CHAPTER 9 - "No Rest for the Wicked"
Freshly showered and in clean clothes, I felt half-way decent for the first time in the past 48 hours or so, even if I still hurt like I'd gone a hundred rounds with a troll.
Trent looked as if he echoed both sentiments as he sank down with ginger weariness on the edge of one of the hotel room's double beds. He'd also bathed. I hadn't wanted to offer to help him with that, and he hadn't asked. I'd been worried he'd get his new bandages wet, but he seemed to have managed to avoid messing up my work.
Proving that some things could still go right for us, I'd found that earth magic worked just fine here. I'd been able to invoke the spell with a drop of my blood, like usual, and had managed to apply the resulting poultice to both Trent and Dean's injuries without anyone the wiser. Luck was probably on our side there. Dean had already been asleep or unconscious by that time and Sam had only been keeping half an eye on me while he cleaned up the room and packed up the used medical supplies. He'd have noticed right away if I were hurting his brother, but of course, that had definitely not been my goal.
The spell wasn't all that strong, it would take time to work. Hopefully by morning there would be some improvement, I told myself, trying not to worry at the way Trent's pale skin contrasted with the dark shirt he was wearing, or the way the sheen of perspiration on his brow told me he was still battling cold sweats.
Our clothes had been definite casualties of the day. My shirt had been so stiff with vampire blood it had stuck to my skin. I had wadded it up and put it with the heap of bloody towels Sam had piled up on a garbage bag in the corner of the room. My jeans were only a little better and it was good to get out of them, although I couldn't afford to dispose of either them or my wet, muddy boots until I could wash or replace them. Shirts I could borrow from the Winchesters, pants and shoes not so much.
Contemplating the soiled jeans in my hands, I sighed and set them aside in a "keep" pile with my boots. Nothing of Trent's was salvageable except the coat he'd leant me earlier. There wasn't really much left of his shirt and his pants were stiff with blood. I set his shoes aside with my boots just in case, although it would be better if he was able to borrow some. I rolled up his ruined pants and was about to toss them into the disposal pile when Trent stopped me.
He took the pants long enough to get something from the pocket, then handed them back to me. I saw that Trent had retrieved his money, and to my amusement, what looked like his car keys. Exactly what good those did him here I had no idea, but I was too tired to care and simply rolled the pants up and chucked them into the corner with the other disposables.
Trent was currently wearing a black t-shirt and sweat pants borrowed from our hosts. Guy sweatpants had pockets (something I always thought was unfair) so Trent tucked his cash and keys into the pocket before sinking back onto the edge of the bed again and running a weary hand across his face. The loaner clothes fit him fairly well, which meant they belonged to Dean. Of the two brothers, he was closer to Trent's size.
Nothing they had was going to fit me very well, so I was currently swimming in a jersey-like shirt that belonged to Sam. It came down to my knees and acted like a semi-suitable nightgown, all things considered.
Sam came out of the bathroom in a tee and pajama pants, his hair still wet from the shower.
I crossed my arms over my middle, trying not to feel uncomfortably exposed. Running around dressed in only a man's oversized shirt in a hotel room with three men when I was unfortunately attracted to one of them and the other two were practically strangers was decidedly not awesome. Thankfully, Dean was already asleep on the other bed, Sam didn't seem to notice or at least was good at pretending he didn't and Trent appeared much too wiped to think about much of anything but how to get down onto the pillow without passing out before he reached it.
I knew how he felt. I could have slept in the snow at this point, I was so tired. I was about to ask Sam if they had a spare blanket so I could find a piece of carpet to curl up on, but he spoke before I could. "You two go ahead and take that one," Sam said, nodding towards the bed Trent was already sitting on, obviously having misread the question in my eyes.
He took the extra pillow from beside Dean and dropped it on the floor next to the bed. "It's fine, I'm good," he promised, once again misreading the uncertain look in my eyes. He stole the navy colored quilt from the bed as well, although I noted that he made sure Dean was adequately covered by the remaining sheets and blanket before he dropped down onto the bed he'd made on the floor beside his unconscious brother.
I froze, hesitating in uncomfortable indecision. I appreciated that they were giving up one of their beds for us, I did, it was just that I'd pretty much been planning on sleeping on the floor too. Trent was hurt worse than I was and I was okay with giving him the bed - but Trent and I in a bed, together? That was so not a good idea. Unfortunately, I couldn't say that. Sam thought we were a couple and to disillusion him at this point without it appearing weird would require more mental energy than I currently possessed.
