Author's Note: My plan to post a new chapter every three to four days was put on hold as a freak "winter" storm left me (and 300,000 others) without power from Thursday afternoon (I missed the show!) until around 8pm Sunday night. Maybe that was my punishment for splitting up the guys and leaving Sam in the cold dark night in my last chapter. So, it's a bit late, but here it is. The next chapter may be a bit late as well. It's hard to handwrite a story while one's fingers are numb from the cold. lol So, please bear with me. I will post again as soon as I've caught up.
While I've got your ear (or 'eyes', I guess) thanks for reading (and reviewing!)!
The Last Mile
Night had fallen by the time Sam pulled to the side of Blue Corners Road. The darkness was all consuming, as if a blanket had covered the stars and the moon. Leaving the headlights on, Sam began to set up a row of flares stretching from one side of the two lane road to the other.
Leaning against the front of the Impala, Sam tried to focus his thoughts. He had found no pattern in the recent attacks. According to the local legend, the Mustang had only appeared on the night of the first full moon. Yet over the past three weeks seven cars had been targeted. The first incident occurred a week and a half after the Winchesters' encounter. The rest were spread out at random intervals; different times on different days. Sam hoped that the ghost car would take the night off. However, given past experiences, deep down he knew better.
Sam removed his hat and wearily rubbed his forehead. He could not have been in a fouler mood. His head still felt like it had gone through the rinse cycle. He hadn't eaten anything since that one measly hamburger hours ago, hunger adding to his already intense headache. By all rights he should be under the warm covers recovering his strength. Instead he was by himself, out on some backwoods country road awaiting the possible return of a pissed off ghost car. Not to mention the fact that he was just begging to get arrested for impersonating an officer.
Already getting antsy, Sam reached into the backseat and pulled out a flashlight and his father's journal. No matter how many times he thumbed through the wrinkled pages, the amount of information his father had amassed over the years never ceased to amaze him. Yet he knew they had only scratched the surface. If he allowed himself to ponder the dark unknowns they still hadn't uncovered, he might as well give up on sleep altogether.
The midnight hour found Sam behind the wheel of the Impala, daydreaming about a steaming hot cup of caffeine. Thankfully no automobiles, real or supernatural, had come through. His cell phone had also been blessedly silent, indicating that Dean was still fast asleep.
Just when Sam had allowed himself to think the night would pass without incident, he heard the sound of a motor coming up behind him. Sam could tell by the refined sound of the motor that he was dealing with a modern car. Keeping a wary eye on the road before him, Sam got out of the Impala.
Sam pulled the brim of his hat low onto his forehead. Hopefully the darkness would aid in the masking of his youthfulness. Although it was entirely plausible to be in law enforcement at twenty-three, most people he encountered were skeptical at his identity.
Sam stood a few feet behind the flares, hefting the flashlight from one hand to the other. Another quick check showed the oncoming lane still deserted. Sam sauntered up to the driver's side as a blue Buick came to a stop.
Sam tapped on the window with his flashlight, hoping he looked more authoritative than he felt. Sam aimed the flashlight into the car as the window was lowered.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but this road is closed. You're going to have to turn around."
A woman of about forty-five stared back at him with uncertain eyes. "What's going on?"
"A large tree is blocking the road about a mile up." he answered, flashing her a dimpled smile. "Nothing to be concerned about."
The woman looked from Sam to the road ahead a few times, trying to gauge the situation. With an exaggerated sigh she rolled up the window, muttering under her breath. Sam's confidence rose a notch. She'd bought it.
The Buick executed a sloppy three-point-turn as Sam made his way back to the Impala. Moments later he was alone on the dark road. Not wanting to drain the battery any further, Sam reached in and shut off the headlights.
The last of the flares finally went out a half hour later. Sam wasn't quite prepared for the complete darkness that instantly surrounded him. He couldn't even see his own hand as he waved it in front of his face. Even the black Chevy was invisible as he leaned against the door.
Sam blew warm breath onto his cold hands before jamming them into his pockets. There was still a good five hours until sunrise. Sam fought the urge to warm up in the car. He'd be asleep the second his exhausted body hit the leather.
