Hunter of the Shadows Book 2:
Hunter Rising.
Chapter 22
Now…
"I don't remember much after I killed Jake," Sam murmurs quietly. Dean's suddenly clenched jaw is the only indication that he's listening. The fatherbrother is pale and silent, hand tightening round the back of Sam's neck.
"That's not surprising, young pup," Tobius looks over at his grandson, smile just a little sad and worried. "In spite of pulling the silver fragment out, and bringing you back, it was still touch and go. You were so fragile and sick…" he shakes his head slowly, as though just thinking about it terrifies the crap out of him. "Your wound wouldn't stop bleeding, there was still silver in your system. You were on a precipice, and all it would've taken was a small push to lose you."
Dean closes his eyes and breathes slowly out of his mouth. Sam's hand on his shoulder snaps his eyes open again and he turns slightly towards him.
"But," Sam whispers, silver eyes staring sightlessly up at his sire and brother. "You were both there to pull me back. I didn't know much else, but I did know you were there with me. I held on to that. Through the pain and darkness, in spite of the fear and uncertainty, I knew you would bring me home."
"Sammy…" Dean rests his forehead on Sam's, and nods. "Always, little brotherson. I'll always find you… and bring you home…"
Then…
Had no idea how long I was out, but suddenly I was awake and panicking. Sam was in my arms and shaking from head to toe, silver tainted blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. The kid was choking, eyes clenched shut and teeth gritted painfully.
He's having a seizure! Sire growled in my head, and that was the first time I realized that he was at the wheel of my baby, and driving at breakneck speed along a narrow road in the middle of nowhere. Hold him tight, keep him as still as you can…
He swung the wheel hard over, and the car obeyed his unspoken command, power sliding round a sharp bend in the road. Sire corrected the over-steer and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. With a blood curdling snarl, the Impala lurched forward like a wolf eager for the hunt.
Where are we going? I had tightened my arms around Sammy, his back pressed up close to my chest, and his long legs, sprawled across the rear seat, were twitching in time with the convulsions.
I was hoping to drive on straight out to the country, said Tobius, whiteknuckling the wheel again.
I thought we were taking a motel room, first, I replied, vaguely aware that I was talking crap. It didn't matter where we going, only that it would be somewhere warm and safe.
Sire shook his head. That was the original plan, but I didn't see the point in delaying. Figured one way or another, if Sam makes it then he'll need the peace and quiet, but… he glanced over his shoulder very briefly, green eyes flaring when they took in the sight of his grandson's pain-wracked face. I don't think we have any choice now. We must stop and take care of him, check his wound over again, more thoroughly this time. I'm convinced there's still some of Jake's blade left inside him. He turned back to the road but not before I caught a glimpse of moisture on his face. There's a motel a few miles up ahead…
My jaw dropped a little.
If.
He'd said if Sam made it.
What do you mean by that? I demanded, sharply, my nostrils flaring with a sudden burst of anger. What do you mean if?
Sire didn't even meet my gaze in the rear view mirror, just sighed heavily.
I didn't mean anything by it, my son. But he sounded tired, resigned. I'm sorry. Slip of the tongue.
Yeah, I guess we're all guilty of that from time to time, but right then? I didn't need to hear it. Though, a small voice inside told me to stop hedging my bets and play the damn game. There was every chance Sam might not pull through, after all.
Nothing more was said.
The road was lined with thick conifers, canopies so dense they cut out most of the evening sunlight. From what little we could see of it above the road, the sky, a deep blue with a few stars already putting in an early appearance, was slowly bleeding to orange and red as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. It was beautiful. If only Sam had been awake to appreciate it.
The trees suddenly cut away to reveal our home for the night. Set back from the road, a grim looking Swiss-style motel squatted against the trees, wood smoke puffing gently from a chimney, and a grizzled guy in his eighties was busy beating the dust out of an old rug, right in front of the main reception building.
Sire wound down his window and muttered calmly to the man. I don't know what was said, didn't pay much attention. Sam had stopped convulsing, and lay limp and panting in my arms.
