of year for fog."

"No, es escalofriante,"

"Yeah, creepy about covers it." Joel signed. "Well, we got two black dogs in the neighborhood. We gunna take them out?"

Daniel eyed their surroundings. "It looks like the fog is thickening. We won't be able to see anything."

Joel nodded, leaning forward and staring out through the front windshield. "Seeing is definitely better than not seeing."

"Taking out two black dogs is tough," Daniel stated. "I don't like it that we can't see more than ten feet in this muck. I'd rather see their glowing eyes from a distance rather than right in my face."

After a moment, Joel turned to his partner and asked, "¿Esperamos y nos levantamos?" (Shall we wait and get backup?)

Daniel sighed. He didn't like going on a hunt and not getting the job done. But the fog was so thick now, they couldn't see much of anything. Black dogs were spectral, large and difficult to kill. They weren't all that common, and not many hunters had come up against them before. It had taken him and Joel two weeks of research and preparation to ready themselves for the task of taking on these devil dogs. But conditions had changed. Ghostly dogs were one thing, but taking them on when they had cover in a haze of mist? "Sí. We wait."

Joel nodded slowly. He'd just put the truck into gear when something dark zoomed past the front bumper, close enough to skin metal. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, leaning back into his seat. Startled, he turned to Daniel and asked, "You see that?"

Daniel's eyes were wide as saucers. "I think so. Dark, close to the ground. Rápido."

"Damn right it was fast," Joel commented, his eyes staring into the distance. "That weren't no black dog."

"No, that thing had an engine."

"I've never seen a vehicle that fast or low to the ground."

"I don't think we need to give chase," Daniel observed.

"We couldn't anyway, not in the truck. Think they live around here?"

"In Carthage? Nothing is fast here; the people or their cars."

Joel looked back around and smirked. "Your Spanish disappears when you're scared."

Daniel chuckled. "I stop trying to teach you Spanish when I'm caught off guard, not scared."

Joel gave an affirming nod. "Gracias, guardando la lecciónes para más tarde (thank you for saving the lessons for later)."

Daniel shook his head, smiling. "How about we find a place to stay in Jackson. It's only an hour away. We'll get a room and give Caleb a call, see if there's anyone nearby to give us a hand. For some reason," he looked out into the darkness, "I don't think this fog is going anywhere soon."

"Maybe we should look into the fog too," Joel suggested. Putting the truck in reverse, he slowly turned around and drove back down the deserted street and out of Carthage.

.

Dark, solemn eyes watched the truck disappear into the mist. There were dangers surrounding this small hamlet, dangers those two men had come to eliminate. He'd seen their kind before; warriors that protected the innocent. Their intentions were noble … as were his. It would be better for them if they did not return.

TBC

Thank you for reading, and to those who left reviews!