A/N: Sam and Ellen are just getting friendly but suddenly...
Howlround (Chapter V) by frostygossamer
Timeline: Huge Attraction Ice-station - Today
Interrupted in his moment with Ellen by a shout of alarm, Sam pulls on his pants, and grabbing his undershirt, runs toward the sound. He finds a crowd in the middle of Walt's room.
Walt is lying on the floor. Dead.
Behind the huddle, shirtless Sam pulls his T-shirt on over his head and notices Ellen come up behind him, now fully dressed. As he palms the strange knife back into his waistband unseen, she hands him his flannel overshirt.
Walt has a nasty great hole in his belly, a knife wound. Looks like it was made with the same kind of blade that killed Roy and Walker, a hunting knife. Walt's pair-up, Crowley, the guy who was meant to have been examining him, stands bent double nearby rubbing his head and wincing.
"Your flaming ALIEN came up behind me and bopped me on the blasted melon," he claims, indignantly. "Didn't see a bloody thing."
He certainly has a big red bump growing on the thinning top of his head, but that doesn't stop the others seizing him with growls and malicious intent. Before threats turn to action, Campbell wades in to calm everybody down.
"Look, guys. I think we should wait until the authorities get here before jumping to any rash conclusions."
"They were alone together," argues Turner. "We were all watching each other. Who the hell else coulda done it?"
Campbell spreads his hands in a calming gesture.
"OK, OK. Maybe you're right, but what we gotta do is lock the guy up until we can hand him over to the proper agency. I'm not gonna let you lynch anyone on my watch."
No one likes the image that word invokes. They let go of Crowley.
The small guy shakes himself and hisses, "Bloody cretins."
"You can lock him in the snowcat garage," suggests Ellen. "Roy's not gonna bother him."
"Locked up with a dead guy?" mutters Singer, shuddering.
Ellen shrugs. "He's a doctor, Bobby. He's seen plenty dead guys."
"Yeah, and we may as well take Walker and Walt out there too," adds Turner. "The more the goddamn merrier."
This sounds like a reasonable solution to most everyone. Unpleasant as hauling the bodies outside is, no one was too happy about keeping them around in the main building. So they all suit up and force Crowley to don his snow gear and boots before duly frogmarching him off toward the main entrance. He continues to protest and struggles ineffectively as he is half-dragged along. The doctor may be small but he is slippery to handle.
"I'll go get him a sedative shot," suggests Singer, before shooting off in search of their first-aid supplies.
"I do NOT need a bloody tranquilizer, you berk," grumbles Crowley. "I'm not a mad ruddy dog."
Sam has his doubts about such a featherweight taking down a big guy like Walt, but... Hmm.
~O~
The men carry Crowley over to the snowcat garage and lay him limply across a couple chairs. Sam drapes a spare blanket over him for the cold. The two further dead team members are laid out on the floor beside Roy and covered respectfully with a tarp.
Campbell comes up beside Sam. "Once the drug kicks in fully he'll be out cold for hours. We'll have no more trouble from him."
Crowley moans, fighting the soporific effect of the sedative, and curses under his breath.
"Bastards. You're making... Bleeding balls-up. Wasn't me. I never..."
Singer and Turner check the door is secure and unceremoniously seal him in with a heavy new padlock. Outside the door, Campbell holds the padlock key up to the others and lays down the law. He speaks loudly to be heard over the wind.
"I'm gonna put this key in the safe in my office. The doc can stay in here until we get assistance. THEY can deal with him. OK?"
The others nod and mutter. From inside the corrugated hut, Crowley continues his indistinct complaints, punctuated by curses and growls.
"Innocent man here. Never laid a hand on- on bloody wassisname- Walt. Only reason I let you morons lock me up- bloody sight safer- safer in HERE! Safer'n you tits out THERE. With the REAL flaming killer. Bloody ALIEN."
Campbell shepherds everyone away. "Ignore him. Danger's over. Back to work"
But Sam has to wonder if the doctor hasn't got a point. If Crowley is the killer then fine. If not?
After the incarceration of one of their number, a feeling of partial relief descends on the marooned research station. Shell-shocked by recent events, the team members are all glad they can now put away their makeshift weapons and get back to their normal routine. Or try to.
For an hour or two at least.
~O~
Sam can't let go a faint lingering uneasiness. The nightmare didn't help. He hasn't had a bad dream like that in years. But there is definitely a strange, disquieting atmosphere around the station the deaths alone can't entirely explain. Something that makes the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Something almost uncanny. It is as if the air itself has been magnetized.
He decides to make one more round of the building, and a few minutes later, runs into Singer and Turner near the main entrance, again dressed for outdoors. Singer notices his squinty-eyed look and explains.
"Rufus here thinks there may just be some scrap electronics out in his big old firecracker box. Maybe we'll find something to jury-rig the radio? Get a Morse signal out?"
"Yep," agrees Turner. "There's a bunch of junk equipment that's been stored in the explosives locker since the base was last occupied. Could be Bobby here can cannibalize some of the parts."
