Chapter 4 Highways and Byways
October 2012, Limoux, France
Elena opened her eyes, looking around and straightening in her seat. "Merde, how long was I sleeping for?"
"Two hours," Luc said, glancing sideways at her. "Just passed through Limoux."
"Do you think Francois is right, Luc?" she asked, looking out at the countryside. "Will it be quicker to find a boat on the coast and sail there?"
"Safer, probably," the man said, with a shrug. "Faster depends on the weather, what kind of boat, fuel, the if-factor, non?"
She sighed. Before the world had ended with a crash, it would've been a twelve-hour drive from Lourdes to Rome. Now, that timeframe was elastic. Many of the major roads were either impassable or just gone, the earth movements and storms wiping them effectively. The smaller roads were as risky. They'd already run into two blockades, one manned by a nest of ghouls, living off the small town behind it, the other by a group of survivors who were far too nervous about the monsters that had emerged in the wreckage of their world to think of communicating with travellers. The vehicles were full of bullet holes that had been the sum total of their welcome.
"How far to the coast?"
"Fifty miles to Port-Au-Nouvelle," he told her, gesturing at the map that lay between them. "It was a shipping port, the steel ships should still be there, mostly intact."
She nodded, thinking it through. There would be diesel fuel. The big ports had quantities, held safe underground. It would cut almost a thousand kilometres from the land route, and as Luc had already pointed out, it would be safer. They could load what they needed on board, and use it as a base at the mouth of the Tiber, and the river would be a more stealthy way to get into the city.
"Let's go."
Luc turned south, and Elena watched in the mirror as the truck behind them made the turn. There were only six of them for this mission and it had cut their small force in half. She was not too worried about those who were staying behind to protect the chapter's safehold in the mountains – it would take an army, a real army, to be able to break through the defences there, but it was of concern that they were so few here. The Americans had found many more to help keep the order safe, she thought, a little enviously. And they were training their young people. She wondered if any of the trainees had a yearning to see Europe. The thought brought an inward snort of derision. Over there and over here, the troubles were the same.
The radio crackled. "I see my suggestion is being adopted," Francois said, the delight clearly audible in his voice.
"Oui, Francois," she said dryly into the mike. "We bow down to your superior intelligence once again."
"I'm glad you've finally decided to acknowledge it, chère," he said. "Where are we going?"
"Port-Au-Nouvelle," she answered. "We'll be there in an hour, so get the others ready."
Litteris Hominae, Kansas
Castiel looked around the office, noting the familiar faces and the new ones.
"We felt the leadership of Hell pass to a new King two months ago," he said, returning his gaze to Dean. "It did not go to the remaining Fallen."
"An' what does that mean?" Bobby asked truculently. "Who did it go to?"
Cas shrugged. "We don't know."
"Alright," Dean said, looking at Bobby's bitter grimace. "Do you know what this new king has been doing?"
"The percussion of the demon tablet being unsealed was felt everywhere, on every plane," Cas said readily. "And we perceived that many things were released at the same time."
"Released?" Ellen asked.
"Many things?" Peter said at the same time. "What things?"
"Things that had been locked away," Castiel said, looking at him.
"Helpful," Bobby said sarcastically. "You got details?"
"God did not create all life on earth," the angel said, turning to him. "He created forces that would do that work for Him. They were known in the past as the Mothers."
"Yeah, that bit we've figured out," Dean said, glancing at Katherine. "We need to know how to put them back in their cell."
Cas looked at him patiently. "You can't."
The men and women in the room looked at each other and Dean stared at the angel.
"Can't?"
"When they finished their tasks, God locked them away, Dean," Cas said. "They were never to be released again. They are pure creative forces. Only their creator can control them."
"These tablets, Castiel," Peter said, glancing at Dean and back to the angel. "The legend said that there were five of them?"
The angel looked away. "We have little more than legend to go on as well," he said slowly. "The Mattara – the Voice and Scribe of God – disappeared two thousand years ago. It was rumoured that he had completed a task for the protection of mankind. That's all I know of it."
"But the tablets were given to the Qaddiysh?" Jasper said softly, looking at him. "The legend says they were guardians of all knowledge to be passed to humanity."
"And whatever happened in Tibet, it seems likely that at least one of the tablets was hidden there, when Lucifer rose," Jerome added.
"We need your help, Cas," Dean said. "We need to find out what the hell is going on before we end up dead."
"I can take you to Tibet," Castiel said. "And to Jordan, to speak to the Watchers, but that is all, Dean. The conspiracy in Heaven has been more difficult to unravel than we thought and I am needed there. I'll return for you tomorrow evening. Does that give you enough time to prepare?"
Dean nodded and the room echoed softly with the rustle of wings as Castiel disappeared.
Dean glanced at Sam. "Who goes?"
"I do," Jasper said abruptly. "You need someone who knows what they're looking for."
Dean glanced at the man and nodded slowly. "Alright. Sam, Peter, you too."
Sam nodded. "What do we need?"
"The usual, I guess," Dean said, rubbing the heel of his hand against his brow. "Bobby, Ellen, you're on point here." He looked at the others. "Rufus, we need as many small teams as we can get out to find any survivors. If we can't get rid of those bitches, we can at least reduce the feedlot for their offspring."
"Jackson have any good ideas about towns and cities, Alex?" Rufus asked, turning to her.
"He thought people would have a better chance surviving along the plains because the farmland is rich but nowhere specific. It's mostly small towns, small cities, from Texas to South Dakota," she said, remembering the old farmer's advice. "In small groups, the survival rate might be good."
"Then we'll head north, and quarter the damned states until we find them," Rufus said.
Oklahoma
She walked unhurriedly, pale hair lifting and twisting out behind her. There was much that needed to be restored, fed with the energy that seeped from her as she moved. Perished or poisoned, the world was not as she had left it, filled with the deep well of life when she had been swept into the box and bound tightly with her sister.
There would be no rebinding. She could not feel the force of control that had governed her movement the last time. Instead the world called to her and she walked on.
The ground trembled as she passed over it and long-dormant seed awoke. Every form of life stirred restlessly, fur and feather and scale and skin quivering in the changed air, water, earth. Instinctive imperatives filled them, amplified and urgent, beating in their blood streams and predator forgot prey and prey forgot danger.
West Keep, Lebanon
Alex opened the windows to the warm night, breathing in the scents of the fields and woods to the west. The Indian summer had taken over the frigid, frost-laden days and nights two days ago, the high responsible moving south and east and a warm, southern wind pushing up the plains.
Standing in a t-shirt and jeans, Dean looked down at the thick, down-filled coat lying on the chair in front of him. "Just how cold do you think Tibet's gonna be?"
Turning around, Alex glanced at the coat. "Latitude, altitude, mid-fall … it'll be cold. How long do you think you'll be there?"
"No idea, not all that long," he frowned. "Jordan's not likely to be cold, is it?"
He had only the vaguest idea of where Jordan was. Somewhere in the Middle East, desert, sand.
"Desert's always cold at night," she supplied unhelpfully. "Wear something you don't mind throwing if it's not suitable."
"Yeah."
"Since when did you start caring about being warm or cold on a job?" she asked him quizzically, opening the other window.
There was a long silence and Alex glanced over her shoulder, seeing him looking down at the coat mulishly.
"Dean?"
