Sorry for the delay, but I had a bad attack of writer's block. However, I've worked through where I want this story to go, and as it turns out, the final story will be much longer than I originally planned.
To that end, so that people aren't waiting too long between updates, I'm breaking this up into parts. Part 1 here will be about 5-6 chapters long, then I'll start up a second part later on, letting everyone take a break in between. There should be three parts when I'm done.
Special thanks to Faye Dartmouth and geminigrl11 for being excellent betas and my friend Tamar for helping me flesh the idea out for this storyline.
I own nothing. Reviews craved.
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Chapter 4: The Darkening Road
Ten days after Sam's disappearance….
"Joshua! Down!" Dean shouted over the din. The big black man ducked and Dean turned his weapon on the zombie that had outflanked them. It took ten rounds to knock it off its feet.
"Damn, boy, stop trying to save bullets---they're on sale at Wal-Mart this week!" Joshua White shouted while reloading his AR-15.
"What do you want me to do? Spray lead all over the street?" Dean asked testily, picking off another zombie that was slipping and sliding towards a parked car on his right.
"When they get that close to me?" Joshua shouted back. "Yes!"
Dean glanced over his shoulder. Bobby and his truck were waiting just across the bridge, ready for them to make a fast getaway if things went south. The town's few remaining sheriff's deputies were also guarding the other side.
Turning his eyes forward again and seeing about one-third of the fifty-odd zombies on the street advancing towards them, Dean figured things had gone about as south as they possibly could.
The other two-thirds of the undead army were making good time getting out of Bobby's grease trap. Too good. What was worse, the fire-throwing demon didn't seem to have any trouble at all walking through the grease, and was moving towards them with a sneer on his face. Bastard.
"We're almost there! Just a few more feet!" Dean shouted, ducking behind another car to avoid the small fireball hurled his way. He was actually starting to feel pretty good about their chances of escape, when he heard an ominous click from Joshua's rifle.
"This one's out," Joshua said calmly, tossing the AR-15 and reaching for his backup handgun. Dean frowned.
Well, crap...
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That morning
Sam was moving toward him, stumbling as if disoriented or hurt. He almost made it. Would have, too, if the dark nighttime air around him hadn't coalesced into a cloudy figure with claws for hands and yanked Sam's feet out from under him.
Dean tried to move. Tried to help. He needed to get to Sam before this thing hurt him. He couldn't move. It was a struggle even to watch.
Sam clawed the ground wildly, trying to escape from whatever it was. The loose rocks of the road cut into his palms, slicing skin. Dean could see bloody handprints being left behind as Sam was dragged further away.
"DEAN!!"
The black cloud closed in and---
Dean woke with a start, panting, with sweat drenching his shirt. He grimaced, forcing himself to look around. It took a few seconds for his brain to figure out where he was.
He had tossed and turned on the bed in Bobby's guest room all night. He wasn't sure whether it was the noticeably empty bed across the room that kept disturbing him, or the nightmares that plagued him whenever he closed his eyes. He kept seeing Sam in his dreams, being pulled off of that gravel road into the nothingness beyond.
It was so intense that he never managed to get past that part to whatever happened next. He got occasional glimpses as he woke up, seeing his little brother caged or strung up somewhere, but he rarely got that far before bolting upright in bed, sweating profusely.
He hadn't slept through the night in almost a week. One attempt at using sleeping pills, at Ellen's suggestion, resulted in him spending an entire night dreaming about Sam and dark, terrifying shapes, over and over again. Dean refused to try the pills again.
Once the sun peeked above the trees outside, Dean gave up even the pretense of sleep and threw the covers back. Joshua was arriving that morning to help them look for Sam. Might as well be up when he gets here….
He'd just gotten to his feet when a sharp, overpowering pain exploded in his head.
He was driving the Impala, passing a graveyard. All of the plots were dug out and empty...
A man in a black duster walked casually down a street, throwing balls of fire from his hands, blasting the windows out of old brick and wood buildings...
A bridge leading into town...
A smear of red blood, defacing a wooden sign that read WELCOME TO ST. OLAF...the population number was replaced with a bloody zero...
Dean clutched his head and cried out, his knees going out from under him and sending him face-first into the floor...
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"What happened?" Bobby asked as he guided Dean to a seat in the kitchen.
"I...I saw something..." Dean mumbled woozily. His head was pounding in the aftermath of…whatever had happened to him.
"In your room?"
"N-no...in my head. I think it was a vision..." Dean stuttered out, rubbing his head against the splitting headache.
"A vision? Like the time…like when Sam was missing before?" Bobby asked cautiously, searching for some Advil in the pantry.