Sam can see it could be worth the trip outside. "I'll tell Campbell. But don't take forever. Hear me?"
"Wish I knew what Crowley's done with my other pair of boots, is all," Singer grumbles. "These new ones ain't totally worn in yet."
The two guys laugh and shuffle out into the snow. Sam re-closes the outer and inner doors after them. As he walks back inside, it crosses his mind to wonder what Doc Crowley needed with Singer's boots. He has some of his own, and with his small feet, Singer's would be kind of sloppy on him anyway. So, what, he wore thick socks?
Shaking the doubt from his head, he makes his way back to the mess hall where Ellen has co-opted the coffee pot from Campbell and used her magic to brew up a half-decent pot of java. She asks Sam to share out a big slab of chocolate she is been hording against a rainy day. This has certainly been a rainy day if there ever was one.
Ellen and Sam sit sipping their coffee and chat about nothing in particular while they wait for Singer and Turner to return. Campbell hardly contributes. His thoughts seem to be elsewhere. The mess hall is warm and cosy, and they are all kinds of burned out.
Sam lets his eyes close for a moment.
~O~
An hour, or maybe two, later Sam suddenly wakes. He must have fallen asleep with his head on the table. He groans and sits up rubbing his ear, glancing around the room only to realize he is alone.
He touches the coffee pot. Stone cold.
The other guys' share of the chocolate remains uneaten. So Turner and Singer haven't returned yet? Sam's hand goes automatically to his walkie-talkie, but then he remembers the HT base-station is down and he can't raise the explosives store from here during a storm.
Something about the silent and frigid atmosphere of the station makes him feel uneasy. Very uneasy.
Quietly, he rises from the table and sets off to search for the others. Stalking through the dimly lit halls of the old wood building, he fingers the big strange knife in his waistband.
He can't help feeling a little glad he is armed.
~O~
The mess hall, the lab, the radio shack are all empty. Maybe Campbell and Ellen have gone to their separate quarters to rest? He leaves the admin block and goes through to the accommodations annex. The room at the end of the passageway is Campbell's, a little bigger than the others as befits their team leader.
Sam can see a shaft of bright light where the door stands slightly ajar. He makes his way over, treading lightly. For some reason he feels anxious on his own. As he nears the door he can make out shadows moving inside the room. Someone is in there. Great.
Right up to the door now, Sam can see Campbell and also Ellen, with their backs to him. Campbell has his big hands on Ellen's waist. Crowding his broad chest up against her back, he is putting moves on her. She seems to like it. Wriggling in his grasp and chuckling sexily, she raises both hands over her head and loosens her shoulder-length ash brown hair, shaking it out.
Sam takes a step backward, not wanting to invade their privacy. He has always suspected Campbell had a thing for Ellen and he knows Ellen likes a well-built guy. If they catch him watching it could get embarrassing.
As Sam starts to retreat, Campbell's hands slide up to Ellen's neck. She laughs and twists her head, enjoying it. But his grip tightens and tightens. Alarmed now, she turns around and grabs his wrists with both hands, ineffectually tugging. He increases the pressure, fingertips digging into her pale flesh, crushing her windpipe with his thumbs, choking the very life out of her. In a few seconds she slumps from his arms to the floor, insensible.
Campbell snatches the crucifix from the senseless woman's neck and tosses it away with a curse. His wide grin is evil itself.
Outside, Sam gasps. He wants to run in the room and stop Campbell, save Ellen. Before he can move, Campbell stoops over Ellen's prone body and grabs her jaw, squeezing her empty blank face between his fingers, forcing her mouth open wide.
Sam stands aghast as an inky miasma, black and filthy as crematory fumes, issues from the older man's mouth. Swirling and roiling in the most disgusting way it flows between Ellen's helpless lips. Campbell drops her body, lifeless as a rag doll and straightens up. On the floor, Ellen twitches and rolls on to her back. Her eyes snap open.
Jeez! They are completely BLACK. Black as the void of space!
Unceremoniously, Campbell helps her to her feet. No, he helps whatever she has BECOME to ITS feet. It is patently not Ellen anymore.
Sam can't breathe. What the hell just happened? His mind races. Something evil, something alien, something that shocks him to the bone. But he needs to move, and now. He needs to hide someplace, organize his thoughts, work out what in heaven he is going to do. He desperately glances around the passageway.
Where? A storage room.
~O~
Sam bolts into the nearby storeroom and closes the door carefully, almost knocking over a couple boxes. The room contains kitchen and cleaning supplies, and some leftover decorating materials from the station's last makeover. He steadies the wobbly cartons carefully and then presses his ear to the ventilation grill in the closed door.
Ellen's voice is talking with Campbell in the hall outside. They are moving this way. When the couple come to a stop right outside the storeroom door, Sam's muscles tense up.
"So who's left, boss? Um, Singer, Turner, Winchester." It's Ellen and yet somehow NOT Ellen.
Campbell barks out a hard laugh. "I dealt with Singer and Turner. Winchester's the last of the human scum. We find him, possess him directly then go ahead with the plan. The first batch of Croatoan virus-infected fungus samples are ready. The next batch of vials is waiting in the lab."
