Blood Debt

Chapter 2

He was trying to figure out why he felt like he was in a moving car, why he was wrapped in a canvas tarp that smelled of mold and urine and puke, why the back of his head was screaming pain, why he couldn't see a damned thing, and why he couldn't move his hands or feet.

And then he remembered.

"That bitch!" Dean growled as he wriggled, trying to throw the tarp off of his head.

His hands were tied behind him, his feet were tied, and the tarp was apparently tied around him with more rope. The bouncing of the moving car wasn't helping. Failing to get the tarp of his head, he reached into the waistband of his jeans, extracted the small blade he kept there, and began to saw through one of the multiple rows of thick ropes. He just had to get through one, get his arms worked loose, and then he should be able to get himself ready for when the car stopped.

He hoped Sam had gotten away and was suddenly grateful Sam had been such a girl about his gloves and had the keys. It significantly increased the chances that he'd gotten away. Dean refused to entertain the thought that Sam was lying by the road, drained of blood. Better he was either caught by the same group-he and Dean working together would surely figure a way to get out of this mess. They'd been in worse spots-or had escaped and was now hunting for Dean. He was also quite sure Sam wouldn't let him live this down for months, if ever.

Dean finally managed to cut himself free of the ropes and the tarp.

Okay, now to find the trunk release. I'll have to figure out how to crosswire the sensor or they'll know when I pop the trunk. At least I hope this is a late enough model to have a trunk release in it. With some relief, he found it. He searched for the sensor wires next, knowing that he could use his knife and some of the wires from one of the tail lights for the crosswiring.

The sensor wires aren't even attached. Maybe my luck is changing. Of course, it's not going to do me a lot of good if we're booking down the road at 60 mph. Well, I can at least get a look as to where we are.

Gripping the latch so the trunk wouldn't fly open, he pressed the trunk release. Nothing happened.

Maybe it's jammed? he wondered and went to work on the latch. Several scraped fingers later, he thought he'd successfully jimmied it, but when he tried to get the trunk open, it wouldn't budge.

"Dammit," Dean cursed softly. "Okay, okay. Sidepanels can be thin. Maybe I bust through a section of one of them."

He ran his hands over the sidepanel near the wheel well and found that it, and any area he had a prayer of busting through, had been reinforced. This obviously wasn't the vampires' first rodeo. They knew what the hell they were doing. He slowly searched the trunk, hunting for anything that might be useful as a weapon. He found some water and peanut butter crackers that he refused to touch, but otherwise the trunk was empty. There was no jack, no tools, nothing. They'd taken his leather coat, belt knife and belt, wallet, cell phone, and the pocket knife in his jeans. He had his small two-inch blade, which wouldn't do crap against a vampire. All he could hope for was, when they opened the trunk, he could surprise them. He'd figure out a plan beyond running like hell when he saw where he was.

Two hours dragged by with hardly a change in speed except to make some turns here and there.

Crap, Dean thought. They don't have a local nest. That's going to make it a hell of a lot harder for Sam to track me. Well, they ought to stop sometime around dawn and hole up in some barn or something. That could be to my advantage. At least I probably won't be on their home turf. They may not know the area any better than I will.

He ran through several possible scenarios in his head, analyzing and altering every strategy he could devise. He could hear some laughter and talking in the car, but the conversations were hard to make out over the blaring radio. His best estimate was that there were four vamps in the car and at least one was male and one female.