Easy, kiddo. You're gonna be fine…
The old guy shuffled over and peered in through my rear window, frowning deeply and scratching at his whiskered chin. I caught his scent and tried my best to keep my churning gut under control. A waft of stale onions rode the evening breeze, ruining the fresh mountain air, and on top of that, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, I could have sworn the guy smelled of his own piss.
My ears picked up the sound of dogs howling from inside the house, and their scent was actually quite pleasant and clean compared to that of their owner.
More words were exchanged between Sire and the old man, along with a generous amount of cash, and the guy's frown disappeared. He nodded and hurried inside, returning with a set of keys and a scruffy looking notepad, which turned out to be a visitors' book.
Sam whimpered, and more blood bubbled out of his mouth. His shirt was also saturated, his wound having bled anew. The stench of silver had my lip curling with disgust and bitterness. Jake had died too quickly. Had it been me instead of Sam, his death would have been slow, painful, and merciless. But Sam never could stand to see anyone suffer…
That's ma boy I whispered, hoping, somehow, someway, Sam could hear me and use my voice to guide him. I love you, kiddo. I'm gonna get you through this, so don't go giving up on me, now!
The car was moving again. Tobius spared me a glance in the mirror.
I asked for the room furthest away from the main building. Apart from a couple of bikers, we're the only ones checked in.
I just nodded. We needed the privacy of having no immediate neighbours, especially with Sam so badly hurt. Poor kid would likely make a lot of noise over the next few hours.
To my surprise, Sire carried on driving passed all the motel rooms and turned onto a narrow track, heading uphill and deeper into the forest.
Father?
Mr Mourant, the elderly chap running the place, agreed to let out one of the summer cabins further up the mountain. But one eyebrow was raised and cynicism gleamed dully in his eyes. Be on your guard. I suspect he'll come snooping round first chance he gets. I told him Sam had been sick and injured during a hiking trip. He seemed to buy it, but the extra tip certainly helped.
Oh yeah. Money talks.
In Mourant's case, it yodelled from the top of the mountain.
If Sire had to buy his silence and cooperation, then it was pretty safe bet the guy couldn't be trusted. The circumstances weren't ideal and I'm sure Tobius would've rather we hit the road again but, sadly, we had little choice. If there was still even a trace of silver in Sam's chest, as we both suspected by now, then there was nothing for it but to open him up again. And for that, we needed a warm, safe and comfortable environment for Sam.
The track was a little bumpy but Sire took it slow and steady, the car now inclining at a steep angle as we climbed higher.
The cabins are around two or three miles apart so no one should hear, again, that cynical gaze flashed in the rear view mirror, unless they are specifically listening out for us.
I smiled, grimly. Soon as we're settled, I'll patrol the perimeter, make sure we're alone.
It wasn't like Mourant's scent would be hard to miss, in any case.
Sire parked up outside a small wooden cabin, then turned in his seat to look at me.
Human form for now, whilst it's still daylight. And make sure you're seen. He nodded pointedly.
No problem. I gathered Sam up, with one of my arms tucked under his knees, the other round his back, pulling him close, and waited for Tobius to slide out from behind the wheel. Sire strode round the car and opened my door, allowing me to carefully climb out.
With a jangle of keys and a small flourish, Tobius had the cabin unlocked and ready for us.
Sam didn't make a sound, nor did he so much as twitch whilst I carried him into the cabin. I ignored the flowery bedspreads, with their ugly matching lampshades and curtains. There would be time for that later, when Sam was patched up and healing.
Gently laying him down, and brushing damp locks of hair out of his eyes, I leaned over and kissed his scalp.
I'll get him ready, Sire whispered and vanished into an adjoining room, presumably the bathroom, judging by the sound of a squeaky tap being twisted, followed by running water.
I won't be long, I replied, though more for Sam's benefit than anything else.
Stepping out into the cool evening, I stared all around our clearing. According to Sire the cabin boasted a resplendent view of the nearby foothills, hence the extra cost.
Ha!
At best, if I squinted, rose onto tip toe, and tilted my head to the right, I could just make out a hill. Whether this was one of the famous foothills was anybody's guess, but I wasn't in the mood to complain.