He exhaled gustily, turning and looking at her. "Since being turbo-charged changed my tolerances, okay?" he admitted unwillingly. It'd had come as shock, affecting more than just if he was warm or cold. He'd asked Kim about it, in a roundabout way, and she'd told him that it was possible that the cure had thinned his blood, or damaged his circulation in some way. She thought it was likely to be temporary and he was hoping that it was.
"Ooh … that's why –"
He scowled at the floor, picking up the coat and shoving it back in the closet, grabbing a couple of long-sleeved shirts and tossing them onto the chair. "Yeah, that's why!"
Turning at her soft snort, he stared at her belligerently. "So now it's funny?"
Alex smiled, walking to him. "No, it was just … unusual … that's all. I didn't think of the cold."
Looking at him, she slid her arms around him. "Not cold now?"
"No, but now I'm all –"
He felt the familiar flutter in his stomach as she reached up and her lips brushed over his, his argument forgotten as he pulled her close and felt a deep, lazy pulse spiral slowly up and out through him, catching at his breath and crackling through his nerves.
It was too easy for her, he thought groggily, and not for the first time as his senses swam and struggled amidst the barrage of sensation that flooded them, nervous system registering her hands on his skin as the kiss deepened, pulling him down.
On some level, he was aware that it wasn't all physical, this heat and arousal and reaching, tormenting ache, that he … gave up? gave in? let go? … in a way he'd never even thought of allowing himself before because she knew - knew everything, the scars and the darkness and the fear and it hadn't changed the way she looked at him. He was only Dean with her, not son or brother or protector or guardian or … anything else. And physical intimacy had always been the way he'd tried to connect. With her, the closeness became something else. Something that stripped away every wall and barricade. Something that held him and breathed with him and wouldn't let him go.
The breeze from the windows sighed through the room, filled with the scents of earth and woods and water, a silken kiss over heated skin. Pressure and heat swallowed him and a jittery tremble sabotaged every attempt he made to regain some control, quicksilver fast and shockingly random. Opening his eyes and seeing her, abandoned to the pleasure they made between them – eyes unfocussed, hair and skin damp and glowing, lips parted – and blinking them shut because that sight was too fucking much, speeding the hot uncoiling and driving him, lashing him, deeper and faster, heart booming in his ears and the unbearable ache starting to shatter inside. No division, just a wild sea, soft, tight ripples and spasms that drew everything from him as he rocked helplessly, deep inside her.
The breeze had died away and the room was warm and still. Dean heard the soft whisper of her breath, felt it against his skin. The tension that had gone completely was gradually seeping back into him, despite the languid heaviness in his body. He'd wanted to tell her but the words got caught, somewhere in his chest, rammed back down.
Carved you. Changed you. The voice whispered in his mind and his arms tightened around the woman in them involuntarily. No, that's a lie. Demons lie.
But sometimes, he knew, they didn't.
And the truth was he didn't know what to believe. He hadn't felt that crawling, itching presence for months now. The corrosive doubts rose only when he tried to tell her, tried to show her. Everything else, he knew what he was doing, knew what the right thing to do was. Not here.
Outcast. Forty years in the pit. She'd challenged that. But he didn't know what to believe. The memories were still there. Every detail. Every scream. Unclean. You were raised, Jerome had said. But what did that mean, exactly? Sins wiped away? All forgiven? It hadn't changed anything for him. Hadn't convinced him that anything had changed. Unworthy. He'd been prepared to be a partner to Lisa, a father … he hadn't considered himself unworthy then. Hadn't considered it because in some ways it hadn't been a gift, but a penance. No yearning ache. No wordless need. No unacknowledged feeling that he couldn't look at, couldn't admit to, couldn't face. Just … another responsibility to shoulder. And he could do that. He'd always been able to do that.
He lifted his hand, lightly pushing back the damp curls from her forehead, his fingertips slipping through the soft strands. This wasn't a responsibility he had to bear. It wasn't a duty. It wasn't even because he'd known she could keep him human, despite what he'd told Death. It was what he'd had and had lost and had been searching for ever since. But after all that he'd done, all that had been done to him, all that had happened … in the depths of his soul, he didn't really believe he would ever deserve to have it again.
St Elphege Monastery, Tibet
The blackness ended and he felt the jarring drop to the stone floor, shivering a little as the icy wind blew through the open arches and pierced his clothing easily. Tibet was fucking cold.
"What are we looking for?" Sam asked, looking around the open hall. The staining on the stone pavers caught his eye and he crossed to it, kneeling as he stared at the uneven rust-coloured patch.
"Any surviving members –" Dean said, looking at Cas.
"We need to see what is in the vaults," Jasper cut in, moving toward the interior door.
Castiel closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. "There's no one alive in here except us," he told Dean.
Peter followed Jasper out of the hall and Sam got to his feet, looking at his brother. "Whatever happened here, we missed it."
Dean nodded. "Come on, maybe we can salvage something from this."
Like the safehold in Kansas, the chapter's collection rooms were extensive. Level after level of books, artefacts, weapons and work and store rooms. Dean looked around as they passed through the rooms, wondering if it was possible to move this stuff from here.
"Cas, can you, uh, teleport all this stuff back to Kansas?" he asked as they descended a narrow stone stair, the centres worn deep, the roof sloping down too close for any of them to move upright.
"Yes," the angel said abruptly. "That might be the safest option to prevent … anyone else from accessing it."
Jasper lit a torch, lifting it from the simple metal sconce on the rough stone wall and holding it up as he walked into the long cavern. In the steady golden light, the destruction was easy to see.
Dean looked around at the emptied boxes and baskets and chests, books ripped to shreds, their pages scattered like leaf-fall over the floor, broken ceramics and glass sparkling in the torch-light, bags slit open and spilling their contents.
"Guess the tablet was in here," he said flatly.
"Yes," Jasper said, lowering himself stiffly beside a box that had been flipped over but was intact. "It would seem that way."
Dean and Sam found the bodies as Castiel moved through the levels with Peter and Jasper, transferring the chapter's library and collections back to Lebanon.
Fourteen, Dean counted, all of them monks. All of them with the tell-tale residue of sulphur. The demons had largely ignored the libraries, focussing on the sections where the ancient objects and artefacts had been stored. Like the safehold in Lebanon, those had been catalogued and numbered, and as he looked through them cursorily, he wondered why the demons had left them intact. Arrogance, or coming back for them? There was a lot of stuff here that had been specifically designed for war against demons. He looked up at Peter and Cas as they returned for another load.
"We taking it all?"
Peter shook his head. "It would take too long," he said regretfully. "We must hide what we cannot take, and hope that we will have another opportunity in the future to retrieve it."
"Hide it?" Dean looked at him doubtfully.
"Seal it in," Castiel said shortly.
Litteris Hominae, Lebanon
Jerome and Davis stared around the rooms, filled to every corner now with the texts, books and crates of the Tibetan monastery.
"Tell the angel that he'll have to take some to the keeps," Davis said, edging around a pile. "We don't have room for any more here."
Jerome nodded as Aaron, Father Emilio and Oliver walked back into the library again, dragging their furniture trolleys, picking up another pile each to take to the lower levels. Castiel had told him that the monks had been killed, to the last one. If the demon had found out about the other chapters, they would be in danger as well. The monastery had been less well protected, partly because they had served another purpose and had always been available to people, partly because they'd believed themselves to be protected by their location, by the ruggedness of the terrain. It had been a terrible error.