Dean thought about it. The vision had felt about the same as when Andy projected to him from Cold Oak. Sam had told him about it afterwards. As distress signals went, it was certainly original. He would have expected no less from Sam. He just wished that vision had come a few minutes sooner. He turned his attention back to Bobby, who was eyeing him warily from across the room.
"Yeah, I think so. It feels the same."
The question was: who was sending him this one? Another psychic? Sam hadn't shown this ability---at least, not to his knowledge. He gratefully took the headache pills when Bobby came back.
"Great. That's all we need. Now you're becoming psychic," Bobby grumbled. When Dean just glared back, he relented. "Well, don't keep me in suspense. What did you see?"
"Uh...a town, Saint...uh...Olaf. Saint Olaf. There was a man there...he was throwing freakin' fireballs from his hands. And a graveyard with all the graves dug up," he looked up into Bobby's frowning face. "I think a demon is going to destroy this town..."
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It took a while for them to find it on the map. Saint Olaf was a small---incredibly small---hamlet in southeastern Minnesota. Population was less than 400, but the town had been there since the early 1700s. As far as he and Bobby could tell, there was nothing of particular value---supernatural or otherwise---in the remote township.
Dean wondered why demons would bother with a place so unpopulated and isolated. Hell, if the map was accurate, there was only main road into town---apparently over the bridge he'd seen in the vision.
Joshua's voice pulled Dean from his thoughts. "So…you gonna tell me what's going on? Or do I have to corner Bobby?"
Dean glanced at him from the passenger seat, suddenly wishing he'd driven the Impala. He had nothing against Joshua; he just would have preferred to ride alone. He turned his gaze back to the bumper of Bobby's truck, which was up ahead of them.
"What do you mean? I told you. A demon's going to trash this town."
Joshua didn't take his eyes off the road. "I mean about what Sam did."
Dean grimaced, slamming his hand down onto the door in frustration. "Don't you think I'd tell you if I knew? I'm going out of my mind! It's been ten days, Joshua!"
The larger man returned Dean's glare. "Yeah, ten days since your time was supposed to be up. Now, thank God you got out of that deal, but Sam had to have done something big---"
"I don't know what he did. All I know is he found a way to kill the crossroads demon," Dean replied irritably. It was the truth. Dean had been unconscious. Well…dead, really. I guess. He hadn't seen anything.
"And he got dragged off, apparently kicking and screaming. I got that much from Bobby. But, you know something else, Dean. That crappy-ass poker face of yours might fool Sammy and everyone else, but not me. You know something."
Actually, it doesn't fool Sam much…. Dean thought ruefully. He stared at Joshua's profile for a long moment, then told the truth. "I think Sam made a deal of his own. I don't know when, or for what…but I think he's done something really stupid."
Joshua was silent for a moment, staring out the van's windshield. "Maybe. Or, he might be dead, Dean. I'd hate to think it…but…."
Dean shook his head, then returned his gaze out the window. "He's not. I can feel it."
The conversation ended when Joshua's CB crackled, just as the outskirts of Saint Olaf came into view. The first landmark Dean noticed was an old wooden church, set off of the road and surrounded by some sort of circular garden.
Bobby's voice came through the speaker. "There's the town. Where to now, Dean?"
Dean took the mike and hit the send button. "Let's head through town first. That cemetery I saw should only be a block or two from here." He could already see a grove of trees past the few buildings that probably marked its edge.
There was little or nothing of interest going on in the town as they crossed the small bridge and drove down what appeared to be the main street. The lack of something actually seemed more ominous. Thinking unhappily of River Grove, Dean asked the obvious question, "Where is everybody?"
There wasn't a soul moving on the streets, but there were a few parked cars. Some of the windows were dark, and even the ones with lights on were clearly empty. Most of the windows were dark, though, and even the ones with lights on were clearly empty. Some of the doors were standing open, revealing cleaned-out, deserted spaces.
Farther down the street, Dean saw a few more substantial signs of life, but they weren't encouraging. Several people could be seen boarding up the windows and barricading the doors of some of the shops. They weren't wasting any time, either.
"That's always a good sign," Joshua muttered, watching the people work as they passed. Dean frowned.
Moving on, they came to a wrought-iron fence that marked the edge of the town's large cemetery. Dean had wondered, when researching this place, why a town with such a small population had so much space for burying the dead. Apparently, from what they'd found, this cemetery served about four towns.