A quick check on his cell phone revealed no messages. Sam spent the next two hours catching up on his emails, writing to nearly everyone in his address book. By the time he sent his last one, he was back in the relative comfort of the Impala. It was turning into a boring, but pleasantly uneventful evening. Other than the Buick, only one other car had come through. Sam had initially freaked out when he saw a car coming from where the Mustang usually preyed on it's victims. It had turned out to be just an ordinary car, much to Sam's relief.
Sam wiped condensation from the windows for what seemed like the thousandth time. Unable to take the cold anymore, Sam finally gave in and turned on the heater. Instantly he was bombarded by a blast of cold air.
"Come on." Sam cursed through chattering teeth. After a few more moments of torturing her passenger, the Impala began to filter in warm air.
"Ahhh." Sam relaxed into the seat and let out a contented sigh. Despite his best efforts he could feel his eyelids droop. Reluctantly he forced himself to turn off the heater. He wasn't going to give in to the lure of sleep this far into the night.
"Come on, Sam. Just a few more hours." he said to himself. Sam opened the car door and stepped back into the frigid air. If he kept alternating between hot and cold, one little tap and Sam Winchester would crack into a million little pieces. Sam giggled as he envisioned Dean angrily sweeping miniature Sam's into a dustpan, brushing the last few stragglers off of the dashboard. Sam rubbed his hands vigorously over his face. Oh man, he was really starting to lose it.
Sam had just about opened the door when the growl of an engine froze his hand. It wasn't until he saw the beam of light in the rearview mirror that Sam realized his mistake. The noise he'd heard was not the ghost car, but a motorcycle tearing up the road. Quickly turning the car back on, Sam jogged into the middle of the road.
Sam spread his legs wide, one hand shielding his eyes while the other stretched outward as he tried to make himself as visible as possible. Sam moved the flashlight out of the cyclist's eyes as he came to a stop next to Sam.
Sam could tell he was going to have his hands full. The young man exhibited an air of defiance as he looked at Sam's badge. He took of his black helmet and rested it atop his jeanclad knee. Sam bit the inside of his lip as the kid flipped up the collar of his leather jacket in an attempt to look tough.
The kid cocked his head to the side and spoke in a tough voice. "What's the problem, officer?" he asked mockingly.
Sam bit his cheek harder to keep his laughter in. The kid couldn't have been more than nineteen years old. Sam worked to keep his face straight.
"We've got a downed tree up the road. You're going to have to find another route." Sam said.
The biker crossed his arms and glared at Sam. "And what if I don't?"
The tough guy act, though still amusing, was beginning to grate on Sam's nerves. Sam shrugged his shoulders and nonchalantly said, "Then you're going to be here a while. 'Cause you're not getting through."
"Oh really."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Come on, kid. You can turn around or we can do this the hard way. It's your choice. But no one is getting through until it's safe." He was not in the mood to take crap from this little wannabe thug.
"Then where'd he come from?" the kid smirked as he pointed a gloved hand.
Sam turned around, a knot growing in the pit of his stomach. From the bright light of the motorcycle's headlight, Sam was barely able to see the dark shape of a car far down the road. No big deal; it wasn't the first car he'd seen come down the road. Of course, this car was idling in the middle of the road…at four-thirty in the morning…with the lights off.
Sam didn't know if the car was preparing to attack, but he couldn't waste anymore time. "Listen. I don't have time to argue with you. Turn your little scooter around and go back the way you came. Now."
"Oh please." The young kid scoffed. "What're you gonna do, arrest me? Handcuff me and put me in the back of your unmarked car? What kind of cop drives a beat-up old junker like that, anyhow?"
The kid had destroyed Sam's last shred of patience. Without even thinking Sam pulled a gun from beneath his jacket. "I'm not going to tell you again. Turn around. Now."
"Whoa. Calm down, alright! I'm going!" After readjusting his helmet, the kid turned his bike around. Popping a wheelie he sped back the way he came.
Sam stood sideways in the road, feeling like he was watching a tennis match as he swiveled his head from the retreating form of the motorcycle to the cavernous darkness where the mysterious car sat. Robbed from the light of the motorcycle Sam couldn't tell if the car was still there, or even if it truly was the Mustang.
Jogging back to his own car, Sam got in and switched on the highbeams. His eyes confirmed what his gut already knew. The black Mustang sat quietly in the dark, reminding Sam of a lion waiting patiently for it's prey.