He eased the wheelchair out of the maze of books and boxes and down the ramp, going to the computers. They needed more help to move the things Castiel was bringing and he needed to warn the other chapters to increase their protective walls.
Devil's Lake, North Dakota
The rustle of the leaves was deliberate, Rufus knew. As deliberate as the cocking of the gun next to his ear.
"Get up, friend, nice and easy," the low voice said behind him and he put down the binoculars slowly, keeping both hands visible as he rolled onto his back and looked up at the man standing there.
In camouflaged hunting gear, the tough, wiry frame was mostly hidden. The face was distinctive, bold features hollowed out by hunger and bright blue eyes under dark auburn brows, the wide mouth compressed now as he looked down.
"Elias?" Rufus frowned up at him. "That you?"
"Who's asking?" the man's brows drew together sharply, staring at Rufus, trying to see past the mottled green and grey paint to the face beneath. "Turner?"
"Hell, yeah," Rufus said, putting his hands down and shifting to a sitting position. "Must be over nine years, eh?"
"More like eleven," Elias said, lowering the barrel and extending a hand. Rufus took it. "What the hell are you doing here spying on me?"
"Looking for survivors," Rufus said, brushing the leaf matter from his clothes. "How'd you survive the locusts?"
"Found a cave system," he said, gesturing north. "A deep one and huddled there for about a week. Where are you located?"
"Kansas," Rufus said, turning to look down at the camp site in the valley below them. "How many have you got?"
"A hundred and fifty," Elias said, following his gaze. "Three of us looking after them, we've just been picking up a few here and there since the virus took off." He looked over the hunter. "You look … fed."
Rufus grinned, teeth bright against the mottled shades of paint over his skin. "Oh hell, you got no idea."
"How many?" Elias turned to look at him, coffee pot held halfway between the fire and the cup.
"Somewhere around six thousand, both states, now," Rufus repeated, waving his cup. He looked around the small camp. "We've got stock and grain and shelter, and around thirty hunters, more in training, Franklin – you meet Franklin?" he stopped to ask, one brow raised. Elias frowned in thought as he put the pot back on the fire.
"Rooney? Ex-Army, tough as boots?"
Rufus nodded. "Yep, he's got about sixty learning soldiering."
"How'd you get that set up with the –" Elias stopped, gesturing vaguely around at the woods surrounding. "Everything's been goin' on?"
"Had a good leader," Rufus said quietly, thinking that was an understatement. No one else could've done it, he knew. No one else that particular history, and raw determination, the odd charm and magnetic … something … to have drawn such a varied group and united them all. No one else he could think of could've killed the Horsemen – or befriended Death – or an angel – or any of the other things that feat had taken. "Dean Winchester."
Elias' brows rose thoughtfully. "Heard of him, John's boy, wasn't he? And his brother, Sam?"
"You meet John?"
"In '88, briefly. He and Geny Tasarov helped out my dad with a tsuakerag up in Yellowknife. Saved my dad's life," Elias said, staring at the fire. "They brought him back to our place. He didn't stay long, said he wanted to get back to his boys."
"You'd have been – what? Twenty? Twenty-one?" Rufus hazarded a guess.
"I was nineteen, pissed as that my dad hadn't let me go along," Elias said with a snort. "Until they got back and I saw them. I don't know how they made it home. Don't know how they managed to save my father. John had a set of claw wounds across his back like he'd been attacked by that cartoon character – Wolverine," he said, shaking his head.
"Determined," Rufus commented.
Elias shot him a look. "Yeah. And his son's like him?"
"Not much in the detail but yeah, same at the core. Determined," Rufus said, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Doesn't care if anyone follows him or not, he just gets on with it – and of course, we do, follow him, I mean."
"Well, we'll join you," Elias said quietly. "Can't keep these people up here, woods are too big now, too many things in 'em." He gestured to the cabins on the other side of the camp. "I got Moses Johnson's girl here, and Herb Tucker."
"What happened to Moses?"
"Got into a fight with a bunch of demons," Elias said. "Getting some of these people clear. Didn't make it out."
Rufus nodded. A lot of hunters had failed to make it out of fights with demons. And other assorted creatures over the last three years. The weight of numbers had not been on their side.
"You heard of anyone else? Surviving?"
"I caught some chatter on the CB, months ago now," Elias said slowly, finishing his coffee and pouring the grounds out. "Thought it sounded like Nate and Toby, but I couldn't get 'em to hear me and it dropped out and I couldn't find them again."
"That's promising," Rufus said, looking at him. "Before or after Baal swept the country?"
"After," Elias said. "About a month after, that's why I kept looking for them."
"Well, you got help now, man," Rufus said, stretching up. "Plenty of it. If they've survived, we'll find 'em."
Tafilah, Jordan
The night sky above the cracked and dry rocky canyons was black, and ablaze with stars, great sweeps of light, so many stars that they weren't discernible individually. Dean looked down at the ground, dark but visible nonetheless, outlined in that faint white light. He shivered as the wind moaned softly through the canyon.
"Just down here," Castiel said, walking away from them and following the curve of the rock down to the canyon floor. Glancing at Sam, Dean walked after him, dragging the edges of his coat closer.
Behind them, Jasper and Peter looked around interestedly, Jasper's eyes narrowing as they came down to the sand floor of the ravine and followed its twists and turns into a narrow crevice. To their right, the tall cliffs had been smoothed and carved, into a facade of buildings, fantastical and towering and elegant.
"Is this Petra?" he asked the angel. Cas shook his head.
"No," he said shortly, walking to the largest of the fronts, with a broad stone terrace and wide, shallow steps leading up to it, the elaborate doorway half hidden in the shadows of the columned portico.
He laid his hands against the stone door and closed his eyes. After a moment the design lit up within the stone, and the edges began to glow a pale gold. Stepping back, Cas opened his eyes and the door opened.
Sam looked at the two men standing in the doorway. Both taller than him, by several inches, he thought, broad-shouldered, with long hair, drawn back from perfectly sculpted, masculine faces. The gradual recognition of what they were was a delayed shock.
Angels.
He drew in a deep breath. But not in vessels. The thought hit him a second later as he realised that no human had the precise symmetry of the two in front of him.
"Castiel," the man to the left said slowly, dark green eyes flicking over the men behind the angel. "Why are you here?"
"Araquiel, the Word is in danger," Cas said quietly. "The Demon tablet has already been found. By Hell."
The man on the right made a noise in his throat. "I told you we shouldn't have entrusted it to humans."
"There was no other place," Araquiel reminded him mildly, looking back at Cas. "Who are they?"
Cas turned and glanced back at the men standing on the stone terrace. "They are hunters and scholars. The unsealing of the tablet has affected the human survivors of Lucifer's rise, more so than Heaven or you."
"It will affect everything," the blond man snapped. "If the other tablets are found by the new ruler, then nothing can be done."
"Precisely," Cas agreed. "We need your help."
"Come inside," Araquiel stepped back from the threshold, gesturing impatiently at the other man.
Dean followed Cas into the high-ceilinged hall, looking around. Doorways, tall and wide stood to either side of the cavernous space, lit by flickering torches. The carvings continued around the interior, only a few pieces of furniture to soften the austere appearance.