Ahead of them, at the gated entrance, he saw four police cars lined up along the side of the road. Another ominous sign. A burned out, smoldering hulk of a car stood at the side of the road a little further up. The sound of gunfire could be heard clearly through the windows of the van, and Dean caught sight of a half-dozen sheriff's deputies taking cover behind the cars and unloading on…something inside the cemetery.
Dean frowned and again stated the obvious. "I'd say whatever we're looking for is already here."
Bobby's truck lurched to a stop just before the line of police cars. Joshua pulled alongside. Their arrival had been drowned out by the gunfight. Dean rolled the window down at Bobby's gesture.
"So, what now?" Bobby asked. "You're still a wanted man, Dean."
Dean craned his neck out the window, trying to see what the cops were firing so wildly at. He didn't see anyone, but he did see a ball of fire---a ball of fucking fire---about the size of a basketball lance out of the cemetery and plow into one of the parked cars. A middle-aged man, whose uniform was more decorated than the others, called for everyone to get away from the burning automobile. Dean figured that guy was the sheriff.
Unfortunately, the sheriff wasn't as quick to fall back as the others, and the car's explosion knocked him off his feet. The deputies were too busy dodging another flung fireball to help their boss.
That's when the source of the attack came into view. A balding, gray-haired man, wearing all black clothes under a black duster---and looking for all the world to Dean like the creepy old bad guy in Phantasm---strolled closer to the gates.
Tossing out flaming bombs with his bare hands.
Laughing when a deputy caught one in the leg had to be put out by his comrades.
Dean recognized the man's clothes and weapon of choice from the vision.
Then the man, undoubtedly possessed, turned his attention on the downed sheriff.
"Shit!" Dean hissed, not needing a vision to tell him what was going to happen next. He'd be damned if he was just going to sit and watch.
He jumped from van and took off toward the endangered sheriff. He covered the forty or so feet between them in record time, snatching the slightly shorter man in a rolling tackle as another fireball slammed into the pavement where they'd just been.
He hadn't realized that he'd closed his eyes until he heard the clicks of about four guns somewhere over his head. Dean opened them to find four of the deputies aiming their weapons at him. Their expressions varied from surprise, to suspicion, to outright terror. Slowly, he released the sheriff and held his hands out in surrender.
"It's okay, fellas…" the older man said as he waved them back. He crouched behind the car they'd landed beside. "You just saved my life, kid. Thank you. Excuse the rudeness, but I gotta ask, who the hell are you and what are you doing here?"
"Dean…and I thought you could use some help," Dean replied with a smirk.
Another fireball flew over their heads, causing the sheriff to duck behind the car. "Don't see how you can help with this crazy shit, son…."
Dean pushed himself up so that he could see over the car's hood. "You'd be surprised. Let me guess, you've hit him, but he won't go down?"
The sheriff frowned, clearly curious as to why he should share anything with a stranger, but then he made up his mind and nodded once. "Only about ten times. It's like he's bullet-proof. I'd thought he was wearing a vest, but you can see the blood."
Squinting, Dean could see that it was true. The old man's shirt was drenched in blood. Whoever the poor guy was, he wasn't going to live through an exorcism. "You know him, Sheriff…?"
"Nyland. Charlie Nyland. And yeah, he's the groundskeeper here. We got a call from one of my men…said Old Willie there was doing something to the plots, digging them all out---"
"Willie?" Dean asked with a bemused snort. "Groundskeeper Willie?" That was awesome. He hoped the guy was Scottish like the Simpsons character. That'd make his friggin' week.
Nyland rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored the remark. "Then we heard something about a flamethrower. By the time we got here, my man was gone. That burning car was all that was left."
From where they were crouched, Dean could see the first few rows of plots were indeed dug out. And, as though that wasn't bad enough, the holes weren't empty. Human-shaped things were working their way up onto the level ground. Most of them were little more than bones and leather-like flesh, so they were having a hard time extricating themselves.
Even from where Dean was, he could see the grass rapidly turning brown, and the nearest trees were losing their leaves. The ground was rotting around the moving corpses.
Zombies. Great….
The sheriff grimly noticed what Dean was staring at. "Yeah. I know. I saw them too."
Dean was about to answer when one of the deputies fired off three rounds in the demon's direction. He crooked his thumb at the gun. "You aren't gonna stop him with those. You and your men need to fall back before he comes over that fence, or he's gonna kill all of us."
Sure enough, the groundskeeper was moving towards the iron gates. Sheriff Nyland grabbed Dean's shoulder. "What is he? I've heard of people hopped up on drugs…but this is unreal!"
Dean blew a frustrated breath out between his teeth. It was music time. "He's possessed. There's a demon inside him."