Trent had managed to ease his way down flat onto the mattress and was awkwardly trying to pull the covers over his legs with his good hand. He looked up at me and frowned when he saw my hesitation.
"For goodness sake, Rachel, just get in the bed," he said with weary exasperation. His eyes asked me what exactly I thought was going to happen since he was clearly half a step from passing out and we were in a tiny hotel room with two other people barely six feet away.
That was a good question. Logically, there was plenty of room for both of us and the bed did sound a heck of a lot better than the floor. I wasn't sure why that didn't make me feel like this was any less of a bad idea as I reluctantly went around to the other side of the bed and crawled quickly under the covers.
Trent had given up on his side of the bed clothes even though he hadn't managed to get completely under them. With a huff of irritation, I leaned over and finished yanking them up over him. "Fine, but you stay on your side, Kalamack," I whispered in his ear before scooting as far away as far as I could get and rebelliously jamming my head down on the pillow.
Trent laughed quietly. "If you stay on yours," he whispered back.
I just huffed and wiggled down further under the covers. The bed was probably sub-par given the relative crappiness of the hotel, but right now it felt pretty wonderful to me. The sheets were cool and I could feel them easily through the oversized shirt I was wearing. I reached down, tugging at the hem of the shirt which had ridden up a little when I laid down. I stared up at the ceiling, terribly aware that I was practically naked and Trent was like, two inches away. Right, there was nothing at all uncomfortable about this scenario, was there?!
I thought the discomfort would make it hard to rest, but I must have been more exhausted than I knew. I didn't even realize I had fallen asleep until I opened my eyes to find that the lights were off and my limbs had a peaceful leadenness that suggested I'd been asleep for a while.
I blinked slowly, unsure what had woken me. I wasn't all the way awake and my eyelids felt heavy, the lines between dream and reality comfortably hazy. I rolled onto my side. Beside me in the darkness, I could hear the slow, reassuringly steady cadence of Trent's breathing.
A rustle of movement on the other bed drew my sleepy gaze. Dean was tossing and turning restlessly. Caught in the grip of a nightmare, he groaned, whimpering in his sleep as if in terrible pain. He whispered the word "no" over and over. Given what I'd seen him endure with hardly a flinch earlier, I didn't want to know what darkness inhabited his dreams that could pull those sounds from him. I knew I should do something, try to wake him maybe ... but I really wasn't fully awake and my sleepy body betrayed me, lulling me back under even as all this processed though my semi-conscious mind.
After that, I dreamed too. I didn't dream of ghouls or frozen woods or blood, my subconscious was rarely that predictable, but they were nightmares all the same. I was wandering around through my church, but it was wrong, it wasn't really my church. I called for Ivy and Jenks but there was no answer. I went down the street pounding on doors, but everyone was gone. I knew with omniscient dream certainty that I was alone; that all of Cincinnati had become nothing but a ghost town. I ran down the empty streets, trying to find Trent's house. I had to get there, because somehow I knew he was in trouble. He was dying, but I didn't know where he was, I couldn't find him. The streets went on forever and the faster I tried to run, the harder it was and the slower I moved.
I woke with a jerk. My heart was pounding, but it wasn't because of my dream. I'd heard something. Had that been a cry? Was it in my dream, or was it real? The room was still dark. I blinked and the first thing I noticed was that Dean was sitting bolt upright in bed, a long, wicked looking knife clutched warily in his hand. He was looking around in a way that suggested we'd been woken by the same sound. So, it was probably not in my dream then.
The second thing I noticed was that my position had changed and my pillow felt firmer and warmer than it had before ... and it was moving slowly up and down. Crap. My head was resting on Trent's chest. How the hell did that happen? ... and why did it have to feel so darn comfortable?
I was glad that Trent was apparently so deep under that whatever had roused Dean and I hadn't stirred him. My heart was still thudding and that was making my sleepy, fuzzy head spin in a nauseating fashion. The lingering fear from my dream wasn't helping. I didn't feel at all well. That was probably why I didn't move right away.
I heard another soft, muffled cry and saw Dean's shoulders slump, the tension bleeding swiftly from his body. He tucked the knife back under his pillow and my sleepy brain registered the thought that maybe it was a good thing I hadn't tried to wake him before.