"Araquiel, this is Dean and Sam Winchester," Cas said, turning as the Watcher closed the door behind them. "Peter Andante, of the Vatican. Jasper Moore, initiate of the Litteris Hominae."
Jasper raised a brow but said nothing, looking at the two men who had been angels as they nodded brusquely at the men.
"Araquiel and Gadriel, the Irin We-Qadishin, guardians, Watchers," he said to them by way of introduction, turning back to Araquiel. "Where are the others?"
"In the library," Araquiel said, gesturing at the doorway to the left. "We felt the breaking of the seal and have been searching for information on the Mothers."
"Where are the other tablets?" Cas asked as he followed the fallen through into a long hall.
"Hidden," Gadriel said shortly. "Safely, we hope."
"They will not remain hidden," Cas said. "Not if the demon who took over Hell understands that Lucifer's memories are implanted in the Throne."
"Lucifer knew nothing of where the tablets were hidden," Gadriel snapped at him.
"You don't know what Lucifer knew or did not know, Gadriel," Cas said reprovingly. "He had many spies throughout the world when he was locked away, and had many hiding places to take the things he discovered and stole." The angel shrugged. "And we must find those tablets before anyone else."
Dean saw the glance exchanged between the two Qaddiysh. They didn't look like they were all that inclined to help, he thought. He couldn't think of any way to compel their assistance either.
Araquiel stopped in front of a pair of enormous doors, beaten bronze and deeply embossed panels, depicting a pantheon of angels, wings outstretched. The Watcher pushed the doors open and walked inside.
The library made the one at Lebanon look like a second-hand bookstore, Dean thought as he followed Cas inside. The ceilings were fifty or sixty feet above them, galleries ringing the walls and the shelving extending from the graceful vault edges to the floor, all filled and packed and stuffed with books of every description, every age and type and size. Stacks protruded from the walls into the room, leaving only a long aisle in between the two sides, strewn with richly-coloured, soft rugs, and punctuated by low tables, surrounded by cushions and covered in books and parchments and writing paraphernalia. He heard Jasper's low whistle from beside him and silently agreed.
Around the tables, standing at the stacks, looking at the intrusion of angel and men, the Qaddiysh were dressed similarly to Araquiel and Gadriel, long robes of white, belted at the waist, long hair drawn back or loose, black and brown and blond and red. Their features were perfect, the eyes vivid in the darkly skinned or tanned faces, their curiosity remote and short-lived as they turned back to what they'd been doing.
"What information have you found?" Castiel stood uncomfortably beside one of the tables.
"That the sisters can be returned to their prison."
Cas turned around as a dark-skinned man with long, gleaming white hair approached them.
"Shamsiel," the angel said formally.
"Castiel, my brother," Shamsiel said, white teeth very bright as he grinned at Cas and enveloped him in a hug. "You really have spent too much time in Heaven."
"And you on earth," Cas said, stepping back and looking at him. "The look is very … striking."
Shamsiel shrugged slightly. "There's blending in … and then there's blending in. One wouldn't want to lose all of one's uniqueness."
"No, that would be a disaster," another of the Qaddiysh said dryly. "He's right, though, Castiel. The Mothers can be returned to the mountain."
"How?" Dean asked, looking from one to the other.
"Sit, we will eat and drink and talk," Shamsiel glanced at a tall woman standing by the stacks. She nodded and turned away as he dropped to the cushion on the floor. "You will repay our hospitality by being our guests."
Dean caught Cas' deep sigh as the angel flipped back his coat tail and sat cross-legged on a cushion by the table, turning and gesturing for them to do the same. The last time he'd sat at a table this low, he thought, had been in Lawrence. Surprisingly, the memory didn't bite. He didn't have time to examine that.
"God put the Mothers away," Cas said to the red-haired Qaddiysh who'd spoken in confirmation of Shamsiel's claim. "If there is another way, tell us now, Baraquiel."
"You are familiar with the legend of Pandora? The Greek myth?" Baraquiel asked, looked from the angel to the men.
"The source of the evils of the world, opened by Pandora who was sent to mankind in punishment for following Prometheus," Jasper said.
"Yes," the Qaddiysh smiled slightly. "The box, however is real. And it is a trap device for the forces of creation that you need to capture."
"Real – in what sense?" Sam asked curiously.
"It is a box, about so big," Baraquiel said, holding his hands eighteen inches apart. "If it is opened in the vicinity of the Mothers, they will be drawn into it and returned to their prison in the mountain. It will become a doorway, however, so care must be taken that it cannot be opened again."
"Drawn into it?" Dean said.
"Yes." Baraquiel looked up as the tall woman brought a platter of food and set it in front of him. She was followed by several others. Sam's eyes narrowed as he saw that they were not as perfect as the Watchers. He waited until they'd gone.
"You have humans working for you?" he asked Shamsiel, his gaze on the doorway where the woman and the others had gone.
The Qaddiysh smiled. "Human? No, not entirely."
"They are nephilim, Sam," Cas said, turning to look at him. "The children of the Qaddiysh."
"And human women," Jasper added, reaching out for a pomegranate on the tray in front of him.
Dean watched the angel beside him twitch with discomfort and decided to keep his questions till later.
"So, where do we find this box?" he asked Baraquiel.
"Unfortunately, there are three possible locations for it," Baraquiel said, putting a selection of the food onto a plate. "We haven't narrowed it down further than that yet."
"And what are the three?" Peter asked.
"The palace of Cleopatra is a possibility," Shamsiel said, around a mouthful of bread and cheese.
"The underwater palace?" Jasper asked, glancing sideways at Peter.
"Yes, that one," Shamsiel said with a shrug. "Much was taken from Greece and ended up in Egypt. We lost track of the box after Alexander returned."
"There is an alternative legend that the box was carried by the first eater in the night to Africa, buried there so that it could not trap the Dark Mother," Gadriel added, his gaze flicking across the men.
"In Zimbabwe?" Peter looked at him. "Nineteen thousand people vanished and the city that was left in ruins?"
"Yes," Araquiel nodded.
"What about the third possibility?" Dean asked. Underwater palaces and African ruins were sounding a long way past his pay grade.
"Derweze."
The voice of the speaker was deep. Dean turned to see a man emerging from between the shelves, as tall and broad-shouldered as the others, dressed in the long white tob belted at the hips with a leather sword-belt, the hilt double-handed and dark with sweat. His face was perfect, high cheekbones and sculpted jaw covered in smooth, lineless fair skin, his eyes long and narrow and the amber-gold of a wolf's.
"The door to Hell?" Jasper asked, respect for the speaker keeping the derision to just an edge to the words.
The Qaddiysh smiled crookedly, a disarmingly boyish smile at odds with the timeless beauty of his face, as he looked at the professor. "The village was used sporadically, the Teke are still – were then – mostly nomadic. Before the mining company began to drill, there was a building there that none would enter. It was a tomb, buried deep in the ground, under the hill," he said, folding himself gracefully into a sitting position at the table. "Inside the tomb were more stairs. And they led deeper, far deeper than the exploration company drilled. At the bottom of the stairs, where the rock seemed to melt and reform, there was – is – a crypt."
"One of the Morning Star's, Kokabiel?" Cas asked.
"Just so." The man inclined his head and picked a soft roll, spreading it thickly with the soft cheese. "In the crypt, the demons gathered many things for their lord."
Dean frowned. "What about the door to Hell?"