My nostrils picked him out easily enough. Guy wasn't only greedy – and miserly if his lack of hygiene was anything to go by; probably thought soap was a waste of money – but he had to be monumentally stupid. Even a human would have been able to detect his presence by smell alone, but to cap it all, he was attempting to watch the cabin from behind a young pine sapling. It was like seeing an elephant trying to hide behind a lamp post.
Pretending I hadn't seen him was hard going. I was itching to scream out "Take a look around you! See? Big trees… thick, wide girths with lot's of branches! Lemme guess… you never played hide' n'seek as a kid, right?"
Movements sharp and purposeful, I strode around the cabin, eyes narrowed, making it more than obvious I was seeking out intruders. Though, just for good measure, given our hygienically and intellectually challenged landlord, I made a show of checking under nearby bushes and even had a good nose around under the cabin itself. It was built up on wooden support struts, leaving plenty of storage space underneath for firewood, tools, etc. Crawling around on hands and knees, I wished like hell I could change. Would have made the job that much easier. Better yet, not having to do this at all would have suited me.
Still, it had to be done. In spite of Mourant's piss poor attempt at surveillance, the space under the cabin needed investigating for hidden trap doors, and other possible ways an intruder could gain entrance to the cabin. After what happened up at Mont. Noir, I wasn't taking any chances. Scent can be masked and, in the case of vamps, for example, we can't smell them at all – we learned that the hard way from our experiences with Gordon Walker (see previous journal entries).
It was pretty dismal down there, in the storage space that time forgot. Dead rats, possums, and poisoned bait were only the start of it. Woodworm and canker riddled the structure, and I knew it would only be a matter of a few years before the whole thing collapsed.
By the time I made it out, brushing dirt and rodent crap from my hands and knees, Mourant was gone, his scent lingering and fading as he headed back down the mountain. For an old guy, he sure could move fast.
Satisfied that the cabin was safe from prying eyes, for now at least, I cast one last sweeping glance around the forest, and headed inside. Much later, after Sam's field surgery was over, I would perform a proper reconnaissance of the area in wolf form.
Tobius was seated on a small wooden stool next to Sam's bed and carefully removing the blood stained bandages. Sam was wearing an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, and judging by the way his face was no longer scrunched up, I would have to guess that the oxygen was infused with a powerful pain medication.
Father raised his head when I sat down in a nearby armchair.
I take it that was our fragrant host paying us a visit?
Rubbing my eyes, I nodded. Yep. Discreet is definitely not a word in his vocab. Didn't stay long, though, once he clocked me sniffing round the place.
Hmm. Sire raised an eyebrow and went back to checking Sam's wound. He'll be back. No doubt after more money, the tight arsed old git! Have you seen the state of the bathroom? The Somme battle field had better facilities!
I snorted loudly at his indignant tone, but otherwise let it pass. No doubt he knew from experience, and likely spent some time scrubbing the bathroom down.
Sam was too pale, his lips dry, chapped, breath wheezing in and out. Bottom line was the kid was in real trouble…
Ok. It's now or never. Sire must have sensed my anxiety because he reached over the bed and gently squeezed my arm. It'll be alright, Dean. But I need you to stay calm, so try to relax, ok?
Easier said than done, I tried to slow my breathing as best I could. Father was right. Last thing he needed was a panicking werewolf in the room whilst trying to save Sammy's life.
Sire's smile was sympathetic. Just keep in mind what we're trying to do, here.
I nodded.
Tobius began by snipping the blood soaked stitches and pulling the edges of the wound apart. Sam's ribs were still broken, though it seemed as though they had made an attempt to re-knit, which was good news in itself. But we would need to crack them again in order to search for silver fragments.
Be prepared to hold him down, Dean, Sire got ready to perform his gruesome task. I'm not sure how the pain meds will stand up to something like this.
And the answer was, not at all.
Perhaps it took the edge off, but the fact remained that Sammy screamed loud enough to leave a long jagged crack in one of the window panes. Tobius and I winced, and not because of how much Old Man Mourant would charge us for the pleasure of fixing it.