"Tomorrow's the solstice," Ellen points out. "We're right on schedule."
"I need you to help me with the rest of the samples. Two pairs of hands and we can have them all set up before the regular airplane arrives. Once those greedy human slime have tasted our new miracle food the lamebrained boneheads will be falling over themselves to start worldwide distribution."
"This thing's gonna be the new Quorn." Ellen gleefully snickers. "The dumb-asses will never guess the solution to world hunger is gonna mean the end of mankind. There'll be Croatoan contagion everyplace inside a year. Earth will become a local branch of Hell and WE'll be running it."
Campbell's laugh is dark. "We'll torch the station and destroy all the evidence right before the plane touches down. Leave no traces. Blame it on a frozen methane release."
Sam listens with growing dread, his eyes wide.
He tries to make sense of what he has heard. OK, Turner and Singer are dead? Jeez, the poor guys. Campbell and Ellen aren't human anymore? Somehow something took control of them, something alien? Turner was right. There WAS an alien in that ice and it came here from some other planet with a plan to subdue the Earth and eliminate mankind. Typical 50's flick made real.
It is hard now to believe his friends were stupid enough to BRING the thing to the ice-station where it would unfreeze and start killing and propagating itself within the team. Now its minions are planning on conquering the Earth using some kind of a virus they have cooked up in the station's own lab from an extraterrestrial pathogen. And these two monsters from God knows where are standing together casually chatting about it outside the closet.
It looks like Sam is all that stands between them and the fruition of their dastardly scheme. The whole thing is like some nightmarish scenario from one of his brother's favourite horror movies. He has got to stop them! But how?
If Sam is the only human left alive, he hasn't much of a chance against two aliens working together. Three if he includes the Alpha Alien, wherever the hell it has squirreled itself away. If he stays inside the base they WILL find him soon and he can't survive outside for even a day, much less until the relief plane arrives. He has to face it. He is NOT going to survive. Jeez, how he wishes he had listened to his brother and stayed in Kansas. Now he is going to die here, and no one will ever get to know the truth.
He asks himself what would Dean do? Not sit it out, for sure. All through their childhood his big brother taught him not to be a dweeb and take it to the bullies. Sam pulls himself together. He may be going to die soon but he is damned if he is going to let a couple monsters take over the world if he can help it. He knows what he has to do. He has to destroy them and their dastardly plan. His death is going to mean something.
So what WOULD Dean do? If only Sam's big brother were right here when he most needs his support. No, strike that. Man up, Sam. Dean is safe back home in Kansas, where he belongs. This is up to you, Sammy boy. He can almost hear his brother's encouraging voice.
His options? The aliens mean to torch the base when they complete their evil agenda, right? Well, torching the station BEFORE they are ready sounds like a better plan. Hey, if he can only get to the explosives store he can wire the place up and blow every damn thing to kingdom come. He will die out on the ice, but at least the world will be safe.
He grabs a can of spray-paint and fumbles for a box of matches on the kitchen supplies shelf. Too bad he doesn't have a gun but these will have to do. If he can get past Campbell and Ellen he is going to blow the whole damn ice-station sky high. There will be nothing left but a big-ass hole punched through the ice pack. Slam dunk!
Pulling himself up to his full height, he sets his shoulders and his resolve.
Pity no one will ever know what really happened. Pity Dean will never know. Sam has only a slim chance of succeeding but he has to try. What else can he do? He has to sacrifice himself for humankind, for his brother.
He has got to do this to save Dean. Would Dean say he was thinking crazy? Yeah, maybe.
As he mulls over his plan, his fingers tightening around the cold metal of the spray-can, the pair outside move on toward the mess hall. His muscles un-tense and he steps back from the door, straight into something.
Something huge and hairy!
Sam stifles a grunt of surprise. He is NOT alone in here!
In the dimly lit storeroom, Sam feels a damp and furry body up against his back. Whatever it is it is big, maybe as big as he is. And it is disgustingly dripping half-melted slush on the storeroom floor.
Drip, drop...
This has got to be the thing from the ice, he thinks wildly. The Alpha Alien has probably been lurking in the storage room since it last killed. And he had the worst luck to walk right into it.
The unseen figure slips a restraining limb around his torso and jams a hairy paw over his mouth. A huge deadly spike protrudes from that paw. The weapon is caked with dried blood. Sam's fingers flex but the monster anticipates him and tightens its grip, trapping his arms down at his sides.
Sam wants to shout out, but to whom? Who is there to help him? He struggles and finds his ambusher is easily as strong as he is. Either it will kill him this very second or turn him into a monster like the others. There is nothing he can do.
"Fine," Sam growls through his teeth. "Whatever the HELL you are, go ahead. Do it now!"
The thing behind him hisses menacingly and tightens its grip on his face.
TBC
A/N: Sorry but I'm going to have to leave you hanging from that cliff for a day or so because I have other things to do. Don't worry. More will be coming along soon. :))