In another time and place, he would have laughed when all of the deputies' heads snapped toward him in unison, each man wearing a stunned expression. Only one deputy spoke.
"That's the craziest fucking thing I've ever heard! What are you, high?"
Nyland silenced the man with a gesture. "I've been a cop for thirty years. I've never seen anything like this." He shrugged. "Guys, I don't have any better ideas. Willie has a dozen holes in him and is throwing fire at us."
The deputies seemed to reluctantly accept the logic, which pleased Dean, since he didn't want to go ten rounds on the "that can't be real" front just now. They didn't have the time.
The demon reached the gate and the bars swung open with a squeal. Both of the possessed man's hands were glowing, and tendrils of flame were leaping up and swirling in the air around them.
All six crouched men scrambled backwards as the demon released the bolts of flame. Two of the sheriff's patrol cars exploded, one of them flipped over by the force. Willie strolled silently around the burning wreckage and flames started swirling around his hands again as he came around to face them. Dean pushed the sheriff back towards the other side of the road, but he knew they weren't going to get away fast enough.
The explosive blast of a shotgun filled the air to the right and behind them. Willie clutched the steaming hole in his chest and staggered back. Another shot forced him to back away from the cowering deputies. Dean snapped his head around to find Joshua standing a few feet back, near the first car Dean had been behind, 12-gauge in hand.
Willie raised his hand toward Joshua, but Bobby appeared beside him, pumping two more shotgun shells into the possessed man. Steam rose from the groundskeeper's chest, and he released an unearthly howl of pain before retreating back towards the cemetery gates.
The sheriff looked up at the hunters in astonishment. "He's hurt by shotguns?"
"When the shells are packed with holy water, he is," Joshua explained tersely. He pulled Dean to his feet, then bent to help the sheriff. "Nice town you got here."
"Was nicer yesterday," Nyland replied. "So, holy water can kill that thing?"
"No," Dean shook his head as he stepped to the sheriff's side. "Just hurts like hell. He'll come back angrier."
As if on cue, the sound of furious chanting drifted from the cemetery. Dean strained to hear the words, but couldn't quite make them out. It sounded vaguely like ancient Greek, but intertwined with another language that Dean didn't recognize.
Sam would have…. The growing depression this afternoon's action had distracted him from threatened to pull him under again. The only thing that kept him going was believing that Sam had sent him here---sent him for a reason. He needed to stay focused and figure out what it was.
Unfortunately, he didn't have time for that now. The continuing chant was causing more graves to churn up. The first few rows were now uncovered, and more of the reanimated bodies were clawing their way up out of the ground.
Dean wasn't alone in his observations. Nyland saw the same thing, and turned gravely to Dean. "Keeps getting better. You fellas seem to understand this stuff. Got any ideas?"
Dean bit his lip and looked to Bobby and Joshua, finding them staring at him as well. He and Sam had been the first hunters to actually tackle a bona fide zombie in years. Thankfully, the vicious little bastards were rare.
"The zombies won't be easy to stop if they get loose. They're almost mindless killing machines. Love to snap necks, slit throats…all kinds of fun. The only thing we found to kill them was nailing them back into their grave beds."
Sheriff Nyland glanced to Willie and back. "If they get out of the graveyard and into the town…it could be a slaughterhouse. Everybody's locked up, tried to prepare themselves. But they've got no defense against this."
"How much do the people in town know?" Dean asked. He remembered seeing those people boarding up windows up the street. Mass panic wouldn't be pretty if it broke out here.
"Word travels fast," Nyland answered. "But, all they know is some wacko with a flamethrower was fighting with us. Hell, I heard a few of the calls on the way here. Couple people think it's a terrorist attack."
Dean pursed his lips in thought. "That might be helpful. Easier to believe at any rate. You gotta map?"
Nyland pointed to the remaining car. "In the seat. You got something in mind?"
"Maybe." Dean moved over to the parked car and grabbed the small, laminated town map. He scanned it quickly, trying to ignore the rising volume of the chanting coming from up the hill. Most of the town was ringed by blue, including the graveyard, and Dean remembered the river they'd crossed coming in.
"This water?"
Nyland looked and nodded. "Streams, plus the bigger creek that runs under the bridge. They connect further out. I think it was a natural perimeter back in the days when the town was founded. Easy to defend against Indian raids."
"Might be a good defense today, too," Dean mused. "You got any priests in town?" When Nyland nodded, he continued. "Find 'em and get them to the streams. Have them bless the water. We gotta keep them demon here so we can exorcise it. Holy water surrounding the town should work nicely."
Nyland narrowed his eyes. "Okay…once he's boxed in, then what?"
