I promised you'd have this by Saturday, and there's an hour-and-a-half left in Saturday. Ha! Please review...
It was nearing midnight when Sam pulled the Impala to a stop on a pot-holed gravel road on the edge of the Blue River Nature Reserve. The brothers had driven straight through the day, taking turns catching naps in the passenger seat, but now both were awake and grim as they stepped out of the car. There was a cold wind blowing, stirring the leaves and setting the tree limbs to creaking. Sam shrugged into a jacket and zipped it to his chin. "I'm starting to think you're right about Wisconsin."
Dean slipped a rock-salt cartridge into the shotgun and chambered it, and swung the gun over his shoulder. "Hope you wore your long-johns, kid. This is shrinkage weather. And God knows you can't afford…" His comment was cut off by a withering look from Sam, and Dean swallowed a smile, stuffing a handful of cartridges into the pocket of his coat.
Together they set out along the tree line, EMF readers in hand. The small LED lights were dark; there was no activity on the needles. Sam scanned the trees, eyes swiveling to and fro like radar. Dean shut off his EMF and stuffed it in his back pocket, his posture dropping into a more relaxed pose. From his coat pocket he produced what appeared to be a Walkman with ear-bud headphones. He stuck one of the buds into his ear and pressed a few buttons.
"What the hell is that?" whispered Sam, glancing at the gadget.
"EVP. I rigged it with recording and a two-second-delay playback. Don't have to wait to hear any EVs that way." Sam looked at Dean with a raised eyebrow. His brother never ceased to amaze him. But Dean cut off the oncoming question with an upraised hand. "Got something." He handed the other ear-bud to Sam.
For a few seconds all Sam could hear was the quiet electronic hiss of the recorder. But then he heard what Dean had, and the hair on the back of his neck stood to attention. A small, plaintive voice, almost imperceptible. I want to go home. Sam's eyes flew to meet Dean's. "It's a kid."
"A little girl, sounds like." Dean's face was grim. "Damn, I hate when it's a kid." He ripped the headphone from his ear, the muscles in his jaw twitching. "How much you bet that some drifter killed a kid and hid the body. Now the kid is trying to get back to its parents."
"And taking some revenge while she's at it." Sam shook his head slightly.
"Great." Dean let his eyes roam the woods. "How the hell are we going to find her? Why can there never be a neon sign saying 'Hidden Corpse Here'?" He turned to look at Sam, and immediately tensed. "What?"
"There's your sign." Sam inclined his chin toward the trees. Dean followed his gaze and there she was. A tiny girl, no more than six years old, was standing just within the trees. Staring at them. Dean immediately shouldered the shotgun, sighting down the barrel, but Sam stopped him with a quiet intake of breath. "Wait."
The girl, her dark hair plastered across her cheeks in wet strands, turned away from them and began to walk farther into the trees. After a few steps, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder.
"She's trying to lead us," Sam breathed.
"Um, I'm not sure that's such a great idea, Sammy. She's been sucking the juice out of bums, remember?" Resignation was clear in Dean's tone. "I don't like shooting kid-ghosts any more than you do, but it's gotta be done."
"How else are we going to find and burn her bones, Dean?" Sam placed his fingertips on the barrel of the shotgun and pushed it down. "I don't think she's looking to hurt us, man."
Dean huffed. "Fine." He slung the shotgun back over his shoulder. "But if she comes at us with a crazy straw, it's all you."
As the boys took a few tentative steps toward the girl, she turned away from them and walked slowly into the trees, looking over her shoulder every few seconds, her eye sockets dark and empty. Dean cast a glance back to the Impala, his distrust written plainly on his face.
She was moving faster now, dodging tree roots and bracken, her steps urgent. As Sam looked closer, he could see the angry red of a ligature mark on the pale, delicate skin of her throat. Her hair was sopping wet and full of twigs and dirt. Sam felt his heart clench, angry that a child so young would be murdered and tossed aside, her family left to wonder forever what had happened to her.
Then, suddenly, she was gone. Sam heard Dean curse and kick at a rock. "Now what?"
"Her body must be somewhere in the area here." Sam lowered his head and scanned the ground, searching for any mound of earth, any sign of a shallow grave. Dean followed suit, dropping to one knee and running his hand through the ground cover.
"Shit."
Sam's head came up. "What is it?"
"You've gotta be kidding me." The tone of Dean's voice frightened Sam. He dashed to Dean's side. "A fucking cave, man." He brushed aside a tangled mass of vegetation to reveal a small hole in the rocks, only just wide enough for a grown man to fit through.
The hair on the back of Sam's neck prickled. "You don't think she's in there."
"If I was trying to stow a body? That's where I'd do it." Dean shook his head again. "Damn."
"Um." Sam felt his throat tighten and his stomach do a back flip. "So we're going in there?"
"Not much choice, brother-of-mine." Dean set his jaw. "I love my job." Sam duly noted the sarcasm.
"I don't like this," he muttered. "This isn't a good idea."
"You have a better plan, Sam? Maybe let her keep snacking on hobos until she gets tired of them and moves on to soccer moms and other kids?" Dean shook his head, pulling his heavy Mag-lite out of his jeans pocket. "Uh-uh. We have to do it."
And with that, Dean dropped to his stomach and shimmied feet-first into the darkness, leaving Sam behind, staring and trying to ignore the foreboding in his heart.