"The mining company drilled a hole and hit a gas pocket, a cavern. The rig fell in and the company thought they could burn off the gas. They drilled the hole in 1971. It is still burning," Kokabiel said, taking a bite from the roll. "The legends spread quickly that it was a gate to Hell."
"There is no gate there," Cas said firmly. "Just one of Lucifer's traps to build his hiding place so close to a gas cavern."
"And where is this?" Sam asked.
"In the middle of the Karakum Desert, Turkmenistan."
The hunters looked at each other. None of the possible locations was going to be feasible without the angel's help.
"So, what's the plan?" Dean looked around the table.
"From here, it will take us two or three months to get to Alexandria and Zimbabwe, a little less to reach Karakum," Kokabiel said, looking at Araquiel. The dark-haired Watcher nodded. "We will leave in the morning."
"Two or three months?" Dean looked at him. "We could all be dead in two or three months the way the monsters are increasing at home." He turned to the angel. "You could get us there in minutes –"
"I told you, I cannot, Dean," Cas said, looking down at the table. "The rebellion is very close to civil war and it was not just Lucifer that they were liaising with."
Gadriel stared at him. "Who else?"
"The Grigori," Cas admitted reluctantly, lifting his head to look at the Qaddiysh.
"No, they were destroyed," Gadriel said softly, disbelievingly. "I saw their bodies wash out to sea."
"Not all of them."
"How many survived?" Araquiel leaned across the table toward the angel, his eyes narrowed and dark.
"Twenty seven." Castiel sighed. "They are three groups now, one in Europe, in the mountains behind Italy. One in China. And there is a group in the United States, in Utah, we think, although they have been careful to keep their exact location hidden."
"The Grigori?" Sam asked.
"I thought that was another name for the Qaddiysh?" Jasper frowned. "A medieval name?"
"No, although it is what humanity calls the Others," Kokabiel said heavily. "They were Lucifer's followers in the battle between his rebels and the army of Heaven. They ran from the killing ground when they saw how it would go, when they saw what would happen to those who had stood up with the Lightbringer," he explained, his gestures vague and tired. "They fled to the east, across the deserts and settled in Persia for some time. When the Flood came, we saw many die. We thought – we believed – we wanted to believe – that it was all of them."
"So … they're like you?" Dean looked at him curiously. "Fallen angels?"
"We fell with our Grace intact, with the blessing and at the request of our Father," Araquiel corrected him tersely. "The rest – the Others – fell with Lucifer, made flesh and blood when they appeared on this plane. They do not have their Grace, but their wings were not shorn from them as Lucifer and his follower's were. They are still angels, of a sort."
"And they have their own children," Castiel added. "And have sought and gained the support of at least some of the cambion."
Dean saw the shock on the faces of the men that sat at the table, not really men, but still flesh and blood and bone. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what had caused it.
"The cambion were all but extinct!" Peter exclaimed, his face as pale and rigid as those of the Qaddiysh.
"Not any more," Castiel said. "It was something that Lucifer attended to while the virus spread and overtook humanity, sending out demons in the constructs and compatible vessels to achieve his goals."
"What are the cambion?" Sam asked, looking from the hunter to the angel.
"They are the offspring of the union between a human woman and a demon, in mythology," Jasper answered him slowly. "Like the nephilim, their power is greater than the demon that spawned them."
"Half-breeds, everywhere," Dean muttered to himself. "Well, that's just fucking perfect."
"The power of the hybrids is the greatest when they are young," Baraquiel said. "It is predicated on belief. A child believes in everything. By the time they reach adulthood, they believe in much less and the power likewise declines."
"What about the tablets?" Dean shunted the thoughts of hybrids and power greater than angels to one side. "Can we get them?"
"They are safer where they are," Araquiel said, looking at him directly. "Only three of us know their locations and none know all."
"That doesn't sound safe," Peter argued. "You are mortal. You can be found. Tortured."
"The Keepers are as safe here as they would be in Heaven," Gadriel said sharply.
Dean glanced at Cas' face. From his expression, he didn't find that reassuring.
"I won't return with you to the United States, Dean," Peter said quietly in the black shadow beside the canyon wall. "I will go to the Vatican, attempt to meet Elena and her team there and retrieve the documents we need."
Dean shook his head. "How the fuck are you going to get there – from here?"
"It is not far to the coast, there will be boats still, and it will take only a few days to reach the mouth of the Roman river and travel up to the city."
"On your own? No, goddammit, we need you in this fight," Dean argued.
"I could go with him," Sam suggested.
"No!" Both men turned to him, the vehement response delivered in unison. Peter shook his head.
"I have hunted alone for many years, and I am still skilled at keeping out of sight. By boat the trip will be safe – safer – than by land, and quicker."
Dean looked at him. "What happens if by whatever miracle you make it and meet them there?"
"I can help take the texts back to Lourdes," Peter said. "And I can meet the Qaddiysh, guide them to the United States, bring them to Kansas with the box."
"In what – three months? Four or five by that time?" Dean looked at the ground. "Better hope there's still someone alive to hand it over to."
"Nothing will happen that fast," Peter said, hoping that was true. The vampire nest, the skinwalker pack, they had been large already but they didn't know exactly when the tablet had been broken. "The firstborn children of the Dark Mother are still imprisoned. It will take her time to free them."
Sam looked at his brother. "He's right, and Rufus and Maurice and the others have been looking for survivors, the less left around, the less they can turn."
Dean rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the last seventy-two hours drop onto him. "Alright. When you get back to the chapter house, let us know."
"Are you ready?"
They turned at Castiel's voice behind them. Jasper stood with the angel, an armload of books held tightly against his chest.
"Nephilim, Cas? Half-breed demons and angels and Pandora's box?" Dean looked at the angel. "Couldn't have given us a bit of warning about this?"
Cas looked at him. "It wasn't relevant before, Dean."
"Well, it's fucking relevant now!" he snapped back. "How are we supposed to deal with these things in the middle of everything else?"
"At the moment the Grigori are negotiating with the rebels," Cas said tightly. "The moment anything changes, I will let you know."
He reached out and Peter stepped back as the angel touched the men and they vanished, the sound of beating wings loud in the close confines of the canyon walls. He looked up at the sky and turned, heading north along the loose sand of the ravine's floor.
West Keep, Lebanon
They opened their eyes to the warmth of the Indian summer air, on the lookout tower. Dean spun around as the angel vanished.
"Cas! Dammit!" he said, looking around and scowling. "Just a few fucking questions!"
"Come on," Sam said, pulling off his coat as he started down the stairs, Jasper following him. Giving up on the hope that angel might return, Dean turned for the narrow door and closed it behind him.
"How is it even possible for an angel or a demon to have a kid with a human woman?" he asked Jasper as they reached the keep's library. "I mean, angels – junkless, right? And demons are just smoke."
Sam poured an inch of whiskey into three glasses, nodding as he handed them to his brother and Jasper. "And in a vessel, wouldn't it be the vessel's DNA that got passed along, not the angel or demon's?"
Jasper chuckled softly. "I'm flattered that you think my knowledge is so vast that it encompasses this."
"You don't know?" Dean asked, disappointed.
"Well, I can tell you the mythology of it, but I think your friend is the only one who could probably explain whatever science there is behind it."
"We'll take what you've got, prof," Sam said, sitting down at the table. "This is the first we've heard of it."