Dean glanced at the demon, who was busily chanting and raising more zombies. They needed to get moving before things got any uglier. "Leave that to us. Just get those priests to the streams. Then try and get some of the townspeople out if you can. Limit the damage these things are gonna do."
Nyland considered that, following Dean's glance to the demon. "All right. The water's shallow on the west side of town. We can start getting people across and away from the--- Well, away from them."
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As the sheriff rounded up his remaining deputies and started barking orders, Dean turned to Bobby and Joshua. They didn't look happy.
"I noticed," Joshua began sourly, "that you didn't mention how we're gonna stop those zombies."
Dean shrugged, feeling a smidgeon of excitement. He hadn't felt like this in weeks. "I can't think of everything."
Bobby was eyeing the demon. "Dean, that zombie you two took out last year…wasn't there a symbol carved into the coffin?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Well, this guy isn't stopping to carve anything; he's using a spoken spell."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "So, maybe if we take him out, whatever hold he has over them breaks?" Bobby just shrugged. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
"All he has to do is send those zombies after us," Joshua pointed out grimly.
Bobby perked up, suddenly, turning toward his truck. "Had an idea about that. Let me get my grease gun."
Dean and Joshua glanced at each other, confused. The junk dealer returned just as Joshua shrugged, plunking down a decidedly mundane-looking gas-powered, airless paint sprayer. Joshua just stared at it. "What the hell is that?"
"When Dean and Sam had trouble cornering that zombie last year," Bobby explained, "I started thinking about ways to slow them down. I found this."
"You're gonna spray paint in their eyes?" Dean asked, still not connecting the dots.
Bobby rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Dean, you need to get more sleep. Grease. We spray grease down in front of them. This stuff's ten times more slippery than ice. Spray the road and they'll be falling all over themselves. Hell, worst case, maybe we can ignite the grease and burn them all up."
Dean glanced back at the cemetery, where the demon had about fifteen zombies clawing their way onto solid ground. They needed to do something now. Inspiration struck.
"You got another one of these?" he asked, pointing to the grease gun.
"Yeah, got a second one in the truck."
"All right, then. I think I know what to do," Dean said. "We just need to get his attention."
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It took about an hour for Bobby to get everything ready. Dean sat impatiently in the back of Joshua's van, the doors open, listening to the demon's constant chanting. Fortunately, it was a slow process. The demon hadn't made much progress.
Ten more graves had been opened, and the newcomers were clawing their way out of the ground. The zombies already reanimated milled about near the demon, as if awaiting instructions. Dean hoped that meant Bobby was right, and taking out the possessed groundskeeper would cut their strings.
He turned his eyes to Joshua's impressive cache of weaponry.
Joshua's arsenal rivaled John Winchester's. It always had. Dean and Sam had always figured that their Dad was competing with him. Probably just the fact that Joshua was ex-Army to Dad's ex-Marine. Even with their chaotic lives after the fire, inter-service rivalry had still been a big thing to Dad. The Army-Navy game was one of the few things the man had made time to watch on TV. Apparently, that rivalry had extended to Joshua, their resident ex-Army ranger.
"Geez, Joshua…you got an AR-15 back here," Dean exclaimed. The pistol-sized weapon was basically a stripped down military M-16 rifle, reduced so it could be carried in one hand. Dean examined the gun more closely. "Dude…this is full-auto. You can't buy 'em like that."
Joshua grinned, pleased by the admiration, though not taking his eyes off the growing army of undead. "Upgrade kit. It's amazing what you can find on the Internet."
"All right, Dean. I'm in position," Bobby's voice filtered through the CB. Joshua handed the mike to Dean, who was crouched in the back of the van.
"Okay. Here goes. Just make sure you get it covered up before we get to you. We won't be long."
Dean pulled the exorcism rite he'd copied from The Key of Solomon out of his bag and unfolded the paper. It was a special exorcism, one that didn't require the target to be trapped or restrained. As long as Dean stayed in line of sight, he could exorcise the demon anywhere. The demon didn't even have to hear the words, so long as Dean could see it.
He was counting on the demon figuring that part out. So long as it didn't figure out why Dean didn't finish reading it, and got mad enough to follow them to Bobby.
Glancing at the page to find his place, he started reciting, glancing up to gauge reaction. As he reached the end of the first stanza, he saw the demon whirl around to look at them, fury contorting the possessed old man's face. Another stanza had the demon staggering back, assaulted by the words that it could feel but not hear. Dean had no doubt that, by now, the demon knew what was causing its discomfort.