Leaning on his elbow and rolling onto his side, Dean reached over the side of the bed. I couldn't see what he was doing from my position, but he seemed to be giving someone a shake and when I heard him murmur his brother's name I realized that it must have been Sam who was having nightmares now. If today was any indication of what their lives were usually like, it was little wonder that neither of them seemed to sleep very well. Maybe it was more of a wonder they could sleep at all.
"Sam?" Dean's voice was sleepier than his alert motions before had indicated. "Come on, wake up," he murmured.
I heard a sharp rustle and an intake of breath as Sam presumably jerked out of the dream. Dean quickly pulled back out of the way, indicating that Sam probably woke a lot like his brother did. After a moment he rolled to the edge of the bed again, dropping his arm back over the side. "'S'okay," he mumbled. "Jus' a dream, Sammy." There was something practiced, almost automatic about the soothing words. Like maybe he'd been saying them for a long time.
Then his body stiffened. "It was just a dream, right?" he asked, sounding suddenly more awake. "You weren't remembering anything, were you? You know you can't go pushing at that - "
"I know," Sam's sleepy voice from the floor sounded strained and annoyed. "I know, Dean, okay? I wasn't scratching the damn wall. I'm fine, it was just a dream." I didn't understand what they were talking about, but the tetchiness in Sam's voice indicated it was a sore subject ... and that he was probably not being entirely honest.
"You sure?" Dean pressed, apparently sensing the same thing I was. "Cause ... "
"I'm sure," Sam cut him off. "Go back to sleep, Dean. You're gonna wake everybody up."
"Think you already did," Dean murmured back with a snort and I stiffened, closing my eyes and laying extra still. I don't know why I wanted to pretend I was asleep, it just seemed a lot less awkward than unintentionally intruding on their privacy.
I kept my eyes closed, but the soft rustle of bedding told me they were getting settled back down. Everything fell quiet again and I felt myself starting to drift once more. Sleepily, I carefully lifted my head and started to edge off of Trent and back to my own pillow. I was on Trent's uninjured side and his arm slid up around my shoulders when I started shifting, the light grip keeping me from moving away. I froze, my heart pounding again for a very different reason.
Crap, had Trent also only been pretending sleep? My face burned and I became hyper aware of the feel of his body under my head, the soft cotton of the well worn tee a thin barrier between his skin and mine. Trent didn't move again, however. His body was relaxed under me and his slow breathing never changed.
Okay, maybe he wasn't really awake. Maybe it was an unconscious reaction. Maybe if I just stayed still, he wouldn't wake up and I could slip away in a few minutes and he'd never know any of this happened ... Yeah, and maybe I was sleepy and making rationalizations for why I didn't want to move away from his warmth just yet. I would in a minute. Yes, in a minute ...
The next time I opened my eyes the room was a lot brighter and watery dawn was peeking in around the heavy motel curtains.
Sam was awake, now sitting on the other bed with his back against the headboard, long legs stretched in front of him. His laptop rested on his thighs and he gazed down at the screen, tapping keys every so often. Beside him, I saw that Dean was still sleeping. Laying on his stomach with most of the covers kicked off, he had unconsciously gravitated over until he was more or less resting against his brother's side. The ease of their body language was that of people who had probably spent their entire lives in close proximity and there was something very comfortable and natural about the scene.
I, on the other hand, was still laying on Trent, now almost fully curled up against his body, and that was not at all a normal feeling for me. Trent's arm was around my shoulders. His hand stroked my hair gently and my body warmed pleasurably, even as my gut tightened. Crap. On. Toast. Trent was awake.
"Good morning," Trent whispered against my hair. I couldn't see his face from this angle, but I could hear the smile in his voice. Bastard. His warm fingers ghosted lightly from my hair to my shoulder and the touch sent hot tingles rushing through my sleep-slowed body.
"Before you initiate violence, may I just point out that I am, in fact, on my side," Trent murmured mildly, his face still buried in my hair. His voice rumbled pleasantly in his chest under my ear and the heat inside me intensified. God, the man was evil.
He had a point, though ... which just made me want to hit him even more. My instinct was to jerk quickly away from him, but at this point that was only going to be more embarrassing and leave him laughing at me. So instead I yawned and stretched languidly against his side, letting my curves press against him and enjoying the way his breath hitched and his body stiffened beneath me when I did so. I could be a little evil too if I wanted to be, and Trent certainly brought out the devil in me.