"The legends of the nephilim have been around for more than two thousand years. They were written in the texts long before the Flood," he said, sitting opposite them and looking into his glass. "They were variously known, as giants, as a long-lived race of perfect men, as demons, as angels, both evil and good, depending on whose version you read."
He looked up at them. "The Watchers we met, they Fell as they explained, with their Grace. Their bodies are real – flesh and blood and bone and nerve – those are not vessels. When they fell to earth they formed the bodies we see from the air, from the soil, from the rock and tree and sunlight – energy, gentleman, the same energy that exists in everything, vibrating faster or slower."
Sam nodded encouragingly. "Sure."
"Their biology is not the same as human biology; they have extra chromosomes, six pairs, on the strand. They are, however compatible enough to be able to interbreed, and three pairs of the chromosomes are passed along from the genetic material of the father to the offspring."
"For mythology, this is sounding pretty scientific?" Dean looked at him, brows raised.
Jasper smiled slightly. "It's just speculation." He sipped at the whiskey. "In the case of the demons, it's more complicated. They do use the vessel, not a construct in the way an angel can – they are merely souls, once human, twisted and distorted and mangled, but nonetheless just souls. But they can permeate every cell in their possession as an angel can when invited into a vessel with its consent. And the permeation of the demon's essence, at a cellular level, enables certain changes."
"Like what?"
"Like the power of two souls residing in the same flesh," Jasper said. "Like the ability to unlock those parts of the brain that humankind has not used for a millennia. Psychic power." He looked up as Dean's gaze met Sam's. "Yes, as the blood Azazel fed you as an infant unlocked those gifts in you."
Dean's attention sharpened on his brother as he realised that Sam must've told the old man about it. Sam shrugged.
"At a cellular level, things can be changed," Jasper continued. "Changed permanently. The abilities you developed, that the other children developed, they were never demonic in and of themselves, you understand. Every human being has the capability, to a greater or lesser degree, where the brain meets the mind."
"Say again?" Dean asked shortly.
"Our brains and minds are quite separate," Jasper said, the whiskey slopping around the glass as he waved it for emphasis. "Like the hardware and software of a computer, one is designed to run down, burn out, holding memories and knowledge for so long and no longer. It is a redundancy system for the mind, which holds everything including the control over the brain and the body."
"What exactly was your specialty in that fancy college?" Dean looked at him uncertainly.
Jasper laughed. "The mind is what lives on. With the soul, the mind is what carries on, after death has turned our bodies to dust, the mind keeps going."
For a moment, Dean felt the searing heat and raw agony of the pit, in his nerves and skin and muscles. He'd been a soul, with no body, no flesh to be carved. But the demons had carved anyway, every detail of his body remembered and no possibility of escaping the pain that lived in the memories, that could not overload as a physical body did when pain became too much to bear, that simply had to endure no matter what happened. He closed his eyes and shunted the memory back down, into the depths, dragging in a breath.
"Yeah, alright," he said unsteadily. "So demons can change the body enough to pass on … whatever it is they pass on to a human child?"
Jasper nodded, keeping his gaze on the table in front of him. Sam had told him a little of his life, wanting his opinion of certain aspects on what had happened to him. He'd told him of his brother's sacrifice. And briefly, what that had entailed.
"And that is the cambion," Jasper said, swirling the last of the amber liquid around in his glass and tossing it back. "Baraquiel was quite correct. In both cases, the most power of either hybrid is in the childhood years. Once adulthood is reached, the ability to believe has diminished and they are, perhaps somewhere between the power of a man and the power of their fathers. There is only way to kill them."
"That being?" Dean asked, glad the conversation had moved to solid ground again.
"The heart has to be cut out." Jasper said tiredly. "They will survive anything else, even decapitation unless the heart is removed from the body and burned."
Corsica, Mediterranean Sea
The boat rolled slowly from side to side, the engines chugging deep below, their reverberations felt through the steel hull. Elena looked up at the sky, eyes narrowing as she took in the line of blackness that lay to the east. They were only a few hours from the mouth of the Tiber, they should reach the coast before the mistral came upon them, she thought.
"Like a holiday," Isabeau said from beside and she turned to smile at the younger woman, her long, pale blonde hair blowing in the light breeze.
"Not for much longer," Elena said, turning back to the rail. "We will prepare everything tonight, go up the river at midnight."
"Did you try the radio, mam'selle?"
"It was fried. The wiring was gone," Elena said, turning to look at her. "Jean will know you are alright."
Isabeau smiled slightly. "P'raps. I will put it out of my head before we start."
"Can you tell Marc to start preparing our gear – and Francois needs to have everything we're not taking packed away. I do not know how many of the documents we will be bringing with us, but it will be as many as we can."
"Oui, mam'selle."
She stopped a few steps from the older woman. "Who is staying aboard?"
"Luc," Elena said absently, running a hand through her short, dark hair. "If we need to get out in a hurry, he's the only one who can get this tub going fast."
And it was entirely likely that they would be chased with their load of knowledge, she thought. The Vatican's vaults had held – did hold – a store of treasures that most had no idea of. Some would know, would be waiting for a party like themselves, with the correct keys and incantations to let them in. They would have to be careful. And fast.
Redwood Falls, Minnesota
Maurice glanced at Rona as they drove slowly up to the barricade in front of the long high-school building.
"Devil's trap," she remarked, looking at the road in front of them.
"Yeah, someone here knows what they're up against."
Behind the piles of rusty and bent-up vehicles that had been stacked on top of each of other to form a wall around the building and across the road, he could see movement.
"HALT!"
The voice, loud and strident in the clear morning air, came from a megaphone, he thought, tapping the brake. Three blocks behind them, Lee and Danielle were keeping out of sight in the truck.
"GET OUT OF THE CAR."
"Not a good idea," Rona said softly, her fingers curled around the shotgun in her lap.
"Only game in town," Maurice shrugged and turned the key, the engine stopping. He had an automatic in a pancake holster in the small of his back, under his jacket and he left the assault rifle on the seat beside him, opening the door and sliding out, keeping his hands in view.
He heard the clunk of the passenger door as Rona did the same.
"What do you want?" The volume of the voice dropped, and Maurice realised it was a woman's voice, harsh with nerves.
"We're looking for survivors," he called out, gaze scanning along the makeshift wall.
"Why?"
He turned as the woman let the megaphone drop, and he saw her, standing behind one of the vehicles. She was small and thin, dark, curly hair cut short and framing a face that was slightly hollowed out with hunger and tension.
"I'm Maurice, that's Rona," he said, looking at her. "We've got a place, in Kansas, a lot of us there, farming – we're looking for people who might not be surviving so well on their own," he explained awkwardly.
"We've heard that before," she said coldly. "Before being marched into a slave camp."
"We're not demons," Rona said from the other side of the pickup. "Just trying to help."
"We're fine, thanks," the woman said, glancing at her and back to Maurice. "You can be on your way."
"You don't look fine," Maurice countered gently. "You look hungry. And tired."
"We can take care of ourselves," a man's voice said loudly. He came out from behind the wreckage to stand beside the woman, staring at them belligerently. "And anyone else who comes along."
He lifted the gun in his hands and waved it, and from behind them, down the street, Maurice heard voices and footsteps. He sighed. He should've left Lee and Danielle out of town completely, but it was hard to predict what they'd find.