Sam's back arched violently and it was all I could do just to hold on to him.
Easy Sammy, I know it hurts, but it'll be over soon. I muttered. In the end, I climbed onto the bed, slid under him, and wrapped my arms and legs tightly round his body.
Sam bucked weakly against me, great, heart-breaking sobs of despair and pain echoed off the cabin walls. Tears ran down his poor bruised face and I felt my own eyes welling up once again. I lowered my mouth to his ear and whispered, fast and frantic, telling him over and over again how much I loved him and needed him to fight for me.
He still wasn't conscious, which gives you some idea of how much pain he had to be in. When Sam's hand blindly reached out and gripped at his grandfather's shirt, Tobius drew in a sharp breath and slowly let it out, murmuring softly to the stricken kid and gently rubbing his clutching hand. I could tell Sire was fighting off tears of his own, but he tilted and cracked his neck, and narrowed his eyes in determination; he then licked his lips and nodded.
Here we go.
Sire slipped his hands inside Sam's newly opened ribcage and felt around, carefully.
Anything? I asked after five minutes had gone, anxious as hell and doing my best to remain patient.
It's hard to see, he replied, his teeth gritted in frustration. There's so much blood here.
He had to be careful. If there was silver in the wound, then nicking himself on it wasn't going to help matters. The hand that originally pulled the main silver shard from Sam's body had healed, but at the time the skin had sizzled and singed on contact. Sire hadn't mentioned it; not a grunt of pain, not even a swearword or two, just threw the sword fragment to one side and began open cardiac massage on his grandson.
Wait here… Sire suddenly got to his feet and moved across the cabin. There was a small kitchenette with a sink, fridge, hot plate and an old fashioned wood burning stove. I saw something in one of the kitchen drawers…
I watched him, wondering what he was up to, when he reached into a drawer and pulled out a plastic bag full of disposable drinking straws.
This'll do the job, he announced and moved back towards the bed, ripping open the bag as he went. I'll have to be quick but I may stand a better chance of finding it.
What are you gonna do? I asked, voice a little shaky.
He didn't reply, just pulled out a straw and placed it in his mouth. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his head and began sucking away at the blood, spitting out mouthfuls of the stuff, keen eyes searching Sam's chest cavity for silver shards.
The silver in Sam's blood had to have hurt his mouth something awful, but he carried on until he struck, well, silver.
It turned out to be so small you could barely see it with the naked eye, but Tobius, head bent at an awkward angle, sucking on the straw and feeling around with his hands, suddenly caught his little finger on it. A tiny sharp piece of silver was sticking out the side of Sam's left lung.
Ignoring the blood streaming over his hand, Sire grabbed a pair of tweezers from the night stand and tried to pluck out the shard. But it was stuck, stubbornly refusing to budge.
Dammit! If I pull any harder it'll burst his lung, he dropped the tweezers and scrubbed a blood stained hand over his face, leaving a wet smear behind. Ok. At least we know where it is, now. Perhaps I could use the collating agent to dissolve it.
How? I stared at him, worriedly. That could mean leaving his chest open for hours, Sire! We can't do that to him! Supposing he wakes up? Poor kid'll freak!
Tobius chewed on his bottom lip with a ferocity that surprised me. His eyes darted back and forth as he thought that through. Then he nodded.
Not necessarily. I can soak some gauze in the agent then pack it around the fragment. It's just small enough it might work. We can close him back up until his symptoms start to improve. Once they do, then we'll know the silver has been safely collated out, and we can operate again.
It was my turn to scrub a hand down my face. It would mean cracking his chest open again. How much more could the poor kid take?
"This sucks!" I suddenly yelled out. "Big fucking time!"
It was the first word either of us had uttered aloud in hours, having kept our conversations private by silent, mutual agreement. You never knew who was listening, and as Tobius had once told me: the walls have ears.
But right then, I needed the grim but therapeutic satisfaction of a damn good shout and, of course, a strong word or two made it all the more worthwhile.