"Yeah, well, it's your fault you make such a comfy body pillow," I murmured back. I deliberately nuzzled my face against his chest, my thigh slipping lazily over his. Tilting my head up to see his face, I enjoyed the very attractive flush of surprise and desire that had shadowed his eyes and painted a delicate rosy hue across his cheeks and the cute little points of his ears.
Trent raised his eyebrows, but the smile that curved across his face and the way his gaze fixed on me was heart stopping. He was so close. Too close. Much, much too close. I wanted to kiss him so badly it physically hurt.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Rachel! I chastised myself angrily. What was I thinking, playing with fire like this? I was going to get so burned one of these days. Heart pounding, I quickly rolled away and sat up, rubbing my eyes and trying to pretend I was just getting up, not fleeing.
For the briefest of moments, something that might have been frustration or longing fluttered behind Trent's clear green eyes. But his smile didn't falter and whatever I'd seen was quickly banished, buried behind a gently mocking expression of amusement.
My chest hurt. My body was on fire and it had nothing to do with all the aches and pains that were once again making themselves known as soon as I started moving. The pain inside was worse - the ache of wanting that which I knew I could not, should not have. Trent made it too damn easy, damn him. I had been right, this had been a horrible idea.
"Morning," Sam said to both of us, closing the laptop and getting off the bed. "You two feeling okay?"
We both nodded and Trent eased slowly up to sit, leaning against the headboard. His motions were stiff and he was clearly still favoring his injured shoulder, but I could already tell he was moving better than last night.
"Good. There's coffee and donuts if you want," Sam nodded towards a cardboard four-cup holder that I now noticed was sitting next to the TV. The Styrofoam cups and the paper bag beside them had the logo of the local grab-and-go on the side. Sam must have already been out and back again this morning.
Not feeling comfortable wandering around the room with bare legs and no undergarments in the light of day with everyone awake, I slid out of the bed and grabbed my jeans and under things from where I'd set them aside last night, between the bed and the wall. I noticed that the pile of bloody towels and ruined garments were gone and guessed Sam must have disposed of them somewhere when he went out for the coffee.
On the other bed Dean stirred, pushing himself upright and yawning. "Any chocolate glaze?" he asked, rubbing his injured leg and gazing down at the bandage with a thoughtful frown.
Sam shot him a mildly worried glance which made me think that maybe under normal circumstances Dean would have been up long before now. "Yup," was all he said, however. He wrapped up his computer cord and pushed it into his back pack.
"Awesome," Dean said with a grin, pushing off the bed and limping over to the TV to raid the goodies. "First come first serve," he informed Trent and I, waggling a chocolate covered donut in our direction as I shuffled quickly towards the bathroom to change.
Feeling like death warmed over, I snagged one of the coffees on my way by. It was technically still the middle of the night for my sleep schedule and it felt like it. The coffee was black and a little too bitter but I didn't care at this point. I chugged it as fast as the hot liquid would allow while I got dressed. Everything hurt and I winced when I looked in the mirror and saw the dark bruises mottling my arms and torso. At least the bite wound on my shoulder had almost completely healed thanks to whatever the vampires had done and the leftover bit of healing charm I'd used on it last night.
My jeans were dry but sadly mud-caked and I pulled them on with a regretful cringe. I came out of the bathroom still wearing Sam's jersey only to have Dean send me back in with a dark blue tee and a plaid button-down shirt that were probably his. He seemed to be of the opinion that Sam's shirt looked like it was trying to drown me and might have nefarious motives if left to its own devices. I couldn't really argue.
The loaner clothing was clean, although it smelled distinctly masculine. It was still way too large for me, but I rolled the sleeves of the flannel shirt up until I could get my hands out and tied the tails of the shirt in a knot around my waist. I looked rather like I was wearing my big brother's clothes, but beggars couldn't be choosers. I combed my hair with my fingers as best I could and washed my face.
When I finally exited the bathroom, I found that Trent and Dean had also gotten dressed in my absence. Trent was still wearing the black tee from last night, but it was now accompanied by jeans, work boots and a solid green over-shirt. Considering all four of us were now wearing jeans and flannel, I was definitely getting the idea that the Winchesters had pretty much one fashion statement of choice, and this was it. It was kind of amusing, it made me feel like we were some stage production's version of a group of lumberjacks and should be bursting into a coordinated musical number at any moment.
That thought was so bizarre it made me look down at the empty coffee cup in my hand and wonder if maybe I'd chugged the strong beverage a little too fast.