Abruptly, he recalled that Sam usually performed the exorcisms. His little brother was always better at Latin. Dean squelched that distracting line of thought and focused on reading.
He was halfway through the next section when he got the reaction he'd been waiting for. The demon's chanting stopped, and it raised its arm toward Dean and the van. The zombies that were milling around turned---eerily, all at the same time---and about a dozen started moving down the hill toward the gate.
The majority had been created from older, more decomposed corpses, and Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief at that. The zombie he and Sam hunted was "fresh," and moved pretty fast, if clumsily. Seeing the almost classic skeletal zombies here--- This ought to be a pushover….
Dean kept reading, watching the advancing zombies carefully. His hand tightened around the handle to Bobby's grease gun. When they shuffled and lunged their way onto the road, he raised the sprayer and shot a powerful stream of grease onto the pavement. Two sweeps left a large puddle across the width of the road, ten feet behind the van.
The undead attackers didn't recognize it as a threat, as expected, and didn't even slow down. They'd spread into a rough double line, and when the first few reached the unthreatening looking puddle, they went down like bowling pins.
A few managed to yelp, with whatever remained of their vocal cords.
The second row reacted in confusion, but kept moving, and within a second they too were writhing around on the super-slick road, unable to get back to their feet.
One managed to scramble over the backs of its fallen comrades. It made it to the other side of the puddle and kept approaching. Dean dropped the sprayer and raised his 9mm. The first three shots did little, but the fourth jolted it hard enough for it to stagger back, where its foot caught the edge of the puddle. It too went down.
A triumphant grin broke Dean's face. Bobby, you're a genius! Joshua's whoop of excitement seconded Dean's unspoken praise. Dean read some more from the exorcism. It was an ancient, long-winded rite, which was another reason Dean had picked it. The longer the better, since he needed to keep this demon's focus on him.
He didn't have long to wait. An unearthly roar of rage echoed across the cemetery, as the demon sent another wave of zombies at them. This group was more agile, less decrepit, and worse, they made straight for the low iron fence, climbing over it---and each other---in their angry rush to reach the van.
Dean sprayed another swath of ground, creating a moat around the back of the van. "Joshua! Move up!"
The other hunter didn't question him, and the van rolled forward a few feet, leaving more room between them and their wannabe attackers. Dean took aim and blew the kneecaps off one zombie that was trying to angle around the puddle. Bullets didn't do much beyond slow them down, but since a lot of these things were---literally---falling apart with age, the bullets could sever limbs.
The demon was moving their way. Apparently, he was angry enough to join in the fun this time. Good, Dean thought. Just what it needs to do….
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It was only a five minute drive from the cemetery to the bridge. Maybe less. There was little chance of Dean's plan failing that fast.
But it did.
All they had to do was lead the demon to the bridge where Bobby was waiting. The zombies were a problem, but Dean figured they could hold off the demon's undead troops long enough to lure then all through the town. He'd unloaded three of his handguns and one of Joshua's AR-15s doing just that.
They had retreated down the street, letting the zombies and their controlling demon get close, then tie them up in another quickly sprayed grease trap, all the while luring the demon closer to the bridge by continuing the exorcism.
They were three-quarters of the way there, Joshua speeding up for about half-a-block to gain some distance, when the advance was abruptly stopped by the untimely arrival of the sheriff's last patrol car. Taken by surprise, Joshua slammed on the brakes to keep from ramming the sheriff's vehicle. He didn't have time to warn his passenger.
Dean was thrown out of the open rear doors, clear of the van, landing five feet away and scattering bullets and shotgun shells everywhere. His gun went flying.
Fortunately, they hadn't been moving that fast, so Dean got away with just a few scrapes and a torn shirt.
But, the delay cost them valuable time, and the advancing zombies were moving clear of Dean's latest grease trap by the time Joshua had scrambled out of the van.
Struggling to his feet, trying to shake off his abrupt meeting with the asphalt, Dean looked up in time to see the demon coming through his crowd of stumbling and slipping henchmen. Old Willie was smugly grinning, spinning another fireball out of his left hand. Until now, they'd managed to stay far enough ahead so that the demon never had a clear shot.
Dean knew he wasn't going to have time to react. The flaming ball was already glowing brightly, and he saw the old man raise his arm, ready to hurl it Dean's way.
He never got to see the rest. From his crouched position on the road, Dean felt something heavy crash into his side, rolling him to the side of the two-lane street and knocking the wind out of him. He skidded to a halt, behind a parked car, feeling the sharp pain of a rock imbedding itself into his shoulder blade. The faint heat of the fire ball traveled over his feet and harmlessly blasted the road about ten feet away from him.