Sire nodded. "I know. But it's the best I can come up with. I really don't want to risk puncturing Sam's lung, not with how sick he is right now."
I closed my eyes for a moment, took a long sniff and reopened them. "Yeah." A quick, hard swallow and I nodded back at him. "Yeah, ok."
Some hours later, Sam still hadn't regained consciousness. In fact, screaming the place down in agony had been his only sign of waking up since we performed CPR on him back at the graveyard.
I changed and slipped out for a night time reconnaissance of the surrounding forest. Tobius offered to do it so I could sit with Sam, but it's part of my role as pack beta and bodyguard. I needed to see for myself, and I knew I wouldn't be gone long. Sometimes, I find going through the motions and sticking to routine is the best way to cope with difficult circumstances. And besides, I never stopped talking to Sam, even whilst on patrol.
I'm here, Sammy. Just take it easy.
I sniffed the night air and growled softly. Old Man Mourant was back, and this time it seemed he'd brought some friends. He waddled along the track, a broken shotgun slung over an arm, and two large Blue Tick hounds trailing after him. By the looks of them, the hounds were well fed and cared for, coats gleaming and damp snouts sniffing excitedly.
By this point, they'd picked up on my scent.
Sire, we have company.
Mourant, I assume?
Yep.
Hmm. Thought so. I can smell him from here, along with those dogs of his.
I'm gonna watch him, see what he does. Sam ok?
He's fine. Still asleep. His blood is clearing of silver, so I'll be looking to remove the gauze a little later tonight.
Ok. Stay tuned.
Will do.
I was crouched under the fronds of a thick pine tree, well hidden from view, when Mourant's hounds began to growl and whimper, skittering back and forth across the track the closer the old man got to me. But when he drew level, the hounds went nuts, snorting and planting their huge paws in the dirt, and refusing to budge. Mourant was furious. He whispered loudly to his hounds, and that was how I found out the reason for his night time visit.
"Get a move on ya damn mutts!" Mourant ranted in a croaky whisper. "And keep ya noise down! Don't want those guys waking up while I'm atryin' ta rob 'em!"
I bristled, hackles erect, and took a pace forward, just enough to put a real panic on the guy's hounds. The Blue Ticks threw back their heads, bawled loud enough to wake the dead, and took off back down the track.
Mourant stared after them, mouth dropped open in angry amazement, but didn't take the well intentioned hint his hounds had offered him.
Instead, muttering "Fine. I'll do it by my damn self, then!" he foolishly resumed his journey towards our cabin.
It was time to show him who was really boss of this mountain!
I trotted out onto the track and stood right in front of him, barring his way.
Honestly, I thought he was gonna have a heart attack right then, the way he stopped sharply, staggered back a few steps and turned white as a sheet.
"Oh my God!" he gulped noisily and snapped the shotgun shut, raising it to his shoulder. Gotta give the guy full marks for quick thinking. Shame it wouldn't have saved him up against something like me.
Fortunately for him, I wasn't into ripping humans apart, even petty thieves like Mourant. Instead, I opted for further scaring the living shit out of him.
Before he could squeeze the trigger, I was on him, knocking him to the ground with my full weight, and using my huge paws to pin the guy down. His terrified face stared up at me and I lowered my muzzle, the wet tip of my snout just brushing his cheek, sniffing cautiously.
Geez. Guy really needs a bath, I muttered and felt Sire's laughter in my head.
I stilled and stared down into the frighten man's eyes for the count of ten, watching the way he panted and gulped in fear, then felt a warm dampness creeping through my fur. Guy had wet himself.
Oh yeah. This was fun.
Call me malicious, but this was just the kind of fun I needed right then.
I suddenly bared my teeth in a snarl and snapped at him, my jaws a mere millimetre away from his nose. The ammonia of his urine was soon joined by the more pungent smell of his own faeces.
A small twinge of guilt niggled at me for terrorising an elderly man, but I soon quashed it. Guy sets out to rob us, he pays the price. He was just damn lucky I ain't a killer like Tobius.
I allowed a small, partial change to my vocal cords, giving my voice a deep guttural growl.