Dean wasn't limping nearly as much now as he had been before. He had one donut in his hand and another in his mouth as he passed me, going into the bathroom after I'd exited. He showed no sign of the hangover he should have had after his liberal self-medication last night. Either his metabolism or his alcohol tolerance was pretty high, maybe both.
The television was on and Sam and Trent appeared to be watching the morning news. The hotel room was small and the only place to sit was on the beds. I settled gingerly on edge of one and tried to decide if a grease and sugar energy boost was worth trying to get it past my still not terribly settled stomach.
"Sam!" Dean called from the bathroom. "Why the hell do I have leaves and twigs under my bandages?"
"Herbal medicine," Sam called back without looking away from the TV. "Rachel's family recipe, remember?" He was smiling a little mischievously, like maybe his brother's reaction was at least part of the reason he'd actually let me do it in the first place.
Dean grumbled something I couldn't make out and Sam just grinned a little wider.
Trent and I exchanged slightly worried glances and but didn't say anything. Trent was also seated on the bed, sipping gingerly at one of the coffees. I was pleased to see he had one of the remaining bottles of Gatorade beside him as well. He seemed perfectly aware of his own need for fluids and that too much caffeine might not be the best thing for him. He had a donut on a napkin resting on his knee, but he hadn't touched it yet. I think he knew he should eat, but was still working up to it.
He was looking decidedly better this morning, although he held himself with a stiffness that suggested he was still dealing with a moderate amount of pain. Or maybe it was the unfamiliar clothes. It was different, seeing Trent dressed like this. He looked like a construction worker or a roadie and that was just such an odd look for the ultra white collar businessman that it made me smile. I'd seen him in casual clothes before, but not quite like this and certainly never in flannel ... or had I? The scene pinged something in my mind, an odd fragment of memory washing to the surface.
Trent, shorter and thinner with youth, in an over-sized flannel shirt, his fine blonde hair wet and sticking to the sides of his head as he glared daggers at me. I was ... I was sticking my tongue out at him, also wet, also in an over-sized shirt ... we were ... in trouble?
The snatch of memory danced in fragments just out of reach and then was gone, telling me that it was almost certainly from our days at camp. That was the way those memories often felt, obscured and repressed as they were by the drugs we'd been fed to make us forget.
Trent's eyebrows lifted questioningly and I realized I was blatantly staring at him. His gaze flickered up and down my ill-fitting attire and he grinned. I repressed the urge to mimic my childhood self and stick my tongue out at him. Instead I reached over and stole a bite of his donut.
"Did you push me out of a boat or something when we were at camp?" I asked him, still trying to place the memory fragment in some kind of context.
Trent's expression registered surprise at the unexpected non sequitur. "I don't believe so," he said dryly. "Not that I recall, anyway." We both knew that didn't mean much. "Why?"
I shrugged, taking another bite of the stolen donut. Now that I'd tasted it, I realized I was hungry after all. "Nothing important. When I saw you in that shirt I just ... I remembered us both in oversized shirts like this, I think they belonged to one of the councilors. We were wet and I think we were in trouble," I added with a grin.
"Ah, then it was undoubtedly your fault," Trent said sagely, a little twinkle in his eyes.
"Nuh-uh," I protested airily, finishing the donut. "Wait ... I think ... I remember a really bad smell, too. Do you remember anything about a skunk?"
Trent blanched and his eyebrows went up again. "Oh. Now that does sound a little familiar. Pretty sure it was still your fault."
"Crap," I heard Sam mutter and looked over to find him standing tense and still, staring at the television. There was a talking head on the screen, but I only caught the last part of what the woman was saying. "... have not ruled out a possible mechanical issue. School officials say there is no cause for alarm, but they are taking the matter seriously and we're expecting further details soon. Tim, back to you."
"Hey," Dean's voice from the bathroom drew my attention back in the other direction. He appeared in the doorway with his t-shirt lifted to show his abdomen. He'd un-bandaged the wounds to his stomach and washed away the remnants of dried blood and potion. With the grime removed, it was clear that the wounds were all but healed. He'd already removed the make-shift stitching and his face looked troubled. "Somebody want to explain why I'm suddenly healing like a Wolverine knock off?"
"Dean, we have a problem," Sam cut him off, either not having really heard his brother's question or not thinking it the biggest issue they had to deal with at the moment. The urgency in Sam's voice stopped Dean cold and he dropped his shirt. His gaze narrowed in on his brother as Sam hastily shoved loose items into the nearest duffel bag.