Sam thought back to their first encounter with the Mustang. It hadn't advanced towards them until Dean had shot a few rounds of rocksalt at it. So technically, it should sit dormant as a lamb unless provoked. However, Sam was not ready to take anything for granted when it came to this car. He put the Impala into drive, pushing so hard on the brake he was afraid it would go right through the floor. If another car happened upon the road, or if the Mustang were to suddenly charge him, he was ready.
For thirty-five minutes the stalemate continued; Sam in his brother's 1967 Chevy versus the driverless 1965 Mustang. The adrenaline coursing through his veins seemed to have taken the edge off of his headache at the expense of his now shaky hands. He had put the Impala back into park, but kept the engine idling just in case. Sam checked his watch, clenching his fist to still his hand. He felt as if he were in the middle of an endless night; an ongoing purgatory to atone for his sins. The pain, discomfort, the heart wrenching anxiety he had experienced on this trip were completely justified. It was a touch of what he deserved for bringing such suffering to the little town. If only he'd spent just a few more hours researching, that poor old woman would be visiting her grandkids instead of lying in a hospital bed struggling to live.
Sam was yanked out of his pity party as the Mustang's headlights suddenly turned on. The engine followed suit, beginning in a low drone that quickly crescendoed into a mighty rumble. Apparently the ghost car was ready to make it's move.
A bright reflection in the sideview mirror caught Sam's attention. Turning around, he was horrified to see two highlights coming from behind. The Mustang revved it's engine, as if acknowledging the new car's presence.
"Oh crap." Sam breathed as he connected the dots. The Mustang had marked it's next victim. Sam was the only one who stood between the innocent driver's life or death.
There was no time to play policeman now. His only hope was to distract the Mustang, pull the focus away from the newcomer. Sam slammed the gearshift into drive, peripherally seeing a white Corvette pass on his left. Gravel spewed into the trees as Sam cranked hard on the steering wheel.
All three cars were on the move. The Impala followed closely behind the sports car; the Mustang racing towards them in the wrong lane. The Corvette sent out multiple warnings, it's horn crying out while headlights flashed on and off. Swerving into the opposite lane proved fruitless as the opposing car followed suit. The ghost car was mere moments away from claiming another victim.
Sam swerved into the oncoming lane, the Impala mimicking the sports car as Sam flipped on the high beams and hit the horn. Sam began to pull ahead as the other driver slowed down. Sam jerked the wheel to the right, coming dangerously close to hitting the other car. Taking the hint the driver slammed on the brakes, fishtailing to a stop.
The intended target gone, the Mustang set it's sights on the Impala. Sam pushed aside the feeling of déjà vu as the two cars raced towards each other. Sam had to shut his eyes against the ghost car's blinding lights. Trusting his instincts, Sam pulled the steering wheel hard to the left a mere second before they were to collide.
Sam's timing apparently needed a little fine tuning. The painful screeching of metal against metal hurt Sam's ears as the Mustang scraped against the Chevy. But Sam had more pressing matters on his mind. His miss with the Mustang had sent him careening onto the gravel shoulder, straight at the thick forest surrounding the road. The steering wheel jumped beneath his hands as tried in vain to slow the vehicle.
Just as he managed to regain control of the car, the headlights shone upon an unfortunate piece of irony. A large tree lay directly in the path of the Impala, it's dead branches covering the shoulder as the trunk inclined towards the unseen base in the woods. A scream was ripped from Sam's throat as he desperately slammed on the brakes. Unable to find purchase on the gravel shoulder, the Impala began to skid. The side of the car slammed into the fallen tree a split second before Sam's head bounced off the side window.
Sam's hands slid off the steering wheel and fell limply onto the seat. He tried to bring them up to cradle his pounding head, but they would not respond. His head began to droop as the strange numbness that had affected his limbs traveled up to his neck. Forcing his head up, he was shocked to see two sets of glowing red orbs moving away from him in the night. Sam's panic increased as his befuddled brain sent him back several years to his near fatal encounter with a pack of hellhounds. Instead of the retreating taillights of the Corvette, Sam saw glowing red eyes of the deadly creatures as they prepared to attack.
The adrenaline that coursed through his veins did nothing to stave the dark void that beckoned him. Unable to resist any longer, Sam gave in to the darkness.