Coughing, he looked up, half-expecting to see Joshua. Instead, he saw Sheriff Nyland looking down at him with a smirk on his face.
"I owed you one."
Dean grinned. "Thanks."
Nyland helped him to his feet, both men staying low behind the car they'd used as cover. "Looks like you've been keeping these guys busy."
"Trying to. We're leading them to the bridge," Dean whispered. "You guys get to the priests?"
Nyland nodded. "Only one. The other said he was heading to the old church to make sure it was safe. Whatever that means. I can't imagine how he could stop these things from doing whatever the hell they want, but…. Anyway, Father Beeson blessed the two creeks. Willie---or whatever's in him---is trapped in town now."
"Hey, Dean! If you two are done horsing around over there, I could use some help!" Joshua shouted from beside his stopped van. He was laying a new trap on the road with the sprayer in one hand, and firing off rounds with his AR-15 in the other. Two of the town's deputies were joining in with their service revolvers, trying to pick off some of the bad guys.
Dean slid over and retrieved his dropped paper with the exorcism scribbled on it, glancing back at Nyland. "Our friend Bobby is just over the bridge. Why don't you and your deputies head back and make sure our escape route isn't cut off?"
"What are you gonna do?" Nyland asked skeptically.
It was Dean's turn to smirk. "I'm gonna get my gun back."
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"We're almost there! Just a few more feet!" Dean shouted, ducking behind another car to avoid the small fireball hurled his way. He was actually starting to feel pretty good about their chances of escape, when he heard an ominous click from Joshua's rifle.
"This one's out," Joshua said calmly, tossing the AR-15 and reaching for his backup handgun.
Well, crap...
Joshua was down to his last gun. Dean had two more clips left for his 9mm. The road in front of them was a wreck. Several cars and a few store fronts were burning and still more cars were riddled with bullet holes. The whole street looked like a war zone.
And they still had to get across the bridge.
Dean looked back, seeing Bobby waiting impatiently on the other side, near the sheriff and two of his deputies. The older hunter had left a large puddle of grease, from his second sprayer, across the span of the bridge. Getting across it to safety was gonna be fun. There was just one last move to make before he and Joshua could withdraw.
"Cover me!" Dean shouted, pulling the grease sprayer from where he'd been wearing it over his shoulder. He ducked under Joshua, who was firing on two more zombies that had gotten close.
Starting on his left, Dean sprayed the grease in a rough semi-circle, creating a slippery, five-foot wide moat around the mouth of the bridge. The sprayer finally ran out just as he closed the circle.
"That's it. Let's make a run for it!" Dean shouted, discarding the now empty tool.
They took off, reaching the bridge just as the zombies collapsed in the greasy moat left for them. Running, both hunters dropped to their sides as they reached the large patch of grease on the bridge, sliding like baseball players. Dean remembered playing a little in high school. Well, for one year, anyway. One of the few times they'd stayed in one town for the whole school session.
Once across, Bobby and Nyland helped the men to their feet, a feat made difficult by their now slippery boots. Dean looked behind them. The remaining zombies were tangled up at the other end, but the demon---as expected---wasn't. It was just stepping onto the bridge. It hesitated upon seeing them.
Dean waved at it, shouting and waving the exorcism rite in the air. "You still wanna piece of me? Come closer so I can kick your ass!"
His taunts had the desired effect. The demon snarled and strode forward angrily, spinning two balls of flame above its outstretched hands. A murderous gleam lit eyes that were focused solely on Dean.
It kept walking as it reached the last grease trap, ignoring it and not slowing down. As with the others, the demon had no trouble, somehow walking across without losing traction. It reached the other side of the puddle, about ten feet from Dean's side of the bridge, and froze. It reacted as if hitting an invisible wall.
Dean grinned, satisfied. "Whoops. Look before you leap, dude…."
The demon cocked its head, confused, then dropped its eyes to the bridge. Dean could see the realization dawning on the possessed man's face. Willie hurled the fireballs down, at the bridge.
The grease caught fire, and through the puddle, the pentagram encircled runes of a devil's trap glowed a fiery orange. The demon-created flames couldn't touch it.
A few of the deputies let out a victorious yell. Dean didn't indulge in it.
Without warning, the demon erupted like a geyser from the old man's mouth and eyes. The black cloud circled around and down, blasting against the devil's trap. But even in its natural form, it couldn't escape, and simply roiled like a living fog along the circle.