"A bus load of third graders on a school trip have disappeared. They were supposed to have arrived almost half an hour ago, the driver doesn't have a cell and they can't raise him on the radio. Everybody thinks the bus is probably just running late or maybe had mechanical issues. The only reason it made the news is because one of the kids is diabetic and forgot their medication at home." Zipping the bag shut, Sam slung it over his shoulder.
Dean's face was grim. "Don't tell me, it's route took it right through ghoul central." He quickly pulled on his boots and snatched up his jacket.
Sam nodded. "Right before dawn, around the same time as most of the other disappearances."
"Fuck," Dean swore darkly. "We gotta roll!"
My stomach dropped to my toes as I comprehended why they were both so alarmed. The idea of those beings from last night getting their hands on a bunch of kids was too terrible to contemplate. I supposed it was possible that there really was an innocent explanation ... but I doubted it. After what Dean had said last night about the ghouls' growing hunger it made a horrible kind of sense that they had probably upped their game and made a play for a larger group of prey, especially after having been stirred up by chasing us all over the place.
With a speed that could only speak of much practice at making hasty exits, the two brothers had their bags in hand and were hurrying out the motel room door in literally less than a minute, Trent and I pretty much forgotten.
Jumping off the bed, I jammed my feet into my mud crusted boots, grabbed my coat and ran after them. Trent caught up with me by the door. He grabbed my arm, stopping me. "Rachel, what are you doing?"
I turned and just shook my head at him. I could read the objections in his eyes and I supposed that on one level they may have had some merit. Sure, if this was just a matter of our safety it was probably best at this point to let the Winchesters forget all about us, and it wasn't like I wanted to rush back out into that nightmare in the woods that we'd barely escaped with our lives mere hours before. This wasn't just about our safety though.
"They'll kill those kids, Trent. They'll eat them. I know this isn't our world, but that doesn't make these people less real. I can't walk away from this. I'll be back." Or so I hoped. Yanking my arm free, I hurried out the door as I heard the throaty hum of a car engine turning over.
Behind me, I heard Trent swear, but I was already across the sidewalk and into the parking lot. The Winchesters' long black car was just starting to back up as I yanked open the back door and hopped in.
Dean was in the driver's seat and he swore at me in surprise, slamming on the break. I started to pull the door shut when it was caught and pulled out of my hand. Trent was there, his coat in one hand and a highly displeased scowl on his face. He glared at me, but lowered himself quickly into the car, shoving me over. I scooted quickly to make room.
"Whoa, whoa! This is not a passenger cruise!" Dean turned in his seat to glare at both of us as Trent heaved the door shut with more force than was strictly necessary. "You don't want to go where we're going, trust me. Get out!"
"I know where you're going!" I snapped, aware that time was precious. "I also know there's God knows how many ghouls and only two of you. You said you needed more bodies. Well, you've got some. We're going to help whether you like it or not, so just drive already!"
If we'd had more time, maybe they would have put up more resistance, but Dean seemed as aware as I was that the hope of finding any of the kids alive grew thinner with every passing moment. He shook his head. "Okay, your funeral," he said, throwing the car into reverse and pealing out of the parking lot.
"Dean ..." Sam protested, obviously not pleased.
"There's no time," Dean countered. "And the odds suck. They wanna help, fine."
Beside me, Trent was trying to put on his coat and encountering a little difficulty with the left sleeve. I reached over to help, but he pulled away from me with a not very friendly look and did it himself. Obviously, he was still mad at me. I shot him a hard glare and pointedly turned away. Hey, nobody said he had to come.
"This is gonna be ugly," Dean warned us as we raced down the highway at speeds far above the posted limits. "You both kept it together real good yesterday. I think you can do this, but you need to stay close, don't waste ammo and if Sam or I give you an order, you follow it immediately. We clear?"
"Clear," I agreed, steeling myself and trying not to dread what lay ahead. Just because it was the right thing to do didn't mean I looked forward to it. "Shouldn't we call the police? They'll have a heck of a lot more people and fire power."
"Yeah? And tell them what?" Dean replied sarcastically. "That a bunch of zombies living in the woods kidnapped the missing school bus? Yeah, they'll jump right on that lead."
He was right of course, but I still felt there should be some way of getting their attention. "No, of course not, but couldn't we make up some other story that seems more believable just to get them out there?" Once they were on the scene and saw it for themselves, then they'd have to believe, right?
