A CHILL IN THE AIR
Chapter 10
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"LOOK!"
Sam's stunned cry was lost on the wind as he stumbled backwards against the Impala's gaping trunk, dropping the sack of salt beside him.
The briefest of glances behind him showed that Dean and Bobby were still hard at work, huddled into the impala's bodywork, trying to be as small as possible against the blizzard. Swirling tendrils of mist rose up from them, dissipating into the billowing fury that raged around them as they panted harshly; partly from exertion, partly from pain, their freezing hands clawing at the massive snowdrift that had overwhelmed the Impala.
He turned slowly back, squinting through the dashing snow that stung and burned his eyes. Hoping against hope that what he had just seen would be gone; a stress induced hallucination maybe? But no; his heart lurched as he saw it again.
The creature that stood before him, he guessed, was easily as tall as he was. Cobalt blue, it stood hunched over on long grotesquely spidery legs, it's scaly feet, with equally long, crookedly jointed toes, were seemingly untroubled by the snow in which they were planted.
An odd, glassy crest adorned the top of its domed head, standing central between its oversized, pointed ears. Running down the back of its narrow neck the crest disappeared under a ragged silvery tabard it wore. Crystalline and sharp like needle-thin icicles, the tendrils that made up the crest fluttered and tinkled musically above the wind.
But the thing that Sam's pebble-wide eyes locked onto was its face.
This was a winter sprite, presumably the one that Dean had offended. This was Jack Frost himself, of that Sam had no doubt.
And Jack Frost was one barking ugly sonofabitch.
Sam knew those glinting, beady eyes would haunt him forever. Cold and brimming with spite, they peered out from a gaunt, cadaverous face. The small unblinking, malevolent eyes bored into him, displaying callous disregard as it watched him cower helplessly, squinting and shielding his face against the storm that the sprite had wrought.
Its wide, frog-like mouth curled into a thin, lipless sneer of satisfaction.
It took a slow, deliberate step toward Sam, never taking its eyes away from him, utterly unconcerned about the storm raging around it. Whereas Sam was struggling to remain upright, the force of the wind frequently taking his not insubstantial weight and tossing it aside like a wet rag, this skeletal creature moved through the howling storm with casual ease, as if it was walking through a summer breeze.
As it advanced on Sam, it lifted one of its long, stringy arms, and pointed a crooked, bony fingertip toward him. Slowly, and with infinite menace, it began to draw a slow, lazy spiral in the air.
Its cold, bitter sneer widened as it's circling fingertip picked up speed, and Sam saw the snow beginning to circle around it. Faster and faster the finger whirled until it was little more than a cobalt blur.
Insensible with shock, Sam gradually realised what it was doing.
It was whipping up a whirlwind.
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Sam watched in open-mouthed disbelief as the snow that had been spinning wildly around the creature's circling fingertip like a twinkling white catherine wheel, grew; gathering more snow, elongating and intensifying into a raging funnel of spinning ice crystals.
Slowly, the sprite withdrew it's hand and released the funnel which began to race haphazardly through the driving snowfall directly toward Sam.
Backpedalling rapidly, Sam leaned heavily into the Impala as he tried to gain footing on the glassy ground, but between them, the wind and the icy hard-packed snow underfoot left him helplessly flailing and sliding in his attempt to maintain any sort of balance.
The whirling funnel of ice consumed him as he lay helpless on the ground curling into a ball, trying to protect himself from the burning claws of the flying ice-crystals which tore at his skin.
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"SAM!"
On hearing a commotion behind him, Dean had turned to see what was going on. In shock, he staggered backward, shielding his eyes against the howling wind as he tumbled into the snowdrift.
"SAM … BOBBY," he yelled, trying to make himself heard over the wind as he scrambled helplessly in his vain attempts to escape the huge mound of snow and go to his brother's aid. All he succeeded of doing was digging himself further into the snowdrift as he repeatedly tried and failed to find his footing.
"Hey douchebag," he roared in desperate frustration; "get your goddamned skanky snow shit off my freakin' brother."
The sprite glared at him, tiny glimmering black eyes burning with malice.
"DEAN, don't make it goddamn worse," Bobby yelled from around the Impala. Labouring clumsily to his feet, he hung on to the Impala's wing mirror and tried to make his way round the car to help, but the force of the gale held him back, like walking against a brick wall.
In the meantime, Sam had slowly uncurled, daring to believe that the force of the whirlwind might be diminishing; he remembered learning at school that whirlwinds, tornadoes, whatever you called them, were very short-lived and it seemed that this one was no exception. He rose shakily to his hands and knees, shivering both from his ordeal and the crust of snow that covered him. Blinking sore, watering eyes; his face felt like it had been skinned.