Released, the old groundskeeper's body, no longer animated by its occupant, slumped over and dropped to the ground. Behind him, Dean could see the remaining zombies dropping like puppets with cut strings. Bobby's theory was right, whatever power the demon had used to reanimate the corpses didn't continue after its capture. The trap rendered the creature powerless---at least outside of the circle.
Dean sighed, relieved. Nyland stepped up beside him and motioned to Willie's unmoving body. "Is he…?"
"Yeah," Dean nodded sadly. "He was already gone back at the cemetery. I'm sorry."
Nyland shook his head. "We didn't know. Christ, Willie…."
Dean settled against the edge of the bridge, resting. Bobby and Joshua stepped over to him.
"Good work, kiddo," Joshua smiled. "Your old man would be proud."
Dean nodded, shaking the big man's hand. "You, too."
Bobby, however, didn't look happy. "You know, we still don't know why that thing was even here. Why this town?"
The adrenaline high of the running firefight was already wearing off, and Dean's lack of sleep was catching up to him. But, they still had work to do.
"Let's ask it, then…."
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Dean rested against the tailgate of Bobby's truck, listening to Bobby and Joshua interrogate the demon on the bridge. They'd been at it for two hours, splashing holy water into the roiling black cloud, watching it steam and howl in rage.
They weren't getting anywhere. The bastard wasn't talking. And holy water wasn't nearly as effective when the demon was in its natural, fog like form. The drops tended to go right through without hurting it.
He'd tried to take part, wanted to. But, he was exhausted. Running around fighting an army of zombies, on top of nearly two weeks of sleepless nights had caught up with him. It was all he could do to stay awake.
He had no energy to fight off the wave of depression that had settled over him once the adrenaline had faded. All he could think of now was Sam. Not knowing whether his brother was alive or dead, despite the front he'd put up for Joshua. Not knowing if it was Sam who'd projected the vision that led them all to this town or something else. Not knowing why a demon would set its sights on this backwater outpost in the first place.
There were too many questions, no answers, and he couldn't muster enough strength to give a damn one way or another.
He just wanted his brother back. Wanted to go back to the way things were before Sam had been taken to Cold Oak. Before Sam had been stabbed. Killed. Before he'd been desperate enough to deal with that damned crossroads demon.
Back then, all they'd been worried about was the yellow-eyed demon's next appearance, being chased by the FBI, and Sam's tragic experience with Madison. Simple things.
Dean chuckled, but felt no humor. It felt like ten years had passed since those days, instead of just one.
He was so lost in his wandering thoughts that he didn't notice the person who joined him on the truck, being snapped out of it only by the dip when the newcomer sat down beside him.
"You look troubled, son…." Father Beeson said softly. The priest had joined them to watch the interrogation, after returning from the evacuation efforts, claiming that in his fifty years of service to the Church, he'd never seen an honest-to-God demon before.
Dean figured the man should feel more lucky than left out.
"Not much you can help me with, Padre," Dean drawled quietly, watching Joshua sprinkling holy water and questioning their prisoner again.
Sheriff Nyland had stayed behind to keep an eye on things, while his deputies had blocked off the road into town so they wouldn't be disturbed. The town's population had been gathered on the other side of one of the streams they'd fled through, waiting to go back to their homes once the "terrorist attack" had been cleaned up.
Father Beeson seemed unusually calm, for a priest who'd never seen a true demon before. And, he was still watching Dean despite the young man's statement.
"Now, now, my boy. It always helps to talk to someone. No matter how big the problem seems."
Dean's mind went immediately back to Sam. His little brother was the only person he'd ever really opened up to. He glanced at the clergyman wearily. What's the harm, really?
"My brother…he's missing," Dean admitted, motioning to the captive demon. "I think those things have him. I should be looking for him, but I have no idea where to start. I don't even really know if he's still alive."
The words, just the opposite of what he'd told Joshua that morning, tasted bitter in his mouth. Dirty.
"You have to have faith," Beeson replied. The notion irritated Dean. Faith had never gotten him far.
"Faith has never really helped my family, Padre. Just kicked us in the ass. Besides, I don't think God answers prayers the way you guys claim He does." Sure hasn't answered mine….
Beeson smiled ruefully, looking over at the demon. "Oh, I don't know. When the sheriff came to us this afternoon, and told us that something we've always feared but never seen was coming, I think The Lord answered my prayers. He sent us you."
Dean huffed. "Bet you never thought you'd wake up to a zombie invasion, huh?"
The priest shook his head. "No, can't say that I have. I'm just relieved that they didn't get to the crypt."
It took a second for the man's words to register. Dean looked over sharply, eyeing the priest with suspicion, and a sudden ill feeling.
"What crypt?"
TBC