"If we have to, we will," Sam told me. "But we need to find the bus first. Right now we don't know where to send them, or ... if the kids are still alive," he added the last reluctantly.
Dean's grip on the steering wheel was tight and his shoulders tense. "They are," he insisted, as if he could make it true by the force of belief alone. "If the bus had been abandoned by the highway someone would have seen it already. They have to have forced them off onto an access road somewhere. They haven't been missing that long and school busses are built like tanks, man. If the driver kept his head at all, it's possible they haven't breached it yet."
"I hope so," Sam agreed. "But if not, and we send the police into the ghouls' den, we're just giving them more victims for nothing. The ghouls look like people, they'll treat them like people. They won't believe the truth until they see it in action and at least some of them would die before they figured it out, maybe a lot of them," he finished explaining.
I had to agree that that made sense, even if it sucked big time. I scooted a little closer to Trent, leaning over so I could whisper in his ear. "Trent, I really need you to tell me how you got tapped back in. Like, now," I hissed. While it would be an admittedly bad idea to use magic in front of the Winchesters, given what we suspected about them, I still considered it a preferable alternative to death by zombie if it came down to that.
Trent turned an icy glare on me and I knew the stubborn set of his jaw all too well. "No. I already told you it wouldn't work," he whispered back.
Resisting the strong urge to punch him, I grabbed his forearm very tightly instead. "Trent, now is not the time to be a jerk just because you're mad at me. This could be a matter of life and death, here!" I was so ticked off with him that it was hard to keep my voice down low enough for the drone of the engine and hum of the tires to obscure our argument, but I managed.
Trent's lips pressed into a tight line. "Oh, now you think of that," he hissed back. "Did that not occur to you before?"
"Hey! I don't remember asking you to come," I told him, getting right up in his face. Whether they could hear us or not, the Winchesters could probably tell that we were arguing by now, but that couldn't be helped and I was just about so mad I didn't care.
Trent looked at me incredulously. "What, you expected me to just stay behind while you go off and get yourself killed?"
"Since when is it your problem what chances I choose to take?" I shot back. Trent was perfectly capable of making his own decisions. He had no obligation to follow me into danger; he certainly never had in the past, unless it was for reasons of his own. "Wait, you need me, that's what this is really about, right? You don't think you can get home without me!" I accused.
The look on Trent's face was unreadable. I could tell I'd deeply pissed him off, but whether that was because I was right, or for some other less easily understood reason, I couldn't be sure.
"Goddess," he snorted darkly. "You just never ..." he shook his head with something like scornful disgust. "You never think that I ..." Trent's jaw clenched and he turned his head away from me. When he looked back again his eyes had gone flat and cold.
"Fine. Quite frankly, no, I don't," he said in crisp, cool tones. "And I am going to get home, Rachel." I could see the familiar, flinty hard glitter of determination in his icy green eyes. "You and I both are, despite your best efforts to get us killed."
The car slowed and I realized we were pulling off onto the shoulder. We were already deep into the woods again, although it was around rush hour so there was a relatively regular stream of cars going past us now. It was the night time and pre-dawn hours when this road was a desolate hunting ground, I supposed.
Sam jumped out of the car and seemed to be looking at something on the ground before he quickly hopped back in. "Skid marks, big ones. Bus sized. There's fragments of a broken headlight too, like there was an accident. The ghouls must have grabbed another car for a snack, then seen the bus coming and improvised - used the car to hit the bus, force it off the road. Looks like you were right," he said to Dean. "I think they forced them off the highway here and herded them onto that access road there." He pointed to a thin dirt trail that wound sharply down and to the right, disappearing almost immediately into the woods. It was probably a fire road or something of that nature. It had been cordoned off with a chain and lock, but the flimsy barrier had been knocked aside and was now laying on the ground. Fresh tire tracks marred the obviously little used dirt road, heading away out of sight.
"All righty then," Dean turned in his seat to look back at us. "If anybody wants to bail, now's the time. Last stop before crazyville," he warned. I think he was giving us an out in case this was what we had been arguing about.
I looked pointedly at Trent, inclining my head towards the door to make it clear that he was welcome to leave. He shot me a look of pure venom and folded his arms, stubbornly slumping back in his seat like a petulant teenager.
"Nope, we're in," I translated for the Winchesters and they quickly gunned the car forward, onto the narrow dirt lane.