"The demon problem isn't the only thing you've got to worry about," Maurice said, looking at the woman. "There're other things that are going to come after you – things you've only seen in horror movies and your worst nightmares."
Her eyes narrowed at him. "Like what?"
"Like vampires, and werewolf and shapeshifters and everything you didn't think existed!" Rona snapped at her. "You're in danger and you can't protect yourselves!"
"How do you know about the monsters?"
"Before the virus, that's what we did, mostly. We're hunters," Maurice said, looking at her thoughtfully. She hadn't scoffed at Roma's assertion.
"Hunters?" she asked. "You've read the books?"
"What books?"
"If you're hunters, how do you kill a wendigo?" she asked suddenly.
Maurice glanced at Rona in surprise, then back to the woman. "With fire."
"And a wraith?"
"Silver."
"Tilly, just because they –" the man beside her started to say.
"Test them," Tilly cut him off. "Salt, iron, silver, holy water and the trap."
An engine started and Maurice watched a section of the wall move aside slowly. Two men and a woman came out through the narrow gap, holding a bags and bottles and knives.
He stepped forward, rolling up his sleeve.
Maurice looked around the wide space. The auditorium for the school had been modified into a hall, filled with tables and chairs, the bleachers used as shelving, a fire burning at one end, warming the interior fitfully. Tilly had told them there were ninety people here, their ages ranging from an eighty-six year old woman down to a four-month old baby. Looking at them, seated at the tables or gathered around the makeshift hearth, he thought that none of them looked particularly well. Malnutrition, lack of exercise, fear and anxiety, all had lent a grey tint to their skin, all had brought the bones underneath into sharp relief.
"But I don't understand, if you haven't read the books, how did you know about this stuff?" she asked again.
"Can I see one of the books?" he asked, turning back to her. After a moment's thought, she nodded, getting up and going out. She came back a few minutes later, a battered and much-taped paperback in one hand. He looked at the grimed and creased cover as he took it from her.
Supernatural, by Carver Edlund. He opened it, eyes widening as he reading the character names, and looked up at her.
"How many of these are there?"
"Um … twenty four," she said. "They saved our lives."
"Uh-huh."
"But you haven't read them," she said flatly, watching him read down the page.
"No, but these are … uh … probably based on real events, you know," he prevaricated fast, wondering how the hell these had been written. "Maybe some hunter talked to the author."
"Yeah, I guess."
He debated internally on the question of telling her about the Winchesters, real men, not just two-dimensional characters in a bunch of cheap paperbacks, finally deciding against. It would be easier once these people had met them, seen the keeps in Kansas, become a part of their ever-growing population.
"The situation is getting worse, Tilly," he said instead. "We've had information that the monster populations are starting to expand and you're going to get hit here harder and harder."
She looked up at him. "Is your – place – any safer?"
"A lot," he confirmed. "And we're growing food. We need people. You need us."
"It's a long way to Kansas," she said, her teeth catching her lip as she looked absently around the hall. "A long way for these people without protection."
"You've got vehicles?"
"Not many," she admitted. "We can't find the replacement tyres and electrics we need to get the intact ones going."
He nodded. "We can help with that."
She was uneasy about the thought of leaving what had kept them alive, kept them together, he could see. He couldn't describe what they would be going to – not in the kind of detail that would make it seem like a worthwhile trade. And he couldn't tell her that the road to Kansas was not going to be dangerous. That would've been a lie. But they couldn't stay here. They'd die of starvation, being picked off as the creatures of Nintu got stronger and stronger.
She looked at him for a long moment. "I'll put it to a vote this evening," she told him. "It's their lives. They decide."
He hoped that they'd be able to look past the present and to the future then. Because nothing was going to get any better, staying here.
November 2012, Lebanon, Kansas
The long building had been the expensive folly of a Wall Street farmer who'd decided that his outbuildings would have timber floors, to save the legs of his prize-winning animals. Dean doubted that any animal had ever been in there, but it was an excellent place for training, the hardwood boards having enough give and flex to be kind to joints, but punishing enough to fall on.
He watched the group in front of him, eyes narrowed in concentration as they sparred in twos at one end of the building. At twelve, Ben was the youngest. Every child had the same training, rotating through the hunters and soldiers living in the keep, learning first self-defensive moves, gun cleaning, packing shells, magazines, honing a blade without destroying the temper of the steel, the sigils and wards and guards of protection, the characteristics, weaknesses and strengths of what was out there and how to counter them. The training would've made him uneasy if it hadn't been so necessary, he thought, watching Ben twist aside and ride Alan's barely-pulled blow, drop to his knees and spring back up, the sound of his taped hand hitting the padding loud in the empty space. It was necessary.
"Alan," he called out, walking onto the floor between the two boys. "How'd Ben know what you were going to do?"
The thirteen-year old dropped his gaze to the floor, thick, blond hair flopping over his forehead. "Telegraphed it."
"Right," Dean said, glancing at Ben. "Where was your weight?"
"Left foot," Alan said with a sigh.
"Where should it've been?"
"Right foot."
"Start again, this time use your head."
He nodded and looked at Ben, both boys dropping into the slight crouch and circling each other.
The apocalypse had brought them a lot of orphans. All of them had found a home, families who'd lost children who'd reached out to them. They were fed and cared for, but it didn't stop the pain of the losses they'd suffered. He'd been careful to instil a respect for what they did into their lives, and somewhat hypocritically, he thought sometimes, a warning against the idea of revenge. It'd taken a long time to learn that revenge wasn't a goal worth pursuing.
His attention sharpened as Alan attacked again, this time in a flurry of action that hadn't been forewarned by an obvious position and he watched Ben retreat, blocking and using the blows that came at him. Both boys were fairly evenly matched, and he could see the influences of Franklin and Vince, Rona and Maurice and Boze's offsider, Sean, in their movements. All the hunters used fairly standard attack and defence styles. He'd have to think of a way to make that more difficult, because none of the monsters he'd ever fought had followed the same techniques and much of the way he'd learned to fight had been taught by the creatures themselves.
"Okay, better," he said, when they'd reached an impasse. They straightened up and turned to look at him.
"Alan, you going out with Rona today?"
The boy nodded, crossing the floor and heading for the door. "See you later, Ben!"
"Yeah," Ben said, walking over to Dean, a frown creasing his forehead. "I'll be thirteen in May, Dean."
"Yep, and until then you're not going," Dean said easily, the conversation a familiar one.
"I'm just as good as the others," Ben insisted, turning with the hunter to walk out.
"Better," Dean agreed. "In most stuff."
"Then why can't I go out on the perimeter runs?"
"Not thirteen yet."
"Why does that matter?" Ben stopped and looked at him in frustration.
"Because it's the way we're doing it," Dean said, looking back at him. "And that's the end of it."
Ben made a face and caught up. "It's not logical."
"Too bad," Dean said, hiding a grin. "Besides, I need your help right now."
Ben's head lifted sharply as he looked at him. "Really?"
"Yeah, really," Dean said, gesturing to the keep walls. "Go tell Maureen you'll be late back, I'll meet you at the gate."
He watched the boy race away. He'd wondered if he should've moved Ben in with them when they got here, but he wasn't around all that much and Bobby'd pointed out that it would be better for Ben to have a family who was there all the time. He still wasn't sure if it'd been the right decision, but he had to admit that Ben was content enough with the family who'd taken him in, survivors of Las Vegas, with three other orphans and two children of their own. The combination of a stable family life and the time he could spend with the boy seemed to be working out alright.