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Dean recoiled from the grotesque figure as it loomed over him, working a swirling cloud of snowflakes between its fingertips like a spider spins it's gossamer. He watched in breathless dread as the spinning formless mass hardened into a vicious lightning bolt of ice which the sprite hurled up into the hillside behind him.
Dean glanced up behind him momentarily, then back at the hate-filled face before him just in time to see a spiteful smirk break out across it.
It was the last thing he saw before a thunderous avalanche of snow, dislodged from the hillside by the icy blast crashed down over Dean, knocking him off his feet and burying him under a solid wall of packed snow.
Sam clumsily hauled himself to his feet, gripping the Impala's open trunk to try to stay upright and watched in horror at the scene unfolding before him.
The creature laughed out loud; that same reedy chuckle that had tormented Sam back at the motel room, as it stood before the mountain of snow which sprawled, as deep as Sam was tall, covering both Dean and half the Impala. More and more snow and ice was tumbling down, settling higher and heavier, burying Dean deeper and more helplessly in his ice-cold tomb.
Sam looked across to see Bobby, half covered by the snowdrift, fighting to escape its advance and knew he had to act now. The time for thinking and researching was over.
If only he knew the hell what to do.
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Plastered against the Impala's frost flecked door, he gasped for breath, still soaked and numb with bone-chilling cold from his assault by the snow-devil, and stared down at the deepening snow at his feet.
It was then he saw something else at his feet.
The discarded bag of salt.
He stared at it and Bobby's words came rushing back to him; 'Jack Frost and winter are one and the same element'.
Surely it couldn't be that easy? It's never that easy.
But his mind couldn't help but think on what happens to ice and snow when salt is poured on it.
His heart raced; he had to act quickly and, well, if he was wrong it wasn't like he could piss the blue dick off any more than they already had.
Nothing to lose.
He grasped the bag of salt and stumbled forward, shouldering the sack as he skated clumsily toward the sprite on the packed ice. He felt his balance desert him, and using the momentum of his forward descent, he tumbled into the blue creature and emptied the whole bag of salt over it.
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No-one could have been prepared for the violence with which the sprite reacted. Throwing its head back, it howled. Convulsing wildly, it's scream shattered icicles hanging off nearby trees, and had Sam and Bobby curled on the floor clutching their ears in agony.
Steam and running water poured off the howling creature as it flailed and thrashed, melting before Sam's eyes, shrivelling and diminishing smaller and smaller until finally the space where it had stood was nothing but a rippling pool of vaguely blue tinted water.
Disorientated by the bizarre sight and the ringing in his ears, Sam weakly clambered to his knees, and shakily made his way over to the massive snowdrift, stumbling without a thought through the icy pool of water that had once been their nemesis.
"Bobby?"
He called out, worried that he couldn't see the older man.
"BOBBY?"
Bobby appeared, to Sam's relief, crusted with snow and peering, prairie-dog-like, over the roof of the Impala, pale-faced and shaking. He blinked as stray snowflakes fluttered down his face.
"W-what the hell was that?"
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Sam didn't hear him. He was already breaking into the vast mound of snow under which Dean was trapped, tearing at it with his bare hands. There were no indications of movement, no sound from under the huge drift, and Sam was under no illusions as to the urgency of his task.
"Dean," he yelled; "hold on dude, I'm gettin' you out."
As he dug, Sam became aware that the wind had dropped. The day was now as still and soundless as a spring morning; still enough for him to hear the crunch of boots on melting snow behind him as Bobby joined him in his frantic work.
"Dean, talk to me man; c'mon let me know you're okay …" it was a despairing chant that drove Sam's desperate work, anaesthetising the biting pain of the ice and snow against his skin.
Melting snow from the trees above their heads rained down over them; rivulets of meltwater running over the Impala's half buried hood, pooling around her tyres and the feet of the men who continued to dig relentlessly through the massive snowdrift in front of them. As they worked, they could feel the snow growing softer and wetter, sliding slickly across the Impala's sleek bodywork, forcing them to scoop, rather than dig it out.
Despite their exhaustion, the chill of their soaked bodies, aching backs and their freezing hands, the two men worked tirelessly, calling Dean's name and hoping against despairing hope that they weren't too late in reaching him
Suddenly the rapidly melting drift jolted from within, and a soaked, freezing hand burst up through its liquid surface, to clutch his brother's own raw, ice-burned hand.
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tbc