"You will never steal from anyone, ever again! I even hear about you ripping someone off and I'll be back… and next time, I won't stop at your face. You hearing me, human?"
He gulped again and nodded furiously. "Y-yyyyy…"
I snarled again, and pushed my snout into his ear, nipping at the lobe with my sharp teeth, just shy of drawing blood. "I don't recall giving you permission to talk, human!"
Another gulp, and this time he shook his head so hard I thought his ears might fly off.
Had to wrap it up soon; my throat was beginning to hurt with all the husky talk.
"From now on, you'll be a nice old guy, whose kind to animals and children. You'll give money to charity on a weekly basis, and most important of all…" I looked him deep in the eye. "You'll take a bath!"
I stepped back, hearing Sire laughing again, before adding:
"I will be watching you."
With a fierce howl, I bounded away into the trees, leaving Mourant staring after me in abject fear.
I gave it around fifteen minutes to make sure he hadn't followed me, before heading back to the cabin and scratching at the door. Tobius opened it with a small grin and leaned against the frame. I wagged my tail in greeting.
Feel a little better now? More relaxed?
Yeah… I gave that some thought whilst changing back. Yeah I do.
Good. Sire threw my clothes to me. Because I've just finished preparing Sam for phase two.
As before, opening Sam's ribcage wasn't fun for any of us, but it was a little easier than before, seeing as Sam's ribs hadn't had time to re-knit. Tobius removed the gauze and flushed the cavity with warm holy water, then ran his fingers over the surface of Sam's left lung.
Well? I watched, anxiety making a comeback.
Tobius frowned and swept his hands over the lung yet again.
After a few seconds, he nodded. Yes. That's cleared it. But don't get your hopes up too high, Dean. He's still very sick, and it could take him months to recover from this.
I just sighed, heavily. Yeah, I know.
There was still the lingering damage caused by the poisoning to worry about. Sam's newly restored healing abilities might not be fast enough to save him.
The next morning dawned, promising a bright sunny day, but brought with it the sound of soft, plodding footsteps and, eventually, a tentative knock on the door.
We were busy cleaning and re-dressing Sam's wound, and glanced at each other in confusion.
I looked up at the same time as Sire, but I was first to the door and swinging it open.
Mourant was cowering on the doorstep, a wicker basket clutched tight to his chest. Some wonderful smells were emerging from that basket and it was all I could do not to lick my lips.
Not only that, but he was dressed in clean clothes and I could smell cheap detergent and some kind of shower gel.
Ok, so it hadn't been a bath, but it was as good as it was gonna get.
"What dya want?" I asked, gruffly.
He held out the basket.
"I-I brought you some food," his gaze flickered to the bed, where Sam slept on, oblivious to our visitor. "Thought you guys might be hungry. And the youngster..." he nodded to Sam. "I got him some homemade soup, in case his gut's a little sensitive. There's blueberry muffins, bacon, eggs, fried tomatoes, pancakes, coffee, freshly squeezed orange juice." Mourant grinned, proudly. "I did that myself, took out the pulp and everything."
I eyed him with suspicion. There's no way in hell the guy knows I was his assailant last night.
Perhaps he's turned over a new leaf, Sire remarked, sounding amused.
I took the offered basket. "How much is this gonna cost us?"
Mourant had the decency to hang his head in shame. "Nothin'," he muttered. "Just an old guy tryin' to help out."
"Well, thanks," I replied, feeling more than a little awkward. "This is great."
When he lifted his head again, I couldn't resist the opportunity.
"I'm sure we'll enjoy this."
Mourant's eyes widened. He whimpered and stepped back.
I just grinned wolfishly, and the guy took off at high speed back down the track, presumably to the safety of his motel.
Sire smirked. Was that strictly necessary?
Yes. My answer was sharp and uncompromising, as I kicked the door shut with my foot.
Author's notes:
So Sam's trying times didn't end at Mont. Noir. But will they continue?
And was Dean a little harsh with the old guy?
Nah! The old bastard deserved it!
Cheers everyone.
Kind regards,
ST xxx