Walking up to the keep, he remembered abruptly that they would be heading to Michigan in the morning. He thought Ben would want to come along to that as well. There was a small part of him that was unwilling to get too close to Ben. It didn't seem to matter that between them, the relationship that was slowly developing was honest and okay. It was never be okay, what he'd done, no matter that he'd had to do it, not for him, and he suspected, not for the boy whose mother he'd killed. And spending time with him kept those memories from sinking, kept them alive.
Camp Tawas, East Lake Tawas, Michigan
The camp had grown, Alex thought, looking around as they waited for Boze and Renee to come out of the chapel. They had a lot more people here now, and the buildings had been extended and raised in every direction, crowded tightly against the palisade walls, the damage from the air strike repaired so that she couldn't tell which buildings had been hit, and which had not.
Through the long drive from Kansas to the northern state, she'd been unable to take her eyes off the countryside on the way, Dean had skirted the larger cities, but even from a distance she could see that the buildings were collapsing, trees and fields and growth breaking up the roads, the foundations. It wouldn't take very long before they vanished altogether, she'd thought. Everywhere, the rampant growth of vegetation had been astonishing, the regions that had once been tamed and cultivated fields and towns and farms gone beneath newly growing forest and stretches of high grain grasses. And they'd seen more animals along the way, deer and goats and cattle gone wild, heads lifting sharply as the car had growled past, dropping again to feast on the plentiful pastures.
Negotiating the highways, Dean'd remarked that they were going to have to think about repairing the roads, at least the direct route between Kansas and Michigan, or they'd be forced to revert to horseback travel to get through. Even now, the roads were cracked and humped, grass spreading from the verges along the fissures to the centres. She'd agreed with him, wondering if there were enough people to make that a feasible option. Something to talk over with Boze, in any case.
Her attention was dragged back to the present as the newly-wed couple emerged through the doors, showered with rice and confetti. Following Dean and Ben as they walked after the couple toward the main hall, she wondered if Renee's hope of a few peaceful months would come about.
"Weddings not your thing?"
She turned to see Rufus beside her, smiling slightly but his dark eyes thoughtful as he looked at her. She shook her head, brushing off the concern she could feel from him.
"Just hoping Renee gets enough honeymoon time before anything happens," she said with a sigh.
"Probably not," the hunter said cheerfully. "Not that that's anything new."
He took her arm as the press of the crowd got closer. "What'd you think of the country on the way here?"
"I think that the Mother Goddess has been walking fast," she said, nose wrinkling up. "Even after the rains, it wasn't growing as fast as it is now."
"Yeah, kind of thought myself," Rufus agreed. "Kim and Ray have noticed another anomaly."
"What?"
"You should probably talk to them," Rufus hedged as they walked into the hall. "Asked me to find you."
"This is going to spoil my enjoyment in the rest of the day, isn't it?"
He looked down at her, mouth lifting on one side. "Hard to say, I'm not sure it's bad news exactly."
She frowned at him as he edged them both to the side of the hall and walked down past the tables toward the low dais set at the front. Kim and Ray stood together with Merrin and Bernice and two others she didn't know.
"Alex, this is Bob Malley, he's a doctor from Austin," Kim said, as Alex extended her hand to the tall, thin, grey-haired man standing next to Merrin. "And Meredith Forsythe, Obstetrics from Atlanta."
The woman was tall and thin, carrot-red hair cut short around a square, uncompromising face, in her late forties, Alex guessed, and had been at the top of her tree judging by the confidence in her face and the short, hard shake she got from her.
Looking at their faces, she could see that all of them were worried about something. "What's the problem?"
Kim glanced at Meredith, who shrugged. "Not sure it's a problem, exactly," she said slowly. "Over the last two weeks, we've all had a lot of people – women – coming in for tests."
"What kind of tests?" Alex asked, feeling her stomach drop.
"Pregnancy tests," Bob said, his long face worried. "And they've all been positive."
"Okay," she said, looking from him to Merrin. "How many are we talking about?"
"In Tawas, we've seen over five hundred women in the last two weeks," Bernice said sharply. "Lake West sent over another two hundred just last week."
Feeling her brows rising, Alex turned to Kim. "And in Lebanon?"
"More than six hundred over the past two weeks," Kim confirmed. "And I'm expecting more."
"You're expecting more?"
"The range has been across the board, Alex," Merrin cut in. "Every woman of child-bearing age and good health – from fifteen to forty-five and a few under and over – have tested positive."
She looked at her. "Are you talking immaculate conceptions here, or …"
"No," Bob said. "We weren't sure until we put all the cases together, and did some follow up on the women who weren't involved in a stable relationship, but all of them reported having some kind of sexual encounter between the last week of October and the first week of November and these are just the ones to notice early."
"It wasn't just the plant life," Rufus added, one brow lifted at her.
"Guess not," she said, looking distractedly around the hall. Of the six thousand odd people that were divided between the two communities, a little under half were women, and most were in their most fertile years. "If the conceptions are all around the same time, it's going to be chaos."
"Yes," Meredith said dryly. "We need to start training people now, midwives, nurses, assistants."
"And we should test everyone who fits the criteria, Alex," Kim said. "We can't leave it up to the women to notice first."
Alex dragged in a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, okay. We'll get everyone organised for testing and Liev and Terry can figure out the best way to handle the maternity wards – and I'll go through the intakes again. How many can each of you handle for training?"
"As many as we need to," Merrin said firmly.
Dean looked around as Alex walked to the table and sat down beside him. "What happened to you?"
"Quick conference with our medics," she said, staring down at her plate. "Seems like Ninhursag has already been through our states."
"What do you mean?"
"Kim and the others just told me that we might be expecting somewhere in the vicinity of three thousand new arrivals in around nine months time," she told him dryly.
"What?"
"We need to get everyone together and figure out how we're going to deal with this."
"Slow down," he said, turning to stare at her. "There are three thousand pregnant women in the camps?"
"Maybe a little more or less, but yeah," she said. "Sometime between the end of October, and the beginning of November, the docs think."
"How?"
"Goddess of creativity, remember?" She shrugged and reached for a bread roll. "We saw the growth of the forests and fields on the way over, I'm guessing the animal populations are going to get a huge boost as well."
"But … three thousand?"
"Every woman they've tested has been positive. Everyone of child-bearing age and in good health has conceived, they think."
He leaned back in the chair. "Is it going to be an ongoing thing?"
"I'm not sure," she said. "It might be if she passes back through and we haven't managed to lock her up again. This is what she did, according to Jerome and Davis and Katherine – populated the earth."
"Doesn't it take two?"
"Apparently, that was a busy two or three weeks for the men available."
He looked at her, hearing the faintest edge to her voice. "You okay?"
"Just wondering where we're going to put the maternity wards," she said lightly, her gaze cutting away. "It's going to put something of a shorter time-frame on getting all the survivors we can find into safe places."
"Yeah," he agreed. There was something she wasn't saying, but he had the feeling she wouldn't talk about it now. Here. He exhaled softly.
"Is this a good thing or a bad thing?"
Alex shook her head. "Depends on how we handle it, I guess. Overall, for humanity, I guess it's a good thing."